#zachariah stuff that no one wants

[shallowseeker]

Zachariah I

Zachariah II

Zachariah III - YOU ARE HERE

////

This is a collection of many of the same snippets from the Cas death rambles over here. But I feel like some of these are important enough to pull out and talk about on their own.

Oh, oh, oh. Ouch.

///

Zach's whole attitude in this scene is just awful. It's very, "Well, so much for your "champion," I guess."

(((Fuck you, Zach.)))

And Dean? Dean's upset-upset.

Zach notices.

Like Chuck's exhilarated, nervous smile, Zach will mirror it with a pleased beat of surprise, visibly taken aback.

Again, Dean instinctually recoils. Keep your distance, he says to Zach. This echoes their very first meeting: The "GROSS." & "NO, THANK YOU."

DEAN: "Keep your distance, asshat."

Vibes: Stay the Hell away from me.

And it's here that Zach keys into it. This upset.

The whole scene is about Cas. It begins with Cas's blood, and it book-ends with Dean's blood.

But soon, Zach pivots to his same old obsession:

✨Recruiting Dean. ✨

"Synergy"... right.

Ew.

UGLY.

Again, Dean's hitting Zach where it hurts: right in the vanity.

"Ugly."

ZACH: <:(

(((Stop insulting me during my pitch, Dean. I'm not even hitting on you. I don't even want you. I swear it on your mother's grave. Forget I ever said you were looking fit.)))

Anyway, back to ✨The Pitch (TM) ✨

Ah, this pitch again.

With Zach, it's largely about power and domination, about Dean bending the knee and submitting in the way Zach thinks he should.

Boom.

Aside/// it's interesting to me that after Cas dies, Dean uses things he learned from Cas to fight. This is a beat echoed in early s13, when he uses a triple-bladed angel knife in 13x02 in the same manner Cas does.

(Yes, Dean's always been good with throwing knives, even since s1, but in 13x02, he uses a beat-for-beat Cas throw of a highly specialized knife. It's very fitting to assume he learned it from Cas in some way or another.)

Oh, this.

Cas.

This is what's been eating Dean during this whole scene and will constitute a moroseness that continues throughout the entire episode.

///

And later, Zach's disrespect... will only deepen.

Dean is not getting much respect in 5x01 at all. Not from Zach, not from Meg, not from Becky.

///

Ah, Becky... after being so excited to meet Sam, who more than lives up to her fantasies, she looks to Dean and...

:(((((( * cringe* *wince* *disappointed* *you're a real boner killer for me personally wow ugh #hashtag NotMyDean*

This is interesting to me, because this spectacle of Becky, with her fetishistic incest interests... actually pairs really well with Zachariah.

Not in terms of her interests per se. (I mean, she's fine, so long, and she's not using her interests to denigrate real people. But here, she's toeing the line with Dean and stepping over it with Sam.)

But it's more than her disdain. She cringes at the sight of Dean, and she comes off as rude like Dean's yet again failing to live up to impossible expectations.

It's giving real "I guess I'm not the main either of our fathers wanted us to me" vibes.

It's interesting, then, that Becky should be the one to deliver news of Dean's souped-up relevance to The Plot(TM), about the Michael sword plotline.

Becky just barely holds back her voyeurism in the moment:

And she does indulge too much with Sam, ignoring his pleas for dignity and respect:

Actually, looking at this in totality, she pairs pretty well with Zach, actually.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Ziehen

Chapter Thirty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Zachariah, Crowley, Dick, Bobby, Sam and Benny

Word Count: 2053, with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, talk of extra-curricular activities coming up, a thirst trap because Jensen has been unfair lately, Benny being a teddy bear, and Bela trying to make amends

Series Masterlist

“And between record store day and Phantom Traveler’s release, Q2 is looking to break records for us,” Zachariah droned on.

“Well, it’s the least they could do,” Dick added glibly.

You couldn’t roll your eyes, you were on camera, but you wanted to. Crowley didn’t reply, but Zachariah chuckled and took a beat to agree before going on down the line of his report. Bobby huffed, but kept a lid on it, which told you how much he knew Dick was right.

“Things are shaping up well with pre-orders and the appearances Bobby and company have lined up between Vegas and New Orleans with the album release.  should outshine their previous album sales by a wide margin,” Crowley tacks on, almost bored with the success.

You set that up, not Bobby, but you kept your mouth shut, nodding.

“Y’all can thank Y/N for that, you know,” Bobby said gruffly.

“Of course,” Dick agreed offhandedly, eyes darting down to other parts of his screen.

Thank God for Bobby. You simply smiled and kept listening.

“Sounds great, people! Let’s check back the week of the release to ensure we’re still on track. We’ve got a lot of numbers to move to get in the black here, but I see good things happening,” Dick smarmed and instantly sent a meeting invite for the following month. 

“Thank you!” you replied dutifully and closed the window for the chat. After accepting the invite and adding it to your personal calendar, you exhaled long and hard. You checked your phone, Bela had called again and left another two text messages. You ignored her. She could wait.

You called Bobby for a mix of mutual griping and to debrief about where that put you all going forward. 

Without even a greeting, Bobby started, “I swear they get dumber every quarter.”

“Tell me about it. Thanks for having my back in there, though, I was starting to see red by the end.”

“You and me both, darlin’.” Bobby huffed. “The amount of stuff you get done is amazing. Even without all the run-around from the last tour, you are doing more than anybody I’ve seen in your position. We appreciate ya, even if the suits can’t see past their nose jobs.”

You beamed.

“Thanks. So, what’s on the agenda for the week? I know Dean and Sam took Gibson and Pamela to the zoo.”

“Yeap. Got the Midway Museum tomorrow if you have time, got tickets for anybody who wants to go. Might be good time for pictures if you need some candids for the socials.”

You knew this was his way of telling you to come, he even gave you justification for doing it on so called work hours.

“Maybe. I might just steal some from the band. Too much to get done before the show on Thursday.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us if you get caught up or not.”

“Thanks.” It felt like all you could say to him today. It was a small word with a lot of connotations, but you were grateful. You owed Bobby so much. Though he never gave anything he didn’t want to give or for any form of repayment. He was too good for this industry. They all were.

“I’ll keep you posted. I have calls with the next couple of venue coordinators today and then some event security stuff tomorrow morning with Benny for some non-venue signings and stuff.”

“You still want to do the battered women's shelter thing?”

“The domestic violence survivors fundraiser in Vegas? Absolutely.”

Bobby hummed.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bobby. And that’s exactly why we’re doing it.”

“Do you think it looks like pandering?”

“I think it looks like community service. And if I didn’t think Dean could handle it, I wouldn’t have signed him up for it.”

“Even after that little disappearing act on Saturday?”

“Dean is a domestic abuse survivor, Bobby. Part of what he’s gone through is accepting that.”

“Yeah, but Cas—.”

“Cas is still family. And he didn’t press charges. And you know Dean—- penance is something he needs to do for himself, too.”

Bobby sighed. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Trust me, this is still my good side.”

Bobby actually chuckled at that. “I bet! Okay, I should get going, promised the missus we’d hit the shops before dinner.”

“Have a good one.”

“Alrighty, bye then.”

You smiled at your desk as Bobby hung up. He was happy and Annie was good for him. It didn’t matter their pasts, they made it work, and made each other better along the way.

Which seemed utterly remarkable and unattainable for somebody like you.

But if anybody deserved it, it was them.

You put down your phone and pulled up Twitter, it was time to dig through the chaos and do what you did best: highlight the good, the band's synergy and the new momentum and bury the bad. 

Which seemed to include you this time around, unfortunately.

After Twitter, you tackled Insta, Reddit and even FB, though most people cross posted the same images and anecdotes, some people only used one of the bunch. And some only used them on pain of death, namely Dean. Meanwhile, Bela had posted a couple of great shots from the afterparties, which you liked as the band and as yourself. 

You were crabby, not petty.

And busy, damnit.

The next morning, Sam smirked at you when he caught your eye in the hotel’s gym. He was already sweating from running outside, but must have come back to stretch or work something more intensely. What you weren’t expecting was Dean to be hot on his heels, equally as sweaty, equally as mischievous.

“Trouble! How’s business?” 

You rolled your eyes and took out an earbud, not sure you really heard them.

“What’s up?”

“We’re gonna lift— you want in?” Sam was teasing you now.

You pedaled stiffly and shook your head. “Fuck no, I’m good here, got another ten mile circuit after this breather.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean taunted and grinned before he crossed his legs and touched his toes. What the hell? Luckily there was only one other guest using the elliptical, so they weren’t being complete nuisances, yet.

They weren’t even directly in your line of sight, otherwise it could have gotten awkward, and distracting.

Still, you felt them keep glancing at you, making faces, and even cheering for you when you shifted up with your ass out of the seat to get the best angle for the various hills. You flipped them off, but kept your eyes forward and your earbuds in place.

Thirty minutes later, you groaned and stepped off the stationary bike. Dean and Sam had been talking more than doing curls with the free weights, obviously being dorks about each other’s efforts.

Boys.

“Good workout?” Dean asked as you sanitized your equipment. Sweat clung to your oversized tank top, all down your back, and between your legs. Thank god you wore your black workout leggings today.

“Yeah? You?” You smirked as Dean made a show of extending his movements slowly and pointedly. Yes, Dean, your arms should be illegal, you thought.

“Good, uh— need help stretching?”

You looked at him a little dumbfounded and then back at Sam, who seemed just as surprised as you were by the offer.

“Nah, I’ve got my bands and stuff in my room. Though, I bet Sam would love to see you try and bullshit your way through a cool down routine,” you tacked on, trying to laugh off the offer. Inside you were imagining Dean’s weight against you, pushing your knees up and out, flexing your hip joints with his thick fingers digging into the meat of you…

“Hey! I was just being nice.”

“Dude,” Sam muttered.

You sighed and gave Dean an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time.”

You pretended not to hear the series of slaps that happened behind your back as you made your way to the elevator and your generic hotel shower.

Benny treated you to lunch after your video calls with the S.A.F.E. House staff and the one with the folks at the radio station who’d be interviewing the band the morning of the first Vegas show. 

“Saw your tweet on Cas’ post,” you added thoughtfully, midway through your shrimp po boys.

“Yeah, well, didn’t want him thinking he done wrong by us.”

You chewed and nodded, silently telling him that you got it, appreciated it even. 

“You hear anything else from the guys about the last show, you know, after Dean disappeared and, um, everything?”

You needed to know if the guards were loyal, but mostly you wanted to know what they had seen.

“Seemed pretty anticlimactic to most of them, from what I hear. Dean came through, sober and clean as a whistle. —Even the venue goons didn’t clock anything weird,” Benny pointed out before taking another bite, his teeth flashing in the afternoon sun.

After a few moments, Benny continued. “But, uh, that label stooge you got following Bela? He’s the one to worry about, really, seems to keep his cards close to the vest.”

Damn, you knew he was right before he even finished the sentence. Tiny would be the one to squeal to Crowley, or worse, Dick, at the end of the day. You wondered if you could buy him off or treat him in other ways while on the road. Bela wasn’t scheduled to be around until the second Vegas show, you had some time to figure out his motives. Or if he even cared at all.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

Benny sniffed and looked around the small patio outside the restaurant. “Bela’s not really Dean’s girl is she? She some kind of clout pusher?”

You swallowed and took a long slurp of your iced tea, washing away the now muted flavor of your lunch. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Benny. They’ve definitely been enjoying each other’s company more than I expected.”

“Perhaps—- but don’t you worry none. She’s not the type you settled down with and he’s got eyes deeper than the cut of her fancy tops.”

You huffed. Benny certainly had a way with words.

“It’s okay, Benny— I’m not in a place to be jealous.”

He just raised his eyebrows at you and took another bite.

“I did this— I set them up. I’d guess you’d call it reaping what I sow or something?”

Benny nodded and shrugged. “Or something.”

“You won’t— you won’t tell anybody, right? His story is safe with you?”

“Doll, I’ve been covering that boy’s ass since before Lisa— I’m true.”

“I know, Benny, sorry—- it’s just so much posturing all the time. I just want to take pictures and show the world how badass they are. I want people to hear the stories behind the songs, because it shows they’re human too. Sometimes I wish—-”

“Wishin’ for rain in the desert aint doin’ anybody a lick of good. You know the score, you just gotta beat them at their own game. Dean’s a good man, he knows what’s real. Don’t think we all don’t know that, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Know who your people are, if you trust Bela— then she won’t let Tiny think anything is up. Friends have each other’s back against the world, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, suddenly feeling ridiculously immature for ignoring her for the past few days.

“Eat up, cher. It’s a long tour. You’ll need your strength.”

That was an understatement, but you dug in anyway.

“Y/N, listen— I’ve resorted to leaving you a voicemail. It’s come to that. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean anything disparaging about you the other night— just maybe about how you treat Dean. Not that it's bad, overkill more like, but it’s not like you’re bad or weak for doing it.--- I know how much you loved her, Y/N, I know. Him too, it seems. I just don’t want you wasting so much of your life trying to make up for losing her. It hurts to see you so— subservient. You are so much more than an errand girl. So I’m sorry for my lack of tact. But I’m not sorry I brought it up. Okay? There. Call me back and yell at me properly already, Jesus.”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

Chapter 32: Tronco

[scoobydoodean]

https://www.tumblr.com/scoobydoodean/765086678619684864/omg-i-just-finished-your-emma-vs-amy-takes-and-the?source=share

This commentary you gave on how Sam and Dean view monsters makes so much sense to me, and also made me realize that Sam is very much an essentialist. To Sam, monsters are what they are due to some essential and unavoidable nature, and I think that really explains not only his self-perception as being "unclean" and always needing forgiveness, but also how he justified his demon blood drinking in s4.

Just like gender essentialism is used to excuse bad behavior from men ("boys will be boys"), Sam's monster essentialism gets used to justify his monstrous behavior. Sam started drinking demon blood voluntarily because he perceived it as being some sort of unavoidable thing due to Azazel forcibly feeding him blood as a baby. And if Sam is a monster, if Sam will always drink demon blood, then he chose to do it in a way that made him feel in control. Which is very understandable through this lens he has of his essential nature, but nevertheless was him making an active choice.

Maybe it later became an addiction, and there are arguments that can be had about how much of a choice it is once someone is addicted, but that first time he drank demon blood was a choice he made. And instead of taking ownership of that, he absolved himself by saying... Well, he's a monster. It's in his blood. It was always going to happen, so can he really blame himself?

Definitely! Sam became very fixated on destiny in season 4 (while Dean repeatedly said from season 2 on that he doesn't believe in destiny). Sam needed to believe that he didn't have a choice when he started drinking demon blood for revenge (4.09) but also needed to believe he could bring something good out of it (4.04). Ruby gave him those assurances—that he was the ONLY one who was strong enough to stop the apocalypse. Which is also why the angels saying Dean would stop the apocalypse became so upsetting to Sam and he started claiming Dean was too weak and only Sam was strong enough—Sam's self-image hinged on being able to make something he believed he couldn't control and that he believed made him "dirty" into something good. Dean is facing a similar motivation in season 4, partly believing that subverting the apocalypse can absolve him of what he did in hell (4.15) but what's so tragic is neither of them needed to be absolved. Dean was horrifically tortured into torturing others and Sam was fed demon blood as a baby and those things didn't make either of them bad people. Drinking demon blood from Ruby was a choice, but it's easier for Sam to tell himself that he was already unclean from the time he was a baby so it didn't matter. He thought stopping the apocalypse with his demon blood powers was the ultimate way to prove he was deserving when his worth was never ever tarnished by what Azazel did to him. That wasn't his only motivation, but feeling that he was "unclean" was part of it and it's something that comes back up for him later too. It's very tragic but season 4 is also one of Sam's most interesting seasons imo.

You might like:

Sam wanting to subvert the traditional monster movie hero/villain dynamic

Sam connecting with the magicians in Criss Angel Is A Douchebag

The demon blood depressing Sam's empathy

Zachariah pushing Sam to believe in stolen valor

Sam's resentment over everything that happened in season 3 and setting Dean up as a figure to rebel against instead of an equal

Lots of stuff about Sam's fixation on purity

[autisticandroids]

genfic reclist

gen fics, for @spnficrecfest.

one problem here is i've put a lot of my favorite gen fic on these lists already, especially here. a lot of my very favorite gen fic is on that list, specifically.

in general, if you want to check out other gen fic i've recced, my tag for these lists is here.

in increasing order of wordcount:

reassignment by dotfic, 1k

victor becomes a hunter after jus in bello. a series of vignettes.

infinite white by etrix, 1k

an angel comes to victor.

for we live by faith, not by sight by myaimistrue, 1k

uriel and cas and anna watch a game of beach volleyball.

early days by firebirdie, 1k

post jus in bello, victor and jo start hunting together.

the will of faith by victoria hughes, 1k

cas and zachariah in lucifer rising.

witness by xaara, 1k

cas and uriel watch the plagues.

bildungsroman by kalliel (bobby re: dean as a teenager, in the aftermath of an incident) should be here, but @explainslowly already recced it. it's good stuff.

sanctuary by aini_nufire, 3k

cas is hurt, and bobby takes care of him. very whumpy.

blues rose road by xxcerezasxx, 5k

post jus in bello victor lives au. he becomes a hunter. i've been tearing through a bunch of old henriksen fic and winchesters v law enforcement fic, and i think this is maybe my favorite i've found. it's certainly one of them. the tone and vibes are just really perfect.

brother mine by diaryofageekgirl (uriel character study) should really be here, as it's one of the best gen fics i've had the pleasure of reading, but i already recced it here. don't hang your head for me by sorrel (lisa reflecting on dean during the missing year) should also be here, for the same reason, but i recced that one here. and again, the same thing with instrumental by slopeslippers (hannah finding a lobotomy needle after the s9 civil war). but that one is here.

growing pains by mme_yersinia, 10k

jack's wings are growing in and cas frets over him.

we all fall down (ashes ashes) by insanetrolllogic, 16k, chose not to warn

post swan song au. everyone dean cares about is dead. dean finds a kid. the kid is cas, fallen anna-style.

[fanfictionalraven]

Piece by Piece Pt. 11

Title: Piece By Piece Pt. 11

Summary: The apocalypse draws near.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Castiel, Original Characters, other SPN canon characters

Word Count: 2,550

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and peril

Author’s Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published in 2017.

Read Piece by Piece Pt. 10 here.

Dean paces across the room Zachariah had stuck him in. He’d lost track of how long he’d been here and he was past mad now. The angels had tricked him, leading him down a path to jump start the apocalypse. He picks up one of the bottles of beer Zachariah had left for him and throws it at the wall.

“Now Dean, that’s the good stuff. Don’t waste it,” Zachariah says, having suddenly appeared in the room. Dean turns on him with a glare. “I see I made you the wrong offer earlier. Ginger and Mary Anne. Not your type anymore. No, you have a more particular taste now.” Dean’s hands tighten into fists at his sides as a smirk spreads across Zachariah’s face.

“Leave her out of this,” he practically growls. Zachariah lets out a sadistic chuckle before merely snapping his fingers.

************************************************************************

“M.K., you have to eat, Sweetie,” you say, kneeling down next to the chair your daughter is currently occupying. She’s sulking over her plate like she did every day. It had been a month and a half since you’d left Dean and she hadn’t forgiven you yet. You hadn’t forgiven yourself yet.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbles quietly. You sigh and rise to your feet, knowing she’d eat when she wanted to. You run a hand over your stomach as you walk across the kitchen. You were just starting to show, that adorable little baby bump just visible under your shirt. You wanted Dean to be able to see it. You wanted him to be there when you found out what the two of you were having. You wanted him to feel the first kicks. But you’d left and he hadn’t tried to chase you.

“Momma,” M.K. says, fear in her voice. You turn and look at her quickly, finding a strange man standing near the table. Your eyes widen and you hold a hand out for M.K. She runs and stands behind you, peeking around you at the stranger.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. “Only to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” You ask before glancing around the kitchen. The man smiles what you’re sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile.

“You can’t fight me, Y/N,” he says. It was a fact you were already sure of. He definitely wasn’t human and even if he was you didn’t stand a chance.

“Where are you taking us?” You ask again. You were trying to stall and he could tell. He takes a step towards you now and you frown.

“I can’t tell you that. Let’s not do this the hard way, hmmm? Just take my hand,” he tells you, holding his hand out now. “For your children, Y/N.”

“What are you?” You ask, watching him as he takes another step towards the two of you. He smiles again.

“An angel,” he says before reaching out and grabbing your arm.

You blink and find yourself in a new room, M.K. still clinging to your leg. The angel who had brought you, lets go of your arm as you look around. Another angel, one you recognize from the three months you’d spent living with Dean, is smiling at you. Standing between you and him, his back turned towards you, is Dean. His fists are clenched at his sides.

“Thank you, Malachi,” Zachariah says to the other angel. He nods once then disappears. M.K. peeks around you and her eyes widen.

“Daddy??” She asks. You watch as Dean’s shoulders fall and he hangs his head in defeat. He turns slowly and smiles at her, a sadness in his eyes.

“Hey, Baby Girl,” he says. The tears overwhelm her as she runs to his waiting arms. He lifts her up into a tight hug and kisses her temple before locking eyes with you. You bite your lip and he shifts M.K. to one side, holding his other arm open for you. You don’t even hesitate as you rush into his arm, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, kissing your hair.

“I do love a happy reunion,” Zachariah says. Dean’s grip on both of you tightens before he lets you go. He sets M.K. down next to you then turns back to the angel, standing in front of you two protectively.

“Take them home and leave them alone,” he demands. Zachariah smiles and shakes his head.

“That really what you want Dean? I mean, it’s Apocalypse Now. Wouldn’t you rather they be here, protected?” He asks. Dean sets his jaw and closes his eyes for a moment. “You know what? I’ll give you some time alone to talk things over. Go check on my ticking time bomb.” In the blink of an eye, Zachariah disappears. The three of you stand there, silently, for what feels like an eternity. Dean runs his hands over his face then turns to face the two of you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was just trying to keep you safe. I never wanted you to be involved with this,” he tells you, his eyes avoiding yours. You step forward and take his face in your hands.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” you assure him. He shakes his head slightly.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I shoulda kept my distance and not fallen in love with you and M.K. I shoulda left town and never looked –” You cut him off with a quick kiss. He smiles a little as you pull away. “What was that for?” He asks.

“We love you too,” you tell him. He smiles wider and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Holding you close, he presses a quick kiss to your hair.

“I’m gonna get us out of this. I swear,” he says. You nod and pull away from him. He reaches down and places a hand over the tiny bump. For a moment, you think he’s going to cry. He looks back up at you quickly. “Cas,” he calls out. He steps away from you and looks up at the ceiling. “Cas!!”

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asks, suddenly appearing. His eyes land on you and M.K. and he frowns. “What are they doing here?”

“Zachariah brought them,” Dean tells him. Cas shakes his head slowly.

“No, he swore he would leave them out of this. Dean, I’m sorry,” he says. Dean nods slightly, taking a step towards Cas.

“Seems like ol’ Zach can’t exactly be trusted,” he says, his voice dropping low. M.K. reaches up, clasping your hand. You smile down at her reassuringly and run your other hand over your stomach. “Help me end this, Cas. Help me save my family. Get me to Sam. We can stop this before it’s too late. You know where he is?” Cas shakes his head.

“No. But I know someone who does. We’ll have to stop Sam from killing Lilith,” he tells him. Dean frowns and raises an eyebrow in question.

“I thought Lilith was going to break the last seal,” he says. Cas merely shakes his head again, walking over to you and M.K.

“Lilith is the last seal,” he tells him. “Did they hurt you?” He asks. You smile at him and shake your head quickly.

“No, we’re fine,” you tell him. He nods and looks back at Dean now.

“If we attempt to leave, they’ll follow us,” he says. Dean nods and looks around the room, thinking.

“You go find out where Sam is. Come back. Send me there and get them to Bobby’s,” he says, pointing to you and M.K. He looks at you and you nod in agreement, knowing you’ll be safer there. Cas nods once then disappears in the next second. Dean runs his hands over his face.

“Bobby has a panic room. It’s heavily warded. They shouldn’t be able to get you there,” he says. You let go of M.K.’s hand and walk over to Dean. He looks at you now and you glance back at her before dropping your voice low.

“I’m not gonna lie, Dean. I’m scared to death,” you tell him. He frowns and pulls you into his arms quickly.

“I know. I am too. But I’m gonna end this. I just have to get to Sam in time,” he whispers into your hair. You nod and squeeze him slightly.

“Dean,” Cas says, having reappeared. Letting him go, you both turn to face him. “I spoke with Chuck. There’s still time. He did say we’re going – what was his phrase? ‘Off-script’ I believe.”

“Well, hopefully that’s a good thing. Can you handle Zachariah and the others?” He asks. Cas nods and Dean sighs, turning back to you now. He takes your hands in his and squeezes them. “We get this taken care of and, if you’ll still have me, I’m coming home. It’ll be the four of us. You, me, M.K., and our…”

“Son,” Cas says. You both look at him quickly and he nods. “You’re having a boy.” Dean looks back at you now, a big goofy grin on his face.

“A son,” he says. You smile widely and stand up on your toes, pressing your lips against his in a firm kiss.

“We’ll see you soon,” you tell him when you pull away. He nods and lets your hands go before turning to M.K. He wraps her up in a tight hug and kisses her hair. After setting her back down, she takes your hand again. He steps back next to Cas and looks at you both one last time.

“I love you. All three of you,” he says. You smile at him and nod.

“We love you too,” you assure him. Cas turns to him and presses two fingers to his forehead. Dean disappears. The angel rushes to your side now and takes your free hand in his.

“We have to hurry now,” he says. You nod quickly and blink before finding yourself in the middle of Bobby’s study. The old gruff man is sitting at his desk. He jumps up when he sees you all and M.K. smiles over at him.

“Grandpa Bobby!!” She exclaims, running around to him. Bobby continues to stare at you and Cas as he picks her up in his arms.

“What’s going on?” He asks. Cas shakes his head slightly.

“Y/N will explain,” he says before disappearing. You stare at the spot he had been then look back at Bobby.

“Dean said you had a panic room?” You ask. Bobby nods and leads the way down to the basement quickly. He opens the secured vault door and you all three step inside.

“What’s happening?” He asks as he sets M.K. down on the cot in the middle of the room. You sigh and run your hands over your face.

“I honestly don’t have much of an idea. Dean’s going to stop Sam from killing Lilith,” you tell him. Bobby frowns more.

“Stop him?” He asks. You nod quickly.

“Cas said that she’s the last seal. Whatever that means,” you say, panic coming through your voice. Bobby nods as he watches you then takes your arm gently.

“I think you need to sit down,” he says, leading you to the cot as well. You take a seat next to M.K. and she crawls into your lap. Your arms wrap around her tight as you start to rock back and forth.

“He can do this, right? He can stop Sam?” You ask, looking up at Bobby again. He shrugs his shoulders once.

“If anyone can talk Sam down, it’s Dean,” he says. You squeeze your eyes closed tight and hold on to your little girl as Bobby closes the door of the panic room.

************************************************************************

Dean looks around, trying to make out anything he can in the dark. Cas had sent him to the side of the road somewhere and he’s just starting to think Chuck was wrong when a car pulls over across the street. Dean can just make out the two figures that emerge from the vehicle, one his brother and the other the demon he’d been running around with.

Sam pulls his phone from his pocket as he walks away from the car. Ruby throws her arms out in exasperation as she stops near the trunk.

“Sam, it’s time. Are we doing this or not?” She calls to him. Sam looks back at her.

“Give me a minute to think,” he tells her. She rolls her eyes.

“Sam,” she starts but he cuts her off with a sharp glare.

“Give me a damn minute, Ruby!” He shouts to her. She holds her hands up in surrender then leans back against the car. Dean starts towards them quickly.

“Sam!!” He calls out. Both Sam and Ruby turn towards him. She lets out a growl.

“He’s here to stop us,” she says, looking back at Sam. Sam looks at her, conflicted, as Dean comes up beside the car. He stops when he hears the screams coming from the trunk and looks at his brother.

“You got someone in there?” He asks. Sam goes to answer but Ruby cuts him off.

“A demon. Not your concern,” she says, crossing her arms. Dean glares at her then looks back at his brother.

“Hey, Sammy. You gotta stop this, okay? Ruby’s lying to you. You kill Lilith and that’s the last seal. The apocalypse starts. The angels were lying to me too. They wanted this whole thing to happen. They want Armageddon,” he says. Sam’s brows furrow in confusion and he shakes his head slowly.

“That – that doesn’t…” He stops and Dean nods his head.

“Doesn’t make sense? Come on, Man. We’re trusting angels and demons over each other right now? We are all that each other have had our entire lives. Me and you, Sam. I need you to trust me right now. I’m sorry for that crap I said earlier, I am. Cause we’re family and there isn’t a damn thing that can change that,” he says. Ruby turns to Sam quickly.

“Don’t listen to him, Sam. We’re trying to save the world here. Remember all the pain that Lilith has caused? Sending Dean to Hell?” She asks. Sam watches Dean the entire time she speaks. The woman continues to scream and beat at the trunk, begging for mercy. Sam shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes. “Sam!!”

“Shut up!!” Sam says, pushing her away from him. She stumbles back a few steps then turns to face Dean, glaring at him.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” she practically growls before taking a swing at him, making contact with his jaw. Dean runs a hand over the spot slowly then looks back at her.

“That was a mistake,” he says. He pulls the demon killing knife from the inside of his jacket and she scoffs a laugh.

“You really think I’m gonna let you get close enough to use that thing?” She asks, taking a step back. Sam grabs her arms quickly, holding her in place, and she looks up at him. “No,” she says, trying to fight out of his grasp. Dean advances on her quickly and plunges the knife into her gut. She lets out one last scream before Sam drops her dead body on the side of the road.

Read Piece by Piece Pt. 12 here.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Calling A Professional, part a

Series: Professional, part 1a

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Synopsis: 'You' are a career-oriented young Omega too preoccupied with school to have a dating life. Your image-oriented family decide enough is enough and give you a screamingly inappropriate present -- a night with a full-service Alpha escort, emphasis on full. And stuff happens.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Sam Winchester, Zachariah, Balthazar, Gabriel, Naomi, Castiel, Benny LaFitte, Arthur Ketch, Abbadon, Becky Rosen, Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha Zachariah, Alpha Balthazar, Alpha Gabriel, Alpha Castiel, Beta Benny LaFitte, Alpha Abbadon, Omega Jessica Moore, Charlie Bradbury, Billie the Reaper, First Time, Sex Worker Dean Winchester

AN:  Blame the walking talking PWP device that is Dean Winchester. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

“Are you kidding?”

Your cousin Rebecca shakes her head, flying that damn blonde mane all over the place.  Glaring, you wave a breeze past your nose.  Rebecca’s between boys again and she’s broadcasting interest signals to every Alpha within smelling range.  You check your watch.  God dammit, as it is you’re going to have to sacrifice another hour of sleep because this was supposed to be your study hour.  You do not have time to do lunch.

Except Rebecca’s speaking on behalf of one of the Family heads, an Alpha you’re supposed to call Uncle Zachariah.  You know him mostly as a signature on your tuition checks.  He’s not exactly pleased that you’re working on a degree instead of chasing a good Alpha but he’s never objected.

