Chapter Text
The next two months pass quickly for Dean.
In that time, Sammy gets exponentially better. Walking, talking, not vomiting, not forgetting where he is and screaming for Ruby, not begging someone to tell him he's useful and good and earning his right to exist— regular people stuff that Dean's thrilled to see.
In fact, Sam's resilience is so strong, Dean has to step in and remind him that he's been near catatonic for a year and should probably slow it down. Like, Sammy's been trying to convince Dean to let him pick up his usual exercise routine. Dean said hell no, obviously. Dude just started walking again, he's not going for a fucking morning jog. Sam is so determined to gain back his autonmy as soon as possible that he's willing to push himself too far too fast and fuck up all the progess they've made thus far. Dean's not having it.
They go back and forth for a while, Sam and Dean, but eventually Claire butts in to smack them both and push them in Cas's direction, which leads to Dean sort of winning the whole fight after all. Sam gives up on extensive gross motor movements ("Jazzercize, Sammy. Call it what it is. Jazzercize.") and instead puts together a more specialized, accomodating program with Cas's treatment-based advice. Meal-plans, vitamins, meditation, stretches, walking in place— you name it. The only aspect that isn't aggressively Jane Fonda is the at-home PT program put together using the internet and Cas's medical binders and jounrals. Nerdy as hell, but Sam's gained a lot more control over his body since he started this. He even gets Jack to do some of the excercises with him which helps a bunch. Dean and Cas have been talking about getting Jack a physical therapist anyway to help with his muscle issues from his own time in captivity.
Speaking of Jack, he's getting along extremely well with Sam. Claire too, but Jack in particular is absolutely obsessed with Sammy, following him everywhere like a baby duckling. It's adorable. Dean's phone is running out of storage because of how many pictures and videos he has of his little brother playing with the pups.
The next two months for Ellen and Bobby are just as quick, though they're busy with the Nick stuff and don't spend as much time with Dean's pack. Bobby makes so many phone calls, organizing hunters across the country, that he actually considers joining the 21st century and replacing his god-awful flip phone. Maybe a little more pushing from Ellen and he'll really do it.
Jo takes on running the Roadhouse while her mom's hands are full, and Dean helps out when he has time. They hire two beta girls, Ava and Nancy, to manage the floor and the bar, and a lackadaisical pothead omega named Andy to man the grill in the back. A little later Jo finds a guy to do the dishes and take out the trash, a paranoid doughboy called Ronald, so come July, Dean isn't needed there anymore, which suits him just fine. More time with the pups, more time with Sam, and more time to look at houses with Cas.
Ms. Bela Talbot, a real estate agent based in San Fransisco, is a surprisingly hard woman to find. It takes Bobby's help for Dean to even get her number, let alone set up an appointment. It's a hassle, and Bela is a total bitch, but she's also the only real estate agent on the west coast that doesn't mind being paid in cash— she actually prefers it, which makes Dean's Bad Person radar flash. He leaves her business be, though, because for one: she's an omega, and Dean knows all omegas could use a leg up in their fucked-up sociecty. He hopes Bela doesn't feel too threatened by his alpha, but Cas is pretty damn broody at first glance so his hopes fall flat.
More importantly, though: Bela takes cash, and because of Dean's lack of a bank account and no actual job, that's all he has. Bricks of cash that came from alpha nests he raided and can't deposit or trash. He's in need of a shady bitch at the moment, and fortunately/unfortunately, Bela is perfect for the job.
The worst part of the process is the snark and weird lack-of communication, but besides that, Bela Talbot is good. She works quick and finds them a plethora of places to tour. Dean has his favorite picked by the end of July.
When all five of them (Dean, Cas, Claire, Jack, and Sam) tour the place for the second time, Dean falls all the way in love. The only downside is that the place is just outside Clearfield Park, a little far from North Fair Oaks where Bobby is, but Dean forgets about that the second he steps inside.
The kitchen is more than big enough to bake in, even if there's music bopping and hips swaying or two pups on either side "helping" him mix ingredients. The dining room is roughly the same size, and Dean pictures a sturdy wooen table in the center with enough chairs for their whole family. Upstairs there are four bedrooms which means everyone has their own space—including Sammy who tears up when Cas clarifies that he and Dean would share and give Sam a room of his own.
The backyard is fenced, if a little crooked, and the front porch leans enough that it'll have to be rebuilt someday, sooner rather than later. Bela says she knows some people who could repaint the outside for a good price, like maybe the chipping paint around the windows would drive Dean away. Little does she know, Dean loved it before she'd opened her stupid mouth.
He made up his mind before they were halfway back to the Roadhouse: that place would be theirs by the end of the week.
And lo and behold, it is.
After a long week of shopping, Claire is exhausted. Thankfully she didn't have to haul furniture around like Dean and Cas did, but she did have to go to every single store and give her opinion on every single thing. Chairs, tables, plates, silverware, pillows, blankets, wall art— way too much crap that Claire couldn't care less about. Even Jack started getting bored, and Jack gets excited over literally everything.
A week later, the house finally looks like a place people live in instead of an empty husk of a stranger's past life. Turns out the shopping spree nightmare paid off, and Claire doesn't bother hiding how thrilled she is as everything comes together. She joins the rest of the pack in marking every inch of the place with happy, family scent. She spends hours in her room with music playing on the little tape deck Cas found at a garage sale the other day, building a proper nest for her space. The fitted sheet method her mama prefers turns out to be a true stroke of genius as Claire creates the greatest, coziest, coolest, comfiest, awesome-est nest the world has ever seen. She's grinning like a madman by the time she's finished, feeling like a proud parent.
So proud and happy with herself that she forgets she has school the next day. Because of course Cas and Dean, those obnoxious over-achievers, squeezed in the time to register Claire and Jack for school.
In the morning, Claire groans like an old man with psoriatic arthritis as she shushes her alarm clock with one hard slap on the big snooze button. Now she's irritated. It's seven in the morning, and she's fucking irritated.
She rolls over to lie on her back for another minute, staring at the ceiling she covered with an orange hippie-like tapestry two days ago. Dean teased her a bit, pushing his anti-hippie agenda, but he still let her sit on his shoulders to push the tacks into the ceiling. Claire doesn't think she qualifies as a hippie, not ideologically or aesthetically, but she does like psychedelic images, and she loves the color orange. She's still in the process of collecting posters to hang up, so the tapestry is all she has right now, but eventually her space will be jampacked with orange decorations.
When she finally sits up, Claire finds Jack's bed across the room is empty. The original plan was for them two to have their own rooms, but Jack was too scared to sleep by himself. So that first night, Dean and Cas carried Jack's newly assembled bed frame into Claire's room, along with his new toys and clothes, and set up everything in there.
For some reason Dean and Cas expected Claire to throw a fit over having Jack as a roommate. They assured her it wasn't permanent, just until Jack felt safe, but Claire didn't and still doesn't mind. She likes Jack's company, even if he is weirdly hyper and has trouble doing normal stuff. Claire always helps him, and she knows that when Jack is with her, he's okay. Protecting Jack makes her feel happy.
She remembers the serious talk Dean had with her after they moved all Jack's stuff into her room. He was very insistent that Claire understood what it meant to be a big sister. That she should always look after her little brother, but that it wasn't her job to be his mom or dad. Jack isn't her responsibility, and she shouldn't feel like she has to take care of him like a grown-up.
"You're not a grown-up," Dean had said. "Your job is to learn new things and have fun. If something seems too big or serious, with Jack or you or anything else, you come get me or Cas right away. That's what we're here for. Understand?"
Claire had nodded, a little unsure. She thinks now that Dean was projecting a bit. From the way he acts with Sam, it's likely he grew up being Sam's mom and dad, and he doesn't want that for Claire. Makes sense, but Claire knows that if Dean did it, she can do it too. If she needs to. Who knows? Maybe Dean and Cas really will stick around to take care of them. Maybe this is Claire's new forever.
She hopes so. She doesn't think she can go through losing a parent again.
On that happy note, Claire works up the energy to swing her legs over the side of her bed, pushing herself to stand. Cas braided her hair last night so it wouldn't be snarly, and going by the lack of frizz in her face, it was a success. She pads her way across her room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the kitchen, squinting at the bright lights. Dean's at the stove scrambling way too many eggs and singing along to the speaker playing ZZ Top. The whole kitchen smells like bacon and happiness.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Dean greets, smiling brightly. He's in his PJs and on top is the stupid "Good Lookin' is Cookin'!" apron that Cas got him. Claire basically dry heaves when she sees it. How are these two idiots not mated yet, and why is it Claire's problem?
It's too early for this bullshit. Claire grunts her dissaproval and sits down on a stool at the island counter. "Where's Jack?"
"Cas's giving him a bath," Dean answers. "Pup got up at the ass-crack of dawn and has been driving Cas nuts, it's fuckin' hilarious." He portions out the eggs onto five plates and then starts on frying up more bacon. Apparently he didn't make enough. "You want to shower before school? You still got plenty of time."
Claire snorts. "Those people don't deserve me clean."
Dean rolls his eyes, but she can scent his amusement in the air. "That's a hell of an attitude for your first day. You don't even know those people yet."
Claire shrugs. "I have high standards. Are you almost done? I'm hungry."
"Brat. You're lucky I'm legally required to feed you."