Apparently his patience has limits.

“Look, this service has an impeccable reputation--"

“I do not have time for this.”

“Make time, babyboo.”

You grind your teeth.  “Do not call me that.”

“Quit behaving like a child,” Rebecca says.  “Daddy made it clear.  Maybe it was okay to play it like you’re the cerebral ice princess when you were sixteen but you’re a grown Omega now.  People see you -- no Alpha, not dating, working all the time -- and they talk.”

No concern about your well-being or what you actually want, of course.  Once again you curse the absurd twist of genetics that caused you -- a surprise pregnancy between a couple of middle-aged Betas divorced from terrible first marriages -- to Present as Omega.  Things are expected of you, if you want to achieve your quietly ambitious goal of a scholar’s life without having to assume a mountain of debt.

“You hired a for-God’s-sake prostitute--"

“Escort, babe!”

“Someone receiving financial remuneration for sexual activities is a prostitute,” you say.  Because that’s what this is about; you have Alpha friends who’ll happily squire you around formal occasions just for the networking opportunities.  It’s making the conservative generation of the Family nervous that a healthy Omega with a legitimate blood tie is running around without making herself available to the right sort of Alphas, and as far as they know you’re still a virgin.

Which is correct.  That moment, when an Omega catches a scent from a compatible Alpha, gets all soft and slick and ready for mounting?  That’s never happened.  Certainly not with the frequency it happens to any of your Omega cousins.  Anael seems to fall in love every other month on average.  It all strikes you as ridiculous and it’d be nice to tell the Family to go to Hell and let you alone.

You’re more pragmatic than that.

“Look, it’s already set up,” Rebecca reminds you.  “There’s really nothing to be worried about.  It’s one party.  You and the escort get a chance to get to know each other.  Then he gets a call the next time you go into heat.”

“This is so humiliating,” you say.

Rebecca reaches across the table.  You yearn to throw your glass of water in her face but refrain.  She really is trying to be sympathetic.  “There’s nothing to be scared of.  Daddy told me this agency has Alphas that specialize in first timers.  All you have to do is relax.”

“Not helping,” you say.

“Just do it,” she sighs.  Because that’s what everything from the Family boils down to.  “You don’t have to enjoy it, but just do it.  Once it’s over Daddy and Great-Aunt Naomi will find something else to obsess over and you can go back to doing,” she waves a hand, making her bracelets rattle and her rings sparkle, “whatever it is you do.”

“It’s called anthropology,” you grumble as the waiter serves your quiche.  Rebecca tips her head and the waiter helps himself to a discrete noseful of her scent.

Disgusting.

---

A week later you’re dressing in your favorite gown and tying your hair up.  It’s Great-Aunt Naomi’s birthday party and you’re obliged to show up for a few hours and let yourself be counted amongst the Family’s membership roster.

If that were all, you’d be fine.  Take the chance to catch up with the least boring of your relatives.  But this is the night the guy your uncle’s paying to deflower you is coming to meet you.  And you’re nervous.

You open the portfolio sent by the agency.  The contract is a dense block of gobbledygook.  Someone’s highlighted the salient points, specifically in case you don’t feel absolutely comfortable and safe you can always terminate the service on the spot.  How the hell that’s supposed to work in the middle of a heat cycle, you have no idea.  Your heats are short but once you’re riding the tide your brain is good for nothing.

The opposite page has a profile of the specific professional who drew the short straw:

WINCHESTER, Dean M.  Six-foot-one, 190 pounds, brown hair, green eyes.  Cute enough, going by the snapshot paperclipped to the profile sheet.  There’s also a scrap of fabric tucked into a little pouch, a scent article that smells mostly like leather.

He’s also several years older, no higher education, and from his list of interests you anticipate a deep conversation about sports.  God damn your designation anyway.  If you were a Beta nobody would care if or who shared your bed.

“Bonsoir, cherie.”  Uncle Balthazar taps on the powder room door.  You’re staying at his condo while he spends most of his time abroad.  He’s volunteered to be there when your escort shows up, just in case.  “Are you ready darling?  I just heard the most awful racket from the garage and Harold tells me that’s your date.”

“Not my date,” you correct.  “My hooker.”

Uncle Balthazar winces.  “Mind your manners young lady.  It’s not the gentleman’s fault Zachariah has no sense of the appropriate.”

“I know,” you say.

Uncle Balthazar gives you an arm as you step into your highest heels.  “Darling, hold your head high and shine like the treasure you are and you’ll be fine.  I’ll be waiting in the sitting room.”

As he leaves you check the mirror.  Everything is in place and from photo distance you look like you belong amongst the Family rich and powerful.  With a little luck you’ll be back in time to get a little work done before going to bed.

“There she is!” Uncle Balthazar says as you stride into the sitting room.  There’s a man in black tie standing next to him.  “You look exquisite, my dear,” Uncle Balthazar brings you near with a light touch on your back and kisses your cheek.  “This fascinating gentleman is Dean Winchester.”

“How do you do?” you offer your hand.

Your gigolo takes it and brings it to his lips.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

The photograph does not do him justice, is all you can think as his eyes meet yours.  They’re green, all right, like spruce needles or forest moss or dark jade but not really like any if those things.  They study you with a warmth.  Delight, like this isn’t a business transaction and you’re the best surprise he’s ever seen.  His hand is warm, and his full pink lips are soft against your skin.  The touch sparks, like flint on steel.

“Yes, well,” Uncle Balthazar clears his throat.  “I’m going to go pick your aunt up.  I’ll see you at the party.  Au revoir ma petite.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean blinks like he’s just waking up from a trance.  “Come on, my car’s downstairs.  Let’s get going.”

“Yeah, of course, right,” you shake yourself, taking Dean’s offered arm.  Closer proximity doesn’t help, because now you can catch his scent.  He’s sweet, all caramelizing fruits and hardwood smoke and leather.  A hazy picture floats through your mind, one with less clothes and more heat and you on all fours arched and wailing as--

“Oh merde,” you say under your breath.

---

The car is an old but impeccably clean black Chevrolet.  You know nothing about cars but fall in love with this one immediately because the inside is saturated with Dean’s scent.  Warm and sweet and it’s working on your mind and body in ways you were not prepared for.

“Uht-oh, the vultures are circling,” Dean says as he pulls up to the hotel.  Sure enough there’s a gaggle of photographers perched behind velvet ropes.

“Lovely.  The more pictures they get now the more they’ll ignore me later,” you say.

“Not your first rodeo?”

“Very far from it,” you tell him dryly.

Dean accepts a token from the valet and gets out.  Waving aside the kid in uniform going for your door, he opens it himself and hands you out, standing just far enough back to be out of focus as flashbulbs pop around you.  You do the little half turn pretending to adjust the strap of your bag, and right on cue Dean steps up with his arm cocked.  He sets a leisurely pace, facing forward with a blank expression, letting you draw the eyes.

“Not your first rodeo either?” you ask in a low voice as the photographers focus on the next arrival.

“Nope,” he says, shrugging.  “Usually when I take clients to these kinds of parties, I hang out with the bartender, eat my weight in finger sandwiches, and try not to start food fights.”

You cough out a giggle at the mental image of your cousin Castiel launching a pie into Great-Aunt Naomi’s face.  “You can do that if you want,” you tell him.  “I mean except for the food fight part.  I’m used to entertaining myself at these things.”

“Nah,” Dean says.  “I want to see if I can hear you laugh some more.  You’ve got a great laugh.”

He keeps doing that.  Giving you little compliments like statements of the obvious.  Like how pretty you look with your hair up.  And an impressed, “Awesome!” when you tell him you graduated high school two years early.  And when you try to brush off what you study as boring stuff, he looks you in the eye and says, “Anything you want to talk about, I want to listen.  I’m interested.  I’m fascinated.”  He’s either the best damn actor in the world . . . or he’s being completely sincere.

Something else is happening too.  Assorted relatives keep orbiting by, insisting you introduce them to Dean.  He identifies himself as your date and nothing else.  He barely looks at them, even ones like your cousins Toni and Bela and Annmarie, Omegas firing off interest signals like fireworks.  He speaks when spoken to, can participate in conversations, but he keeps orienting on you like no one else is real to him.

Or so you imagine because that’s how you feel.  The low-level paranoia that makes events like this an unpleasant chore isn’t there.  Not when Dean keeps touching your arm or your back.  During the dinner part of the party, as your cousins do their thing around your assigned table, Dean keeps holding up morsels of his food for you to try, keeps sneaking bits off your plate.  It’s an intimate thing to do and doesn’t feel out of place at all.  You wish you were alone, just the two of you.

You stiffen when you hear your name.  It’s Zachariah, and the way he’s looking at you makes your skin crawl.  “Enjoying the party?”

“Of course,” you say.  Just listen and nod in the right places, you remember your mother coaching you as a child.  Your Uncle Zachariah likes to think he’s in control.  Give him that and he’ll leave you alone.

“Good, that’s good,” he nods.  One hand goes on your arm, the other goes on Dean’s, and he leans in close.  “Just wanted to make sure you kids were hitting it off,” he says, shaking you in what probably feels like a gesture of affection to him but feels intrusive to you.

“Mr. Adler,” Dean says, and the cold formality of his tone is jarring compared to the easy and pleasant affect he’s had so far.  “We’re fine, thank you.”

Uncle Zachariah’s smile curdles a bit.  “You’re in good hands,” he tells you, and you unconsciously draw back.  His hand cups the back of your neck and the part of you that’s been basking in the warmth of Dean’s attention all evening recoils like a startled snake.  “The agency tells me Dean’s the best they have with first timers.”

It’s not like everybody in the Family doesn’t know.  Your cousins gossip worse than retirees at their favorite diner on weekday mornings.  But to have it tossed back in your face-- you honestly want to throw up.

Abruptly Dean stands.  Conversation for ten feet around goes quiet.  Brushing back Zachariah he pulls you to your feet.  “I think I could use a drink.  Don’t you.”

You nod, and when Dean puts an arm across your shoulders you press closer.  Dean’s warm, sweet scent chases away the cold chills and the instinct to run and hide.  Alpha will protect you, those instincts say, and you’re too freaked out to retort that you can protect yourself, thank you very much.

Dean leads you to a smaller secondary bar tucked in a shadowy corner of the ballroom.  “Tequila, straight,” he tells the bartender.

“Make it two,” you say.

“Woah,” Dean says.  “No way you’re old enough to drink.”

“I’ve been taking wine with dinner since I was twelve Dean.  I could probably outdrink you.”

The bartender serves it up without a word and you both slam it back.  The liquor acts like a slap in the face, clearing your head a little.

“This probably isn’t any of my business,” says the Alpha that’s getting paid to pop your cherry, “but does he usually pull that kind of shit with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean does a double-take.  “You’ve never had an Alpha come on to you like that?”

“Like what?” you ask, getting a little irritated.

“Babygirl when an Alpha starts rubbing the back of your neck like that it’s a dominance display.”  Dean gently lays his hand in that same place.  He applies just a little pressure and oh God, your heart starts slamming in your chest and you can feel slick at the tops of your thighs.

“Stop that,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says and backs off.  Part of you cries out, wants to leap into his arms, bare your throat, your body, everything.  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Why stop now?”

“You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you work hard and kick ass.  Why are you putting up with,” Dean flicks a hand at the party proper, “this shit?”

“You tell me.  Why’s an intelligent good-looking guy like yourself turning tricks?”

Dean flinches.  The anger in his eyes almost spurs you into a run, but there’s something else lurking at the edges.  Shame?  Disappointment?  “I’m sorry,” you backpedal.  “It’s none of my business.”

“There aren’t many jobs for high school dropouts that let a guy gross eighty K a year, and I’ve got a father in assisted living and a brother in law school,” Dean tells you in a flat just-the-facts monotone.

You laugh without much humor.  “I’m aiming for a doctorate, the Family pays for my education, and Zachariah controls the money.  I’m ineligible for financial aid because my mother was an Adler of the Grand Rapids Adlers and student loans would put me in debt until I turn five hundred.”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment.

“You wanna go out, get some air?” Dean runs up the Truce flag.

“So bad.”

---

Outside the fall air is cool and smells like peace.    You lead the way to the back end of the hotel courtyard, where there’re benches looking across the river.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again.  “I got no high ground to stand on when it comes to how anybody makes money.”

Dean huffs out an unamused little ha.  “My dad still thinks I hustle pool and scam credit cards for a living.  If he knew I work for an escort service he’d have a heart attack.  Then come back to life and shoot me.  Then have another heart attack.”

“Aren’t you worried he’ll see you on one of those daytime tabloid shows?”

“Nah.  Dad only pays attention to the ABCs.  Automobiles, Booze and Cowboys.”  Dean pauses, looking across the river at the softly lit rotunda of the museum.  “Doing this means Dad can stay in a good place and Sam doesn’t have to hold down a job while he’s at school.  Once he graduates, he’ll be able to start helping with Dad’s bills and I can quit and do something else.  Or keep doing it and retire young.  I dunno.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

“I’m not, just thinking out loud I guess.”  A breeze blows in from the west and you shiver as it pulls gooseflesh from your bare arms and back.  “Oh, here,” Dean says, shucking out of his tuxedo jacket and draping it over you.  His arm goes over your shoulders and you let him cuddle you close.  It’s easier to see now, the firm layers of muscle on his arm and chest, how small your body is by comparison.

There it is again, that melting feeling deep in your core.  A part of you that only comes alive in your heat cycles is awake now, making you want to curl around Alpha the way a cat curls up in a friendly lap.  You’d purr if you could roll an R.

You feel Dean’s chest rise as he takes a deep breath.  “You’re not used to having someone take care of you, are you?” he asks.

“I can take care of myself,” you say, but it doesn’t have the hard snap it usually does when you point that out.

“Yeah I can see that.  That’s not my point.  You looked scared to death in there, but you didn’t look around for help.  How long have you been dealing with his crap on your own?”

You shudder, and Dean pulls you closer.  “I barely know Zachariah.  I only see him at events like this and when I have to give him my schedule every semester.  He pays for my tuition, so I have to at least be nice to him.”

“Fuck.”  Dean’s quicker than he lets on.  “I just dropped a damn mess in your lap didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault.  Look,” you say, trying to push past the way being in his arms makes you feel warm and alive and wanting, “if you want to back out, I’ll make sure you still get paid.  It’s pretty clear Zachariah didn’t give a damn about me or the Family.  He . . . I don’t know what he wants.”

“I got a pretty goddamned good idea.  When you get home, check for cameras.”

You shudder again, feeling sick.

“You also might want to talk to a lawyer about your options as far as family money.  An independent lawyer.  You get me?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, Zachariah isn’t the one calling the shots.  You are,” Dean says.  “Do something for me, would you please?”

“Okay.”

“Close your eyes.”

You do.

“Just breathe with me a minute.  There’s nobody else here, just us.”  Dean lets the quiet hang.  He tips his head to rest on top of yours, taking your scent.  His own Alpha scent gets stronger, more complex.  More delicious.  “Pretend we just met.  It’s up to you, where we go from here.  If it’s what you want, I’ll take you home right now and you’ll never see me again--"

“No.”  You open your eyes and turn your head, meeting Dean’s surprised look.  “No I don’t want that.”

“Oh thank God, me neither,” Dean breathes and presses his mouth to yours.

You’ve been kissed before, and mostly it felt gross.  This is not that.  The only thing you can think is soft.  One of his hands cups the back of your neck and you sigh into his mouth at the way you go soft and slick under the touch.  The picture in your mind is in sharper focus now, now that you know Dean’s palms are a little rough and how his lips taste.  How would-- how will that feel when you’re in heat and every sensation jumps by a factor of ten?  “Oh God,” you whimper.

Dean pulls back and smiles.  “Dean’s fine, babygirl.”

You swat at his chest, giggling.  “No egotism in your family.”

“When you’re as great as I am,” Dean tells you, trying to keep a straight face and not quite making it, “it’s hard to be humble.”

You burst out laughing.

“Oh, share the fun?”  Uncle Balthazar, his dark red silk shirt open at the throat and smelling strongly like Aunt Anna’s perfume strolls up.

“Inside joke,” you tell him.

“Already?”  He smiles down at you.  “Just came over to tell you not to wait up.  I got a call from Gabriel.  I have to catch a flight to Madrid in a few hours.”  He makes a face.  “God, I despise Spain this time of year.”

“Did they make the toast already?”

“Yeah.  If you want to make a discrete exit now would be the time.”  He pecks your cheek, frowns, sniffs.  “My goodness.  May I suggest a quick dip in the river before you go?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not entirely joking, ma cherie.”  Is he blushing?  In the dark it’s hard to tell.  Uncle Balthazar turns his attention to Dean.  “It goes without saying that if you hurt our darling girl in any way I’ll have your legs broken, yes?”

“Understood,” Dean answers.

“Splendid.  I’ll call in a few days.  Goodnight sweetheart,” he smiles at you and strolls away, whistling Hall of the Mountain King.

“He’s right,” you say, trying again to behave like you don’t want to climb Dean like a curtain.  “We can sneak out through the access alley that comes out by the old post office.”

Dean frowns thoughtfully, one finger waggling as he takes his bearings.  “Got it.”

You stand.  Dean doesn’t.  “Come on, we gotta get before the valets get busy.”

“Gimme a minute,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.

“Why?  What’s wrong?”

“God,” he says to himself, looking down into your confused face, “you have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me do you?”  At your very eloquent ‘huh?’ Dean pulls you tight to him and kisses you.  Reflexively you stretch to try and match his height, and Dean groans as your belly drags over the bulge at the front of his pants.

Blushing as your blood turns to lava, you say, “I’m sorry?  I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Never,” Dean says, “ever, ever, apologize to me for getting me hot.”

“H-ha-have you been like that all night?” you stutter.

“More or less.”  Gently pushing you back to arm’s length, Dean puts his arm across his face and takes several deep breaths.  “Okay.  I’m okay.  Let’s get out of here.”

---

You keep it together up until the elevator to Uncle Balthazar’s condo opens on the foyer.  Dean takes his jacket back and puts his face in the fabric, smelling your mingled scents.  “I’m never getting this damn thing cleaned again.”

“I will not be your excuse for dirty laundry, Alpha,” you say without thinking.

Dean’s smile widens.  “I could get used to hearing that,” he tells you, pulling you close for another kiss.

What was probably intended as an affectionate good night turns into something else, as the simple facts of safety and privacy make themselves known.  Dean backs you into a wall as your legs go weak.  He bends his knees and you moan as that bulge rubs exactly where you need it.  For the first time in your life you wish you were in heat, right now, Presenting, taking Alpha’s knot.

“Put your hands behind my neck-- good girl,” Dean says.  Your dress has a slit up the left leg; Dean pushes it up until the slit starts at your hip and reaches through.  “Fuck,” he breathes when he feels your slick sliding down your thigh, “you’re dripping for me, aren’t you babygirl?”

“Yes,” you whimper.  “Yes Alpha.”

“Tilt your hips up a little-- other way.  Let me get at that pussy.  Good girl, just like that,” Dean says, and you gasp as he touches you there, gentle pressure through the fabric of your panties.  You’ve tried doing that for yourself a few times but it never felt like this, nothing like this.

“Do you like this?” Dean asks.  “Does it feel good?  You have to tell me babygirl, I can’t read your mind.  Be a good girl and tell me.”

“Feels good,” you say through a tight throat.  “Feels so good, Alpha.”

“Makes your pussy feel good?”  You nod, biting your lip.  “Say it babygirl, tell me I’m making your pussy feel good.”

“Making my pussy feel so good,” you whine, being a good girl for Alpha.  Just the idea, being a good girl for Alpha, makes you weak, makes you want to fall to the floor and Present right now, let Alpha take you right there next to the umbrella stand and whatnot table.  “Please,” you moan, feeling the bliss adding and multiplying and clinging to Dean otherwise you’re going to fly apart.  “Please Alpha--”

“Come for me Omega, be a good girl and come in your panties for me.”  You choke on a whimpering howl as the coil in your middle snaps and pure pleasure floods every cell in your body.  Dean kisses you through it, swallowing all your moans and whines.

“Shhh, quiet babygirl,” Dean says as you beg him for anything, everything, just more.  “You need to get a shower and get some sleep and I need to go.”

“No Alpha, please, I need you, I need your knot, please--”

“Shhhh.”  He holds you until your body stops shaking, until your legs can hold you up on their own.  “It’s okay Omega.  I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I need you now,” you beg.

“If I get inside you right now,” Dean tells you, his voice hoarse, “I’ll last for almost ten whole seconds.  And to take care of you the way I want to, I’m going to need to be better than ten seconds.”  He gulps.  “A lot better.”

“No,” you moan as he puts your hands back down at your sides and sinks to his knees.  Your panties slither down your shaking legs and you almost fall taking your feet out of them.  Your pussy clenches and fresh slick floods out of you as Dean noses you through your dress, and from the look in his eyes it’s causing him physical pain to tear himself away from you.

“It’s okay,” he says, pulling you into a hug and kissing you, deep and desperate.  “Be good for me, go in and get some sleep.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And he’s gone, stuffing your slicked panties into his pocket.

---

The next day you float through your TA hours for Professor Visnyak and writhe through your Issues In Classical Archeology lecture, mind full of Dean and body longing for same.  In the cold routine of your life as usual he doesn’t seem real, like you were visited by some fairy prince with a taste for virgin Omegas.  You keep catching yourself sniffing at the air, searching for Dean’s sweet, smoky Alpha scent.

Your phone beeps a notification as you grind through a stack of Geology papers written by freshmen with zero interest in the topic, nibbling at a sad excuse for a Caesar salad and wielding a red pen like a Sith lightsaber.  Thinking it’s your father confirming he made it to Florida with the rest of the snowbirds you swipe the unlock and damn near drop the phone when you see a selfie of Dean posed next to the open hood of his car.  You barely believe it but in casual clothes and sporting some whiskers he’s even more handsome, and you thank God for the foresight that caused you to wear a liner in your panties today and double up on the scent blockers.

hi bbygrl

changing babys oil

whatre u up to?

Giggling, you lay your head on the pile of papers covering the TA’s desk and pose like you’d fainted, red pen clutched in your hand.

Grading.

Barf.

You set your phone down and go back to work, but a moment later it chimes again.

giv all As

less time, students luv u

After a moment’s thought, you type.

And miss making freshmen business majors suffer?  Can’t do it.

A second later, Dean replies.

as u were

(devil face)

---

RU on FB?

Yes but I barely use it.

When he asks you text your username.  The app on your phone chirps with a notification-- DM Winchester wants to be Friends.  Smiling, you accept the request.

would u do something 4 me?

Depends.  What?

take a picture every day

doesn’t hav 2B selfie

just whatevr ur doing or looking at right then

hav 2 go out of town a few days

might not B able to text every day

Out of town?  Why?

family bizness

10 hr drive to ks

HATE flying

do that 4 me?

Okay.  Why?  My life’s boring.

The three little I’m thinking bubbles bounce for several minutes before Dean’s answer pops up.

not 2 me

bbygrl

(kiss face)

---

Another thing Dean said to you on the bench that night’s been bouncing around in your head.  You’ve always just sort of taken everybody’s word for it that Family money is accessible to you, but only under certain conditions and only if somebody else approves.  When you posit the question -- in carefully worded hypotheticals on a Q&A forum run by the university law department -- the answer comes back to consult a specialist in inheritance law to be sure, but since you’re eighteen now and legally an adult, that might not be the case anymore.

You also do some reading on Alpha-typical body language.  Because you had to be overreacting, right?  Zachariah had just caught you in a strange mood, Omega instincts working like they’re supposed to for the first time in your life and preening under Dean’s focused attention.  But the more you read, the colder and more repulsed you feel.

“You’re awfully quiet.  Is something the matter?”

Screwing up your nerve, you ask, “Uncle Balthazar, do you know if Mother made arrangements for me in her will?”

“Of course she did dear, she met with Chuck’s people when she first got sick and had everything put in order.  You’ll never want for anything, she made sure of that.  Why do you ask?”

You hesitate.  “Why did Zachariah really pay for Dean to go out with me?”

Uncle Balthazar sighs.  “Sweetheart he was worried.  We all were.  It isn’t normal for a young and healthy Omega like you to show zero interest in Alphas.  He thought that once you’d had a complete heat, whatever the problem was would sort itself out.”

“I looked it up.  According to the doctor’s guidelines being a virgin isn’t something to be worried about unless an Omega’s almost thirty, not eighteen!  And the way Rebecca talked-- I mean, she didn’t come right out and say Zachariah would cut me off if I didn’t do it but she didn’t have to.  And as far as making people talk, compared to the crap Uncle Gabriel gets up to, me being a frigid bore isn’t news.”

Uncle Balthazar doesn’t say anything.  You sag against the kitchen counter, the strength going out of your legs.  God you wish Dean were here, warm and solid and safe.  The Omega in you craves Alpha’s protection, and you don’t like it but the rational parts of you agree right now.

“Uncle Balthazar--”

“This isn’t something we should discuss over the phone, cherie.  Your Uncle Gabriel and I are flying back to Michigan.  We’ll be there tomorrow morning.  Can you meet us for breakfast?”

You mentally reshuffle your day.  “I think so.  At the café?”  The café is the tearoom overlooking the river in the hotel owned by the Family.  Everybody eats there.

“No, we need somewhere we won’t be paid attention to.  That luncheonette in Caledonia Gabe likes, eight AM tomorrow.  We’ll see you there.”

You just stand there speechless, the hum of a broken connection ringing in your ear.

---

Later that day you’re bent over a table in the library, grinding through your Introduction to Statistics homework and listening to Mindless Self Indulgence.

Your phone vibrates.  It's Dean-- where r u?

Campus library.  Stats homework.

Kill me now.

nope.

bad luck to kill someone when ur holding their underwear

(leering face)

You gasp, covering your mouth when you see dirty looks coming from the other students.

DEAN!

A hand taps your shoulder and you almost hop straight to Heaven.  Dean's got a hand over his mouth turning red from holding in a huge laugh.  You drop your Statistics text and throw your arms around his neck, kissing the laugh right out of his mouth.

Some sarcastic soul starts a round of applause.

"Thank you, thank you, you're a wonderful crowd, try the veal, tip your waiter," Dean says, waving it off.  “I come bearing caffeine,” he tells you, plunking a carrying caddy with two big cups and a baggie full of sugar and creamer and flavoring packets on the table.

“Oh bitter fuel of life, come to me,” you sigh, grabbing one of the cups and taking a long sip of the hot black liquid.

“You take it black,” Dean says, like he’s making a mental note.

“Just like my metal,” you cap the line, but not surprisingly Dean doesn’t catch it.

“Quick-- favorite Led Zeppelin song,” Dean says.

“Houses of the Holy,” you say without thinking.  “Yours?”

“Ramble On.  Can you take a break?  Just for a few minutes?”

“Sure, I was about done here anyway,” you say, packing your stuff.

---

“This is where you took your picture day before yesterday isn’t it?” Dean asks as you walk with him across the pedestrian bridge spanning a deep crease in the earth cut when the glaciers retreated.  Far below a streamlet of rain runoff flows down into a storm drain.  The trees growing on the edges of each slope are in full color, brilliant oranges and yellows and one maple tree that turns purple-red every year.  Dean points to it.  “I recognize that tree.”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You sit on a bench set against the bridge railing.  Dean doesn’t sit with you.  Instead he goes to his knees in front of you and wraps you in his arms, nose pressed against the side of your neck.  You breathe him in and shut your eyes as Alpha’s scent wraps your spirit in warmth.  You turn your head and Dean’s right there, meeting your lips in a tender kiss.

“Missed you,” Dean says.

“Me too,” you admit.  “A lot.”  It’s been two weeks and feels like a million fucking years.

You put your hands on either side of Dean’s face, feeling his afternoon scruff scrape your palms.  In daylight he looks even more gorgeous than he did that night, sunshine picking up golden and coppery tones in his hair and bringing out amber tones in his green eyes.  But there’re deep shadows under his eyes and his skin is too pale.  You’ve spent too much time around people functioning on caffeine and stress to miss the signs.  “Are you okay?  You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Good guess.  I’ve been driving since four this morning.  I gotta go home and crash but I wanted to see you first.”

“Aw,” you kiss him again, smiling.  “I can spare an hour until my next class if you want to grab a snack or something.”

“I can’t babygirl  I’ve gotta get a few hours rack time.  I got a job tonight.”

You stiffen.  The reminder of just what it is Dean does for a living feels like a faceful of icy water.

Dean’s arms are firm around you and before you can get up enough torque to really struggle he clarifies, “Not that kind of job.  It’s a bodyguard gig.”

“Oh.”  You hang your head.  It’s not like you didn’t know the score, and you’re both adults, and it’s really not appropriate for an Omega to get possessive.  You’ve known Dean a grand total of a fortnight and change.  You don’t have any special claim on his time.  Or his body.

Like hell I don’t, that Omega-voice says, quiet but steely.

“Bodyguard?”

“I spent a few years in the Army.  I got good reflexes, I’m a dead shot, and I can do double-duty as arm candy.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly.  “It’s not really any of my business.”

“Before you ask,” Dean says, “I take the other kind of gigs because the pay is about ten times better and there’s a lot more demand.”

Assuming Dean can’t talk about his job particulars, you change the subject.  “Can you meet me tomorrow for, I dunno, lunch or dinner or something?”

“I should be back in town after seven.  We could get something to eat, sure.”  Dean sits back on his heels, your hands held in his.  “Is something wrong babygirl?”

Briefly you explain what you’d found out poking around online.  “I tried to talk to Uncle Balthazar about it but he told me he didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

Dean swears.  “I hate it when you’re right Sammy,” he grumbles.

"What?"

"I mentioned my brother's in law school, right?"  You nod.  "Last time I talked to him I asked him whether or not you could get locked out of any family trusts after you turned eighteen."

"From what I found, I need to talk to an actual lawyer for a definitive answer," you say.

"That's what he said too, but he pointed something else out."  Dean squeezes your hands.  "Look, I hope I'm wrong about your uncle.  I . . . I could've been overreacting, I really don't like watching Alphas act like that around Omegas.  Especially when it's family."

"But," you prompt.

Dean sighs.  "Imagine how it looks to anybody who doesn't know you.  Grew up rich--"

"Not hardly."

"Let me finish.  By the standards of people who make up most of the taxpaying public around here you grew up with a silver spoon up your butt, okay?"

You roll your eyes but concede his point.

"Never been in a serious relationship, never been in a casual relationship," Dean goes on.  "From the info Mr. Adler provided, you've barely even dated.  Then you go out in public with a," he grimaces a little, you're not sure he knows he's doing it, "professional escort once, and all of a sudden you want access to the family checkbook?"

You feel your face drop in shock.  You'd thought your parents raised you as a rational, skeptical, borderline cynical person.  Not even close.  "To anyone who doesn't know me," you echo Dean's phrasing, "I either look impossibly naive or like a greedy bitch.  Emphasis bitch.  And you look--"

"--like a knothead asshole taking advantage of an Omega kid with a crush."  Dean smiles into your ashamed face.  "Don't worry about me babygirl, I can take care of my own reputation.  Such as it is.  I'm just saying, until you know for sure whether or not your uncle's trying to do something shady--"

"--I probably shouldn't be talking to you about it," you finish.  You feel like you need to curl up and cry.  The list of friends you can take something like this to doesn't exist; the few who don't have some sort of connection to the Family, you don't feel you know them well enough to confide in.  Not something like this.