Claire laughs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. A few minutes later, Dean sends her to set the table, and she does so without much fuss. Paper towels instead of napkins because even with all of Dean's stolen blood money and Cas's trust fund, they're still a financially conscious family.
In the past week, they've picked their unofficial assigned seats, so Claire sets the small fork at Jack's spot and the biggest fork at Dean's spot. Dean comes out with a pitcher of water and a stack of cups, and Claire helps him set those out, too.
When Jack and Cas arrive, Jack's freshly clean and bouncing on the heels of his feet. He's too active for someone recovering from muscle atrophy, and now that he's doing PT with Sam, he's only going to get more active. Cas seems to be the only one truly overwhelmed by it, but even so, he does the best job keeping up with the pup.
When Cas sees Claire, he asks her how she's feeling and how she slept and all that stuff. Claire smiles and doesn't let herself feel uncomfortable by Cas's straightforward kindness. Claire can let herself be taken care of and looked after this way if it means showing Cas he's appreciated. Not to get too sappy, but Claire couldn't find a better person to fill the role of her alpha-dad even if she searched the whole world.
Anyway. Yuck. Enough of that.
Cas and Dean kiss good morning, Claire fake-vomits, and then Dean's off to wake Sam. Claire pours herself a cup of water (they have to finish their water first before they can get juice) and then helps Jack pour his. Cas checks some e-mails on his new laptop, probably about med school, and the pups do an okay job not being nosy.
When Sam comes back, he smells healthy but tired. He's still sleeping more than he should, but Cas assured everybody that it's perfectly normal as long as the number of hours goes down over time. It's nothing like the issue Claire had, unable to stay awake and unable to fully sleep, her body forcing her into a state of limbo, completely shutting down on herself.
That was terrifying, but that's not what this is. Claire tells herself that over and over every time she smells the sleepiness on her Uncle Sammy.
Finally, a plate of fluffy eggs and greasy bacon is placed in front of her, and Claire perks up immediately. "Thank god, I thought I was gonna starve to death," she blurts.
"Starving will be a challenge in this household," Cas comments, watching Dean as he sets down plates for everyone else. "Dean is such a fantastic cook, and he never fails to provide."
"Why, thank you, alpha," Dean snorts, a tad sarcastic. "This June Cleaver breakfast shit ain't gonna become a regular thing, though, you hear me? Just a first day of school thing. We got plenty of cereal and Pop-Tarts for normal days."
"Who's June Cleaver?" Jack chirps curiously. Marvelous Marvin is set up in the high chair beside him, though Dean already made it very clear that the high chair is for the baby pup when it comes. Neither him nor Cas or Sam have spoken to Claire or Jack about the baby pup in any detail, but Claire has put the pieces together: Sam's old alpha made a baby with him when he was on sleeping drugs, and now they're waiting for the baby to be ready so they can bring it home.
Dean explains who June Cleaver is to Jack and falls into a rabbit hole revolving around sitcoms and black and white television. In the meantime, Claire eats her breakfast quietly and listens in on Cas's conversation with Sam.
"How have your energy levels been?" Cas asks. "Did the melatonin do any good? Are you drowsy at all?"
"I'm feeling alright," Sam shrugs. "I slept through the night, no nightmares or anything, so I guess the melatonin helped. I'm still pretty lethargic, but I don't think I'm drowsy, and other than that I feel great."
"That's good to hear," Cas says with a small, genuine smile. "Would you like to come with us to drop the pups off at school? It won't be for about an hour, so you have time to think it over."
Sam nods, and then the two of them start talking about modern elementary school curriculum. Claire wisely decides her attention is better off elsewhere.
After breakfast, Claire heads to her room to pick out her outfit for the first day of school. Jack set his outfit out last night and had come to breakfast in it: a green t-shirt with a picture of a singular dinosaur nugget and a poofy pink tutu on top of a regular pair of khaki shorts.
Claire knows for a fact that her little brother is going to get bullied, but because he's her little brother, Claire won't be tolerating any of the bullshit. Therefore, she picks a simple outfit that'll be easy to fight people in: a Kuromi t-shirt and black mesh shorts. She thinks about bringing the new leather jacket Dean got for her, a smaller replica of the one she's been stealing from him for months, but she decides against it. Not only is it too hot for that, but this jacket doesn't smell like Dean the way the original does. Claire can't nest in its fabric or scent it for comfort, and that makes it virtually useless.
When she's dressed, Claire finds Dean and demands he does her hair.
"I was plannin' on it, pup," Dean laughs. "What, you thought I was gonna let you go to school lookin' like a ragamuffin?"
"A ragamuffin?!" Claire echoes, incredulous.
"That's what I said," Dean smirks. "Now c'mon. I already got a stool set up in front of the mirror and everything, I was just waitin' on you."