"Hey," Dean says softly, brushing a hank of hair back off your face, palming your jaw.  "Whatever happens, I got your back.  Count on that."

"I do," you say, meaning it.  "Meet me anyway?  I just . . ." you laugh a little helplessly, "I don't care if all we do is fall asleep on the couch watching the Lions lose."

Dean looks down a second, his Adam's apple bobbing on a gulp.  When he looks into your eyes again, your mouth goes dry.  "Babygirl.  The next time I get you in private, we will not be sleeping."

---

You're still flushed from all the thoughts that sentence put in your head as you walk into the Salt Shaker Grill the next morning and find Uncle Balthazar and Uncle Gabriel at the corner table.  With them, to your surprise, is your cousin Castiel. 

"Darling," Uncle Balthazar says, standing and kissing your cheek.  "You look well.  Infatuation agrees with you."

"Yeah, you're all pink and glowy," Uncle Gabriel adds with a sardonic little grin.  "Who are you and what've you done with our girl?"

"Up yours Uncle Gabe," you say.

"I took the liberty," Uncle Balthazar says, pointing to a plate heavy with bacon and eggs, toast on the side.  "You hardly eat enough to keep a mosquito alive."

"Okay kiddo," Uncle Gabriel says after giving you a minute with your breakfast.  "Before we tell you why we wanted to talk face-to-face, I need you to be honest with me.  Okay?"

"Sure Uncle Gabe," you say.

"What exactly happened, to make you ask Balthy why Zach went and hired an escort for you?"

You explain about the incident at Great-Aunt Naomi's birthday gala.  When you tell about how Zachariah touched your neck, Uncle Balthazar interrupts, "Show me how he touched you, love."

You put your hand just under where your neck becomes your skull and squeeze.  The Alphas at the table exchange a look.  "I thought I was just-- I don't know, maybe the shrimp wasn't agreeing with me?  Dean told me Alphas do that as a dominance gesture."

"Yes they do," Uncle Balthazar says.  "Pressure, right in those spots," he rubs just behind one ear, "stimulates the pheromone glands.  It's a little like rubbing the small of a woman's back."

"That's a foreplay move, kiddo," Uncle Gabriel says.  "When Balthazar told me about it, I thought it was Zach just being a dick.  He gets like that sometimes when he drinks.  The only time you're around Zach is at Family crap like that party.  You're never alone with him."

"But it occurred to me," Uncle Balthazar says, more serious than you've ever seen him, "that that's not true."

"I saw the incident," Castiel says in his gravely voice, making you look at him in surprise.  You vaguely remember seeing Castiel at an adjoining table, deep in conversation with his date and not paying much attention to the party.  Castiel's a shy duck, and a bit socially awkward.  He works with Zachariah, one of the many spiders keeping the money web snug.  "I'm sorry I didn't intervene.  By the time I realized what was happening, your escort had already taken control of the situation."

"Zach insists on vetting your class schedule and making out your tuition payments personally, right?" Uncle Gabriel asks.

"Yeah, every semester."  You shrug.  "I take him my schedule, he pretends to be interested, he makes a big production out of writing the check, and I leave."

"And are you alone with him when you have these meetings?" Uncle Balthazar asks.

"Yeah," you say.

Uncle Balthazar hesitates.  "Darling, please know I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you.  But we have to know.  When Zachariah's alone with you, does he do things like this?"  He takes your hand and his thumb rubs the nerve cluster just below your wrist.  He puts an arm around you as though to hug you but his fingers press into your waist in a way that makes your breath catch.  His hands span your back, one between the shoulderblades and one low on your spine.  You can feel him tracing your bra strap as he pulls you close, pressing your breasts into his chest.

"Stop that," you say, pulling back.

"You legit didn't realize those were dominance gestures."  It's not a question.

"As I pointed out," Uncle Balthazar says to Uncle Gabriel, "she wouldn't.  Most of us learn those tells as we start dating.  Or by watching our parents."

"Except your parents were both Betas, and you don't date," Uncle Gabriel concludes.  "Puts kind of an unpleasant spin on Zach hiring a sex worker to pop your cherry."

"Oh for God's sake Gabriel," Uncle Balthazar says, "have a little consideration for the child's feelings will you?"

"She's not a child Balthy," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Us overlooking that is the whole reason this has gone as far as it has."

You push your plate aside, the appeal of the food gone.  "What am I going to do?  I have at least six more years until I get my PhD and financial aid is out of the question."

"That will never be a problem,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “Even if Zach cuts you off you'll be taken care of.  We owe your mother that much.  I'm putting that in writing."

"Me too."  Uncle Balthazar tips you a wink.  "Not all of our money is Family money, cherie."

"Overseeing the Family trusts is part of my job duties," Castiel says.  "Your mother set up a trust in your name when she had her will updated, to be held by the Family until you turned eighteen.  The process of turning that trust over to you should have begun months ago.  When I asked Zachariah, he told me things was on hold until your summer break when you would be free for court dates."

"Except that doesn't make sense," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Your birthday was in January.  Chuck's a gutless wonder but it's not like him to be inefficient."

A silence falls over the table.  You sense a boundary’s about to be crossed, and you ask, "Why didn't you want to talk about this over the phone Uncle Balthazar?"

"Because if what I think is happening is happening," Uncle Balthazar tells you, "it dovetails rather neatly with some suspicions Gabriel and I have had for years."

"We think Zach's been filching the Family fortune," Uncle Gabriel says it, bald and ugly.

"Irregularities have been appearing consistently in the bookkeeping," Castiel says, his usual frown deeper than usual as your mouth drops open in shock.  "Someone going to improbable lengths to conceal cash transactions, source and destination."

"The only people who have the access to do that kind of Catch Me Fuck Me with the books are the Old Lady," Gabriel is the only one alive who gets away with calling Great-Aunt Naomi the Old Lady, "Michael," the public face of the Family, "Raphael," the Family politician and a state representative in Lansing, "and Zachariah."

"Naomi has no motive or need.  Neither does Michael.  Raphael wouldn't be that stupid, not while he's running on an austerity platform, a corruption charge would destroy him politically," Uncle Balthazar says, ticking his points off on his fingers.  "Until recently, I would have said Zachariah had no motive or need either."

"You don't know him the way I do, Balthy," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Zach's always relied on being the Old Lady's favorite son.  I don't like thinking this way, kiddo," he says to you, "but if he's doing what I think he's doing, he's going to start openly courting you to mate and he's worked really fucking hard to make you think you had to stay in his good graces or risk losing everything."

"Oh my God," you say, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up your eggs over.  "He can't do that-- he's my fucking uncle--"

"Great-uncle, a few times removed," Castiel corrects.  "Legally there would be no barrier."

"Legally shit!"

"Agreed, my love," Uncle Balthazar says.  "Zachariah miscalculated when he purchased your new friend's services.  Fresh eyes see clear.”

Zachariah?  Thinking of you as his?  "I'm gonna be sick," you croak and scramble for the ladies room.

---

“It wasn’t your fault Pamela,” Uncle Gabriel’s explaining to a dark-haired woman in an apron.  “My niece just got some really crappy news.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize on your own behalf.  “Everything was really good.”

The woman’s stern expression melts.  “Oh that’s okay sugar.  Do you want me to bring you some ginger ale?  It’ll help settle your stomach.”

“Thank you,” you nod.

“So anyway,” Uncle Gabriel says, “what Balth and Cas told me got me thinking.  Cas doesn’t have any hard proof Zach’s been skimming, he’s just the likeliest suspect.”

You remember what Dean said and just like that you know something.  “It’s Chuck isn’t it?  Chuck’s covering for him.”

“Very good,” Uncle Gabriel says, giving you a chilly smile.  “And if Chuck is dirty, none of us are safe.  He knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“Literally?”

“Best you be able to say for the record that we never answered that question,” Uncle Balthazar tells you, and you hush up.  Balthazar’s role in the Family business has never been completely explained to you.  “Look, the point is, if Zachariah’s been foolish enough to illegally block your access to your mother’s money, and if we can prove it, it could be the smoking gun we need.”

“We get control of the Family business away from Zach, we get Chuck disbarred and possibly thrown in jail, and we avoid a situation with the IRS and the Feds,” Uncle Gabriel winds it all up.  “If the law gets involved we could lose everything.”

“Not everyone in the Family has independent support,” Uncle Balthazar says, “and while I couldn’t give a damn about some of them that list includes you.”

“Okay,” you say, accepting the cool cup of ginger ale from Marybeth.  “What do you need me to do?”

“For right now?  Act normal,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “I know you’re still seeing this Dean guy--”

“Don’t ask me to stop.”

“I wouldn’t kiddo,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “Balth tells me you two hit it off.  Big time.”

“They certainly smelled very cozy with each other,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“The way Mr. Winchester immediately acted to keep her away from Zachariah,” Castiel observes, “it was not the action of a detached professional.  A detached professional would have been more concerned about appeasing his patron than ensuring your comfort.”

“I’m not going to be the one telling you to quit seeing a guy who was ready to throw down for you an hour after meeting you,” Gabriel says.  “But for the love of God be careful.  If Zachariah starts throwing money around--”

“Dean wouldn’t do that,” you defend your Alpha.

“Not saying he would.  I did some digging,” Uncle Gabriel says, “and a quick hundred thousand would solve all sorts of problems for him.  Zach can write that kind of check, easy.  He probably spends more replacing the towels in the hotel after New Year’s.”

“And if someone got the idea Dean was only seeing you to get access to Family money,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“That’s what he said.”  You tell them about the conversation the two of you had earlier.

“Guy’s not a complete dumbass,” Uncle Gabriel notes.

“And he’s completely besotted with her.  Anyone with eyes could see it,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“I agree,” Castiel adds.

“When do you see him again?” Uncle Gabriel asks.

“Later today.”

“If he tells you that his boss, or Zach, or Chuck got in touch with him and asked him to do something with you off-contract,” Uncle Gabriel says, “you need to tell me right away.  An unscrupulous escort can make a lot of extra money in blackmail too.  I’m not saying,” he says, holding up a hand as you open your mouth, “that Dean would.  Just the insinuation might be enough to fuck us up.”

“Zachariah,” never again will you think of him as Uncle, “is acting like he’s my Alpha-in-waiting.  Is blackmail an option for us?”

“That’s not a discussion you need to be privy to.  You neither, Castiel.  Let us old men handle the scheming,” Uncle Balthazar says.

The four of your rise and Uncle Gabriel leaves a pile of tens on the table.  “Thanks Pamela.  Take her easy.”

“Incidentally,” Uncle Balthazar says as he escorts you to your car, “I’ll be staying with your Aunt Anna whilst I’m in town.  You young people might need a little privacy.”

“You’re supposed to tell me Dean’s a prostitute and I can’t trust anything he says or does is real,” you say, feeling very tired suddenly.

“Darling, how often do you think a professional takes time out of their day to just take their clients for a walk?  Or leave absurd little memes on their social media?  Or indulge your ridiculous love for cartoons?”  Uncle Balthazar puts his arm around your shoulders, an affectionate, comforting weight.  You take in his familiar scents of lilies and sandalwood.  “I’m not going to say it’ll be anything lasting, cherie.  First loves almost never are.  But just because a relationship proves temporary, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile.”

“Better to have loved and lost?”

“Good God, no.  The only person who can decide what’s an acceptable risk when it comes to your heart is you.  Don’t let our cynicism ruin a chance at a little genuine happiness.”

His characteristic smirk reappears.  “And do try not to break any of the furniture.”

---

“You can sight-read Latin?”

Dean shrugs, picking a cheese stick out of the basket.  “Long story.  And wouldn’t you know-- none of the high schools I went to would give me a language credit for it.”

You look up from the pictures you took in lab, of linen and parchment scrids covered with heavy block printing.  “How may times did you change schools?”

“Lost count,” Dean says.  “When I finally gave up I was like two years behind.”

“Why?” you ask.  “You’re a smart guy.”

“That’s an even longer story, babygirl.”

You put your phone down.  “I have time.  These damn parchments have waited three hundred years.  They can wait another couple minutes.”

Dean stares at you, taking a sip of his drink.  The two of you are holding down a table in your favorite greasy spoon just off downtown, Harvelle’s Filling Station.  It’s open 24 hours and the management doesn’t care if you take a few hours to get some homework done in the relative peace and quiet.  The urge to apologize for prying comes but this time you resist.

“Our-- me’n’Sammy, our mom died when I was four and Sam was a baby.  House fire.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” you say.  You reach for Dean but he shifts out of your reach.  It hurts, but you leave your hand there, an invitation for Dean to take or leave.

“Dad never got over it.  Something up here,” Dean taps his temple, “just broke.  He started saying he saw someone in Sammy’s room, that whoever it was was out to get us.  Then our grandma died of a stroke and he started drinking.

“Would you believe until I got my discharge the longest I ever lived anywhere was ten months?  Dad would move us somewhere, get a job -- legal or otherwise -- we’d start to settle in, but then the nightmares would start up again.  He’d disappear a lot, sometimes for weeks.”

“Jesus.  Who was taking care of you?”

“We took care of ourselves, pretty much,” Dean says.  “But it got bad sometimes.  Dad would come home and start screaming at us in Latin, crazy shit about the sixty-six seals and the end of the world.  I forged a work permit when I was thirteen and started working.  Did a lot of other shit I’m not proud of.”  Dean shrugs.  “School just wasn’t as important as making sure Sammy was fed and safe.  I got caught hustling poker when I was seventeen and the DA gave me a choice-- Army or jail.  I picked Army.  At least then Sammy got a steady income.”

“Where were you deployed?”

“Afghanistan.  Three years into my contract, my Uncle Bobby had a heart attack and I got a hardship discharge to come back and take care of him and Sam.  Don’t look at me like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I’m some three legged puppy or something.  Dad’s okay, Sam’s okay, I’m okay.  That’s what matters.”

You can’t help it though.  It’s too damn easy to picture Dean as an underfed kid fighting tooth and claw to keep everybody’s shit together.  Dean comes by his cynicism honestly, you realize, more honestly than you in any case.

“Anyway, it’s not your job to take care of me.”

“I thought we left the job thing about six exits back,” you say.

“Not what I meant,” Dean says.  “I’m an Alpha.  Alphas take care of Omegas.”

“If we’re bringing designations into it,” you say, “it’s just as valid to say,” you point your thumb back at yourself, “I’m the Omega, it’s my job to be caring and nurturing to my Alpha.”

A light comes in Dean’s eyes and he smiles.  “Your Alpha?”

You replay your last sentence.  “Did I say that?”

“Yep.”  Now Dean takes your hand, bringing it up to scent your wrist.  He meets you halfway across the table for a soft kiss.

“Hey hey hey,” the night shift fry cook says.  “Get a room you two.  This is a family place.”

“I gotta go,” Dean says, getting into his coat.  “I got an appointment BFE then I have to go out of town again.”  He pauses.  “You’re on cycle meds, right?”

You nod.  You have to be, in order to get the necessary time away from school to deal with your heats.

“When do your meds change?”

“Sunday.”  Switching from suppressant to contraceptive means a heat within 24 hours.

“Call me the second-- the second, you start getting the shakes.  You hear me?”

“Yes Alpha,” you say.

The frission of nerves must show on your face, because Dean smiles and gives you another kiss.  “Try not to worry babygirl,” he says softly.  “I’ll make it good.  I swear, I’ll make it good.  Take such good care of you.”

“Yes,” you moan, ever so softly.

---

A couple of days later you’re in the lab wading through a dig site inventory reconcile.  Behind the dust mask over your face you wiggle your nose and sniffle like some kind of half-assed rabbit.  Every damn time you mask up you get a runny nose.

It’s a relief when your phone purrs with a bass guitar D chord, the custom sound you picked out for Dean’s number.  A break would be lovely right now.  Going into the other room you unmask and blow your nose.

morning bbygrl

gimme a smile?

You snap a mirror selfie of yourself blowing your nose.

Stupid dust.

Dean replies with a laugh-to-tears face, and you respond with The Finger.

do u know this guy?

A second later your phone flashes a fuzzy pic of a dark-haired square-jawed man wearing a motorcycle jacket.

That’s Mr. Ketch.

PI that works for family law firm, Sturley and Kline.

I think hes tailing me

unless there’s another reason for him 2B in lansing

Maybe?  Uncle Raphael lives in Lansing.

Why are YOU in Lansing?

Dean texts back an embarrassed blushy face.

speeding tix

wasn’t paying attn

nailed doing 88 in 70

You reply with an eye roll.

ur fault

comin home 2U

You took a speeding ticket for me?

(Bambi eyes)

break speed limits

crash barricades

slay dragons

wash dishes

don’t do windows

mans gotta draw the line somewhere

---

Sunday is the one day a week you make it a point to leave completely open.  After Mass at St. Mary’s By The Freeway, you wrap yourself up in your overcoat and stroll across a couple parking lots to the Filling Station for a late breakfast.

“Hey-hey!”  The peace of your divinely mandated day of rest dies bloody as you spy Zachariah leaning against your car.  “There’s my favorite niece!”  He pulls you into a crushing hug and you almost gag when you get a noseful of stagnant water and wet dead leaves.

“Good morning Uncle Zachariah,” you say warmly even though your lips have gone numb.  Now that you know what to look for, Zachariah’s body language screams of overbearing Alpha.  Nothing at all like Dean.  Dean, dammit, where is he?  You need Alpha, like right fucking now please.  “Join me for breakfast?”

“Sure.  I could eat.  Meet me at the hotel?”

You tic your head at the Filling Station.  “I usually eat here after church.  Their omelets are delicious.”  And the owner knows your face.

Zachariah’s smile does that souring thing.  “Sure.  Good to get out of the comfort zone once in a while.”

Because apparently you’re a closet sadist you order Zachariah an Ash Special with extra peppers, just the sort of thing to give him heartburn the rest of the day.  Zachariah sits on the booth bench like it’s covered in something nasty and his nose wrinkles at the stench of cigarette smoke.

“So!” he says, as you attack your omelet and gulp coffee, “big day tomorrow.”

You pause.  How did he know your heat’s coming-- your omelet turns to ashes in your mouth.  The university requires Alphas and Omegas to give estimates of the days you have to be absent because of ruts and heats.  That’s why Zachariah insists on vetting your schedule even though he’s utterly indifferent as to your field of interest.  He’s been following your cycle for the past two years, at least.

Swallowing the bite in your mouth, you smile at him, coquettish little Omega.  “Yeah.  I’m a little nervous, but Dean was so nice at the party.”

“Oh boy,” Zachariah sighs.  “Sweetheart, there isn’t an easy way to tell you this so I’m just going to tell you.  Out of his ever-present briefcase Zachariah pulls a folder stamped with the Sturley and Kline logo.  Your blood runs cold when you see the name printed on the tab-- WINCHESTER, D.M.

“The escort service Dean works for wasn’t totally honest about his background,” Zachariah says as you flip open the folder.  “Because Dean’s bonded we assumed he had no criminal record.  He doesn’t because it was all sealed as part of a plea bargain-- the prosecution agreed to seal his juvenile record and drop an assault charge on the condition he enlist in the Army.”

This is shocking but not for the reasons Zachariah thinks.  Your flip past photocopies of newspaper columns you’ve already read.  Based on the biographical information provided by the escort service and the things Dean had told you . .   my God, in this exact spot, you’d gone and done a little research.  In the process you’d gathered enough background about the Winchesters of Lawrence, Kansas to confirm Dean’s story-- the fire, his mother’s death, his father’s eroding sanity, everything.  You know the “assault” charge was Dean breaking some high school senior’s jaw when he caught the bastard beating up his little brother.  You also knew his father lived in Kansas instead of Michigan because he was forbidden to leave the state as a condition of his suspended federal prison sentence.  John Winchester’s luck with evading the law had finally run out when he was caught with a cache of narcotics and a bunch of bomb fixings and assault weapons.  Homeland Security had even gone so far as to put John on a terrorist watch list, never mind he’d been living quietly in an assisted living community in Topeka since his sentencing.

“Wha-- what are you saying?  You think Dean might hurt me?” you ask in a tiny voice.

“I think where there’s smoke there’s fire.  He spent years living on mail fraud and credit card scams while his crazy father ran around screaming about the end of the world.  I know, you’re a tough kid but you’re still so young.  I don’t want to take the chance of him claiming you and acting like he can help himself to your money.”

“No, no he wouldn’t do that,” you say, mind racing to write the script a few lines ahead.  “Besides, except for pocket money I don’t have anything to my name except my car.”

“I know that but he might not,” Zachariah says, leaning forward into intimate space.  “Don’t worry baby.  When Chuck called the escort service they terminated the contract and offered us another Alpha.”

“No!” you snap, panicking.  “Uncle Zachariah, I can’t go to bed with a total stranger.  I can’t, I can’t, please don’t make me--"

“Hey hey hey, shh, that’s enough,” Zachariah soothes, pulling your head forward and kissing your forehead.  “If it makes you feel more comfortable we’ll wait until your next heat.”

You nod, sniffling back genuine tears.  “Thank you.”

Zachariah settles back into his seat.  He takes your hands at the wrists, encircling them like handcuffs.  “I know it hurts,” he says, “going through your heats alone.  Hopefully this one will be the last one.  The escort agency offered to keep this Alpha available for you if you want.”

Just what you always wanted, your very own professional mistress.  “And Dean?”

“You’ll never have to see him again.  Chuck has Mr. Ketch tailing him.  Last report says he’s driving towards St. Louis in that ridiculous land yacht of his.”

You nod, gulping.  “Thank you, Uncle Zachariah.”

“Just looking out for my favorite niece,” he says, with that who-loves-ya-babe smirk.  He gets up, leaving his food barely touched.  “Go home, get some rest.  Do you want some company?  I could call Rebecca to come stay with you--"

“No thank you Uncle Zachariah.”  You paste a weak smile on your face.  “I have a paper I need to finish.  I wouldn’t be very good company.”

Zachariah doesn’t have a reply to that, and after an uncomfortably close embrace he leaves.

Once he’s safely out of sight you plonk your head on the table and concentrate on keeping your food down.  You manage, but it’s close.

“You okay sugar?”  Ellen, the Filling Station’s owner and manager asks, coming over with a fresh pour of coffee.  “Something wrong with Ash’s cooking?  I’ll fire him right now if you want.”

“Not the food.  The food’s fine,” you say.

“Who was that guy?” Ellen asks as she tops you off.

“My uncle,” you say.  “And after the conversation I just had I may never eat again.”

---

You didn’t tell me you got fired.

The dots dance.

?!

they didnt fire me I quit

“What?” you ask it as you type it.

More dot polka.  This time it goes on for a full five minutes.  Finally, a text pops up.

do u hav time 4 vid chat?

You look around from your driver’s seat.  The parking lot is empty and deserted.  A wind sweeps at stray oak leaves with a sound like castanets clacking.  Autumn in Michigan can get pretty damn dreary, you think.  Right now you don’t mind, it matches your mood.

You call and a moment later Dean’s face fills the screen.  He looks tired, but his smile is still like the sun coming up. “Hey babygirl.”

“Hi Dean.”

“What’s wrong?  You look like a guest at your own autopsy.”

“Zachariah ambushed me on the way out of church this morning.  He told me the escort agency terminated your contract because you lied about having a criminal record.”

Dean’s smile dies.  “Babygirl I can explain.”

“Dean.”  You hold up your hand.  “Please don’t be mad at me.”  You explain about what you’d found on the Internet.

“You couldn’t have just asked me?” he says, and you can tell he’s fighting not to lose his temper.

“I did ask you,” you point out.  “When I found your Dad’s arrest record, I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”  You take a breath.  “Dean, I don’t care.  If you were the kind of Alpha Zachariah wants me to think you are, you wouldn’t care enough to be kind to me.

“I’m seducing you, you idiot.  I do it for a living!”

“Oh yeah, a cup of coffee and a fingerbang and we might as well be bonded.  Take me, I’m yours,” you drawl sarcastically.  “Besides, Zachariah probably made it a point to tell you every single last thing about me, up to and including the time I got caught shoplifting candy bars from the party store near my parents’ cottage in Indian River.”

“Three Musketeers?”

“I was a nougat fiend at the time.”  You replay your last sentence.  “I was kidding but he seriously told you about that?”

“Said your mom had you on a diet that summer.”

Thank God, it looks like you’ve pulled the fangs from Dean’s anger.  “What do you mean, you quit?”

Dean sighs.  “It’s why I’ve been having to go out of town so much lately.  The place Dad lives in isn’t cheap, but they can make sure he stays sober and keeps up with his meds.  If I can come up with enough money to buy into his building, Medicare and Social Security will cover the monthly facility fees.”  Dean pauses.  “I’ve been fighting not to, but Sam finally talked me into selling our grandma’s old house in Lebanon.  Between the sale and what I got saved, I have enough.  Just barely.”

“Why hang onto the house for so long?” you ask.

“I always planned on moving back to Kansas after Sam finished school,” Dean says.  “Sam kept telling me I could do that anyway and we needed the cash more than the memories.”

You nod.  Given what you know of Dean, it was the memories that mattered, not the asset.

“Babygirl,” Dean goes on, “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter.  I don’t want to be with you because of a job, and . . .” he trails off a moment, thinking.  “I went in to see Becky and told her I wanted to stop doing full service.  She said that wasn’t acceptable, shit got spoken, and I walked.”

"Zachariah said the agency had another Alpha lined up and ready to go," you say.  "I told him I wanted to wait until my next cycle."

Dean doesn't say anything.  His eyes have gone glacial, and you're suddenly glad he's not in the car with you.

"I bought us some time.  Didn't I?" you ask, hating a little how small your voice sounds.

"I'm not angry at you, babygirl," Dean says, reading your face perfectly.  "I want you to get what you need to hole up for a few days and go home.  Do you still have the folder the agency gave you with the contract in it?"

"Yeah, it's on my desk."

"Look for the sheet with the red border.  It's the form saying you officially refuse the agency's services.  The instructions will tell you to take a picture of the form with your phone after you sign it and send it straight to Becky.  When someone from the agency calls for the follow-up report, tell them you got cold feet when you found out about my record.  After that, Zachariah stops being a concerned uncle and starts being a fucking pervert.”

"What about you?  Zachariah told me he has Mr. Ketch following you to make sure you stay away from me."

"Don't worry about me honey, I've dealt with guys who’re a lot scarier than him.  Give me fifteen minutes and a good rush hour.  I’ll lose him on the Indiana turnpike."

You nod.  "Dean?  I'm scared," you admit.  "I never really noticed it before, but Zachariah's always freaked me out a little."

"That's your Omega instincts, babygirl.  They knew he was bad before you did."

"But what if he decides to make a move?  I mean, directly?  I already changed meds this morning, I can’t risk skipping a cycle.  Last time I tried I had to go to the hospital.”

"Seizures?"

"Yeah."

"Don't do that.  Get home, lock the doors.  I’ll be there when I can.  Just hang in there.  You hear me?”

“But what if he pays somebody to--”

“Another Alpha touches you,” Dean says, his tone so cold you shrink in your seat, “over my dead body.”

---

The next hours feel a little anticlimactic by comparison.  You bury yourself in Statistics homework, seeking refuge in the total focus and concentration required.  When the elevator buzzer goes off you about drop dead of a heart attack.  "Miss?" Harold the parking lot concierge calls over the speaker in the foyer.  "There's a lady here to see you.  Says she’s from the agency."

The representative from the agency Dean mentioned.  "Yeah.  Buzz her through."

A minute later the elevator opens and an attractive redheaded woman in a black overcoat and power boots strides in like she owns the world.  Dark green eyes light on you and she smiles.  "Good evening.  I'm Abbadon."

"Hi," you say, your throat suddenly dry.  A scent of cinnamon candy and grilling meat is crawling up your nose, sharp and savory.  "You're here from the agency, right?"

"Yes darling.  Here at your service," she says, in the least servile tone you've ever heard.  She tsks, looking at you.  "Such a shame, to hide such a beauty," she says.

She's an Alpha.  Your brain blanks.  Trans-designations -- female Alphas and male Omegas -- are rarer than red diamonds.  You've only met one in your whole life, an Omega in high school everybody called Mick.  Abbadon pulls a deep breath in through her nose.  "You smell like roses, right after a rainstorm," she says, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," you say.  "I signed the cancellation sheet and sent it to Ms. Rosen a few hours ago.  Your services aren't required."

"From that pretty blush," Abbadon says, coming closer and fixing your eyes with hers like a hypnotizing snake, "my services are very much required.  Your heat is coming, isn't it sweet?"  She closes her eyes and takes another draught of the air.  "So sweet."

She strokes your jawline with a finger, turning her wrist up.  On reflex, you scent her skin.  Abbadon's candy and cooking meat scent is pleasant, but that's all.  The memory of Dean’s perfect smoky sweetness makes you want to turn your nose up like an offended cat

"Oh dear," Abbadon says.  "It's Winchester isn't it?  You've imprinted on him and it makes you think you'll never quicken for another Alpha again."  She shakes her head, her expression warm and sympathetic, except for her eyes.  Her eyes are cold as lumps of green glass.  "That's normal, but it isn't real.  We provide company,” and she takes your hand, stroking the soft skin across the back, “and pleasure.  Not mates.”

“Unless you’re here to take down my reasons for refusing your service,” you practically squeeze the words out in a stilted run-on of sounds, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“There’s no need to be frightened, Omega,” Abbadon says, still low and smoky.  She comes in closer, and you’re horrified to find yourself softening in the core.

“I’m straight,” you croak, “I don’t like girls.”

“When you’re wrapped around my knot, that won’t matter.  Designation always wins, Omega.” One hand, then the other, slides up each side of your neck.  You grab her wrists but she’s strong, you can’t pull her hands away.  Her palms press down against the pheromone glands in your neck and you gasp.  The glands are swelling with blood, filling the air with your enticing Omega scent.  The pressure sends a trickle of heat down through your body and your legs start to tremble.  “Designation always wins,” Abbadon repeats, coming closer and closer.

The elevator door buzzes and slides open.  You and Abbadon both jerk like you’ve been shot, and just like that whatever spell she’d been weaving breaks up and floats away.

Castiel comes in calling your name, and just behind him comes a tall, beefy man you don’t know.  “What’s going on?” he asks, looking at you with his striking blue eyes.

“It’s all right, I’m from the escort service, Rosen Entertainment?”  She smiles at Castiel.  “We were just introducing ourselves.”

“I thought she was here to do an exit interview,” you say, willing some strength back into your legs.  “I don’t want any servicing.”

Castiel, bless his bumblebee tie tack, deliberately shuffles a little to one side, putting himself fully between you and the woman Alpha.  “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.  Consent has been withdrawn.”

Abbadon’s red lips part in a predatory grin.  “The Omega’s body is consenting.  It’s calling for an Alpha.”  She scents, and sighs.  “So sweet.  You smell it too, don’t you?”

Castiel’s shoulders go stiff.  “You’re in rut.”

She what?  You sniff the air, trying to sort out competing scents.  As you do, your knees do that wobbling thing and you sit on the coffee table.

“Of course.  The smell of an Alpha in rut relaxes timid Omegas.  They can’t help it.  You know that--"

“I do believe,” the beefy man says, his voice soft and round and Southern, “that you’ve been asked to leave.  However good this little girl smells she obviously don’t want what you’re sellin.”

He must be a Beta, you realize.  Otherwise he’d be reacting to the miasma of scent in the air.  He looks over at you and smiles.  “Hi there.  M’name’s Benjamin LaFitte.  Call me Benny.  I’m a friend of Dean’s.  He said to tell you he’s still got ‘em in his pocket.  Said you’d know what that meant.”

Groaning, you hide your red face in your hands.

“Figured it was sumpthin dirty.”  Cajun?  You think you can hear the French lurking under his sentences.

Abbadon’s not smiling any more.  “Sweetheart, this is ridiculous.  You need a knot.  You don't have be shy about your body and what it wants.”

“I said no,” you say.  You see the portfolio with the agency’s original contract and snatch it, flipping it open and showing the red-bordered page with your signature and date at the bottom.  “See?  Service refused.  I do not want this.”

“That only applies to Winchester’s service contract,” Abbadon says as though explaining something dead simple to a stubborn child.  “A new arrangement’s been made.”

“Nevertheless,” Castiel says.

All the softness disappears from Abbadon’s body language.  “That Omega is mine,” she snarls.  “Get out of the way.”

Benny comes up beside Abbadon.  “I do believe the lady's said no.”

Snarling, Abbadon throws herself in your direction.  Castiel takes the hit, immovable as granite.  Benny grabs her by the arms and bodily drags her to the couch across the room.  “Stop it with those heels,” he grumbles as Abbadon’s spiked heel rips his pant leg.  He puts her down and keeps her there as she tries another lunge.  “Uht-uh lady, we’re all gonna sit quiet and behave ourselves.  Understand me?”

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks you.

“Yeah.”  You look up at him as your brain starts trying to make the last ten minutes make sense.  “What are you doing here?  Either of you?”

“I have a monitoring program on the accounting software that tracks the Family’s cash accounts.  About an hour ago three large sums were wired out.  The destination accounts were Rosen Entertainments, Rebecca Rosen’s personal deposit account, and another deposit account under the name Abbadon Diablo.  I found the incident alarming enough to contact Balthazar, and he asked that I come to make sure you were all right.”

“I got a call from Dean this morning askin me to catch a plane to Detroit,” Benny takes his turn.  “Said he was havin trouble shaking a tail.”

“Why didn’t he just fly in himself?” Castiel asks.

“The Chief’s scared of planes.  Our last tour, the corpsman had to give him a shot to keep him from throwin a hissyfit all the way to Kabul.”  Benny shakes his head.  “Not afraid of heights but terrified of flying.  Who can figure?”

“You guys were in the service together?” you ask.

“Sure were cher.  First time I met him was when he dug me out from under a truck.”  He slaps one leg.  “Put a tourniquet on it.  Wasn’t for him, I’d’ve bled out or be walkin with a peg leg right now.”

You ask the small talk questions.  Benny answers-- he’s from Metarie, Louisiana, served five years before getting discharged for failing a drug screen, works as a bouncer in a bar in Baton Rouge owned by his wife Andrea.

“And you just hopped on a plane?” you ask.

“Sure did.”

“To come babysit a stranger a thousand miles away.”

“Course,” he shrugs, like it’s something people just do.

“Why?  You don’t know me, you don’t know what kind of a shitstorm you’re walking into here.”

Benny looks at you.  His eyes are blue too, paler than Castiel’s, clear and striking.  “I owe Dean one.  A big one.”

Something else occurs to you.  “How did you guys even get in?  Harold should’ve stopped you at the elevator.”

“Balthazar gave me a spare access card just before he left for Buenos Ares,” Castiel explains.

“I ran into bumblebee here trying to talk the doorman into buzzin him up,” Benny says.  “He’ll be all right but he’s gon’ have a sore jaw when he wakes up.”

---

The waves of fury Abbadon’s putting out strangles any further conversation.  You keep your seat on the coffee table, curling up more and more as the heat really starts sinking in.  Abbadon watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing ever, and every minute goes by her smile gets a little wider.  Her rutting scent is calling to you, and to your shame your body is calling back.

“You poor thing,” she says when you hiss through a cramp.

“Quiet,” Benny rumbles.  “Like an itty-bitty church mouse.”

Even Castiel can feel it.  Red slowly creeps up from under his collar and he starts to shift a little in his seat.  You hope that he and Hannah are still an item.  He needs someone to be nice to him, you think.  It’s not his fault he’s better with bees and butterflies than people.

Finally, finally, the elevator buzzer goes off and you bolt across the room.  Dean opens his arms just in time to catch you and pull you into a tight hug.  You take a deep breath from his neck.  Alpha’s scent, strong and sweet, blowing Abbadon out of your head like a wind blowing away smoke.  Every cell in your body trembles.  Slick starts to seep between your legs.

“Babygirl,” he breathes between soft kisses.  “What happened?  Are you okay?”

“I am now,” you say.

“Hola, Chief,” Benny says, shaking Dean’s hand and smiling.  “Commet ce vas?”

“Thanks a bunch Benny, I just spent ten minutes talking Harold out of calling the cops.”

“Is he okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, nothing hurt but his pride.  What happened?”  Dean takes a sniff at the air and freezes.  His eyes go dark and his upper lip lifts in a snarl.

“Well, if it isn’t the white trash Adonis,” Abbadon sneers.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asks.  Gently, he pushes you behind him.

“Cleaning up your fuck-up, Winchester,” she says.  "And earning myself a big fat bonus in the process."

"Good evening," Castiel greets Dean, introducing himself and telling him what he'd told you about the money.  "I believe Zachariah specifically requested a female Alpha because he reasoned she would not admit a man."

"Correctly," you mumble.  "God I'm an idiot."

"Not your fault," Dean says, pulling you close to kiss your forehead.

As he pulls back you notice his cheekbone is swollen and there's a scrape going up into his hairline.  You touch it gently.  "What happened?  Why didn't you call me?  Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Ketch," Dean says.  "Did you know he used to work for the SAS?  He got the drop on me just outside Kankakee.  Bastard broke my phone."

"Jesus Christ-- are you all right?" you ask, patting Dean over anxiously, looking for more injuries.

He smiles.  "It's just bruises, babygirl.  I'm fine."

"What'd you do with him?" Benny asks.

"Left him tied up in a Porta-Potty with the door bolted shut.  The construction crew'll find him tomorrow morning."  You bark out a laugh.  You've met Mr. Ketch once, and that was one time too many.

Dean holds a hand in front of Abbadon.  "Phone," he orders, snapping his fingers.  When she doesn't move, Benny rolls his eyes and digs out her pockets.

"Are you there yet?  The feeds are still dark," a woman's voice answers.

"Hi Becky," Dean says.  "Feel like explaining why you sent fucking Abbadon to service a virgin Omega who'd already red-sheeted us?"

"Dean!  Hi!" Rebecca Rosen, the proprietor and manager of Rosen Entertainments chirps.  "Now you gotta know I can't disclose the terms of a contact to third parties--"

"I'm not a third party!" you snap.  Now that Dean's here and it's really sinking in what almost happened, what might have happened if Castiel and Benny hadn't shown up, you're pissed.  "I put it in fucking writing I didn't want any of your Alphas!"

"Y-you did?" Ms. Rosen stutters.  "Oh my God-- I am so sorry, our e-mail servers are being exchanged, I never got--"

"Red sheets go to your phone.  Which is working," Dean says.  "You wanna try again?  Boss?"  When Rosen doesn't answer, Dean growls, "Answer me, or the next call I make is to Detective Mills in Lansing."

"You wouldn't," Ms. Rosen says.

"Wanna bet?  How much is Adler paying you?"

Castiel reads off some figures.  Some astronomical figures.  Figures far above and beyond anything you could imagine anyone spending on one thing, and for someone used to hanging around your idle rich cousins that’s saying something.  "Le je vous Salue Marie," Benny whispers.

"What did he want you to do to me?" you ask Abbadon, clenching your hands together to hide the shaking.

"Oh, stop acting like a frigid little prude," Abbadon sneers.  "All I was hired to do was help you through your heat.  Knot you like you're supposed to be knotted."

"He said maybe the problem was you liked girls but were too shy to tell him so," Ms. Rosen says.

"He told you to take her to the cottage, didn't he?" Dean says.  A wave of scent pushes out of him and you curl in on yourself.  Alpha is angry, Alpha is in a rage.  The pointed tips of claws sprout from the tiny ridges under his nail beds, and you can see his canid teeth have dropped and twisted into full fangs.  The skin over the pheromone glands in your neck twitch.  That's where Alpha will put his mark and claim you, and the thought makes slick pulse out of you.

"Mr. Winchester," Castiel says, putting a hand on his arm.  His own Alpha scent of honey and wildflowers has thickened, but bears none of that sense of threat.

"Don't get in my way Cas.  There's not a jury in the world that would convict me if I tore this bitch's fucking head off right now."

"That might be true Chief but is that really what the situation calls for right now?" Benny asks.  "The bitch ain't really the core problem here if I'm reading things right."

"No," Castiel agrees.  "Ms. Rosen, by accepting Zachariah's money you've made yourself and your business an accessory before the fact to an attempted rape.  I've examined the," you can hear him put it in quotation marks, "'red sheet' and found it in order.  A forensic examination of your phone will prove it was received and all instructions were followed."

"The red sheet only voided the contract between us and Mr. Adler that named Dean as the service provider--"

"You're not that stupid Becky," Dean cuts her off.  "Zachariah hired you to provide a rutting knothead, and paid extra to take her to a place where he could film it happening."

"What?!?" you cry.

"The cottage is a house Becky owns just outside Rockford.  It's wired for video and sound.  We take clients there that want to star in their very own pornos," Dean explains.

You grope out with one hand.  Benny, bless his silly golfer's cap, grabs the nearest wastepaper basket and holds it under you as you vomit.

"An associate of mine will be contacting you shortly.  I strongly suggest you call your lawyer and go on record that he will have your full cooperation," Castiel says, and if he wasn't acting the dominant Alpha before he is now.  "If you choose not to," his raspy voice deepens and he seems to grow a foot in front of you, "I swear by the Lord God I will break you."

Dean knows a dramatic cue when he hears it and disconnects.

“There.  That should buy us some time,” Castiel says.

“What d’you mean, jellybean?” Benny asks.

“He was bluffing,” you explain, wiping your mouth and grimacing at the aftertaste of bile.  “He’s an accountant, not a lawyer.  He doesn’t have associates.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel admits.  “Balthazar’s flight is scheduled to land at Ford International in twenty minutes.  I’m sure one of his associates can secure Ms. Rosen’s cooperation.”

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment.  "You're all right, Cas," he says.

“Splendid,” Abbadon says.  She stands and plucks her phone out of Dean’s hand.  “As my contract has been cancelled I believe I’ll--”

“Aht-uh, I don’t think so,” Dean says, shoving her back down on the couch.  “You’re not stupid Abbs, you know Becky’s gonna throw you off the cliff to save her own ass the second the cops start talking deal.  I’d take some time and think seriously about your options.”

“This’s nice place to get some thinkin’ done,” Benny points out.  “Quiet.  There food in the kitchen cher?”  You nod.  Benny takes off his coat, and you gasp when you see a gun tucked into a shoulder holster.  He follows your eyeline and smiles.  “Your man’s prob’ly packin too.  I bet my boots that’s what he was doin in Kansas.”

“One of the things,” Dean says.  He reaches around his back and pulls out a chromed pistol.

“You brought a gun here?” you hiss.

“Let’s hope nobody’s stupid enough to make me use it,” Dean says, putting it back where he got it.

A wave of heat rolls through you, bringing hot blood under your skin and a fine film of fever sweat.  Your pussy trembles, clenches, throbs.  “Alpha,” you whine under your breath.

“Hey.”  Dean pulls you close and cuddles you against his chest.  “Just breathe, babygirl.”

“I think we can handle things here Chief,” Benny says.  “You need to get your girl somewhere safe.”

“Benny is right,” Castiel says.  His face is red but, God bless him, he’s composed otherwise.  “I’m not confident Zachariah will react rationally when he learns his scheme failed.”

“Yeah me neither.  Can you walk?” Dean asks you.  “I need you to go pack.  Just the essentials-- your toothbrush and enough clothes for a few days.  Make it quick.”

You nod and head for your room.  Picking out some jeans and T-shirts takes maybe five minutes.  Talking yourself out of taking every piece of frilly underwear you own is harder.  Packing up the work you need to get done before you go back to class-- the thought is almost surreal after everything that’s happened, what’s still happening.  Is normal even a thing any more?

You emerge from your room with a backpack, a stuffed duffel bag, and a hardshell suitcase on wheels.

“That’ll work,” Dean’s saying to Benny.  “Andrea’s threatening to carve my knot off again isn’t she?”

“Just cuz she loves you don’t mean she don’t want to kick your ass Dean,” Benny says.

“Tell her I love her too.”  Dean looks you over and takes your duffel from you.  He smiles into your frightened face.  “It’s okay, babygirl.  I’m just taking you somewhere safe.  I know a place.”

“Where?” Castiel asks.

Dean gives him a look.  “You don’t need to know.”

Castiel’s stance softens.  “You’re right.  Of course.”

“Your job,” Dean says, “is to do whatever you gotta do to nail her uncle.  My job is to keep my Omega safe.”

“What’s my job?” you ask.

Abbadon laughs.  “Get on your belly and take a big fat knot, Omega,” she says.  “Your body’s crying for it, I can tell.  You were born to be on your knees, sweet.”

“Shut your mouth,” Dean growls.

“Or what?” Abbadon taunts.  “She smells so delicious.  You can’t wait to get her alone and fuck her.  You never could own up to just being a shitty mutt sticking his knot--"

“That’s enough,” Benny cuts her off.  “Can I borrow your tie, Mr. Castiel?”

Castiel pulls off his tie and holds Abbadon by the arms as Benny gags her with it.

“Benny, I--” Dean starts.

“Go on now.  We can handle things here,” Benny says.  He smiles at you.  “Sure was a pleasure to meet you, miss.  Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing now.  Me’n the bumblebee got it covered.”

---

You sit in the shotgun seat of Dean’s Chevy, trembling as your fever intensifies.  You have no real idea where you are.  Absent a stop at a Thrifty Acres to get some groceries, Dean’s been driving on side roads and two-lane blacktop with flat-footed confidence, constantly checking his mirrors and sometimes telling you to duck down out of sight.  You’re trying to keep yourself still, not break his concentration.  It’s hard.  Slick is oozing from you in a steady trickle, so much you can feel it’s soaked through your jeans.  Dean’s reacting to it, you can tell.  He’s all but squirming in his seat.  His scent’s turning darker, more intense.  You keep thinking of how it felt, when Dean made you come just by touching you through your panties, when you were a good girl for him.  You can feel your heartbeat between your legs, making everything swollen and sensitive and ready for Alpha, for Dean--

Finally, after a long crawl down a rutted track through some second-growth tangles of tamarack plants and tree saplings, you spy the dark outline of a house.  Dean pulls the car next to it and kills the engine.  “Here we are,” he says into the silence.

“Where?” you ask.

“Friend of my Uncle Bobby owned this place,” he says.  “It’s got propane and a generator for the lights and a well and septic for water.  We can hole up here until everything blows over.”  He reaches past you and punches open the glove compartment.  “I’m gonna go in first and make sure it’s empty.  You know how to use a gun?”  At your headshake, he pulls out a revolver.  “Pull the hammer back,” he demonstrates, “and squeeze.  I’ll be right back.”

After five minutes that feel like fifty fucking years, you hear a clack and a chug as a machine starts up.  A dim yellow light flicks on inside the cabin.  Dean comes back out, tucking his gun into the small of his back.  “We’re clear,” he confirms and you sigh in relief, putting down the revolver.  “Help me with the bags.”

Inside, the cabin is a one-room shack with a tiny part sectioned off in what you assume is the bathroom.  The walls are knotty pine paneling and you can smell decades of old cigarette smoke.  A woodstove slouches in one corner and there’s a galley kitchen against one wall.  The cabin’s only furnishings are a bed, a saggy couch, and a little café table with a couple of chairs.  Dean plugs something in and the refrigerator starts to hum.  “Put the groceries away.  I’ll get the rest of our things.”

A cramp seizes you as you finish putting the food away and you grind your teeth, bracing yourself on the counter.  By now, at home, you’d be in bed full of muscle relaxants and painkillers, riding your heat out like a little boat in a choppy sea.  “Keep it together bitch,” you mutter to yourself, straightening.  Doing your absolute best to ignore the disgusting sensation of slick-saturated fabric between your legs.

Dean comes in and slings his duffel bag onto the couch.  "The only other people who know about this place," he says, brushing by you without looking at you, turning on the kitchen faucet and nodding at the clear stream of water that results, "are my brother and Bobby.  We should be safe here for at least a few days."

"That's good," you say.  What's happening here?  Why isn't he touching you?  Your body is sobbing for him, you can feel it.  Another cramp twists your insides and you suck in a breath.  Oh, that's bad-- the room is filling with scent, yours and Dean's, mixing together into something that's squeezing your chest in a steel fist.

Dean turns around and braces himself against the kitchen counter.  His eyes dart to the corner, where the bed waits, neatly made with a gray blanket.  Your eyes dart below his belt and yes, even through his jeans you can see he's hard.  He sighs, "God, babygirl, I am so sorry."

"What?" you ask, totally dumbfounded.

"This wasn't what I had planned at all," he says.  "You deserve so much better than a dirty bachelor shack in the middle of nowhere for your first time--"

"Jesus Christ Dean, you think I give a shit about a little dust and mouse turds?" you cut him off.  "Just how fucking shallow do you think I am?"  You curl your arms around yourself, shaking. 

"I don't," Dean says.  "I don't think that at all.  God, you're gorgeous and you're smart and you smell so fucking sweet."  He gulps.  "I've never-- you won't believe me, but nobody's ever gotten under my skin like this before.  What the fuck are you even doing with a bum like me?"

"I thought," you gulp, "I thought you wanted to take care of me."

Dean's eyes darken and a fine tremor makes his body quiver.  Slowly, he pushes himself upright.  One step, two steps, and he's looming over you.  He reaches out and slides his hand up your jawline, turning your head up and your eyes to his.  This is happening, this is really happening, and you feel the knowledge like a punch straight between your legs.  A tiny sound peeps out of you.

That must've been Dean's cue.  His mouth slants over yours.  The relief that sweeps over you makes you melt against him, clinging to keep your balance.  Dean's hands are everywhere, strong and confident, pressing you against him.  You moan when you feel him, hard and seeking through both your jeans.

"Gonna take care of you," Dean growls against your mouth.  He touches your leg, feels the heavy cotton damp with your slick.  "Your pussy's hungry for me, isn't it babygirl?  I've been smelling it all fucking night.  Got me hard soon as I got out of that elevator."

"Really?" you pant.

Dean nods.  His hand curves around your shoulder and slides down.  Your entire body shakes as his hand fits itself to your breast, learning the weight and the curve.  His thumb finds your nipple and swishes back and forth over it, making it painfully hard inside your bra.  Your head drops back and he kisses down your neck.  More slick runs out of your pussy, hot and thick and slippery.

"Can I take this off?" Dean asks, pulling your shirt out from where it's tucked into your jeans.  He kisses across your collarbones as you moan out a yes, raising your arms as he pulls if off over your head.  Bare hands on your waist, feeling him skin-to-skin, your mind reels.

You're at the bed, Dean half-dragging you because your legs have quit working.  The two of you topple over in a great squeak of stiff bedsprings and a puff of dust.  You giggle at Dean's cuss, taking the opportunity to put some kisses of your own under his jaw, down his neck.  His heart's hammering fast as yours, and the texture of his skin against your lips is a mystery you could spend the rest of your life exploring.

Groaning as you press down against him-- against his cock, you correct yourself, his Alpha cock, Dean sits up and shrugs out of his jacket and plaid button-down, shoving them to land on the floor somewhere.  "Take my clothes off," he tells you as he pulls you to straddle his lap.  You pull his T-shirt up and off.  You undo his belt and the top button of his jeans.  Dean lets out a sigh of relief as his trapped erection springs free, stretching out his underwear.  Your bra clasp pops open with a twist of his fingers and you sling it off as your tits swing free.  "Beautiful," he moans, tipping you back and covering your chest with kisses.

"Dean," you whine as he pulls a nipple into his mouth and sucks.  The sensation goes straight to your pussy, which for God's sake is starting to burn.

"Told you," he says, his mouth full of your nipple and his fingers gently pulling the other one, "I needed time to take care of you.  Nice," he says, suckling you long and strong and making you cry out, "and slow.  Make you howl for me, babygirl.  Unzip your pants for me."

You do as you're told like a good girl, and Dean rewards you by shoving his hand down your panties.  He groans when he finds a puddle of slick.  Your cunt clenches, more slick runs over his fingers.  It was good when it was just pressure through your panties; skin to flesh, a rough palm rubbing over your clit and fingers gently threading through your soft inner lips, and you're almost weeping with need.

"Feel that?" Dean asks.  "Your pussy's trying to lock around my hand, babygirl.  You're so slick, I'm gonna just slide right in, right all the way in.  Get in you so fucking deep, you'll feel me for days."

"Please Alpha," you beg, arching to rub yourself over his hand.

"Uht-uh," he grunts.  The fingers that've been stroking you right where you open slip through and slide inside, finding tight and soft.  They move, wiggling deeper, touching secret places you've never even touched yourself.  "Gonna feel so good to make you come on my cock," he says, "feel your pussy lock my knot up nice and tight."  His other hand takes yours and puts it over his tented underwear.  Your palm curves around him and Dean moans.  "That's it, babygirl.  Feel how fucking hard I am?"

"Yes Alpha."  Your hand reaches further into his open jeans and you cup his knot in your hand, feel it pulsing and swelling a little with each throb.

Gently, you squeeze and Dean groans your name.  "Just like that babygirl.  Not too hard-- wait, stop a second."

"No, please, I need you, I need your knot--"

Dean pulls your hand out of his pants and his hand out from between your legs.  His fingers are running with your slick.  Like he's got a palmful of syrup, Dean licks his hand clean.  He presses a finger to your lips and you take a timid lick.  It's . . .  weird, salty and weird.  Not bad, but weird.

"So good.  Later," Dean says, kissing more of your taste into your mouth, "I'm gonna put you up on that table, and spread you out, and eat you out until you scream.  I promise.  Lay back."

You arch to lay back down Dean's legs.  A laugh coughs out of you as he fusses with your jeans, helping you straighten and raise your legs high so he can pull them off.  Your panties go with them, leaving you bare to Alpha's eyes.  Under his burning gaze, you suddenly want to curl up and hide.  You're barely rounded anywhere, skinny rather than slender, your bush spraying everywhere because it's never occurred to you that it might need trimming, much less shaving.  Not like the lushly curved, voluptuous, beautiful Omegas he's probably popped his knot into on a regular basis.

"Hey hey hey," Dean says as you cover your tits with one arm and your pussy with the other hand.  "Don't do that."

"I just--" you snap your hand back over yourself as Dean tries to pull it away from your bush, "look at me."

"I am," Dean says.  "Be a good girl for me.  Let me see you.  Come on.  Babygirl," he says, settling a hand low on your belly, rubbing down and making you shudder as you feel it deep inside your core, right at the source of all the burning, "you will never have to worry about disappointing me.  Not ever.  You hear me?"  He leans over you, filling your vision with his face, with his eyes.

You seize his face and pull him down for a kiss.    How easy it is, to wrap your legs around him.  Dean unconsciously grinds against you.  Frustrated little grunts pop from him as his clothes keep him from sinking into you.  The glands in your neck start to ache, as your body puts out more and more scent.  Alpha is here, right here, he’s rutting, he’s in rut, you need him, now, oh God now, before your body catches fire and burns away.

Grunting, growling, Dean pins your torso flat to the creaky mattress.  “Let me go Omega, just for a second.  Gotta get my pants off.  Hold still, just for a second.”

You let your legs relax.  Dean pushes himself up off you and reaches down under his waistband to free his trapped cock.  Your first thought, as you get your first look at a cock, an Alpha cock, standing up from Dean’s groin like an iron bar and equipped with a pulsing mass of knot at the base, is disbelief.  Dean’s fingers are long and thick and felt huge inside you.  His cock is . . . to your inexperienced eyes it looks like a fucking baseball bat.

Dean busts out with a laugh and you flush, mortified.  “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Just call me Miggy Cabrerra,” Dean teases, shoving his jeans down and peeling them off.  You shift to roll over and Present properly.  Dean stops you with a hand on your hip.  “No babygirl.  I need to watch your face.”  You curl yourself upwards a bit to see what he’s doing-- putting his hand under your pussy and cupping his palm.  The answer comes when he takes the slick that’s gathered and spreads it down his cock.  The sight makes your cunt throb so hard it hurts.  You drag a hand through your pussy and Dean jumps as you smear your slick down his shaft.  His cock is a length of warm stone in your hand, the skin soft and fine, the softest skin you’ve ever touched.  Dean shudders as you gather more slick and use both hands on him.  “Good girl,” he says through a strangled throat, “getting me so fucking hard for you.  Lay back.”  He puts his hands on your thighs and pushes them as far apart as they’ll go.  “God, perfect, spread yourself out nice and wide for me.  Sit up a little.”  A pillow slides under your back.  “Now what did I say about reading minds, babygirl?”

It takes you a second.  “That you can’t.”

“Yahtzee.  If I do something that hurts or that you don’t like, you have to tell me.  I promise, I will not be mad no matter how far gone we are.  Tell me to stop and I will.  Understand me?”

“Yes Alpha,” you say.

“Good girl.  Being such a good girl for me,” Dean says, the words making you shudder.  He smiles and tips your face up to look him on the eye.  “You like being my good girl don’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod.

“Hold still.  Keep being good for me, hold still.”  You gasp as his fat, wet cockhead slides across your pounding clit.  It slips down, a blunt mass seeking where your body unfolds.  Dean says your name and points to his eyes.  “Watch me.  Right here.”

You fight to keep your head up and your eyes open, as Dean’s cock lodges between the innermost of your pussy lips.  Between, and through.  You pull a breath in through lungs that won’t inflate.  He’s . . . big, thick, massive, heavy-- your brain runs out of adjectives.  Your Omega instincts howl in completion.

Dean moans as you clamp down on him.  “Oh my God.  So fucking tight.”  He holds himself still, puts a hand on your belly to hold you still.  “You gotta relax, babygirl, relax, let me in, can you do that for me?  Come on, you can do it.  Let me make you feel good--” and your pussy unclenches and Dean slides straight in, all the way to the knot.

Oh.

So this is what all the fuss is about, is your first thought.  Alpha’s cock filling you to the limit and his knot pressing against where your pussy will lock him in place.  It . . . you ache, down there, where the nerves are going crazy processing new sensory input.  Dean’s weight lays down against your belly.  For a moment you can’t breathe and you squirm under him in a panic.  Then he shifts and puts his forearms on either side of you, bracing himself and taking his weight off you.  Never breaking eye contact, Dean’s hips roll.  Sliding, friction, deep inside where you’re most tender--

Dean sighs, “Squeezing me so tight, Omega.  Tightest little pussy.  How does it feel, feeling me deep like this?”

“Full,” is the only word that comes to mind.  “Feel so full.”

Dean smiles, brilliant but bracketed with tension.  You breathe in his scent and it’s heavy and dark.  You slide your knees up and your legs fall open wider.  Dean shifts back, slipping away and he thrusts, filling you back up full and no, this is what all the fuss is about, this, this.

--mate knot breed mate knot breed mate mate MATE--

Groaning, Dean keeps moving inside you.  Hot and alive.  You’ve used knotting toys before, all Omegas do.  Dean feels nothing like that.  “C-c-can I go a little faster?  Babygirl you feel so fucking good on my cock.”

You nod, gulping.  Your eyes drift closed, going inside yourself, concentrating on the ache and the bliss deep within.

"Eyes open babygirl."

Your eyes fly open and you moan.  Balancing himself on one arm, Dean brings his free hand to your face.  "Suck on my fingers.  Get 'em nice and wet for me.  Good girl," he says as you lick down each of his first two fingers, take them both in your mouth and suck them.  "You're gonna come on my cock, babygirl," he tells you.  "Squeeze my knot so fucking tight.  Lock me right the fuck up."

You cry out as his wet fingers find your clit, arching underneath him.  Your bodies find a beat and you wind your arms and legs around Dean, kissing his lips, his face, his throat.  You suck a bruise at a warm spot in his throat and Dean cries out your name.  Your fangs drop and you only realize at the last second what you're about to do and duck your head, taking your mouth away from where Dean's mating gland throbs.

Dean's movements are getting shorter, the thrusting harder.  You meet him as best you can, pulling him to you, wanting him to melt into your skin, become part of you.  You cry his name as the pleasure just rises, and rises, and critical mass oh God--

You go rigid as you come, harder than you ever have in your life, your pussy squeezing around Dean and the muscles along the lips spasming.  Dean cries out as his knot pops free of them, once, twice.  His hips stutter and you feel him . . . inside you, painting your insides with his seed.  His knot swells and your pussy clamps down, locking him in place as he comes.  The Omega within you screams in completion.  Dean's cock shifts and his knot pulls as his orgasm wrings him dry, the sensation making you whimper through another mini-orgasm as your body squeezes to keep him in place.

You lose a few minutes.  When you come back to yourself, Dean's laying full on top of you.  His hips stutter and jerk every few seconds, his cock twitching as he leaves little dribbles of seed.  Weakly, he wraps an arm around you and rolls you both over, arranging you to lay draped overtop him.  He strokes down your back, cards his fingers through your hair, brushes away tears that've leaked from your eyes.  You don't remember starting to cry.  His chest heaves under your ear and his heart is beating like it's about to burst.

"Dean--"

"Shh," Dean says, and you shush up.  You kiss what skin you can reach, just to feel his skin against your face.  It's so nice, not like what you'd imagined.  Little aftershocks make your cunt flex around Dean, pulling little helpless noises out of him.  Content, that's what you are, the burning under your skin mellowed to a pleasant heat.  You want more.  Later.  Now is for laying in Alpha's arms.

---

continued in part b

[swordofsun]

Thinking about the samulet today. Because thematically as a prop item it was just *chef's kiss*

Because it does symbolize the brother relationship. Full stop, through the entire run of it's appearances on the show. And the way it's utilized to show the changes in that relationship is where the writers werenreally just going above and beyond with the symbolism. (Thanks Dabb and Robbie!)

The first four seasons it is an anchor for how no matter the odds or the situation Dean trusts Sam. He believes in Sam. The samulet was given to him by Sam in a very clear way to show that Sam understood it was Dean and not their dad who was really taking care of him (something Sam forgets and remembers as is convenient to him over the years) and needed the protection. And Dean holds it as his most precious possession. He believes in Sam and their relationship.

Until he doesn't. It is important that Sam wore the amulet while Dean was dead between s3 and s4. It's a very clear signifier that Sam kept the faith that Dean could be rescued. It was his driving goal in those months with killing Lilith as a means to that goal.