Claire gets settled on the stool in the bathroom while Dean readies himself to take out her sleep braids. He uses a spray bottle to wet her hair a bit, and after a few minutes of simple detangling, Claire's ready to choose what hairstyle she wants. Dean offers her his phone to look online for inspiration, and after typing "badass hair for school" in the search bar, Claire finds something quickly.
"This one," she blurts, shoving the picture in Dean's face.
Dean blinks, taking the phone to get a better look. Because Claire's hair is almost-curly and thicker than Dean's used to dealing with, he went overboard on the mom-blogs and supplies shopping, but that's about as far as his knowledge goes. "I don't even know what I'm looking at here. Who is this fine lady?"
"It doesn't matter who she is," Claire huffs. "I want her hair."
"And I want her number, but it looks like we're both shit outta luck. You ain't growing hair like this anytime soon."
"I know that, dumbass! I just want the style. The side swoopy."
"The what? Side Snoopy?"
Pouting, Claire stands up to get another look, pulling on Dean's arm to angle the phone her way. She jabs her finger at the screen, hoping her idiot dad will understand now that they're looking together. "That part! I want that."
Dean stares at the impossibly neat rows of braids on the left side of the model's head. The rest of her thick, coily hair is out and shining under the professional lighting, reaching in every direction like the rock and roll edition of a Yoruban Goddess. He looks at Claire and her long, long wavy blonde hair and tries to envision how he could replicate the image.
"Dude," Claire sighs. "It can't be that difficult. I just want the braids on the side."
"Don't 'dude' me, dude," Dean huffs. "It is that difficult. Braiding is fuckin' difficult."
"But you can do it?"
"Maybe," Dean says honestly. "Don't get mad if it looks like steaming garbage."
"I'm not afraid of shaving my head if worst comes to worst," she shrugs, "but at least try to make it look good, okay?"
Dean nods, grinning nervously as he switches his brush for a comb. He parts Claire's hair on the left side and gets to work.
A few minutes of silence later, Dean asks, "Penny for your thoughts?" while his fingers are positioned awkwardly over the second braid in the making.
Last time he asked that, Claire was having a sleep-deprived, heat-jammed, fear-of-death meltdown in a motel bathtub. Shame rushes through her at the memory, but she keeps herself in the moment by watching Dean work in the mirror, pulling strands of her hair back and tucking and twisting it around. It looks really good so far.
"I'm okay," Claire answers the question honestly. "Why're you askin'? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Dean insists. He sounds genuine, so Claire lets her anxiety fizzle as much as she can. "I just want to know how you're doing. It's a big day and you're in a brand new place. It's normal if you're feeling scared."
"I'm not," Claire says. "I really like the house, and just 'cause I don't bounce around like Jack doesn't mean I'm not excited. You and Cas did a great job setting us up, so don't waste your time worrying over crap like that."
"Your happiness isn't crap, you snot-nosed little shit," Dean snorts. "But… thanks. That means a lot."
A moment passes, and he adds, "Your mom finished her inpatient program a few days ago. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you on your first day of school. Y'know, the mom send-off."
"This isn't my first first day of school," Claire says. "I'm in fourth grade now. I've done this 'first day' stuff a buncha times already."
Dean hums, finishing up the third of the four side braids with a small black elastic. "This time's a little different, though."
Claire shrugs, but it's true, she won't deny it.
The her first day of Kindergarten was amazing because she had both her parents sending her off, but after that… Well, after her dad died, her mama got sick. The first day of school wasn't a thing to celebrate because Amelia couldn't remember what day it was anyway. Claire saddled up all by herself, more excited about having a reliable source of food than anything else.
But here, with her new pack, she has plenty of food. Breakfast is happily settled in her tummy, and her new caretaker is encouraging her to be excited.
It feels like a bizarre parallel universe.
"If you're not feeling up to it, that's okay," Dean tacks on. "I can just pretend we were running late or somethin' and forgot to call."
Claire considers it.
On one hand, she loves her mama. The idea of seeing her face even through the screen makes her light up inside.
But on the other hand, what if nothing's changed? What if she calls and her mama thinks she's at Kathryn and Sydney's house for a sleepover? She might think Claire's calling to ask for a ride home, might tell her that Daddy will be there to get her in just a couple minutes, and then they'll have Claire's favorite dinner tomorrow night to cheer her up.
It's happened before. Mama forgetting how old Claire is. Happens as often as she forgets the days and the meals and the death of her Mate.
Claire hates it every time.
She'd almost prefer it if the treatment center made Amelia Novak worse.