But he gives it back to Dean and loses sight of why he was going after Lilith. In much of s4 he goes after Lilith to go after Lilith. Whereas Dean spends s4 slowly losing his faith and trust in Sam. He knows when Sam is lying to him, almost every time. He knows that Sam is sneaking behind his back and doing stuff he knows Dean wouldn't approve of and that he can't fully justify. Because you don't hide things you can justify doing.

The end of s4 is the complete rupture of their relationship. Sam breaks the trust in a way that it takes years to recover from and never even seems to notice. We start s5 and Dean does not trust Sam. He does not trust that Sam will make the correct choices.

Which makes it so good that it's at the beginning of Good God, Y'All that he gives the amulet to Cas. He's literally putting his faith in Cas' hands because he can't put it anywhere else (Gamble can have some rights). Sam and Dean go their separate ways at the end of the episode because Dean can't trust Sam. The amulet is gone and so is Sam.

It is vital to remember that Dean doesn't call Sam up at the end of The End because he wants to hunt with him again or has rediscovered his trust. He calls him because Zachariah just showed him a future where Sam said yes and the first step to stopping that future is changing how it happened. By reconnecting with Sam.

(Not actually Zachariah's plan, but it's what happened.)

Which brings us to Dark Side of the Moon. The episode about lost faith. In it they, and most importantly Cas, learn that God couldn't give less of a shit and they are on their own. (Cas' loss of faith in this episode and the repercussions deserve their own essay.) For Dean he learned that everything he sacrificed for Sam, everything he gave up and everything he let go weren't enough. Every little bit of goodness he tried to scrap together for Sam when they were kids wasn't enough.

Sam barely even remembers one of Dean's best memories. A perfect moment where he got to make Sam happy and loved. (And to be clear this is not Sam's fault. He had a very different perspective on their childhoods and it takes Dean years to accept this.) But the journey through heaven and seeing Sam's happiest moments drives home that everything he thought their relationship was built on was, not a lie, but a delusion. They don't have that shared foundation to rebuild on. Sam broke them in s4 and they don't have solid ground to rebuild because that solid ground never existed in the first place. (And is part of the reason Sam was able to completely destroy Dean's trust in him.)

Throwing away the samulet at the end of the episode is very clearly saying "We don't have a relationship I can trust in. We don't have something to rebuild." Dean still loves Sam, he will always love Sam, but that blind devotion to their siblingness is gone. And it never comes back, just like Dean never wears the samulet again.

It was theorized from approximately 3 seconds after the episode ended that Sam dug that thing out of the garbage, but it's a long time before we get confirmation.

The next time we see the samulet is in Fan Fiction. I think it's important, symbolically, that what we see is a fake. A bad fake. We know what the samulet actually looks like unlike the kids putting on the play. We know it's as fake as everything else in the show. And it's important that this comes at a time when Dean and Sam are very much faking a healthy relationship dynamic.

They never actually discuss everything that lead to Dean being a demon and Sam forcefully healing him. All of the s9 stuff is swept under the rug and by the time Fan Fiction comes around Dean and Sam are back to playing the roles of brothers who are also bffs. It's as fake as the samulet in the show.

It's not until Don't Call Me Shurley that we see the samulet again. This time we're shown that Sam did pull it out of the garbage and apparently carries it around with him. We can take this to symbolize both that Sam never gave up on gaining back their previous relationship and that he wasn't actually willing to do the work to fix it. He was just going to carry on and hope something happened.

We don't see the samulet again after this. It's purpose has been served. Sam has been shown that what he was hoping for wasn't what he was going to get by having Chuck be so much less than the God Sam's had faith in for so many years. It's important that this is the point where both Dean and Sam allow the other to make sacrifices without much argument. Sam was going to take on the Mark to retrap Amara, Dean with the soul bomb. It's a new stage in their relationship where they're willing to let the other person be fully their own person.

Dean still needs most of s12 to fully accept that Sam having a bad childhood was not his fault and he didn't fail Sam; he was given more than anyone could have succeeded at. But it's not a coincidence that s12-15 see them rebuilding a brotherly relationship on much more healthy grounds. (Still overly codependent, but nowhere near as bad.)

Dean actively embraces being his own person and exploring what will actually make him happy in a way we hadn't seen until them. Similarly Sam finally gets to the point where he can stop pretending that he doesn't like hunting and doesn't want to do more. He finds the BMoL intriguing for a reason. Most importantly they are able to do this without, for the most part, insisting that the other person do the same things.

And thank you for reading my essay.

[i-already-know-im-going-2-hell]

Look, even if you don't ship wincest, you have to acknowledge that the way the writers wrote those brothers is weird. It just is.

Like, the show treats it like a joke the same way that Sherlock treated Johnlock like a joke. Like, in show, dean and Sam get confused as a couple, a lot, like it's not a one time thing, it happens multiple times throughout the show and like, that shit happens in real life, I've gotten confused by people who didn't know me or my brother as a couple, because that happens . You stand a guy and a girl together and people ship them.

But like, this is a show, it's not real life, meaning the writers made a conscious decision to put those lines and those scenes in there, and that's inherently weird! Because they clearly knew these two were related, and knew their audience would know they were related, and they still wanted you to look at them for half a second as if they weren't!

Or like Zachariah has one line that says , "Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other" and like, that's a weird line, that's a weird line to write about two brothers. Like it's just, all of this is written so weirdly, and it is weird, but the writers try to play it off as if it's not, which makes it weirder.

And like, here's the thing though, even if they were using those scenes to make fun of Wincest shippers, there's ways to do that that aren't weird. Like, using the convention and Sam and Dean's conversations about shipping to let the characters go "why would people ship this?" Like, that lets you acknowledge that you understand your fans are shipping something, and then blatantly calling them weird for it.

But like, the other stuff??? It's all just like weirdly written?? The siren episode?? Weird as a concept. You take a being made of sex and love and have it imitate your brother. That's weird! That's a weird writers choice!

Like, yes, I get it, incest is weird, but also, why do they keep writing stuff like that then?? Why are the writers weird?? They have so many scenes that play off of the joke that outsiders assume Sam and dean are dating, and that's a weird joke to carry throughout your show, if you're not trying to get people to start assuming things.

Like just, the Winchesters are weird whether you ship them or not and we need to acknowledge the writers knew that when they wrote them.

[disneyanddisneyships]

Dinner party with your OCs! What’s everyone bringing to the table?

(this but with your hellaverse ocs let's pretend you forced some of them to get along)

Aella: probably cookies. This poor woman doesn't have time to cook anything else.

Aponi: she's probably the host, so the main course is probably what she brings.

Becca: Becca would be tasked with getting napkins and forks and stuff.

Cordelia: she probably brings some of the side dishes, like mashed potatoes and such.

Charles: he would want to bring something and he would ask what aponi needs him to bring and shed probably tell him not to even tho she's swamped and stressed.

Deborah: would bring a fresh baked pie which causes some drama and a feud between her and Linda.

Furcalor: would legit bring hors d'oeuvres To this shit.

Genevieve: poor girl wouldn't know what to bring and would end up bringing cereal.

Jay: would save Gen by bringing ham.

Gabriel: lil shit wouldn't bring anything bc he is the lil brother and shouldn't have to. Also because he didn't know they were supposed to so he ends up just helping Lilly cook.

Jason: poor guy would have been invited out of the kindness of lilly's heart, only to be bullied and threatened by everyone else there. Be nice to him (or not idc) he has apologized and is trying to be better. He even brought homemade cookies!

Linda "Bunny" Davis: brought another homemade pie and gets pissed when she sees Deborah with one too. A feud starts.

Roxxie: brings party favors to help decorate.

Theodore: definitely doesnt bring anything only cause he's helping his mom and uncle in the kitchen.

Zachariah: is just there waiting for Ruth cause she's the one who actually brought stuff.

Ari: is just there for the drama.

[ananke-xiii]

I don't know where I'm going with this but it's driving me crazy and I need to start writing it down or I'll lose the thread of my own thoughts.

Basically I'm hyperfixating on the role of prophecy in SPN S4-5 from the pov where Chuck is just a prophet and not God. Because what makes Apocalyptic narratives so compelling is that they can be and indeed are always disconfirmed but never completely discredited. The reliance on prophecies is total in the sense that if the Apocalypse doesn't happen as one has interpreted it, it doesn't mean that it won't ever happen, it just means that the interpretation was wrong. And so on and so forth.

But for something to be interpreted it must also have been written, right? And this is what interests me because s4-5 are about an Apocalypse that's not been completely written yet. What's missing is precisely the end and this thing drives me a bit crazy, as I said.

We know some prophecies have been fulfilled because the premises of the Apocalype were indeed set into motion. However, we also know that Chuck is still writing his Supernatural books, the books that one day will become "Gospels" , but he omits huge and important stuff that he sees in his visions in order to appeal to his readers. And yet, the angels urge him to keep writing after we've been shamelessly showed that what Chuck writes is not always true nor faithful to his visions. He needs to please his audience, too. In fact, he's very concerned with that as he says in "Swan Song" with the "Endings are a bitch" monologue.

Angels seem to approach prophecies in a very human way and it shows when Zachariah asks Chuck "Have you been wrong so far?". They have faith it will happen, they are sure they will win but are they really? 'Cause it kinda seems like they need to be reassured, Chuck must write it, he must make it official in a way. But Chuck purposefully omits!

So of course when Apocalypse doesn't happen, the first thing Raphael wants to do is to open the cage and start anew. Because Apocalypse can only be disconfirmed but never discredited and it all depends on the faith one has on the veracity of prophecies. And the faith in the promise of an (unwritten!) end that Apocalypse yields is so strong that Raphael wants it even though they live in a "godless" universe. They are tired, they just want it to be over (=they want THE PROMISED END), they just want paradise. They don't even want God anymore! But they want paradise! (Amazing, Raphael I fucking miss you).

I don't know where I'm going with this but I think it's worth noticing how the prophet's role goes from writer to translator in following seasons and it's another something something that I'm hyperfixating on. Because "tradurre è tradire" (to translate is to betray) so once again we're confronted with the unreliability of the written word but, more importantly, with our expectations and interpretations of it (the whole Angel tablet chaos would've been avoided if Cas didn't assume what the tablet was about based on Metatron's lies: he believed Metatron because he wrote the tablet but this is what writers do! They LIE).

And if we want to go even further down the rabbit hole, what about Donatello who's constantly manipulated, rendered soulless, corrupted, put into a coma, awakened and people still expect him to provide some help or words of wisdom? I mean, he's not even a translator anymore, at best he's basically a sort of metaphorical life buoy to hold on to in the hope that the word of God is the word of Truth (it's not) or that there still is a God somewhere; at worst, he's used as bloodhound to sense The Darkness, Lucifer or any God-related power and he's finally used by God himself to remind him of what he is: a mouthpiece for God's word. A God that lies.

So yeah, I don't have any conclusion for my convoluted thoughts so here's my anticlimatic ending to the post.

[taocc-updates]

my absolute mess of a Les Mis TAOCC AU please help I am butchering this musical for the sake of my autism

In a digital kingdom that’s concerningly like pre-revolutionary France, a mass of people slowly become dissatisfied with the ways of the world. It’s only a matter of time before something gives, and the AI in charge of this injustice is beheaded…or so they say. Cast:

Jean Valjean (Prisoner 24601) - Abayomi (A simple man who spent many years in prison simply for stealing to provide for his brother Caleb. He blames Inspector Woods for Caleb’s death. A woman named Felicia shows him mercy after he tried to steal her valuables, and he ends up a wealthy man. When he accepts his previous actions and self, the shadow over his face goes away. Saves Simon after the Battle.)

Inspector Javert - Zachariah (Inspector Woods) (Has been chasing escaped prisoners for many years, including 24601. After Abayomi shows him mercy when he could’ve killed him, Woods kills himself out of guilt.)

Fantine - No idea. Dusk? Sun? Felicia? She’s not really important in this AU.

Marius Pontmercy - Simon (A young man with a zeal for justice and a taste for high fashion despite his middling status. He co-leads a ragtag group of revolutionaries who barricade a street and plan to depose the king. Also head over heels for Yelena…but the country’s fate comes first. Even if he’s one of very few to survive their grand plan.)

Cosette - Yelena (Spawned into this world a debtor. Abayomi gets her out of said debt with his newfound wealth, and the two ended up friends because of it. She met Simon by chance, and joined his revolution as a medic. The two get married by the end of the musical. She does not know of Abayomi’s past.)

Éponine - Isaac (One of the leaders of the revolution and Simon’s closest friend (and ex). His pining stays unresolved if we use the original ending for this character. In the original, Isaac would die in the battle at the barricade. Buuuuut I don’t feel like giving him a bad ending, so he lives and stays with the remainder of the revolutionary group and actually gets a resolution to his arc after attempting to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others.)

Thénardier and his Wife - LITERALLY DUNNO LITERALLY DON’T CARE

Enjolras - Icia and Edward take on this role. (Edward is another co-leader of the revolutionary group. Dissatisfied with the endless cycle of poverty, he throws in his lot with the revolution in an attempt to save himself and those like him. He nearly dies for it.

Icia is the true leader of this misfit group, at the end of the day. A former Guardess and direct victim of the AI above them all, she has the most combat experience and personal grievance with the Queen. She barely survives the battle at the Barricade, but doesn’t forgive herself for it. She fights for her husband Lance and son Aster, to give them the life they deserve.)

Gavroche - Chip (A young boy who ended up in this world relatively recently. He exposes the treachery of the Inspector to the other revolutionaries. The others don’t want a kid getting hurt, but he insists. He is probably shot in the battle while on a crucial supply run.)

Other Revolutionaries/Students - Carbine, Charles, Lance, Aoki, Clara, etc etc etc (Various humans and AI who are here to fight against the Queen under the banner of Red and Black. Carbine fights for his survival, Charles is a medic, Lance fights by Icia’s side, Clara fights for their son, and no one is sure why Aoki is here, but he has valuable skills.)

Obviously I did a lot of switching around with plotlines. The original musical takes place over like 30 years, this thing takes place over…1 at most. And stuff like the intergenerational drama between Eponine and Cosette doesn’t happen, Cosette is Valjean’s friend instead of adoptive daughter (which means she joins the revolution proper), Fantine basically doesn’t exist, and almost everyone lives. There are massive holes in the plot and character arcs because of this. But this thing is silly and makes me happy so :P I tried my best

…do I tag people for this?? Uhhhh

Grif I am so sorry for butchering this musical

[scrybe-of-death]

sun -🍩🥞🌙🪤👑🎡❄️💖 mix -👻🍧🍁🌏🍼🔫🌈💔 pharaoh - 💥🌺🙊✂️🔪🚆💧💙 taika - 👊🍓🕷️📣⏳🚲☄️ hex - 🍓☀️🌌📖🎨❇️🌩️ vamp - 😭💐⚾💎👖📏🌩️💓 paper - 💢🍟🌹🎭🎷📦☁️💚 pen - 💤🍰🙈💡📚🔧🔥💗 umbra - 👁️🎂🍃🏊🎤🎀🌟💌 blaze - 🤥🥞🌋📸🎁⚙️🌠💙 dialtone - 👪☕️🙉🍀🎵🖍️🌪️❤️ sisu - 😨 🍧🕷🌱✏️📎💘

note. on my screen 🪤 is. a square. 🪤 is meant to be a mouse trap.

good luck. i Apologize

answers below cut vvvvvvv >wo

Sun!

🍩 - Favorite sweet treat? - Lychee jelly, probably

🥞 - What is their comfort breakfast? - bacon n eggs

🌙 - What is Sun's greatest wish? How far are they willing to go for it? - To have a happy, healthy family. Very far, but fucks up so many times that it seems like she doesnt even try

🪤 - What will always lure them into a certain danger? A loved one in danger? A promise of something they are always searching for? - Of COURSE a loved one in danger! She'll fight tooth and nail for her kids and her husband. Maybe not that much for the second one tho. Dont want Kyubey seeing that /silly

👑 - What does Sun want to be remembered as? Why? - A loving goddess who was there for everyone. She's not very good at upholding that legacy, but yeah... She just wants to be loved qwq

🎡 - Are they someone who wants to kiss at the top of the ferris wheel? - LMFAOOOO ON THE FERRIS WHEEL????.... IN THE CIRCUS??....... NOT ANYMORE HUN TOO MANY DEATHS

❄️ - Do people consider them cold? If so, what made them this way? - Outside of her family, whose seen her good side? Yeah. Other than that many people probably see her as rather a brutal murderer or an unfeeling monster or a tired tour guide depending on how long theyve lived in the Circus

💖 - Are they a subtle or showy lover? - Showy because she probably wouldnt give a shit abt what others would think of it, though she'd conform to whatever Sigil would want.

Mix!

👻 - Do they believe in ghosts? What are their "ghostly experiences", if any? - YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING SENDING THIS ASK. Absolutely, btw. And also his closest ghostly experience was seeing Bob LOL despite how much he wishes Elida would visit him

🍧 - Do they still have any objects from their childhood? What significance does it have to them? What would their reaction be if they lost it? - Not much. Maybe a toy, or a plush or two. Circus does some shit 2 ya yk... But probably not a lot of significance, and they wouldnt really care past a bit of nostalgic sadness if they lost anything. Already lost quite abit of things and people anyway, right? Growing up as a trans child in a transphobic environment kinda fucks u up too so the main stuff would be dresses and dolls he doesnt even want

🍁 - What is their favorite season? Why? - Mix doesn't have one. All seasons kind of suck for him... If he had to pick, then summer because it's warm and inviting and theres no allergies

🌏 - Will they give up the world for someone they love? Is this decision easy for them? - ABSOLUTELY. and ABSOLUTELY NOT.

🍼 - What are their thoughts on children? - GODDAMNIT SOUP. HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON OLD MAN /REF /SILLY

🔫 - Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back to someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone if given an ultimatum? - Yes. It would be extremely difficult for them to turn their back to someone. Something something he probably considers Simon shooting Zachariah a betrayal... And he cant count the amount of times Drunkie's done some horrible shit to him. And also... if given the most DEFINITIVE ultimatum ever, then, with extreme difficulty and reluctance, yes.

🌈 - What advice would they give to their younger self? - "Fight back."

💔 - What could their partner do that would absolutely break them? - He's already broken loooollllllllllllllll we all saw drunkie we already know

Pharaoh!

💥 - What emotions do they have trouble dealing with? - Love. And rejection. Half sure he would have spent the next few days screaming incessantly into a pillow if Abayomi said no... and also will spend the next few days screaming incessantly into a pillow because Abayomi said yes.

🌺 - Do they have any allergies? - touching grass. and people /silly (no allergies)

🙊 - What is something Pharaoh will refuse to stay quiet about? - 20 DOLLARS

✂️ - What is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? How easily do they let go of people? - Handing him an $100 bill for $1.53 purchase /silly... In actuality it would depend on the situations. And likely VERY easily if they were anyone but a very close loved one.

🔪 - How do they react to injury/misfortune befalling their loved ones (significant other, family, friends)? Do they put themselves at blame? - ANGER. PURE BURNING RAGE. It may not seem like him, but inside that tiny internal cashier is a black hole of fury. They likely dont put themselves at blame tho

🚆 - What is their answer to the trolley problem? - "Kill the five people. One of them has GOT to be a capitalist."

💧 - Random angst headcanon? - Pharaoh used to be addicted to smoking. More specifically, he probably smoked the entire time he was in the real world and only stopped bc he didnt have direct access to smoking in the Circus/didnt remember

💙 - Do they miss their S/O easily? How do they act when their S/O isn't around? - Oh, SO easily. And probably is slightly more irritable. "What the fuck do you want?" turns to a polite "Hello" the instant Abayomi walks in

Taika!

👊 - Are they quick to violence? - Depends on what you consider "violence". A little fun skirmish? Yeah. A full on rage-induced angsty battle? No.

🍓 - Do they eat their fruit and vegetables? What is their favorite fruit or vegetable? - Reluctantly, yes. I think they'd really like cauliflower though. Don't ask me why cause I don't know

🕷️ - What is their biggest fear? Do they have any irrational, mundane fears? - Getting lost. They'll play and explore all they want, but as soon as they realize they don't know where the orphanage is or where they are, they're petrified. Could that be considered "mundane"????

📣 - How loud are they? What do they speak like? Got a voice claim? - VERY loud. I don't know how to deacribe their voice, but their VC is The Collector from TOH.

⏳ - Are they usually late or on-time? - Fashionably late.

🚲 - Can they ride a bike? What do they remember from learning to ride a bicycle? - They can ride a bike easily!... with training wheels.

☄️ - What do people assume about them? Are they right? - "That thing is a fucking gremlin and would bite me. GET YO DOG BITCH! /ref" They are right.

Hex!

🍓 - Do they eat their fruit and vegetables? What is their favorite fruit or vegetable? - Yes! I think they'd love blueberries. "They're blue like me!"

☀️ - Are they a morning person? What's the first thing they do in the morning? - Yes!! They probably go brush their teeth and get clothed like the good kid they are

🌌 - What was the inspiration behind your OC? What was the first thing you decided about them? - Sparklers! and i wanted them to be a little upbeat kid. The original milo, but can still be traumatized /silly

📖 - Do they like reading? What's their favorite genre? - Yes!!!!! theyd love fantasy and fun fiction!

🎨 - Can they draw? What do they like to draw? - Well, yeah :3 They like drawing people the most! Their family!!!..... you saw that one mockup

❇️ - What is their most prized possession? What do they value? - Their art! And they value their family and friends above everything.

🌩️ - Are they scared of lightning? - Nope :3

Vamp!

😭 - What makes them cry? Do they cry easily? - Life. And... Sort of? They'll hold back tears with all of their might in front of other people but she will GLADLY cry all night if no one's with her

💐 - Create a bouquet for them! What do those flowers mean? Are any of the flowers their particular favorite? - orange lily. completely orange lily. immediately came to mind. literally just means "ur a stupid bitch" and i love her so much i give her orange lily bouquet

⚾ - Can they play sports? What is their best position if they play a team sport? What's their strong suit (speed, power, etc.)? - Scrawny ass bat cant do shit, so not WELL but... She'd like tennis a lot methinks. Just cause speed. Become a bat between hits or something. Speed!!!

💎 - How rich are they? Can they live the lifestyle they want to? - VERY, VERY, VERY rich. They're also a part of a cult (technically escaped, but still follows some of the values and has NOT recovered) so Absolutely Not

👖 - What is their go-to outfit? - Their cult robes

📏 - Is Vamp well educated? Where did they get their learning from? - Sort of? Depends on what you mean by that. Socially? No. Mathematically? No. Ask her about every section of the fragile, warm, WEAK human body, though, and she'll answer like a trained anatomical scientist of 60 years.

🌩️ - Are they scared of lightning? - WITHOUT A SHADOW OF A DOUBT, YES-

💓 - If they have a crush, is it noticable? What changes when they're in love? - They're the playground bully your mom says just has a crush on you. Bite bite bite bite. She's just being friendly

(NOTE: FUCK I MISTOOK THIS FOR THE BEATING HEART SO I GUESS YOU GET AN EXTRA FACT TOO!!

💓 - What gets their heart racing? - Tanya.)

Paper!

💢 - What are some habits they have that will take some getting used to? - They have a habit for reaching for Pen even when they aren't there. This has caused many occurrences if them falling off chairs.

🍟 - Do they order food often? Or do they prefer to cook their own food? - Pizza every damn night bro. Pen doesn't complain it hates doing dishes too

🌹 - Do they like Valentines' Day? Have they been confessed to before? Have they confessed to anyone before? - "Just another day to spoil my beloved partner, what's not to love?" I think Paper confessed to Pen first. No exes.

🎭 - Do they act differently around certain people? What's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.? - Pen is the only person they are nice to. Everyone else they can and will bite the hands off of.

🎷 - Do they play any instruments? Are they any good at it? - They can play anything at all! Paper is sort of a shapeshifter, so whatever Pen can draw for them, they can play. Pen draws Paper as a talented guitarist and hands them one and they'll play just fine.

📦 - What are some "most likely to..." that can apply to them? - "Most likely to shoplift" and "most likely to lie horribly on their resume and STILL not get the job".

☁️ - A soft headcanon? - Paper loves watching Pen draw more than anything. It especially loves when Pen draws for it <3

💚 - What things make Paper feel comforted? Hugs, kisses, food? - Getting wrapped up in a blanket and sleeping in Pen's arms SPECIFICALLY. No one else.

Pen!

💤 - Do they fall asleep easily? What helps them sleep? - No. They like staying up allllll night long, but eventually Paper will SOMETIMES get them to just fucking sleep. Warm milk does the trick.

🍰 - When is their birthday? Do they like celebrating it? - November 1. And... Yes. They LOVE the attention-

🙈 - What's a side of Pen that they don't want to show to other people? - Their loving, caring side. It's easy for them to get wrapped up in being some scary unfeeling mysterious little guy (they fail at this btw). But Paper knows

💡 - Is Pen a planner? Do they write down every small detail or just wing it? - EVERY LAST DETAIL.

📚 - How were they at school? What is their best subject? What is their worst subject? Do they have a favorite subject? - They were fine at their studies. Their favorite and best subject, is, unsurprisingly, art, while their worst subject was history. Me too buddy me too

🔧 - Are they good at fixing relationships? Or do they tend to avoid doing so? - They're HORRIBLE at it and don't bother unless they really, really like the person.

🔥 - Do they have any self-destructive tendencies? What habits do they have that hinder them from becoming their best self? - They like to pick at their skin and scabs. They also don't care for food- not out of any ED, just don't care for it. It'll eat when Paper tells it to eat. (which is often)

💗 - If they have a crush, is it noticable? What changes when they're in love? - Unnoticable. Absolutely nothing changes- Until they're in a relationship. The moment it's official it's all snuggling and kisses.

Umbra!

👁️ - What color are their eyes? Do people notice their eyes? Is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical, etc.)? - Their eyes are brown! She likes to cover her eyes with her hair, so not really. And,, other than them pretty much having infinite tears, no

🎂 - When is their birthday? Do they like celebrating it? - July 29! And, no. They hate celebrating it. They hate the attention it comes with and they never know what to say when getting gifts or compliments

🍃 - Do they enjoy being in nature? What is their favorite outdoor activity? - she Loves nature! with a capital L. She just likes taking walks or sitting around. She isnt much of an explorer but she'll go on a nice path or two

🏊 - Can they swim? Or are they afraid of water? How well do they swim? How do they feel about swimming in the ocean? - I think she could swim. She'd be okay with water because... yk... Kind of always falling around her eheh- I think she would be able to swim better than most people, and would think it would be fun (but a little scary) to swim in the ocean

🎤 - Are they good at singing? What is their go-to karaoke song? - Yes... i think she would have a really wind-chimey voice. She'd like New York by Fog Lake GO LISTEN TO THAT SONG RN

🎀 - How would they fit into other worlds/AUs? What AUs would you like to try out? What fictional world would they fit/not fit into? - AAAGH this is a hard one. She'd be the most PATHETIC villain in the villain au EVER. I also think that she'd be some sort of creature entirely of water in the weirdcore au idk, ,,,, They would fit well in Undertale as a waterfall creature methinks,, and she'd suck if you dropped her in Aperture Labs

🌟 - What do they think about when they look at the night sky? Is there someone they want to stargaze with? - Sarah <3 and also Sarah <3 She'd never ask though, too embarrassed

💌 - Do they like love letters? What kind of messages do they leave for their partner? - I think she would find them sweet but, once again, wouldn't know how to respond- She'd probably leave tiny notes for Sarah, but it would never go anything beyond a really gentle reminder with a heart

Blaze!

🤥 - Is he a good liar? Does he have "tells" to show he's lying? - A HORRIBLE liar. I think he'd tug at the neckline of his bandana while sweating or comically look away and roll on the balls of his feet

🥞 - What is their comfort breakfast? - hash browns

🌋 - How bad is their temper? Is it a slow boil, or an instant explosion? - I think it would be slow unless it was an extremely grave situation. Most of the time he'd be the "Okay, guys, let's not fight, I broke it, let me pay for it, it's fine" /ref (or not notice anyone was fighting at all-)

📸 - Do they enjoy having their picture taken? What's their go-to pose? Do they like taking photos? What do they take photos of? - I don't think they'd mind it :) He'd give a blank thumbs up every time. Once again I don't think he'd mind taking photos, he'd probably take photos of crops or wheat (tfw wheat field) or smth

🎁 - What types of presents would they be most happy to recieve? Are they good at gift-giving? - He'd love being given literally any food or anything handmade. Probably not good at gifting lol

⚙️ - What is Blaze's thoughts on science and art? Which do they give more importance to? How much value do they place on each? - Blaze would LOVE BOTH!! He'd probably think they're equally as important as one another. He'd value science more though cause he would probably say he's not creative

🌠 - If they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make? - "I wish I could be a cob o' corn. What d'ya mean, 'why'? I thought every'un wanted t' be a cob o' corn." Don't let Kyubey see this pt2

💙 - Do they miss their S/O easily? How do they act when their S/O isn't around? - Yeah <3 lovesick little man. He'd probably act the same with a bit more heart eyed cheek-in-their-hand swooning.

Dialtone!

👪 - What is their family like? What is Dialtone's relationship to them? Does Dialtone have any siblings? - Their family is rich. The rest? You'll have to wait and see

☕️ - Do they prefer hot or cold drinks? What is their favorite drink? - Hot! He likes bitter tea or black coffee

🙉 - What is the worst thing Dialtone could hear from someone? - Anything out of Ilas's fucking mouth

🍀 - Do they believe in luck? Are they lucky? - I don't think they believe in luck other than when trying to delusionally stop blaming themself for... Mmm maybe I should stop talking

🎵 - What is their playlist like? Their favorite artists? Do you associate a particular song with them? - They'd like sundots and Sparklehorse. Specifically Hello Lord by Sparklehorse. I have no other notes on this

🖍️ - What advice would you give to them? - "JUST FUCKING KICK ILAS OUT OKAY"

🌪️ - What is the biggest change you have ever made to them? How have they changed from their original version? - ...SOUP. SOUP I SWEAR TO G

❤️ - Their love language(s)? - Physical touch

Sisu!

😨 - When scared, do they go into "fight" or "flight"? - Freeze. Just do nothing. Can't do anything. Brain frozen up

🍧 - Do they still have any objects from their childhood? What significance does it have to them? What would their reaction be if they lost it? - Similar to Mix's answer to this. Not really

🕷 - What is their biggest fear? Do they have any irrational/mundane fears? - She is terrified of any and all medical things. She would scream louder if someone had a twisted ankle around her than if someone peacefully died in front of her

🌱 - What is their most vivid memory from childhood? - The white walls of the hospital.

✏️ - Is there a particular quote/lyric you associate with them? - SEEMS IT NEEEVER RAAINS IN SOOUTTHEERRN CALIIFORRNIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

📎 - A random fact? - She loves facing her fears! She used to be afraid of heights before she actually went out and explored them

💘 - What traits do they look for in a relationship? Do they believe in love at first sight? - Anyone who will actually listen to her. And, yes

This took three days

[scoobydoodean]

@ one of your recent anons and post I also feel like Sam has to purify himself through his food and being healthy.

As a kid he ate a bunch of junk food, that's when he was impure. That's how he views himself in childhood, impure, but now he has control over himself and his life and what he chooses to put in his body

I agree with the messy eater thing and Sam does not understand that food is comfort for dean but he often struggles to understand why dean would do something differently than he would do

Context

I definitely think there's a control and purity aspect to Sam's relationship with food. In fact it's probably the biggest part of why his own relationship to food is the way that it is. In terms of how Sam, in turn, feels about Dean's eating habits, I wasn't thinking of those thoughts as a major contributor. My initial thinking was that when Sam thinks of himself as impure, in contrast, he doesn't tend to think of anyone else in his life that way—but especially not Dean. Dean is the perfect son (1.08), the righteous man to Sam's boyking of hell, the vessel of Michael vs the vessel of the devil, the Jonathan Harker to Sam's Dracula (4.05). In Sam's head: Dean doesn't need to do anything to make himself pure because Dean was born pure. Sam needs to somehow make himself pure or atone because he was born impure and eating "right" is a way of achieving that somehow (Of course none of this stuff about Sam's purity is true—these are Sam's intrusive thoughts).

But I guess in a way, Sam's feelings about Dean's eating habits could be connected to the purity aspect of his own relationship to food. Maybe it makes him think something like, "If I was the righteous hero, then I'd act like it by eating 'right'". Reminds me of what I wrote about 4.17—that Dean's status at the company is a message being sent to Sam by Zachariah. He gives Dean Sam's Stanford education to make Sam feel that Dean is being assigned traits and roles that should be his. Then there's Dean Smith's diet. In real life, Dean isn't concerned with juice cleanses, but Sam is. Maybe Zachariah is sending Sam another message there about Dean stealing the hero role that should belong to him—assigning Dean the role of Sir Galahad The Pure—the role Sam has always wanted most desperately.

[shallowseeker]

hi shall!!!! it’s whiskey!!! i wrote this post and wanted to know your thoughts on michael believing in chuck/god so strongly because he had to, and what could’ve possibly swayed him sooner on chuck not being good? (ex: if he had been out of the cage when the it was damaged after amara was released or when jack was born) because i think knowing this information could have, considering he chooses willful ignorance. (or you could go the route that he knew somewhere deep down, but didn’t want to know, and that’s why he flipped so easily on him)

some things rattling in my head that are influencing this:

- when he first met dean, he told him that there is no such thing as free will—yet he goes out of his way to choose adam despite dean being his true vessel and part of god’s plan.

- so no matter what, he would’ve failed (as we learn later in s14…?) because chuck wanted to see a sam and dean in particular fight each other. however he didn’t know any of this. he just was under the impression that he needed to start the apocalypse and kill lucifer.

- he tells adam in 15x08 that he can’t ask the question [of why tfw believes god is playing them] because that means he doubts god—the good son, the favorite. but chuck tells lucifer that he’s his favorite! i’m currently picturing his reaction to this and it’s doing things to me.

- i agree with your post about chuck manipulating people through caring about people. it reminds me of when dean criticized jack for making promises to cas prior to his death in all along the watchtower. i do think this is why michael “went back to god” (because imo his lil speech sounds fake as hell) because he couldn’t bring adam back. so he wanted to be on his side because he thought chuck would.

- - (side note) he said his essence was pulled from their body, which begs into question where ‘away’ is, since it’s clearly not heaven. (this is in regards to chuck telling becky he sent her husband and kids ‘away’ before he did the same to her)

- the whole interaction between him and lucifer in s5. (“we’re brothers, we could just walk off the chessboard,” and michael actually looks like he wants to and says he can’t.)

sorry for this long post, i just genuinely feel like you’re the only one who gets my thoughts about this stuff and wanted to know if it tickles your brain in the same way. i’ve currently got a couple (midam-centric) fics in the works and needed to lose my mind in your inbox lol

hope you’re doing well!!!

Hello again! It seems like I confused myself on your question and smashed several things together, ehehe.

I'll try to add some thoughts on the specific things you pointed out:

michael believing in chuck/god so strongly because he had to, and what could’ve possibly swayed him sooner on chuck not being good?

Hmmm. There are a few things that we saw attenuate his behavior that are fun to consider here:

Adam. He wanted Adam to "be his guide" on Earth, showing an interest in spending time on Earth. It's interesting that his words echo Cas from 9x03: "In any event, I – I do now see how difficult life can be ...I think you'll be great teachers."

Cas. Their interactions are so fun! He fights with him! Sasses him! Cas lures him into a brawl, and then injects him with memories. And Cas is somewhat trustworthy, because instead of smiting Cas or calling him a liar, he sulks and despairs over the information, appealing to Adam for his opinion.

, As above, appealing to Adam about a difficult topic. This shows that Adam is someone he's grown to trust and identify with, and although he's sulky about it, he allows Adam to challenge him on his views (we see that he beats others that do in the past, like Zachariah, mirrored behavior with the AU version of Zacharaiah).

Arguably, the AU Michael also had the potential to turn on Chuck because "fulfilling his destiny" and tearing Lucifer apart "in the skies over Abilene" was so intensely painful and disillusioning that he named himself Destroyer of Worlds and vowed to hop worlds, destroying them until he "caught up to the old man" in order to kill him. Nonetheless, AU Michael had a moment where he longed for connection, soliloquizing to Jack about them being the same in 14x09 and later referring to the moment as "a moment of familial weakness that won't happen again."

////

- when he first met dean, he told him that there is no such thing as free will—yet he goes out of his way to choose adam despite dean being his true vessel and part of god’s plan.

Oh, interesting! You're right. On the one hand, this points to a zealous desperation to fight Lucifer; on the other, he's almost Forcing Destiny (TM) to happen. Is he depressed or desperately searching for some mission in a life that has no inherent/fulfilling meaning?

///

- so no matter what, he would’ve failed (as we learn later in s14…?) because chuck wanted to see a sam and dean in particular fight each other. however he didn’t know any of this. he just was under the impression that he needed to start the apocalypse and kill lucifer.

he tells adam in 15x08 that he can’t ask the question [of why tfw believes god is playing them] because that means he doubts god—

This makes me think about the concept of Heaven and persecution for not just actions but also thought crimes. Anna said something to that effect: We have to take it on faith... Which we're killed if we don't have.

I think this points to that Michael was also not immune to the power structure of Heaven. Of course, we can also take this as he's the originator of it... but somehow I think it spirals back to Chuck's former anger, as Metatron references enjoying Chuck's "former wrath" in 11x20, with this: "There he is. That's the guy I know!"

One might take this in summation with this line in 5x22: "What's this? Another one of God's tests?" ...as just one in a long line of Chuck's endless way of having his subjects and sons prove their love and obligations.

LUCIFER/SAM: We're going to kill each other. And for what? One of Dad's tests. And we don't even know the answer. We're brothers. Let's just walk off the chessboard.

This almost sounds like A test in a LONG LINE of tests. Hm? That's fairly cruel and would have longterm effects for both of them if so... And yes, we CAN certainly take Michael's action as a sign of "having little free will," but if it's attenuated by a long line of cruel obedience tests from Chuck, combined with Lucifer's long-running history of betrayals and Evil (TM)...

I think it's probably intertwined with a lot more than his simplified company line of Destiny (TM) than even he is willing to admit.

The anxiety/fear re; "one of dad's tests" is of particular interest to me here... Hm.

///

so he wanted to be on his side because he thought chuck would.

Yes, my thinking is mostly indirect, but I quite like the thought! Lucifer's words about Jack, about referencing being "on the winning team." I just thought it was an interesting way to play it that Michael might be interested in the same thing, now that he has something to lose.

///

I dunno how I did answering these for you @jack-deaniels but I hope you found some of this fun!

[neontapirguts]

Oc Asks!! (part 1)

Time to get down to answering some of these <3 answers below the cut:

1. Oldest OC: My oldest OC is a Neopets oc believe it or not. Geltolnikov or just simply Gel is a rare item smuggler and black market hustler. I mad him waaaayyy back in like 2003. When i first made him he was red, but when i got ahold of a pink paintbrush in the game he became a pink bastard to reflect that

2. Newest OC: Tiberius is my newest OC. Tiberius is a human cleric that is a total glutton he hides his weight with a magic cloak, that compresses his nearly 500 lbs into a manageable 150lbs to keep his gluttony a secret. If you asked him if he was fat, he would scoff and deny it, but in secret he's gorging himself on anything he can get his hands on. He encompasses like a lot of my fetishes into one

3. favorite oc: I answered this a little earlier in an ask, but it's a tie between Zachariah and Calli. more info about them in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/neontapirguts/759728248790876160/so-which-one-of-your-ocs-is-your-favorite-or?source=share 4. favorite oc design: That title goes to my boi gethin. He's a shy bookworm type that got possessed by a demon through the staff he carries(that he bought from a traveling merchant) and is slowly turning into a demon himself because of the prolonged contact with it. he's part of my group of Avalon bois, a setting that I write/run DnD campaign's about and stuff a LOT

5. Main reason for making ocs: mostly for Dungeons and Dragons purposes. However other reasons include, fleshing out my own setting of Avalon and "gosh i need something that scratches a fetish itch for me"

6. Describe your character creation process: Wow *sits in bed* man i really want to play "x" character in DnD once. Woops I can't use them for DnD? Well they get to go in my avalon setting now*throws* 7. Do you ship your Ocs with someone else: I sure as heck do. And that is my my Fiancée, Dan. We've been shipping characters together since they day we met (i'm not joking, we met in college and the first thin he did was make a character to ship with my character Chrys 8: Favorite OC Ship: THE POLYCULE! My character Lupin(big guy!), My Character Gethin (before he started to get corrupted) and Dan's Character Maze:

9. Weirdest OC?: Hands Down Forever! Forever has been through several iterations, but in his current form, he's a Vedalken that has been put through mental reconditioning , stripped of his personality, and allowed to become basically a god in his own little demi plane, and put in charge of said plane, leading people through a death machine to harvest their emotions for people that built said machine.

10. villain OCs? I have quite a few of those! But the biggest baddest ones I have are, Zachariah(ancient evil arch lich), Jacob and Ebb(Duo of Vampires), and Err(fallen Aasimar that wants to destroy all religion )

11. do you consider yourself nice to your OCs?: hahaha...no >:3c I may answer the other half of the questions later. just feeling like gushing about my bois

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Calling A Professional, part b

Series: Professional, part 1b

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: 'You' are a career-oriented young Omega too preoccupied with school to have a dating life. Your image-oriented family decide enough is enough and give you a screamingly inappropriate present -- a night with a full-service Alpha escort, emphasis on full. And stuff happens.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Sam Winchester, Zachariah, Balthazar, Gabriel, Naomi, Castiel, Benny LaFitte, Arthur Ketch, Abbadon, Becky Rosen, Bobby Singer, Charlie Bradbury, Bille the Reaper, First Time, Sex Worker Dean Winchester

AN:  Blame the walking talking PWP device that is Dean Winchester. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

continued from part a

---

The shower is a dingy plastic cubicle shoved next to a toilet in a bathroom that's about than a yard square.  The two of your barely fit, and that's if you press against the wall.  The water is nice and hot though, soothing sore muscles you don't even remember straining.

Dean runs a soapy washcloth over you, stroking it down your skin slow and gentle.  Briefly you wonder if he usually does this with all his clients, and you can't help a hard sting of jealousy at the thought.  You reach out and touch a black-and-blue smudge on his ribcage.  "What's this?"

"Oh, I uh--" Dean raises your arm and scrubs you from armpit to hip, making you giggle when he hits your tender spot.  He grins.  "Somebody's ticklish."

You shove at him.  "Dick."

"Brat," he retorts.  "It's nothing.  Ketch got a few hits in before I laid him out.  Turn around."

You turn and lean your front against the shower wall.  Dean lifts your hair up and scrubs your shoulders, passes the sudsy washcloth down your back.  The soap smells herbal and musky, and it pairs well with Dean's dark sweetness.  You can feel your heat rebuilding, and you know you're going to want him again soon.

Soon means now, you realize as Dean squats behind you and washes down each of your legs.  You squirm at his touch, almost but not quite flaring up to Present your pussy to him.  You hear Dean chuckle to himself.  His hand, covered with a warm washcloth, comes up to gently stroke between your legs, cleaning up slick and seed as it keeps leaking out of you.  You tremble as his warm hand cups your pussy, only just barely touching where you throb.  "God your pussy's pretty," Dean says, making you blush.  One of his hands touches your ankle.  "Can I touch you?  Make you come again for me?"

"Uh-huh," you whine.  Dean guides your legs apart and shifts your stance to open you up.  Your legs tremble as he drags the warm washcloth across your swollen flesh.  Hypersensitive from heat and sex, it doesn't take long before you're shaking.

Dean stands and pulls you against him, back-to-front.  He pivots, turning you to face the shower spray.  The hot water feels divine, pelting and running down your skin.  One of Dean's hands squeezes your breasts, playing and pinching the nipples.  The other slides down between your legs, his palm rubbing against your clit and making you whine.  Dean kisses you as you come again, thrashing against his grip.

"Oh no," he sighs, bringing his hand out from between your legs and showing where his fingers are soaked with fresh slick and blobs of his own come.  "I made you all messy again."

---

You wake up late, after sleeping deep and dreamless.  Outside is quiet.  The only background noises are the rustling of the trees and the mufflered throb of the generator.  The uncovered windows let in the autumn sunshine, filtered through orange and yellow leaves.  The view through the dirty, undraped windows is of trees-- the cabin must be on the edge of some undeveloped property in the middle of nowhere, maybe part of a defunct farm.  Or someone leaving the land alone to provide cover for deer.  You can see Dean's car, covered with a dingy dropcloth.  You nod-- from a distance it'd look like something covered and forgotten, just another piece of abandoned gear.

Next to you Dean shifts a little in his sleep.  He's on his side, curled up, his mouth hanging open as he breathes deep and a little bit snory.  He's even drooling on the pillow.  You cover a giggle as you snuggle closer, seeking warmth in the cold air of the cabin.  One of his arms curls around you and you take a chance and press a few kisses to his chest.

"Your feet are freezing, babygirl," Dean grunts, and rolls you over.

---

You haven't laughed this much in years, you think to yourself later.  Dean looks up at you, his lips pressed to your ankle bone.  He's spent the last little while doing what he calls intensive researching-- laying you out on the bed, naked to his sight and touch, examining you all over.  And being very silly about it, like tracing the pattern of moles on your left hip with his tongue and trying out names for your tits-- "Tweedledee and Tweedledum?  Strawberry and Shortcake?  Heckle and Jeckle?"  He's naked too, totally unselfconsciously, comfortable with himself in a way you envy.

"This little piggy went to market," he says, kissing your big toe.

"Staaaaaahp," you groan.  "Not into feet."

Dean grins, kissing your instep.  "Flip on over."

You turn onto your belly.  Dean kisses up the back of your leg, lingering in the tender spots behind your knees, at the base of your ass.  "Uht-oh," he says to himself, kneading into the thick muscle, "your pussy's hungry for me again."  He's right, your body's going hot and slick's trickling out of you.  You whine and shift your legs apart, but Dean just keeps kissing up your back.  You can feel him smiling against your skin.  "I could do this all day."

"You bastard," you whine, pressing your ass against him, seeking his cock.

"Hey, I know who my daddy is," Dean says.  He turns your head and kisses you, all tongue.  His weight settles on your back and his thigh presses between your legs.  You push back, trying to get some friction against your clit, but the angle's wrong, you can't reach.

"I got what you need, Alpha's here," Dean says into your ear.  "But you have to ask, babygirl."

"Please, Alpha," you say.  "Need you."

"Good," Dean says, "good girl.  What do you need from me?  Do you need my cock?"

"Yes, please," you say.  "Please Alpha."

Shifting one of your legs to open you wider, Dean enters you with a long slide and a groan.  "Perfect," he sighs.  "Perfect for me, Omega.  So perfect."

---

It's hot in here now, that Dean's got the woodstove loaded up and working.  Outside, rain lashes the cabin, the kind of cold autumn rain that makes you glad for modern conveniences like hot showers and central heating.

"What's this?" you ask, picking out another scar on Dean's torso.

Dean trembles as you kiss over it, an oval of white bisected by a straight line.  "Never saw the shooter.  Just looked down and realized it was my blood all over."  His hands are clamped on the chair's back and sweat's standing out on his skin.  You lick, letting the salt sting your tongue.

Trailing kisses up his flank, you find a jagged white line arching along his rib cage.  "This?"

"Guy caught me cheating at a poker game.  I didn't realize he had a knife.  Dad had to stitch it up."

"Shit.  Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Dean gives you a look.  "No money, no health insurance, and gambling was illegal in that town.  I'd've gotten arrested."

"Sorry," you say, hanging your head.  It's humbling, realizing on a gut level just how sheltered you really are.  Sure, your parents might've been ambivalent about raising an accidental kid, but they were never unkind and they made sure you were always safe and cared for.

"It's okay babygirl," Dean reassures you, ducking his head to kiss your forehead.  "It healed fine."

Your eyes fall to a tattoo high on his left pectoral, right about where the aorta bends down.  Your lips trail over the stark black ink-- a pentacle in a circle flanked by wavy black lines that look a little like wings.  “Dad,” Dean says.  “He found it in a book somewhere, supposed to protect you from ghosts’n’shit.”

You kiss back down and Dean shudders as you come close to his very hard cock.  You sit back on your heels and just . . . look at it.  All hard and leaking, with a knot and balls and a thicket of tawny brown hair at the base.  Dean's skin is fair, delicate, you can see the thick arteries pulsing, feeding blood in from his belly.  This has been inside you.  Your pussy twitches at the thought.  If you concentrate you can feel deep inside your sex in a way you couldn't before-- touched, wet, fucked a little bit sore.  You know it's kind of your job to touch him there, make him feel good with your hands and your mouth the way he's made you feel good, but now that you're facing the three-dimensional reality you're coming over shy again.

"You don't have to do anything you're not okay with babygirl," Dean reminds you, reading you like a headline again.

"I'm okay," you tell him.  "Just . . . first one of these I've seen in the wild.  I mean-- dumb question, but how do you manage with that flopping around-- shut up!" you whack his leg as Dean busts out laughing.  Some wicked impulse to wipe that silly grin off his face overrides your shyness and Dean coughs out a curse as you take the crown of his cock in your mouth.

A pulse of precome flows across your tongue and you grimace.  Yuck.  You pull back and explore the head with your lips, avoiding the leaking slit.  The texture of the skin is soft, a little like silk and a little like velvet but it’s mostly its own thing.  You press your tongue to a spot where the seam and the head come together and taste-- ick, sour slick and salty blargh.  It’s worth it though, for the way the muscles in Dean’s arms and chest pop out as his fists clench the back of the chair.  Alpha is submitting to you, as you touch his most tender parts.  Dean could bolt up from this chair and knot you in seconds, easily.  But he’s not, and he won’t.

You wrap a hand around his knot.  Here goes nothing-- you take Dean’s cock between your lips and slide him in.  Dean moans, “Oh my God-- you’re doing good babygirl.  So good.  So fucking good.”  Like drinking a thick smoothie, you think to yourself as you apply suction.  “Teeth!” Dean warns and you open your jaw a little wider.  More fluid dribbles from him but at the back of your mouth the flavor isn’t as terrible.  The mass of spongy flesh in your hand pulses and swells in your grip.  You squeeze back against the swelling and Dean’s moan makes your bones tremble.

You look up and meet Dean’s eyes.  The need in them is overwhelming.  Cords stand out in his neck and his jaw’s clenched, lips parted in an effortful snarl.  His fangs have dropped, you can see the sharp points.  You bob your head and his head drops back.  “Fuck,” he heaves, “you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

You’re not up for swallowing, so you pull back and scrub the flat of your tongue up and down the seam of his cock.  “Yeah, use your hand--” Dean pants, “fuck, squeeze my knot.  Squeeze it.  Fuck, perfect, little tighter.”  Dean seizes the hand you’ve been stroking up and down his steel-hard cock, brings it to his mouth and licks your palm.  “Keep going babygirl, keep going-- fuck, fuck, I’m so close, God, fuck, Jesus--" all the muscles in his belly pull tight and his knot inflates in your hand.  You circle it with both hands and squeeze, as thick seed spurts out of Dean in ropes, landing on your hands, his legs, the floor, your face.

Dean’s whole body, shining with sweat in the lamplight, heaves as he works to get his wind back.  You keep your hands locked around his knot, rhythmically squeezing the way your pussy did.  Blobs of come are still dribbling out of him, Alpha seed meant to sire pups.  You look up at Dean as he sags in the chair.  He’ll make beautiful pups, you think, someday, with the right Omega.

Your Omega instincts growl, and a tiny voice inside says, quiet but very distinct-- Mine.

His cock finally sags and his knot deflates in your hands.  Dean’s staring down at you, his pupils blown wide open.  His scent’s thick in the air, sizzling apples and leather and smoke and you realize your cunt is fucking running with slick, so swollen the friction of your thighs together feels awesome.

Fast as a pouncing cat, Dean stands and pulls you up off the floor.  He sets you on the cabin’s little dining table.  Strong hands shove your legs apart.  “Show me your pussy Omega,” Dean orders.  “Hold it open.  Perfect.”  He pulls the chair close and sits.

“Dean,” you pant as he blows a puff of wind over your exposed, throbbing clit.

“Gonna eat this pretty pussy ‘till you scream,” he says.

By the time he’s satisfied, you are indeed screaming.  A lot.

---

“Hey,” you shake Dean awake.  It’s like it always is with heats-- you’re not hungry until you’re starving.

“Go ‘way,” he grunts.

“Dean.  Food.  Eat.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open, then pop wide as you hold a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon under his nose.  “You didn’t have to-- I was gonna cook breakfast when I got up.”

“Hungry now,” you say.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Hungry now,” you repeat.  He does have a point; without your phone and with no clocks in the cabin, you have no earthly clue what time it is, only that it’s dark and still raining.

Dean sits up and accepts his plate.  “Bacon,” he sighs, folding a strip into his mouth.

You point to the pile of yellow curds.  “Eggs.”  You hand him a cup of milk.  “Moo juice.”

You both pretty much inhale the food.  “Thanks,” Dean says, handing back his empty plate.  “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Welcome.  Now according to the law of equal division of labor--”

“Oh no no no no no,” Dean rebuts.  “We’re in Deanland, and in my benevolent dictatorship the one who cooks is the one who cleans.”

“Nuht-uh,” you fire back.  “This is my land, as I am a born Michigander, and therefore he who eats is he who cleans while she who cooks ogles he who cleans.”  You cross your arms over your chest.  “So there.”

Dean thinks for a minute.  A tiny and very evil smile curves his lips.  “How ‘bout a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” you ask, seeing something wicked dancing behind your Alpha’s eyes.

“You know what mutual masturbation is?”

Hot blood crashes into your cheeks.  “The name’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“C’mere,” Dean pats the bed, getting up on his knees.  You kneel opposite him and he pulls you close for a kiss, his lips tasting of pepper and bacon.  Heat has you trembling, skin hot and sensitive all over.  “Hands only,” Dean instructs as he kisses and nibbles down your neck.  “First one to come has to do the dishes.”

“You’re on,” you growl and seize his hardening cock.

---

You wake up later with the sun in your eyes, a smug grin stamped on your face.  The cabin smells like vinegar and lemons.  Yawning, you stretch and see Dean wiping down the kitchen counter.  The dishes are washed and stacked neatly on the shelf over the sink.  The cabin’s practically sparkling clean, dust wiped away and clutter tidied.  There’s even a broom in the corner, and a folded set of fresh sheets for the bed.

Dean spies you and glowers.  “Where did you learn to do that twisty thing?  I demand to know.”

You grin.  “Girl Scouts.”

---

You fuck pretty much constantly for the rest of the day.  Heat and rut render you both eager, needy, hungry.  All through it your Alpha is attentive, focused, careful about reading your reactions and learning the secrets of your body, then applying the lessons and playing you like some sort of precious instrument.

“Stop,” he orders and your hand drops from where it was stroking your stone-hard clit.  Your orgasm’s there, right there, all it’ll take is a little friction to make it happen . . . but Dean isn’t letting you.  Says he just wants to play with you, see how hard you can come.  You press your chest into the mattress and swivel your hips, showing Alpha your wet and very hungry Omega pussy.  Shameless and needy and you don’t care at all.  Dignity be damned, you want.

Dean’s tongue licks at your inner lips, purposely avoiding your clit.  You bite a knuckle and concentrate on keeping your center still.  “Wanna slip right inside you,” Dean murmurs into your cunt, “right when you’re coming.  Your pussy fits me so good and you’re so fucking sweet,” he licks like he wants to eat every bit of slick you make.

Dean’s hand on your back shifts your ass further into the air.  You scream in bliss that’s more like pain as his mouth attacks your clit.  You start to cry when he stops.  “Please,” you beg, “Dean, please.”

The fat, velvety head of Dean’s cock slides across your pussy lips, across your clit.  You moan at the sensation.  “Alpha, please.”

“You’re gonna come?” Dean asks.  “Go ahead and come.  Come for me babygirl.  Let go.”

You throw your head back and howl as your orgasm crashes through you.  Dean’s cock shoves into you, fucking into the squeeze.  His fingers flicker over your clit as you slam yourself back against him.  Dean grabs your hips and fucks with all the power he’s got, until his knot pops and your cunt clamps down, so hard and tight you know you’re going to feel it forever.

“My good girl,” Dean heaves, pulling you up to sit on his lap, his knot lodged inside you.  “My perfect girl.  God, what’re you doing to me?” he asks between kisses.  His lips seize the spot over the mating gland and you whine something that might be yes when he clamps down, his teeth shielded by his lips.  Mine, something inside you says.  His.  Mine.  His.

Mine.

---

The next morning, the fever is gone and you ache all over.  On the one hand you feel like you could sleep for a week.  On the other hand, you feel . . . energized, full of life.  Downright fucking perky.

You take your time in the shower.  It feels good, washing the heat sweat off.  You feel like yourself again.

Almost.

You use a towel to clear the mirror.  In the harsh light of the bulb over the sink, it’s hard to believe the woman staring back is you.  You drop the towel and look yourself over.  Dark suck marks and small arcs of teeth color your skin.  They don’t hurt, exactly.  Except for the dark, almost black mark on your neck.  You touch it, stroke it, press down into it and relish the sting.  Dean did that.  You dig your fingernails in a little, imagining they’re fangs.  Dean marked you, right where Alpha’s claim is supposed to go.

The thought brings you up short.  Claiming?  Mating?  You’d never taken the idea seriously, imagining finding a husband and maybe having a family in some far-off future in which you’re teaching somewhere prestigious and said hypothetical husband being someone safe and solid, a good father for their pups . . .

Mine.  His.  Mine.

Dean’s up when you come out of the bathroom, dressed and drying your hair as best you can with a towel.  He’s barefoot below his jeans and barechested over them, cooking pancakes and singing along to a Bob Seger song playing on a dusty old tape deck set on top of the fridge.  You tingle when you see the marks you’d left on him, dark purple stamped into his fair skin.  Claw furrows stripe his back, red and scabbed over.

Shyness be damned.  Dean jumps when you wind your arms around him from behind.  His shoulders bear the faint ghosts of freckles.  “You’re Irish aren’t you?” you ask.

“My mom’s maiden name was Campbell,” he tells you.  He flips the pancake in the skillet over, nods at the golden brown, and flips it onto a plate already stacked high.  “Take a little bit of batter,” he says, almost to himself as he dips a cup measure into a bowl full of thick cream-colored goo, “and we pour into the hot pan.”  His arm hooks around your shoulders and pulls you around so you can see.  The batter oozes into the skillet and sizzles.  Your mouth waters.  God you’re starving.  “Make sure it doesn’t get too hot.  Look for little bubbles coming up by the outer edge, that’s how you tell it’s done on that side.”  After a few minutes of watching, Dean slips the spatula under the cooking pancake and flips.

“How can you tell it’s done?” you ask.

“You just kinda have to feel it.  Look at the edges and see if they look liquidy.  Leave it another minute or so.”  Dean looks down at where you’re snuggled against his ribs and smiles.  “Can you get the coffee going?”

“Coffee I can do,” you say, spying the dusty drip machine.

A few minutes later you bring plates and silverware and set the table.  After he sets down the pancakes, Dean reaches for a long-sleeved shirt and drags it on.  He chuckles at your pout.  “It’s cold in here sweetheart.”

“What, I can’t ogle?”

“Well, to be fair,” Dean says, “I’ve been staring at your nipples.”

He’s right, they’re poking straight through your bra and T-shirt, standing at attention like little soldiers.  You cover yourself, blushing.  Then it occurs to you how ridiculous that is, modesty in front of a man who’s literally kissed you where the sun don’t shine.

“Eat, babygirl, before they get cold,” Dean says, loading up his plate and dumping half a bottle of maple syrup over it.

Pancakes, orange juice, coffee by the pitcher.  You can feel your body seizing the calories and the vitamins.  By the time you’re full you’ve eaten enough to make a lumberjack pause.  “Oh man,” you wheeze.

Dean chuckles and you blush again.  “Big appetite after a heat’s nothing to be ashamed of.  We got an awful lot of exercise the last few days.”

“Yeah.”  Fair’s fair; you gather the dirty dishes and stack them in the sink.  Dean gets up and grunts something about getting more wood for the stove.

You’re stacking the clean dishes and putting them away when Dean comes back with his arms full.  “We need to talk.”

“Mmm?  What’s up?” you ask, helping him with the wood.  When you’re done you move to wrap him in a hug but Dean turns away.  “What’s the matter?”

“Oh I don’t know-- I’m twenty-eight years old and I’m in an off-the-books shack in the middle of nowhere with an eighteen year old girl and a trunkful of guns.  What is wrong with this picture?”

After the passionate intimacy of the past few days-- after the small-scale joyousness of the past few weeks-- you’re completely taken aback.  “What?”

“I need to get the hell out of your life.  Before I fuck it up worse.”

“Hey wait a minute,” you say.  “My life was fucked up way before you got here.  Maybe ever since my mother passed.  All you did was get here when everything went kerblooey.”

“’Kerblooey’?”

“Kerblooey.”

“The point stands,” Dean says.  “I’m a high school dropout with ten bucks and my car to my name and I make my living on my knees.  I don’t have anything going for me except a knot to stick in people and now I can’t even do that.  What the fuck am I even doing here?”

Jesus Christ, the self-hate is so hot it’s smoking.  “What in the hell brought this on?”

“I’m a grown-ass man.  You’re just a kid.”

“Stop right there,” you say.  “I’m a little naïve, I admit that, but I’m not a kid.  I quit being a kid when I got out of high school and my father decided he was done with parenting.”

“What?”  Not a stupid man, Dean does the math.  “You were sixteen for God’s sake.”

You shrug.  “Didn’t matter.  I’d been pretty much raising myself since Mother got sick.  Point is, you’re not robbing the cradle, Dean.”

“Yes.  I am.”  Dean pulls aside the collar of his shirt and shows a suck mark over the mating gland.  “You think I didn’t notice?  Do you even realize what you almost did?  That’s a lifetime commitment.”

“I know that.  Which is why I didn’t do it.  Neither did you.”  You tap the bruise on the same spot on your neck.

“You begged me to.  First time with an Alpha-- hell, first time period, and I came that close,” he holds his thumb and forefinger an eighth of an inch apart, “to . . .”  He clears his throat.  “You’ve known me less than a month and you’re acting like you want to Bond.  That’s not normal.”