Claire can't handle the same anymore, she knows she can't, but what if her mama is a broken shell of herself? Claire imagines her mom drugged up like Sammy was, drooling on herself and unresponsive even to the cruelest touches. She'd look up at Claire and see nothing, hear nothing, say absolutely nothing. She wouldn't ask about Church or Jimmy or Claire's best friends from kindergarten. Maybe she'd have bruises all over her body like Sammy, injection scars on her arms too, but she'd be too numb to feel anything. She'd be as dead as a living person can be.
Or maybe she'd be heat-sick like Dean was in Pennsylvania. Her body would draw up with terrible cramps, muscles tensing, forcing her into a painful, lonely fetal position. She'd take Claire's dinosaur stuffie like she always does, but this time it wouldn't help. Her mama's body would be frothing up suppressants and blockers and she'd crumble into nothing. She'd ask for water and Claire would ignore her, just like all the times Amelia ignored Claire. Like when she was five years old and begging for food because she hadn't eaten in so long that her legs weren't working anymore.
Maybe, maybe Amelia would be cut up like Jack, covered in blood and puss and serrated skin. The blood would be endless, Claire thinks. It'd run like rivers, sourced from the deep oceans of her organs. Would she twitch like Jack did on the cold floor of the alpha nest? Just twitching and groaning, too far gone for words but aware enough to know the miles of pain she still had ahead of her before the classic sweet release of death.
Dean meets Claire's eyes through the mirror, wearing his Good Dad face. She doesn't think he's caught on to her terrible thoughts yet. She's gotten better at controlling her scent, and she sees her face in the mirror: terribly, terribly blank. She's a little… scared of herself, actually. The fear meter ticks up, up, up as she realizes what she was just thinking about. Her mama, tortured and taken apart.
Fuck! Fuck, Claire's stomach twists. She doesn't want that! She doesn't want any of it! How the hell could she think such a thing? What the fuck is wrong with her?
She knows Dean was very meticulous about what center Claire's mom went to because the horror stories about places like that are nothing to scoff at. Torture chambers and trafficking brothels would label themselves omega treatment centers, making omegas drop like flies under a legal guise. Eventually some laws and regulations were put into place, but it still felt like a gamble dropping her mom off. Unfortunately psychiatric hospitals and drug rehabilitation centers were still allowed to be legally segregated by subgender so the omega treatment center was their only option if something was to change.
Claire would never wish something like that on anybody, let alone the woman that gave her life. The woman who, even when grief and sickness had hollowed her out, had still tried to take care of Claire. Claire loves her, she really truly does. She doesn't know why— why her mind would—
There's a sharp scent change in the air. Claire sees the exact moment it happens. The dark, acrid self-hating scent starts to leak and both she and Dean's noses scrunch up, stinging as they inhale. It's like burning plastic. Dean frowns, confused, and then something must register in his brain because he puts the hair elastics down and rounds the stool to pull Claire into a hug. She's still frozen, shell-shocked, and she feels awful. She hates herself, hates that she's even capable of imagining her mama like that. There's something seriously wrong with her, and for a brief moment she's scared it's contagious, scared it'll rub off on Dean when he holds her.
But she doesn't move away. She can't. Dean's arms are so big and strong, perfectly prepared to fight all the evil things lurking in the corners. Claire lets herself be held, even reaches up to clutch at Dean's back. Before she knows it, she's crying.
Thankfully, the tears don't last too long. Dean's scent does a fantastic job calming Claire down, and after some humming and scenting, Dean kisses the top of Claire's head and the hurricane has mostly subsided. Awkwardly, Claire gets back up on the stool and looks at Dean in the mirror. His face matches his scent, soft and loving with a rugged, protective shell that Claire needs just as much. He stays in Claire's bubble, fencing out the shadows.
"I'm okay," Claire says after a smooth, steady breath. Her lashes are still thick with tears, nose stuffed up with snot, but she manages. "I'm okay."
"Well," Dean starts. "That was scary. My offer of a penny for your thoughts has quintupled."
"So a nickel for my thoughts? How generous."
"Rent isn't cheap, kid. I got bills to pay."
"Whatever," Claire huffs. "Keep your stupid coins. It was nothin', anyway. Just a… bad thought, I guess."
Dean nods, understanding. "Like a flashback?"
"N..not really. It w—" She stops, ashamed. She remembers one of the first conversations she had with Dean, when she asked him to teach her how to kill people. She'd been so sure back then, thinking she finally found a way to keep herself safe, but Dean seemed horrified by the request. And when John Winchester was insisting Dean raise Claire to hunt bad alphas, Dean was disturbed then, too. He doesn't want her around violence even if its under his watch, so what will he think when he hears what Claire's own brain has been cooking up?
What if he throws her out?
She imagines herself on the streets, dejected from her pack. Ironically enough, she'd probably have to go back to her mama. Or maybe her nana, if the nice old woman hasn't kicked it since Claire last saw her. She'd be alone, a freshly presented female omega pup with nobody to care for her and nowhere to go.