Mine.  “Fine-- let’s talk about this.  I go through life, I meet plenty of Alphas.  Some of whom aren’t knotheads.  A few of whom are attractive.  Maybe a handful who’re interesting.  And none of them were you.”  You pause to let that sink in.  “I felt it the minute I got your scent.  I know you felt it too.  We’re a match.  Aren’t we?”

Sticking to his guns, Dean says, “We’re not.  You’re just imprinting on the first Alpha you got a crush on.  It happens.  Hell it happens to me on a regular basis.”

That hurts, getting reminded that making people feel special with his body is something Dean is paid to do.  You swallow back the pain.  “And do you always call your old Army buddies to run interference between your clients and their asshole relatives?  Especially when they live like five states away?”

“No,” Dean is forced to admit.  “Babygirl--”

“If this is a serious discussion you will use my name Dean Winchester,” you tell him.

“Big talk from somebody who gets off on being told she’s a good girl,” Dean fires back.

Okay, that hurts.  “Why are you doing this?” you ask.

“Because,” he uses your full name like it’s a curse, “I won’t be the asshole who destroys your future.  I refuse.”

“For Christ’s sake I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, Dean!”  Yet.

“I’m confused--” he says, “you’re saying we’re a true match but you don’t want to talk about a lifetime commitment?”

“I’m naïve Dean, not stupid.  Just because we’re a match doesn’t mean we’ll make a good couple.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You’re acting like you don’t even want to try.  Because what if we are, huh?  What if we’re a match and we wind up being good together?  What if for once life’s dropped something good in our laps?  You wanna turn your back on that?”

“Because that’s not the way it works, okay?  Not ever.”

“So all those things you said-- they were just to get me here and bend me over?” you ask, trying to keep it together.

“Pretty much.  Kid.”

You stalk up to Dean.  You’re angrier than you can ever remember being, maybe angrier than you’ve ever been in your life.  “You’re lying.”

He smirks.  “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

“You’re not worthless,” you tell him, and the smirk dies.  “A worthless man would’ve left his father and brother out to dry years ago.  A worthless man wouldn’t leave himself open to a kidnapping charge just to get into a cute Omega’s drawers.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Of course not,” you scoff.  “That’s a Zachariah move.  Y’know, the actual worthless man in this scenario.”

“You don’t know me.  You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re still here and trying to do the right thing even after life’s kicked you in the balls for it   A lot.”  You shove Dean and he’s taken aback enough he actually pops back a step.  “Don’t you walk away because of some half-assed idea that you’re ruining me by being here.  That’s not your decision.  And fuck your martyr complex anyway!”  You shove again, Dean stumbles, and down he goes.

Swearing, you drop to your knees.  Blinking dazedly, Dean accepts your help sitting up.  “Ow.”

You sit down on the cold floor.  “Look me in the face, and tell me I didn’t have anything to do with you quitting your job.”

Dean looks you in the face.  He opens his mouth and pulls in a breath to speak.  The hammerblow that would’ve broken your heart doesn’t come; Dean closes his mouth and sighs.  “It wasn’t . . . entirely you.”

“So which parts were me?  The ones about not wanting to do the sex part any more?”  At Dean’s look, you add, “That is what full service means, correct?”

“Correct.  And yeah.  That part.”  Resettling himself to sit with you, Dean says, “Almost seven years, I’m up for just about anything.  Hell I was picking my own clients, pretty much, after the first six months.  And then I meet you and I can’t . . .” he trails off.  “Look, for all you know I’m a deadbeat paying child support to half a dozen baby mamas--”

“You’re not, though.”

“No.”  He cups your cheek.  “I’m not going to convince you how bad an idea this is am I?”

“Nope.  I’m a scientist Dean, and you haven’t offered any hard evidence that you’re a bad man.  Morally flexible, yeah, but that doesn’t make you bad.”

“You deserve better that ‘not bad,’” Dean says.

“That’s my decision.”  Mirroring him, you palm his jaw.  “Start small?  A date?”

And he smiles.  “I know a great Korean place out by East Beltline.”

You kiss him.  “For real now, what brought that on?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says.  “I was out looking at a blowdown I need to cut up and I just-- it hit me all at once.  I’m in the middle of nowhere with no money, on the run, and somebody I love’s counting on me to keep them safe.  Again.  I’m stuck on repeat.”

“Bullshit.  It’s not like we’re fleeing from the goddamned Wehrmacht.  This is one asshole with a shitload of money.”

“If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s the destructive power of assholes with money.”

“Okay,” you say, “in your experienced opinion, what now?  I should’ve been back to class-- shit!  Today!  Prof Visnyak’s gonna fucking kill me!” you moan.

“We can pack up the car and go right now,” Dean says.  “Be back in town by dinnertime,” he starts to get to his feet.

You let him help you up but when he turns for the door you say, “Wait.  I don’t know--"

Pulling you close, Dean kisses you.  “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.  I mean--” dread, that’s what it is.  The thought of going back isn’t comforting.  Home doesn’t feel safe any more.  It might never feel safe again.  Here is safe.

“Babygirl.”  Dean tips your head up to look you in the eye.  “I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to answer without thinking about it.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean echoes.  “Yes or no-- is it safe to go back?”

“No,” you say without thinking about it.

“Then it isn’t safe.  We stay here for at while,” Dean concludes.

“How do you know it’s not safe?” you ask.

“Gut feelings aren’t random,” Dean lectures.  “They're based on stuff your brain remembers without you being aware of it.  Scents, body language, stuff like that.  If your instincts are telling you something isn't safe, it probably isn't," he concludes.  "I know you got classes and shit, but would it be the end of the world if you stayed gone for another few days?"

You consider, chewing on your lower lip.  "I feel like a jerk for even thinking it."

"Would you feel the same way if your broke your leg or got in a car wreck or something?"

"Point taken.  I'd just feel better if I knew what the situation was.  We're in the dark here."

"That we can fix," Dean says.  "I can make a supply run and pick up a burner phone.  Do you know Balthazar’s number?"  At your nod, Dean says, "Okay, we have a plan.  Get your coat."

---

Outside you head for the car, but when you reach for the passenger door Dean says, "Nope."

"I'm not going with you?"

Dean shakes his head.  "We gotta do something first."

Your jaw drops when he lifts the trunk's false bottom to show more guns than you've ever seen in person.  "Jesus Christ!  What're we prepping for, World War III?"

Dean shrugs, looking a little guilty.  "Sort of, yeah.  They're all legal if that's what you're worried about."  He thinks a minute.  "Except maybe the grenade launcher.  I'm not sure where Dad got that.  Still think I'm that great a guy?"

You stick your chin out.  "I'll take a calculated risk that you're better than the guy trying to knot the niece that's young enough to be his great-granddaughter."

"Touché," Dean mutters.  He reaches into the trunk and pulls out a pistol.  "Here.  Glock 19, nine millimeter, semi-automatic, fourteen in the magazine and one in the chamber.  About thirty ounces loaded."  Dean presses a button and the magazine slips out and he opens the top part.  A bullet flies out and he plucks it out of the air.  "First rule of firearms is--"

"--the gun is always loaded," you say with him.  “I don’t approve of guns.”

Dean looks down at you.  “I don’t approve of you being unarmed in case we get separated.  Your uncle--”

“Quit calling him that.”

“Whatever.  Zachariah is a threat we are going to take seriously, and that includes making sure you know how to defend yourself if you have to.  You hear me?”

“I hear you,” you grumble.  You hold out your hand and Dean slips you the gun.

---

Later you’re waiting back at the cabin, wringing the ache of unaccustomed exercise out of your hands.  There’s a sour feeling in the back of your throat, the remnants of adrenaline as Dean coached you through your very first shooting lesson.

“We are called upon by the Lord to accept that the cruelty of the world will cause us pain, and to offer our enemies the gifts of love and understanding,” Father Jim had preached in his sermon . . . God, just this past Sunday.

Fuck that, says the dull black thing on the table.

“Just let him feel like an Alpha and he’ll let you go,” your mother said.

Fuck that.

“Nothing we have is worth killing for--”

Fuck.  That.

In your hand the textured black plastic is warm.  Welcoming.  You stare down at your hand like it doesn’t even belong to you.  This hand fired a gun.  This hand can kill people.

And you’re confused by how not horrified you are at the thought.  “For a total beginner you’re not bad,” Dean had said, examining the makeshift target he’d set up with a log and some sheets of paper from your lab notebook.  Watching Dean’s easy confidence with his own, gun, every movement natural as a yawn, you’d felt like a faun trying to walk for the first time by comparison.

Sighing, you get out the little box with the cleaning supplies and start running through the steps Dean showed you to strip and clean the Glock.  Again.

He’s been gone for a couple hours and the quiet is getting to you.  It’s ridiculous; you’ve been on your own ever since Dad took off for Florida the fall you entered college.  You’ve been alone longer than that, the last dehydrated pea rattling around in the tin can that was your mother’s house on Reeds Lake.  A house meant for the large family she’d had with her first husband, the half-brothers you’d only met at her funeral.  That’s you, the half-considered, the afterthought, the surprise no one wanted in the first place and didn’t think much of once you’d arrived.

You shake your head.  That’s not fair.  It’s not your parents’ fault they didn’t think your forty-seven year old mother could even get pregnant, much less carry to term, much less deliver a healthy seven pound baby girl.  It’s not like you were the red-headed stepchild cooped up in the attic or the foundling left on a church doorstep.  You have friends, colleagues, people who respect you.  You have your brain, a decent work ethic, a future in a field you enjoy.  By any reasonable standard you’re blessed.

And now you have Dean.  He just needs to hurry his beautiful ass up and get here.

You hear the Chevy’s engine and your heart starts to beat again.  Calling your name, Dean says, “I’m coming in.  Safety on.”

You look down at your hands.  Shuddering, you put the gun down.

---

“Dear God in Heaven it’s good to hear your voice,” Uncle Balthazar says.  “Are you all right?  Where are you?”

“I’m fine and I have no idea,” you answer him.  “We’re in a cabin a friend of Dean owns.  I don’t know where, it was dark when we drove here and I lost track of the roads.  What’s going on?  Have you and Uncle Gabriel nailed Zachariah?”

“We had enough to take to Naomi and Michael.  She wailed for an hour.  It was dismally theatrical.”

“Son of a bitch!” you hear Dean snap from inside the cabin, along with a clang of something heavy.

Uncle Balthazar hesitates.  “Not to be indelicate, but, um . . . is everything all right?  Mr. Winchester wasn’t . . . inappropriate with you?”

You smile.  If you concentrate you can still feel Dean deep inside, warm and wet.  “Define inappropriate.”

“Oh good God, never mind, I don’t want to know.  In any event, Zachariah’s been relieved of his post and his access to the Family money’s been cut off.

“That’s the good news.  The bad news is, Zachariah himself has vanished into the ether.  We were trying to avoid it but we had no choice-- the police are looking for him.  Chuck’s gone too.  Sturley and Kline looks like an anthill after a tank charge.”

You pull in a deep breath.  “Have their passports been invalidated?”

“Of course but it’s entirely possible they’ve already fled the country.  Castiel and Jack,” Jack Kline, the other half of Sturley and Kline since his grandfather retired, “have been doing a thorough audit of Zachariah’s finances.  He’s filched more than enough to live comfortably in some paradise with low inflation and no extradition treaty.  Thank God that doesn’t trouble my associates in Dubai.  One way or another, Zachariah’s life is over.”

You lean against Dean’s car, bracing yourself for a fainting wave of relief.  It doesn’t come.

“Cherie, you need to come home.  Your phone has been positively screaming.”

“What about the escort agency?” you ask.

“Well, in exchange for immunity from a breach-of-contract and attempted rape charge, Ms. Rosen and Ms. Diablo have been fully co-operative.  Your escort’s friend Mr. LaFitte -- charming fellow, I think I’ll ask if he’s ever considered working in security -- did an excellent job communicating the wisdom of, shall we say, a collaborative attitude.  They both apologize for any distress--”

“Fuck them both with barbed wire dicks.”

“Indeed.  It’s enough that arrest warrants have been sworn out against Zachariah and Chuck, on the off-chance my people don’t find them first.”  Uncle Balthazar sighs.  “Which is another reason you need to come home.  The police need to talk to you and so does the district attorney--”

“Until you can guarantee Zachariah isn’t coming after me, I’m staying here.”

“Dear heart a restraining order’s already been handed down.  If you want I can hire bodyguards.  Whatever you need.”

“No,” you say.  Because when it comes right down to it . . .

“Ah hah, the honeymoon period.  I understand.  When your Aunt Anna and I first met, it was nearly a month before we were willing to come up for air.”

“It’s not like that,” you say.

“It’s quite all right darling, you haven’t had a vacation since that dreadful trip to Tokyo your father dragged you on.  If it makes you feel better to stay shacked up with your Alpha, I’d say you’re entitled.  Oh for God’s sake-- tell me you haven’t Bonded.”

“Uncle Balthazar!  Of course not!” you hiss.

“Just asking!  Just asking!  Please stay safe.  And keep in touch.”

You look at the phone in your hand a long time after Uncle Balthazar hangs up.  You should be calling Dr. Visnyak and your other professors to tell them you’ll be gone at least a few more days.  You should call Penelope to get briefed on your lab project.  You should call Ralph and reschedule your study session-- you’d agreed to work on your Cultural Evolution paper together.

So many phone calls.  So much time.  So many chances for someone to call someone else in exchange for a quick cash influx.  Money turns anyone into a potential collaborator with Zachariah.  You trust Uncle Balthazar, your Uncle Gabriel, Castiel . . . it’s humbling to realize that’s where the list ends and the names on it were trustworthy for reasons other than any affection for you.

Dean looks up from where he’s bent over the woodstove, feeding chunks of wood into the flames.  “What’s the sitch?” he asks as you hand him the phone.

You give him the outline.  Dean goes still when you tell him the family lawyer’s been caught acting wrong.  “That’s not good.  Ketch told me he worked for Sturley and Kline.”

“Yeah.   As far as I know he’s the only scary minion Chuck’s got.”

“But you don’t know that for sure.”

“No,” you’re forced to admit.

At your sigh, Dean sits on the cabin's saggy couch.  Gently, he pulls you to sit on one of his legs.  "What's on your mind, babygirl?"

"Oh I don't know," you say.  "I just ran down the list of friends I have, and I don't trust any of them to not rat me out if Zachariah waves a few thousand in cash under their noses.  It's depressing."

Dean shrugs.  "Money talks."

"I know."

"Try not to take it personally."

"I'm not.  I'm just . . . I don't know."  You look at Dean.  "Tell me about your brother?"

"Sure."  Dean pulls out his wallet and shows you a snapshot of a gangly young man beaming in cap and gown.  You lay against Dean's chest as he talks.  "Four years behind me-- Dad told me he and Mom had almost given up on having kids, then poof! I showed up.  Then Mom had a miscarriage and they thought I'd be a solo act.  Then Sammy came along.  God, he was so little.  I remember when Dad carried him into the house, he was like," Dean held his hands apart, "yea big.  Now he's taller'n me-- how is that fair?"

You relax more as Dean talks.  It's clear from the warmth in his tone-- he cares about Sam, loves him in a primal way that's totally alien to you.  Like if Sam needed blood Dean would cut his own throat for him.  "How do you do it?" you ask when Dean pauses in the middle of a story involving superglued socks and Nair in a shampoo bottle.

"Do what?" he asks.

"How did you make a living, doing what you did?  I mean, you care so much-- how did you keep from . . . ?"

"What, going insane over all my clients?"

"I mean-- no offense, I . . . fuck, I don't know what I mean."

"No it's okay.  It's a fair question, I guess."  Dean strokes down your arm, plays with a bit of your hair.  "In the business, there are rules.  There's only so close you can get with someone who's paying you to screw them.  And I was okay with that.  I’m not great with relationships.”  He hesitates.  "You know what's the best part about getting in bed with a woman?  At least for me it is?"

"No, tell me," you say dryly.

Dean gives you a sour look.  "Hey, I'm trying to do this soul-bearing heart-to-heart girly shit here.  Cut me some slack."

"Consider it cut babe."

Dean frowns at you, but after a moment's consideration he continues.  "Most Omegas-- hell, most women-- you've all been trained to expect bad sex.  One of my first regulars, she was an older lady.  Widow.  She and her husband'd been together since middle school.  Four litters of pups, about a dozen kids.  And you know she told me her husband never made her come?  Not once, in thirty-odd years of marriage.

"It's that moment," Dean says.  "When you realize how good it can be.  That look-- it’s just beautiful.  It's the best feeling ever, knowing I did that.  The rest of it-- it's a job like anything else, it's got its upsides and its downsides.  Like getting filmed?  Not as much fun as you'd think it is.  Fucking cameraman damn near burned my nuts on the lights."

"Jesus, I'm dating a porn star?!?" you squeak.

Dean laughs.  "Private collections only.  I thought about it, but the pay's crap for guys.  'Sides, escort work lets me have flexible hours.  I can take time to see Dad anytime I need to."

"What about going to see your brother?"

Dean hesitates.  "Sam doesn't like it when I come out to visit him."

"Why?" you ask.  "You're fascinating company.  You listened to me lecture you on the excavation of Chief Baw Beese’s grave for an hour and didn’t yawn once."

"Sam's got an image to maintain.  I fuck that up for him.  Besides, he doesn't trust me around his fiancée.  I, uh, might've banged his math tutor when he was in sixth grade."

"Dude!"

"Yeah.  Not exactly my finest hour.  Turns out she was only tutoring him because she wanted a piece of me."

"Still."

"I was sixteen.  Everybody's a moron when they're sixteen.”

“I wasn’t.”

Smiling, Dean kisses you.  “That’s cuz you’re weird, babygirl.”

You bite his lower lip and make him yelp.  His wounded pout is so adorable you just have to kiss it better.  Before you know it you’re sitting astride Dean’s lap in a full-bodied makeout session.  The feel of him, warm and strong and touching you like you’re something precious.   After the stress of this insane day, it’s balm and comfort.

Which is interrupted when your stomach gurgles.  Chuckling, Dean lifts the hem of your shirt and kisses your belly.  “Don’t be mad, it’s been a long day and we skipped lunch.”

---

The next morning you’re back wrestling with your old friend, Statistics.  A raid on the Chevy had produced an honest-to-God tape cassette collection, mostly old-school hard rock and heavy metal.  Outside you can hear the irregular rhythm of chopping-- Dean cutting the logs in the woodpile outside down into more manageable pieces.

You catch an arithmetic error that’s just wasted a fucking hour and clonk your head down on the table, cursing in Arabic.  “I have no idea what that means but it didn’t sound nice,” Dean says as he comes in, grabbing a mug and heading for the coffee.

“It’s pointless, dogs don’t bend that way.”  You accept a fresh cup with a smile of thanks.  “I fucking hate Stats.”

“Come on,” Dean says, closing your Stats text, “grab your coat.  I wanna show you something.”

Leading the way, Dean crunches through the leaves that’ve drifted into piles between the trees.  From the shape you guess you’re in a copse of sugar maples.  “Wait-- there’s no trail.  What if we get lost?”

“No problem.  Check it out,” he hunts around a minute, then breaks out in a grin.  “Here.”

You follow with your fingers a set of deep gouges in a tree’s bark, an arrow pointing back the way you’d come.  “Sammy got lost out here once,” Dean explains.  “I spent the next month carving these.  Just in case.”

You move deeper into the woods, the trees getting taller and the leaf litter more sparse.  Dean splashes across a small stream and lifts you over it to keep your feet dry.  He stops, taking your hand.  For a moment you see nothing but the same view of forest floor, then something clicks into place and you see it-- a large wooden cross standing up from a crude altar made of mortared-together stones.  “What’s this?”

“I don’t know.  Me’n’Sammy found it while we were wandering around.”

Letting go of Dean’s hand you carefully creep in for a closer look.  Any undergrowth was cut back at some point, and kept back with a layer of wood chips that’ve since been covered by silt and leaf litter, decomposing into the forest floor.  It’s a church setup, you can see split logs arranged as pews, making a short aisle.  Reflexively you cross yourself as you proceed to the altar.

“Nondenominational,” you say to yourself, reaching for a notebook you’re not carrying.  “No altar rail or place to kneel I can see.  You turn to look at Dean, who’s watching you with a smile.  “I think this was a setup for little kids.  See how low the pews are?  An adult would find them uncomfortable-- they’re just the right size for kids.”

“Yeah.  Sammy’n’me used to make up stories about this place.  Like it was really a place for ritual sacrifice.”  He shrugs.  “We were bored.”

“No no, here, come take a look.”  You come closer to the altar.  “See?  No blood.  Even with weathering, if anyone killed anything here there’d still be blood caught in between the rocks.”

Dean nods.  “Yeah, I gotcha.”

The cross itself is made out of what look like railroad ties notched and nailed together.  There are no candle drippings and the altar’s upper surface is a single flat boulder, worn smooth.  “This part was built,” you say.  “Kids wouldn’t be strong enough to lift this.  And the rocks are mortared together, they’re not piled like a caern.”

It’s easy to imagine, now that you know what you’re looking at-- a group of little boys and girls sitting quietly on the log pews, listening in varying degrees of attention as a grownup preaches about salvation and the Good News and the virtues of proper behavior.  You can also imagine a pair of bored little boys poking at the altar and scaring themselves silly with tales of monster gods and mad killers.  "Is there a Boy or a Girl Scouts' camp around here somewhere?" you ask.

"I don't know," Dean says.  "We asked Bobby about the place and he said he didn't know.  The cabin belonged to a friend of his-- I never got the straight on how he wound up owning the place.  If he ever did.  He might've just been squatting."

"Wish I had my toolkit with me," you say, hunkering down to take a closer look at the alter.  The base is a slab of poured concrete, eroded and pitted with weathering, dirty with silt and moss.  "Yeah, this was built by the grownups," you note to yourself.

“That makes sense,” Dean says, looking around the little clearing as if with fresh eyes.  “Yeah.  Couple guys and a wheelbarrow could get it done in a day.  Bring a bag of ready-mix, there’s water in the stream.”

“Yeah.  Have the kids collect the rocks, bring the cross,” you clap your hands, “badda-bing, outdoor church.”  One side of the altar is piled high with leaves, caked in mud around the base.  “Help me with this.”

Dean helps you clear the dirt down to the altar base.  “Here, check this out,” you say, looking at a larger stone slab set into the alter, out of place amongst the fist-sized stones.  It’s not mortared into place that you can see.  “Could this--” you carefully fit your hands on either side of the big stone.  “Hey-- I think this slides out!”

Dean takes the other side of the stone and together you wiggle it free.  In the hollow space revealed, you can see a dark shape.  “Oh wow,” you say softly, reaching in and gently withdrawing a dark metal box, about six inches square and four deep.

With the reverence it deserves, you undo the latch.  Inside, kept dry with a clear cellophane bag, is a stack of yellowed envelopes.  They’re letters, addressed:

TO:  JESUS

1 GOLDEN STREET

HEAVEN

“Oh my God,” you whisper.  All the handwriting is little kid block capitals, rendered in colored pencils and crayons.  Some kids ornamented their envelopes with drawings of trees, flowers, stick figure families.  At the bottom of the box you find a copy of the Holy Bible, New English translation.  You open it to the title page-- printed in 1949.  There’s a stamp on the page in red ink; an outline of a leafy tree, with a single branch forming the words Camp Long Lake.  “Summer camp!” you realize, turning to Dean.  “There must be an old summer camp compound around here somewhere!  The counselors built this with the kids!”

“Awesome!” Dean says.

You look at the tiny packet of paper, feeling the same thrill you felt the first time you’d gone into the field and found a tiny shard of ceramic in amongst the red mass of claylike dirt.  Who made this?  What was their life?  What was their story?  "God I wish I had a camera," you say.

Reluctantly, you put the letters back in the plastic bag and seal it up.  "I wish we could take these back, figure out who wrote them," you tell Dean as you refasten the box lid.  "But . . . it feel like we'd be desecrating a church."

"We could always come back later," Dean says.

"That's true.  Take some pictures, maybe explore around a little bit more.  You and your brother didn't find anything that might be campgrounds?  Another clearing, place that look like a tent field . . ."

"Not that I remember," Dean says.  "This is about as far out from the cabin as we felt safe going."

You slide the box back into its resting place, and Dean shoves the stone back into the hole.  The move makes all his muscles stand out for a heart-stopping moment.  His body becomes an expression of perfection, a collection of almost mathematically perfect lines, an ideal expression of a divine creation.  And alive, shining from within.

A wave of pure red-tinted lust damn near puts you on your knees.  You want, God how you want.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.  Let’s go,” you say,

“Okay, okay, jeez.”  Dean falls in beside you as you stride back up the aisle and splash across the little stream.  Your socks get soaked and you are way past caring.  “What’s the emergency?”

“Nothing,” you tell him, taking his hand and jogging between a pair of trees.

“Seriously what’re you--” you drag his head down and kiss him, hard and possessive.  He’s off-balance, it’s nothing to slam his back against a tree.  Your hand cups the front of his pants, presses, caresses.  Dean moans, deep and throaty.  His arms go around you, hands going for your buttons.

You slap his hands away.  This isn’t about you, no matter how hungry you are.  You bite down Dean’s neck, avoiding the mating gland.  Under your hand you can feel him getting hard.

Going to your knees, you undo his belt and tug open his jeans.  “Oh Jesus,” Dean groans as you pull down his underwear and his cock pops free.  It’s as beautiful as the rest of him to your eyes and you suck him down hard as you can.  He practically leaps to life in your mouth, going thick and heavy.

You pull off and take him in hand, wetting your palms and wringing him.  Dean’s knees buckle and he grabs at the tree to keep from falling.  “Oh my God, fuck, Jesus--”

“Wanna make you feel good, Alpha,” you tell him, kissing and licking up his shaft.

“So good, babygirl,” he pants, looking down at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real.  “Stick your tongue out, tap it on-- just like that,” he says as you pat the head of his cock on your tongue.  You wind your tongue around the tip, doing your best not to grimace at the taste.  That look in Dean’s beautiful green eyes, you’d do just about anything for that look.

You take him as deep as you can, doing your best to push past your gag reflex.  Drool slips from your mouth and trickles down your chest.  You can actually feel him getting harder, getting hotter.  His scent mixes with the scent of sex, filling your nose.  It’s heady, and it’s got slick soaking into your panties, your body burning for Dean.

Panting and moaning encouragement and instructions, Dean squirms against the tree.  You cup his balls in one hand and his quivering knot in the other, squeezing gently.  You moan and Dean moans along with you.  His hips make tiny involuntary movements, you can see him clawing at the tree.

His balls suddenly draw up into his belly.  You pull off just in time to avoid a blast of come.  Your squeeze Dean’s popping knot, pulling at Dean’s cock as he spends all over you.  His legs give out and he slides down the tree, pants open and a total sticky mess.

Yanking you close, Dean rolls you into the nearest pile of leaves, kissing you like he might die if he stops.  He licks at the strings of his come on your face, cleaning you like a cat.  “God, babygirl,” he whispers in your ear, “what brought that on?”

“Wanted to make you feel good,” you say, kissing him back.  “Wanted to take care of you.”

Dean puts you on your back and pulls your jeans open.  “I’m gonna make you come now,” Dean tells you, a hard, determined look in his eyes that makes you whimper.  “Do you want my fingers or my mouth, babygirl?”

“I-- I--”  your whole body’s tingling, every nerve alight.

“Tell me,” Dean says.  He kisses your neck.  “How do you want to come?  Tell me.  Talk to me.”

“Mouth,” you squeak.  “Please Dean, put your mouth on me, please.”

“Oh good.  Good.”  Dean yanks your jeans off, shoves your legs apart and latches onto your pussy.  Birds take off at your cry.  Sucking at your clit, two fingers curled inside you and rubbing something that makes your body sing, Dean has you falling to pieces in no time at all.

---

It's late the next morning when you finally wake up.  The passion hadn't stopped when you got back to the cabin; you're actually sore, and there's new marks on your body where Dean's strength overrode his sense.  Smiling you reach across the bed for him, and your arm pats empty sheets.

“Dean?  Deee-an?”  You haul up out of bed.  A search of the cabin takes roughly thirty seconds and the results include a mouse and three spiders but no Dean.

The mouse you shoo.  The spiders you catch-and-release.  It’s when you’re done putting the last spider outside that you spy it-- a note on the floor.  It must’ve fluttered down when you or Dean shut the door.

GONE OUT TO CUT UP THAT BLOWDOWN.  BACK BY LUNCH.  -D

That must be the source of the chainsaw noise you can hear in the distance.  You groan at the thrill of desire at the thought of Dean in lumberjack mode, guiding a chainsaw, swinging an axe, maybe shirtless and sweating in the autumn sunshine.  The spirit may be willing but the flesh needs a break.

After a shower and a breakfast, you settle down to your Classical Antiquities paper.  The Glock Dean gave you sits on the table.  You’ve checked and it’s loaded.  You don’t know why you have it out.  You don’t really enjoy looking at the damned thing.  It makes you uneasy.  It feels like borrowing trouble.

But you don’t want to put it away.

You drum your pencil on the table.  You wish you’d brought your laptop, or your phone, or, shit, anything with an Internet connection.  You spread your notecards over the table and wait for the work to pull you in, absorb you the way it always does.

But the uneasy feeling won’t leave.  Every minute goes by, the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little higher.  You’ve gotten this vibe before, walking to and from your car late at night or when you’re lecturing in front of a hostile class.  The sense of being hunted.

You’ve been working for hours and getting nowhere when you give up.  You need to find Dean.  Something is wrong.

The sound of an engine strikes you still.  It pulls up outside the cabin and stops.  Heart in your throat you listen.

“This must be the place,” a man’s voice notes, smooth and polished with an English accent.  “We appear to have gotten lucky, if that’s Winchester making that racket.”

“Find him.  Take care of him.”  Your heart stops.  It’s Zachariah.

Zachariah knocks on the door, calling your name.  “It’s okay!  I’m coming in!”  Dammit, the door to the cabin isn’t locked.  It swings open and Zachariah sticks his head in.

He looks awful, skin sallow and deep shadows under his hooded eyes.  His nose wrinkles at the smells of sex and scent.  “Jesus Christ.”

How did he find you?  Who was the other man?  God damn it, where’s Dean?

Zachariah spies you and he smiles.  “Whew!  There you are!”  You start to shake.  How is it you feel brave when you’re around Dean but not here where you need it?  “We have been looking all over for you!  Why’d you run off?  Did that girl Alpha scare you?”  He’s come in and coming closer, a dog stalking its prey.  “Look, I know, she came on a little strong--”

“A little?” you squeak.

“--but that’s what timid Omegas need, a firm hand.”  He takes another sniff.  “Dear God, you two’ve been going at it for days haven’t you?”

So what?  You feel your back straighten.  Some of the trembling eases.  You’re not ashamed of being with Dean, in any respect.  Not even a little bit.

Zachariah makes that sour, pinched smirk.  “That’s okay.  Just following your instincts.  I bet you feel a whole lot better now you’ve been knotted properly.  It’s okay.  But now it’s time to come home, sweetheart.”  He’s slinking closer.  You sidle to the side, trying to keep the table between you.