The horror story writes itself.
"It's alright, Claire-bear," comes Dean's voice, followed quickly by his soothing scent, thick enough to blanket Claire's rampant fear scent."I'm right here, okay? Your dad's right here, and I'm gonna keep you safe. Whatever's in your head can't get you, not when I'm around." His chin rests on top of her head, and his hands cup her shoulders, keeping her steady on the stool. "My little girl is so strong, so smart, such a badass little firecracker. It'll take more than a lousy gang of bad thoughts to knock her and her pack down. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"
She nods, sniffling.
Then, gently, Dean asks, "You wanna tell me what the bad thought was?"
Claire's stomach twists. "I thought about my mama," she whispers.
Dean doesn't react. Doesn't stiffen, doesn't pull away. His scent stays smooth and comforting. "What about her?"
"Her… getting hurt."
He hums.
Claire looks at him through the mirror. "Like… really hurt. I thought about not helping her."
Dean's expression doesn't change besides the minute pinch between his brows. He's still pushing out soothing scents, so Claire can't tell what he's thinking. Is he mad? Disgusted? Horrified? Does he understand what she means? Does he care?
"I didn't want it to happen," Claire rushes out, panicked. "I don't want her to get hurt. I love my mama, I just— I didn't stop it in my brain, and—" She goes quiet, trembling slightly. She won't cry. She won't. But if she keeps talking, keeps stumbling through this funhouse of bullshit in her head, she's going to start sobbing like a newborn puppy.
Dean turns her gently by the shoulders until she's facing him instead of the mirror. She tries to stiffen up and show him how strong she is, but it's a lot more work than she remembers. Instead, she gives up and sags into his hold, melting the embrace into another hug. Claire likes hugs.
"Brains can come up with some fucked-up shit," he says. "Mine does it sometimes, too. We've seen a lot of bad things, and sometimes our brains take everything we're scared of and throw it at us just to see what sticks. It's pretty fucked up, but it's not your fault."
Claire tuckes her chin over her dad's shoulder. She feels like an infant. "So I'm not… bad?"
"No, baby. You're not bad."
His voice is so immediate, so certain, that Claire believes it before he continues.
"You had a bad thought, that's all. You're a good person, a great big sister, and an amazing daughter. I'm so happy you're in my life, Claire, you have no idea how much better my world is now that you're in it. You gave me someone to protect and care about when I was nothing but pissed off and lonely. You're the reason I met Cas and Jack, the reason I got comfortable being an omega and caring about people again. If it weren't for you, I'd be… Well, I'd be like… my dad, I guess."
Again, the horror of it is plain enough to be left unexplained.
"I'm really happy you found me," Claire says. "You make my life good, too." She sniffles, smiling against the fabric of Dean's shirt. "You're not too bad for an old man, y'know?"
"Aw, thanks, squirt. You ain't too bad, either, for a—"
"For a what?" Claire snaps playfully. "Finish that sentence, I dare you!"
"You'll have to give me a penny if you want to hear my thoughts, pup. That's how it goes."
Before Claire can think of a sufficiently devastating response, Cas knocks lightly on the open bathroom door and pokes his head inside.
"I smelled distress. Are you two alright?"
"Yeah," Claire answers, unhooking herself from Dean and wiping the last bit of dampness from her eyes. "Dad's just bullying me."
"Am not," Dean huffs petulantly. "She started it."
"Of course," Cas says seriously, though his scent conveys the warmest of feelings and hordes of amusement.
Claire gasps. "Whose side are you on, dude?!"
"Yours," answers the alpha.
Dean scoffs. "Fuckin' traitor."
Cas smiles, ignoring him. "Your hair looks lovely, by the way. Very punk rock."
Claire beams, seemingly remembering the braids in her hair. She turns to the mirror to inspect them and smiles so wide her face nearly cracks in half. Meanwhile, Cas steps farther into the bathroom, glancing at Dean. There's a question in his eyes, but he doesn't ask it yet. Not now.
Dean gives him the tiniest nod. Everything's okay. Or okay enough to go to school, at least. Though he's realizing getting his pups a therapist should move to the top of their priority list.
After Cas's protective alpha instincts are soothed and Claire is breathing normally again, Dean decides to postpone the Amelia phone call until tomorrow. Claire swears up and down that she's ready, but after what just happened in the bathroom, Dean doesn't think she is. He says they don't have enough time and pretends not to see the sigh of relief Claire lets out.
In the living room, Sam is watching as Jack tries to fit Marvin into his dinosaur backpack where there's already a change of clothes, a packed lunch, a squishy fidget, a spiky fidget, a spinny fidget, a full pencil case, a huge box of crayons, and a Pikachu notebook.
Clearly Cas went overboard with the Back To School shopping. Dean tried to tell him last week that most of this stuff is useless. Not only will the school have plenty of supplies (it's a well-funded district), Jack can't even read yet, and his hand-eye coordination isn't near sharp enough to draw. The fidgets will help, but Dean doubts the pup will be able to put Marvin down long enough to use them. He'll be in a new place which means Marvin will be crunched in his hands all day long.
"Gimme that," Claire butts in, pulling the backpack out of Jack's shaky hands. She opens it wider and frowns at its contents. "Dude, Marvin is not fitting in here. You're gonna have to hold him."
"But what if my arms get tired?!" Jack shrieks. "I can't just put him down! Someone could take him! They could hurt him!"
"I don't think anyone will take him," Sam assures the pup. "As long as you keep an eye on him."
"If you'd like," Cas suggests, "I can have a talk with your teacher to make sure Marvin is treated appropriately."
Part of Dean wants to butt in and say that's ridiculous, but the other part of him, the part that thinks everyone who opposes his pack should die in a blood bath, is louder. So what if Alpha Cas scares the shit out of Jack's kindergarten teacher? Worst case scenario is the school administrators find out what kind of psychos they are, but even then, what the hell can they do to a bunch of psychos? Dean has killed and will kill again, and he'll do it on behalf of his son's stuffed bear with a smile on his face and a pep in his step.
Horrifically and amusingly enough, Claire seems to be thinking along the same lines 'cause she sneaks a mischievous yet proud smirk Dean's way. Sam takes the role of the Spokesman of Logic and Reasoning and advises Cas against threatening innocent teachers.
The discussion continues into the Impala, shifting topics as Dean gets Sam and the pups settled in the backseat. Sam insists he's more than capable of getting in a car by himself, that his body works perfectly now that he's 70% recovered, but Dean ain't taking no chances. He makes Sam lean on him the whole way to the car just in case and mumbles to himself about installing seatbelts on the back bench.
(Now that he thinks about it, Jack should really be in a car seat. But can you install a car seat without a seatbelt? Sonuva bitch, now Dean's gonna be anxious every time he takes the pups anywhere!)
"Can you put on the fox song?" Jack asks as soon as the car is out of the driveway.
"Nooooo," Claire groans, "that weird electro-pop bullshit is gonna give me a migraine before we even make it to the school!"
"Watch your mouth," Cas and Dean say in unison, though Cas adds "young lady" at the end while Dean tacks on "you little shit." Both are stern and fatherly, despite their differences in politeness, and Claire huffs in defeat.
"You got to pick last time," Dean says, looking at her through the rearview mirror. "It's your brother's turn."
"Since when do you let anyone else control the music?" Sam laughs. "What happen to 'Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole'?"
"I've matured."
"He's seething on the inside," Cas corrects, "but he'd rather listen to a few minutes of electro-pop than make Jack feel left out."
"He's a good dad," Claire agrees, "even if he's a musical traitor. I know you hate the fox song just as much as the rest of us, Dean!"
"Nuh-uh!" Jack cries. "Dean likes the fox song just like me! He said so!"
"I did say so," Dean sighs. He was lying, of course, but Jack doesn't know that.
"Whatever," Claire grumbles. "Be like that then. But if you fold when he asks to play the song on repeat, I'm jumping out of this car. I don't care if we're going 60 miles an hour, I will turn myself into a road pancake."
"That sounds fair," Cas nods. "No repeats."
Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as the alpha digs through the pile of cassette tapes, plucking out the only custom one, made specifically for Jack. Dean still isn't ready to update Baby's stereo system, so this was their compromise. What Does the Fox Say? is the second track, (right after The Gummy Bear Song that has yet to be played in the car) and as soon as the first note hits, Jack is beaming.
The elementary school is just over five minutes from the house, so after the onomatopoeia nightmare that is the fox song (and half of The Time Warp from Rocky Horror), the pack arrives at Brittan Acres Elementary School: a clean brick building with a thin spire on top of its pyramid roof.
The closer they get, the more they can see: early kids and their parents milling about, taking First Day pictures and chatting with the friends they haven't seen all summer. Dean parks Baby in the back of the large parking lot, hoping to avoid any jackass in a rush to get out of here, before helping Sam and the pups out. The five of them head to the front entrance where there's a banner hanging above the doors.
"Look!" Jack squeals with joy. "There's a bumble bee on the sign!"
Cas smiles, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Yes, indeed there is. I believe it's the school's mascot."
"Yay! I love bees!"
"Dork," Claire and Dean say, snorting at their own teasing.
"C'mon, let's take some pictures," Dean says. "You too, Sammy. Shuffle on over, I want all my pups up and smiling."
"Dude," Sam laughs, "I'm not gonna photo bomb your children on their first day of school."