Just let him feel like he’s in control and he’ll leave you alone, your mother’s voice lectures from your memory.  Let him feel that, let him have that, let him, let him let him--

You glance at the table, at the gun.  Zachariah sees it too, and his greasy smirk widens.  “Oh honey, that’s not necessary.  I’m your family.  All I want to do is take care of you.”

Dean’s phrase in Zachariah’s mouth, it makes you sick.  It makes you angry.  You snatch the gun off the table and point it at Zachariah.

“Woah woah woah, easy girl, easy!” Zachariah says, holding up his hands.  “I just want--”

“Get away from me,” you say.

“Calm down.  Nobody wants to hurt you.  I could never hurt you, baby.  I love you.  I always have.”  You can scent him now, a thick and nauseating stench of stagnation and decay driving out yours and Dean’s mingled smells.  “I can provide for you baby, keep you good.  You can have anything you want, I’ll treat you like a queen baby, just--”

“I said get away from me!”  You lunge for the bathroom.  The bathroom door locks; you throw the bolt a half-second before Zachariah slams into it.

Zachariah back off a step.  “Come on Omega, this is ridiculous.  Open the door.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Right, and you didn’t just send Mr. Ketch after Dean,” you say as the pieces fall together and terror turns your blood to icewater.

“He’s nothing, baby.  Just an overpriced whore with a crazy daddy.”  Zachariah continues in that vein but you don’t listen.  You have to warn Dean.  He has no idea Ketch is coming.

The tiny casement window over the toilet is too small for you to get through.  Or so it looks; Dean showed you a trick just in case there was a fire.  You undo the catches in the window frame and shove out the panes.  The opening’s tight but you get through, landing in a painful heap outside.

Checking the safety and making sure your finger’s off the trigger, you take off.  Dean.

---

The blowdown Dean showed you is about a half-hour’s walk away from the cabin.  Ignoring stealth, you run hell-bent for leather through the dead leaves.

You’re almost there when you hear a gunshot.  You stop dead in your tracks, panting for air, a stitch in your side like a knife.

“You know,” Ketch’s cultured voice carries to you and your heart stops, “when you locked me in that stinking toilet, I had plenty of time to imagine this moment--”

Crying Dean’s name you run towards the voice.  You plunge through a tangle of weeds and your horrified eyes take in Dean down on one knee, a hand pressed to his side and blood in his fingers.  Ketch, his face battered and bruised, looks over at you but his gun stays pointed at Dean’s head.

He smiles.  “Ah, our wayward Omega.”

You raise the Glock, finger on the trigger.  “Get.  Away.  From him.”

Ketch tsks.  “Little Omega’s grown claws.  Fascinating.”  Slowly, showing every motion, he uncocks his pistol and takes his finger off the trigger.  “See?  It’s all right, Miss.  I’m not here to hurt you.”

“No.  You’re just here to kill my Alpha and take me back to Zachariah,” you snap.

“Your Alpha?”  Ketch echoes.  He smiles, a tight, unpleasant thing.  “I told Zachariah hiring a whore--”

“Don’t call him that!” you cry, raising your gun a little bit higher.

“Really now.  You’re a bright girl,” Ketch says.  In your peripheral vision you see Dean moving, his face pale and agonal.  He’s trying to get to his gun, you realize, you can see the twinkle of chrome on the ground.  “You can do so much better.”

“Like Zachariah?” you say.

“An Alpha who will keep you as an Omega should be kept,” Ketch says.  “Winchester is beneath you, and, deep down,” he says, creeping up on you and holstering his gun, “you know it.”

“Stay right there,” you order.  “I mean it.”

Ketch shows his empty hands.  “Just come with me.  We’ll take Dean to a hospital and you can go home.  No one else needs to get hurt.”

“He’s right.”  Your head snaps around and there’s Zachariah, winded and rumpled.  The instant of distraction is all Ketch needs; quick like a snake he grabs your wrist and twists the Glock out of your hand.

“Down!” Dean barks and you drop.  A shot rings out, and Ketch falls.  You hear a few wheezes, and smell a titanic stench of shit and bowels.  Then . . . nothing.

Oh my God.  You are lying next to a dead man.

At the touch of a hand you scramble away, backing yourself against a tree.  You look over and both Ketch and Dean are lying inert on the ground.  Inert.  Unmoving.  Dead.

Shock coats your feelings in glass.  No.

Zachariah pulls himself up off the ground, dusts himself off, pulls his blazer straight.  “Well.  That was unfortunate.”  He walks up to you, a satisfied smirk on his face.  There’s an edge of madness in his eyes.  “Come on now baby,” he coos, bending close.  “It’s time to go home.”

You spit in his face and he slaps you so hard your lips split.  “You’ve picked up some bad habits,” he notes, that mad edge shining brighter.  “That’s okay, you’ll learn better.  I’m good at teaching Omegas how to behave.  And you will behave for me.”

Your eyes land on your pistol, lying on the ground next to Ketch’s curled fingers.  You lunge, grab it, and fire.  Zachariah curses as a hunk of bark is ripped from a tree next to him, covering his head, “Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!”

“Get on the ground!” you order and he drops to his knees.  “Hands behind your head!  Don’t fucking move!”

“I’m not!  I’m not.  See?” he smiles uneasily and puts his hands behind his head.  “Not moving.”

A stir of leaves next to you.  You glance over and oh thank God and the Virgin Mary-- it’s Dean.  He’s alive.  White as a ghost and in obvious pain, but alive.  You want to drop your gun and cover him with kisses.  You can’t.  Not with Zachariah right here.

Dean tries to get to his feet.  Oh Jesus, his front is drenched with blood from the waist down.  He says your name.  “Car keys in my pocket.  Take Zachariah.  Leave me here.”

“Fuck that!”

“I can’t walk and you can’t carry me.”

You point your gun at Zachariah.  “You wanna live through this?”

Zachariah chuckles.  “You won’t shoot me.  You’re not--”  He shrieks in a very unAlpha soprano as you put a bullet in the ground between you.

“Carry him.  Or I swear by God, Father Son and Holy Ghost I will blow your fucking brains out,” you snarl.  Your fangs have dropped and you have to shift your grip on the pistol as your claws slide out.  When Zachariah doesn’t move, you snap, “NOW!”

Scrambling to his feet, Zachariah moves to Dean’s side.  Pulling Dean’s arm over his shoulders, he slowly straightens to a stand, pulling Dean to his feel.  Dean howls in pain, a sound you know will haunt you for the rest of your life.

You look around in confusion.  All these fucking trees look the same.  “Arrows,” Dean grunts, reading you like a sign again.  “Look for the arrows.”

You look up and find one, old scratches deep into the meat of the tree.  “This way.”  You motion with your gun.

“Aht-ah,” Dean says, and he almost sounds like his uninjured self.  He jabs his gun into Zachariah’s ribs.  “Do what the lady says pal, or she won’t have to blow your head off.”

---

The slow march back to the cabin is a crazy nightmare of crunching leaves and Dean’s moans of pain.  You can’t comfort him either, you don’t dare let Zachariah out of your sight.  Underneath the glass coat of shock your Omega instincts are screaming, Alpha is in pain, Alpha is in danger.

Finally you come to the cabin.  Zachariah’s car is a big black SUV.  You growl at him, “Keys.”

He bares his teeth in a sharktoothed grin.  “Ketch has them.”

“Pocket,” Dean wheezes.  His knees buckle and he almost drags Zachariah down.

“Dean?  Dean!  Stay with me Dean!  We’re going to get help.”  Dean moans, his head rolling this way and that.  “ALPHA!” you shriek.

“He’s a dead man,” Zachariah scoffs.

“You’d better hope not,” you growl in a voice you don’t recognize as yours.  “Put him in the shotgun seat.”

“H-h-hand-handcuffs,” Dean says.  Weakly he pats at the glove compartment.  You open it and fish out a set of cuffs.  “Cuff him.  To the other car.”

“You heard him,” you tell Zachariah, holding up the cuffs.  “Do it.  Or I’ll shoot out your knees and leave you to bleed to death, do you hear me?”

“This isn’t necessary sweetheart,” Zachariah tries one last time.  “We can get clear of this if we tell the same story.”

“What story’s that?  The one where you brought your psycho to kill my Alpha and carry me away to your tower for the ravishing?”

“Two psychopaths went crazy, kidnapped you, and killed each other,” Zachariah corrects, “and I arrived just in time to save you.  It’s a good story.  We can go away, start a new life together.  A good life, somewhere warm where--”

“Where the law doesn’t think it’s weird for an Alpha to have an Omega a third his age.  Pass.  Now,” you tic your gun at the SUV, “hands.”

Once Zachariah’s wrists are cuffed with the chain threaded through the door handle, you creep back towards Dean’s car.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Zachariah snarls as his face turns red.  “I’ll never spend a night in jail.  I know people.  I have money.  You’re mine, Omega.  Just a matter of time.”

“I will slit my own throat first.”  You mean it.

You slide into Dean’s car.  God, the inside stinks like blood.  It’s everywhere, so much blood.  You have to physically peel your right hand off the Glock; your fingers refuse to let go.  Outside Zachariah is yelling and struggling against the handcuffs.  You sincerely hope he gouges his wrists open and dies.

What the hell happened to you? asks your father’s eternally detached voice.  You slap it away.  “Keep it together,” you growl to yourself.

“Doin’ great, babygirl,” Dean whispers.  “Take track to road.  Turn left.  Gas station.”

“Gas station?  No we need to get you to a hos-- don’t tell me we’re low on gas.”

“Fine.  Won’t tell you.”  Dean tries to get his keys from his jeans pocket but can’t quite manage.  You have to dig them out.  As the Chevy’s engine coughs to life you check the gas gauge.  Yep, the needle’s hovering a tick over E.  Cursing in Greek, you find the gearstick, put the car in gear, and pull away from the cabin.

You drive as fast as you dare down the rutted trail through the shitwood and weeds.  Finally you come on a ribbon of asphalt.  Blessed civilization.

Or so you think; it’s another fifteen nerve-shredding minutes until you see a sign that says JOE’S PARTY STORE, GAS BAIT BEER LOTTO.  Almost sobbing with relief you pull in front of the tin shack housing the store and cut the engine.  “We’re here!  Thank God we’re here!  Dean?”  No response.  “Dean!”

He lifts his head from where it’s slumped on the seat and smiles.  Then his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps back down again.

The glass coat that’s been keeping your emotions back shatters.  Your shrieks bring out a retinue of retired fisherman.  They mill around in confusion until one fat fellow wearing a VIET NAM, NHA TRANG baseball cap takes charge.  He opens the passenger side door and askes, “Jesus God girlie, what happened?”

“He’s been shot, he’s been shot, he’s dying,” you sob.

“Call Jimmy, tell him to shag ass.  This man needs a hospital.”  He lifts Dean’s shirt and you almost pass out.  Blood, blood, how can he be alive with so much blood?  It’s everywhere, the whole world is blood.  The Vietnam vet whips a handkerchief out of his pocket.  “This is gonna hurt mister.  I’m sorry.”

Dean screams as the Vietnam vet presses the handkerchiefs to the bullet hole.

“I know,” the Vietnam vet says roughly, “I know son.  But we gotta get this bleeding stopped.”  He looks over at you.  “You his Omega?”

“Close enough,” you say.  You’re crying, and you can’t stop.

“Talk to him.  Keep him with us.”

You nod and take Dean’s hand.  His fingers are like marble, cold and still.  He’s sort of awake, he’s trying to open his eyes.  You lay your head on his chest, hear his heart beating fast and erratic.  “Please, Alpha” you beg him and God and whoever else might be listening.  “I can’t lose you.  I just found you.  Please don’t leave me.  Please.  Please.”

Mine.

---

“Raise your right hand.  Do you swear that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

“I do.”  Moving a bit stiffly in his off-the-rack suit and tie, Dean sits in the witness box.  If he’s at all intimidated by the hate in Zachariah’s gaze it doesn’t show.

“Please state your full name date and place of birth and current occupation for the record,” the bailiff continues in his robotic monotone.”

“Dean Michael Winchester, 24 January 1979, Lawrence, Kansas, auto mechanic.”  Dean answers in a monotone to match.  A bare titter runs through the courtroom.

“Don’t get cute dude,” Dean’s brother Sam mutters.  You seek out his hand; he envelops yours in his huge paw and squeezes, gently.

The past several months have been both the best and worst of your life.  Taking a hurried leave of absence from school had not won you many fans; you’re not sure you would even be welcome back next fall.  The Family, exactly as Uncle Gabriel had predicted, had organized itself into pro- and anti-Zachariah camps.  Although the size of the pro-camp shrinks with the revelation of every new outrage.  Your stomach churns when you think of just what Zachariah had spent that embezzled money on.  And true to form the coward kept thinking he could squeak by.  Despite some outright pleading from his lawyer, Zachariah refused to follow Chuck’s example and cut a deal.  “’Not a jury in the world would take the word of a catamite whore over mine,’ is the exact phrase he used I believe,” Uncle Balthazar had reported.

But then there’s Dean.

Bouncing back from death’s door with only a scar and the loss of some intestine to show for it.  The two of you have been pretty much inseparable since he got out of the hospital, and every day you fall a little more in love with him.  Not that it’s all been sunshine and roses; your Alpha is moody, temperamental, and his need for independence borders on pathological.  You’d had to physically drag him to see his “uncle” Bobby and ask about a job.  Dean and Bobby had walked out of the manager’s office at Singer Salvage And Repair twenty minutes later, Dean with an armful of fresh dungarees and Bobby telling him, “Eight AM Monday morning and you’d better bring your girl ‘round for Sunday dinner.  Idjit.”

You shake yourself out of your reflections.  Dean, answering the DA’s questions politely and respectfully, is telling the jury how Zachariah hired him through the escort agency, how you met, how he quit, and how he took you away to keep you safe.  He describes cutting the blown-down tree into logs for adding to the cabin’s woodpile when Ketch surprised him.  You’ve already had your turn on the stand, and two days of getting broasted by Zachariah’s defense attorney had driven you into a vodka bottle for almost a week.

“I woke up in the U of M Medical Center.  The doctors told me later I had to be Life-Flighted out,” Dean concludes.  He makes a face.  “Thank God I was passed out by then.”

“Thank you Mr. Winchester,” the ADA on the case, a redheaded woman, ‘call me Charlie, everybody does’ says.  Retreating to the prosecution’s table, she says, “Your witness,” to the defense.

Zachariah’s defense attorney, a statuesque black woman named Billie, stands in her navy pinstripe and power heels.  You shrink a little in your seat.  The lady is fucking intimidating.

“Mr. Winchester what was it you said you did for a living before your current employment?”

“I was an independent contractor working for Rosen Entertainment,” Dean answers.

“And what was the nature of your work?”

“Rosen Entertainment provides professional escorts.  For dates, formal occasions, photo sessions, stuff like that.  Sometimes clients came with special requests, such as personal protection.”

“Special requests, yes.  Were those requests ever sexual in nature?”

“Within the confines established by Michigan state law yes,” Dean says without batting an eye.

“You’re awfully frank about it, Mr. Winchester.  Most people would at least blush to admit prostitution.”

Dean looks at the judge.  “I’m sorry, was that a question?”

“Watch the asides Counselor,” the judge warns.

“How long did you do this . . . work?” Billie asks.

“Almost seven years.”

“Make good money?”

“Enough.”

“But not nearly as much as the money some of your clients left you in their wills.”

Dean’s expression hardened.  “I never accepted any of that money.  The rules of my contract with Rosen Entertainment forbade it.”

“That didn’t stop you from accepting gifts from grateful clients.  Cash, clothes, accessories-- I understand once you got to stay on Grand Cayman for two months.”

“Objection!  Where is this line of questioning going?” Charlie snaps.

“Speaks to the credibility of the witness Your Honor,” Billie says.

“Overruled,” the judge tells Charlie.  “Proceed.”

“The trip to Cayman wasn’t a vacation; it was a job.  Personal gifts aren’t a nono under our contracts but bequests are different,” Dean clarifies.  “That money belongs in a family.”

You can see Billie yearning to bring up Dean’s juvenile record but it’s already been ruled inadmissible.  She shifts gears.  “The average escort’s career lasts less than two years yet you stuck it out for almost seven, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you just happen to meet a young, impressionable Omega with no dating experience and no sexual experience either, and you just happen to decide right then and there to quit.”

“She was a factor in my decision, yes.”

“The fact that she potentially had access to a fortune worth approximately six billion dollars didn’t factor into your thinking?”

“No,” Dean says flatly.

“I find that hard to believe,” Billie says.  “I mean, six billion dollars.  You could buy a lot of condos for that.”

Dean turns to the judge.  “Was that a question?  I couldn’t tell.”

“Let me rephrase--” Billie says, “her money did not factor into your decision making at any point?”

“No.”

“Good,” Sam says beside you, “keep it consistent.”

“Now on the afternoon of the date in question, you shot and killed Arthur Ketch, correct?” Billie asks.

“In self-defense.”

“Mr. Adler’s statement to the police says Mr. Ketch was there to arrest you on suspicion of kidnapping, which is within the scope of his duties as a private investigator,” Billie rebuts.

“Well that’s funny-- Ketch’s idea of reading me my rights was a sucker punch to the kidney,” Dean snarks back.

“Tone it down Dean,” Sam says under his breath.

“And I didn’t kidnap anyone,” Dean continues.  He nods at you.  “She didn’t feel safe at home, and she came with me willingly somewhere her folks didn’t know about.”

“An Omega in heat is incapable of making sound decisions, are they not?” Billie asks.

“Objection Your Honor-- it’s been established no kidnapping took place.  The defendant’s grandniece might’ve been in estrus but by the testimony of Castiel Novak and Abbadon Diablo she was not impaired,” Charlie says.  “No warrant was ever sworn out for Mr. Winchester’s arrest, and the death of Arthur Ketch was ruled self-defense under Michigan’s Stand Your Ground law.”

“Sustained.  Move on.”

“We’ve established she was not impaired by her estrus cycle,” Billie says.  “What about you?”

“Me?  I don’t know what you mean,” Dean says.

“Let me clarify-- after one meeting, you quit a job at which you’d been making excellent money for several years.  Could your judgement have been impaired, to come between a child and the family who loves her?”

“I watched a grown Omega cringe when a relative old enough to be her grandfather with room to spare started making dominance moves on her in public,” Dean says, with that narrow look that speaks of a fraying temper.  “Even if I hadn’t been falling in love with her, I would’ve gotten her out of the situation.  Nobody should be treated like that by their own family.”

“Please Mr. Winchester,” Billie scoffs, “you expect the jury to believe a high-class prostitute threw his career away just because of love?”

“What-- whores can’t love?” Dean asks caustically, making some of the reporters in the room gasp.  “The only reason she’s not wearing her ring is it’s at the jeweler’s getting resized-- my grandmother had tiny fingers.”  He smiles at you and you beam back.  “I loved her the minute I looked at her and I’m the luckiest sonofabitch alive she thinks I’m worth loving too.”

Zachariah’s shoulders go tight, but he doesn’t say anything, clearly prepped by his lawyer ahead of time to sit still and shut up.

“The point stands,” Billie says.  “How far should the jury trust the integrity of someone who earned his living on his knees?”

Dean draws himself up.  “Ma’am.  My father is a paranoid schizophrenic who can live out his life in a safe place.  My brother’s graduating from Stanford Law School eighth in a class of a hundred and twenty--”

“Twenty-six,” Sam corrects softly.

“--I was able to help with the little bit he couldn’t earn with that giant brain of his.  He’s graduating debt-free, which means he can afford to be picky about accepting a job, and he and his fiancée can get married now instead of waiting until she finishes med school.

“All of that is possible,” Dean says, with angry dignity, “because I got on my knees and let people pay to fuck me.  I quit because it was time to quit.  When this is over, I can take my mated wife, and get started on the next phase of my dumb little life.”

Billie looks at Dean a long moment.  Dean meets her gaze, square and unashamed.  You want to cheer.  “Nothing further, Mr. Winchester.”

“The witness is excused.  Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”  The judge whacks down the gavel and you and Sam meet Dean at the exit door.

“How’d I do?” Dean asks Sam.

“Pretty good,” Sam nods.  “You got a little emotional but I think it’ll play well with the jury.  The important thing is your stories corroborate each others’.  Adler doesn’t have a leg to stand on.  The jury will crucify him.”  There’s a greed in his voice that makes you pull back a little.  You’d found Sam to be every bit the sweetheart Dean had described, but there was still that something that made you nervous.  You definitely wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of Sam’s angry dimples.

“Well! that was fun as dental surgery.  Who’s for pizza?  I know a place off Lake Michigan Drive,” you say brightly.

---

Later that night you leave Sam, Uncle Gabriel, and Uncle Balthazar deep in a discussion over international smuggling laws.  Your uncles seem to have found a kindred spirit in Sam, and you smile at the start of what looks like a beautiful friendship.

“Babygirl?” Dean asks as you emerge from the bathroom in your nightie.  “C’mere.”

You go to where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.  It’s a bigger bed than it was at Uncle Balthazar’s condo, despite your new apartment being the upstairs of a not-very-big house in a not-very-nice neighborhood.  Between you and Dean there’re enough personal touches to make it feel like a home and not just a place you happen to inhabit.  The first real home you’ve ever had.

“Look what came back from the jewelers today,” Dean says, pulling a gray velvet clamshell from his pocket.

You giggle.  “Should we do the bended knee thing again?”

“Absolutely,” Dean says.  He slides off the bed and lands softly on one knee.  “You’re the light of my life, the twinkle in my eye, the boner in my pants--”

“Such a way with words,” you tell him dryly.

Dean smiles up at you, taking your hands.  “You remember what I told you, about how beautiful a woman’s face gets when she’s having really good sex?”

You nod.  Months of life with Dean has mellowed the sting of pure possessive jealousy when you think of his former profession.  Mostly.

“I knew I was done for,” Dean says, “when I realized I never wanted to see that look on any face but yours.  That’s what I meant when I said I wanted to take care of you.  If you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”  Using your full name, Dean opens the clamshell to reveal an antique gold ring set with a single blazing sapphire.  “Will you marry me, and claim me as yours?”

“Mmm . . . yeah sure, why not?”  The happy tears betray you, and Dean’s smile beams just as bright as it did when he first popped the question.

At Cedar Point of all possible places.

He slips the ring on your finger and you thank him with a passionate kiss.  Dean shifts to sit back on his heels and sticks his head up under your nightie.  “Hey now, I can smell a hungry little pussy.”

You giggle as he sniffles and kisses all around your lower belly, your thighs, your hips.  You shift your legs apart and Dean zeros in between them.  His mouth wanders over your bush, kissing your outer lips, tongue tickling the crease between your pussy and your leg.  “Deeee-ean,” you whine.

“Don’t break my concentration, I’m hunting here.”  He kisses right over your throbbing clit, making your breath catch.  “Mmm.  I think I’ve cornered her.  Let’s see.”  Parting your outer lips with his nose, Dean licks up a tongueful of your trickling slick.  “I have the trail!  You’re mine, pussy.”

“Dean!” you whack at the lump of his head under your nightie.  “Your brother is like, right next door!”

“Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?” Dean says around a mouthful of your softest flesh.  “I caught this pussy fair and square.  And now,” he suckles at your clit and you choke back a scream, “I’m gonna eat it all up!”

---

The jury deliberations take an afternoon.

“Will the defendant please rise,” the judge instructs, and Zachariah, still in his silk power suit and radiating Alpha-like authority, stands.  Even after everything, he still thinks he’s going to get away with it, you realize.  It hasn’t sunk in, that actions have consequences and not everything can be papered over with money.

You shudder, remembering big pictures of tiny bodies.  Dean feels it and puts an arm around you.  Alpha is here, and you know for a fact he’d die to keep you safe.  Having six and a half feet of Sam on your other side, and Uncle Balthazar and Uncle Gabriel sitting close by; those help too.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“Yes we have Your Honor,” the jury forewoman answers.

“On the first count of the indictment, attempted murder in the first degree, how does the jury find?”

“We the jury, find the defendant, guilty.”

A great release of air goes through the courtroom.  Your body goes cool, numb, tingly.  A release of tension you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“On the second count of the indictment, attempted sexual assault in the first degree, how does the jury find?”

“We the jury, find the defendant, guilty.”

“Breathe, babygirl,” Dean says in your ear and you suck in a breath.  Spots clear from your vision.  Dean kisses your head and lets you lean close.

It takes almost five minutes to read out the rest of the charges-- embezzlement, hiring of a hitman, wire fraud.  Guilty on all charges.  Zachariah stands firm through the recitation, a look coming over his face that actively terrifies you.

“Thank you Madam Forewoman.  The jury is excused,” the judge says.

“I know you” Zachariah says, loud and clear.  “ I know each and every one of you.”  The men and women in the jury box pause, but only for a second as the bailiff starts herding them through the exit door.  “You’re dead!  You’re all dead!” his voice rises as the last juror files out.

“Counselor, control your client,” the judge orders Billie, who looks utterly taken aback at Zachariah’s outburst.  Whatever she says gets through; Zachariah pulls his jacket straight, adjusts his tie, and goes back to standing at attention.  “Defendant’s bail is hereby revoked and he will be remanded  to the custody of the Michigan Department of Corrections--”

“Jail?” Zachariah laughs, in what sounds like genuine amusement.  “I’m not going to jail!”

“--to await sentencing.  Sentencing hearing to be scheduled at a later date.”  She brings the gavel down with a final bang and motions to the bailiffs.  “Take the defendant into custody.”

“I know you too!” Zachariah yells, lunging away from the bailiffs.  “YOU’RE DEAD BITCH!   YOU’RE ALL DEAD!!!”  His head whips around and he spies you.  A grotesque parody of a smile twists his face.  “You’ll never know what you gave up baby.  You’ll never know.”  The bailiffs finally get ahold of his massive arms and pin him to the defense table.  They twist his wrists behind his back and you hear the ratchet of handcuffs.  “YOU’LL NEVER KNOW!” Zachariah shrieks as they drag him away amongst the pandemonium.  Flashbulbs pop everywhere and you can hear reporters barking and snarling.

“Sam,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, and starts elbowing his way through the crowd.  Guiding you, giving you cover under his arms, Dean follows.

“Awfully handy, having a brother who doubles as a battering ram,” Uncle Balthazar notes, falling in behind with Uncle Gabriel.  He puts a hand on your back.  “Are you all right darling?”

“Let’s just get out of here.  You look up at Dean, drinking in his eyes like a dying man drinks cool water.  “Take me home.”

---

“Gimme those feet,” Dean tells you, and you slip off your shoes and put them in his lap.  You moan as he gently rubs away the aches.

“It was a beautiful ceremony wasn’t it?” you ask.

Dean shrugs.  “I’d rather cut to the chase,” he says.  Your eyes meet and you both break down in chuckles.  Tradition dictates a claiming bite be left unbandaged and open to the air; yours is still throbbing.  Exchanging vows before Father Jim had been quiet joy.  The exquisite pain and transcendent bliss of Dean’s fangs in your neck had been heaven.  Dean’s cry as you’d sunken your fangs into his mating gland . . . you’d almost come on the spot.

At Sam’s wedding, you and Dean had shown up with your brand new rings and your brand new claiming bites.  You’d felt the joy in your own body, when the priest had declared them married, mated, and bonded forever.  Sam Winchester, juris doctorate, and his lovely wife Jessica, med student and future doctor.  Happiness makes them beautiful, your Winchesters.

Dean hits an especially sore spot and you moan. “Death to him -- because it was definitely a man -- who made heels mandatory formal wear.”

“But they do fucking mind-blowing things to your legs,” Dean says, his hands massaging your sore calves.  He picks up one of your legs.  “But oh,” he sings against your toes, “they love to watch her strut.”

You cuff him playfully.  It’s funny, after childhoods with no place for play, you and Dean can’t seem to get enough.  “Enough with your schmaltz.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says, and the two of you sit quiet for a while.  You’re frowning at nothing when Dean asks, “Something on your mind, babygirl?”

“I’m just-- I dunno, contemplating what’s next, I guess.”

“What’re your thoughts?”

“I mean-- I want to go back to school--"

“Then do it.  Money isn’t a problem.”

“Yeah I know that.”  The bequest from your mother’s estate isn’t huge, but it’s enough to ensure you can complete any degree you want.  On Dean’s absolute insistence, that money is untouchable under a prenuptial agreement-- you and only you will ever have access and should you split up--

Mine, your Omega instincts say, looking at the scabbed gashes on your husband’s neck.

“So what’s the problem?”  Dean sits up straighter on the hotel room sofa.  “Talk to me, babygirl.”

“I nuked a lot of the professional relationships I need when I took that leave of absence.  Professor Visnyak came this close to telling me I’ll never work in this field again.”

“Fuck her,” is Dean’s judgement.

“No thank you.”

“Is there some law or commandment says you have to go to that school?” Dean asks.

“It’s got one of the best Anthropology programs in the country.”

“One of,” Dean echoes.  “Nothing says you can’t go somewhere else.”  Your brow furrows as the idea sits with you.  “I mean-- MSU’s right there, U of M.  University of Chicago’s a good school.  Shit, you could go anywhere.”

“Not without you.”

Dean shrugs.  “Nice thing about being a mechanic-- the skills travel.  I could get a job pretty much anywhere.”

You know that’s not true though.  Plenty of places won’t hire someone who made a living in sex work.

“Besides,” Dean says, “you’re gonna start doing fieldwork soon, right?  We’ll be apart then.”

“I know.”  That’s one of the reasons you and Dean decided to marry now.  Dean your husband gets access Dean your boyfriend doesn’t.  A practical, sensible decision that’s completely separate from being true mates and needing each other the way you need food and water.

“I don’t want to move,” you say.  “I mean, travel?  Sure.  I want to walk the Silk Road--”

“Ancient truck stops,” Dean says, smiling.  “Awesome.”

“I know you wanted to move back to Kansas--”

“I can manage Dad’s affairs just about anywhere.”  A shadow settles over Dean.  Hus father had not taken the revelation of just how Dean made his living well.  You’re not exactly eager to see the asshole again, but you know Dean loves him and you know the rejection hurts.  To a cold part of you it’s fascinating; until you met Dean you’ve never known the kind of love that leaves a person open to agony like that.  And Dean does it so naturally, you don’t know if he can love any other way.  Nothing about Dean Winchester is half-assed, especially not love.

“Even California-- I mean, it’s nice out here.  Except for watching my husband get hit on by every Omega and Beta in town, including and especially the guys.”

“Is that why you practically tore my clothes off when we got back to the hotel the other day?” Dean asks, smiling.  “I love it when you get all possessive.”

You kick him, not too hard.  “So fine, I’m greedy.”

“You’re so mean,” Dean sighs, “and I am so okay with that.  C’mere.”

You go into Dean’s arms and snuggle into his chest.  “Grand Rapids is my home,” you say.  “I don’t want to leave it.”

“Then we won’t.”  Dean kisses the top of your head.  “I got a job, you got school.  We’ve got a home together.”

“Dean.  Alpha.”  You kiss him, just basking in his taste and his scent and his everything.  “Where you are, that’s home.”

Mine.  His.  Mine.

---

AN2: I don't know why, but the plot bunnies bit me hard on this one. The bulk of it was written in about three days-- yeah I know, it shows. If you recognize who the 'Adlers' are supposed to be expys of, or the landmarks described herein, pat yourself on the back for being a true Michigander.