"You're gonna do what I say if you want TV privileges, bitch."
"Jerk."
The picture comes out nice. Sam's bent at an awkward height to match Jack and Claire, but it's obvious by his genuine smile that he's happy to be included. Jack clings to him with one arm, smiling bright as the sun, and holds Marvin in a pro wrestling chokehold with the other. Claire is on the other side of Sam, dwarfed under the arm Sam has slung over her shoulders. She's grinning, but it's her scent that holds most of her emotions, bleeding out joy and contentment.
Dean looks at it on the little screen and immediately knows it's going in the folder with all the other pictures he's gonna print and frame. Maybe this one will go on the nightstand beside his and Cas's bed.
"Okay," he says, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "Let's get you two inside."
Jack's smile falters, subtle enough that only Dean catches it and has to nudge Cas who's fussing over Claire's hair. The little pup's fingers tighten around his teddy, and his eyes flick toward the school doors. There are too many people, too many unfamiliar scents. None of the teachers wear blockers, hoping to gently introduce young pups to scents outside of their family packs, but to Jack, it's like pressing a big red panic button. Strange scents mean danger, and the novelty of the situation has worn off now that he realizes his family won't be accompanying him throughout the day.
Among the chaos of parents hugging their kids goodbye, teachers calling names, and older children running across the pavement, Dean crouches in front of his youngest pup, hoping to soothe his nerves.
"Hey, little man. What's that sad face for? You okay?"
Jack shakes his head, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
"C'mon," Dean presses, "you're alright, sweetheart. What're you afraid of? I thought you were excited to go to school."
"I am," Jack sniffles. "But I'm scared, too."
"Oh, I see," Dean says. "It is pretty scary, isn't it? Going to a new place."
Jack bobs his head, a low whine building in the back of his throat.
"But that doesn't mean they're all dangerous, buddy. Like the new house. Remember how scared I was that there might be mice in the basement?"
Jack sniffles. "Uh-huh."
"But we looked, and there wasn't any, right? Now we know that the new house is really nice. School is gonna be like that, too. You'll be scared at first but after a little bit, you'll realize how awesome it is." He pulls Jack in, cradling the pup's head and kissing the top of it. "You're gonna make so many friends, baby. You'll learn so much and have so much fun. And if it's really too much, you know what you can do?"
"Have Claire beat up all the bad guys?"
Dean laughs, standing back up and giving Jack space. All the blogs he read said to not make the first day of school goodbye too long, not to dawdle, so he's trying not to be too clingy. Mission failed, but oh well.
"Not quite, kid," he says. "You can ask your teacher or any adult to call me or Cas. The tag on your backpack has both our numbers on it. If you need us, we'll be there."
"We will always come when you call," Cas adds.
"And y'know the school day isn't forever," Sam chimes in. "We'll all be here when the day is over."
"Promise?" Jack asks, voice small.
"Promise," Dean and Cas say in unison.
Dean reaches out and straightens Jack's backpack straps, then fixes the little dinosaur clipped to the zipper. His hands linger for a moment. "You're gonna be okay, Jack," he says.
Jack considers that.
"Okay?"
The pup nods. "Okay."
Dean moves to look at Claire. She seems considerably less nervous than Jack, probably because she had her nervous breakdown this morning, but she's got that particular tightness around her mouth that means she's thinking too much. Dean can't drag her into another long chick-flick moment, so he has to really fight to keep the check-in simple.
"You good, kiddo?"
"Obviously," she huffs. "I don't need a speech." Grinning, she adds, "I think you're more freaked out than I am."
"Right. Obviously," Dean snorts. He looks between them, between Claire and Jack. His chest feels strange. Too full. Too tight. It's their first day of school. His two children's first day of school. Jesus Christ.
He'd never thought he'd get to do this.
"Alright," he announces, clearing his throat. "Come here."
Claire groans. "Dean—"
"Family hug," Dean insists.
"Dude, no."
"Dude yes. Family hug. Right now."
"You're so embarrassing," Claire grumbles, shuffling into Dean's open arms. Jack barrels in right behind her, and Dean maneuvers to catch him against his chest, holding them both and laughing as the pups squeak. Cas folds himself around all three of them, his happy scent mixing with theirs.
Sam hangs back for approximately two seconds before Dean reaches one arm out. "Get over here, Sammy."
"Jesus Christ, Dean."
"Family hug!" Dean shouts. "Means all the family gets in the hug!"
"Yeah, I heard you the first eight times you said it," Sam laughs with faux annoyance. He joins them on the side, his long arms curling around everyone like a slinky.
For a few seconds, they're just a tangled mess of arms and backpacks and little-kid hair and familiar scents.
Then Dean lets them go.
"Here's the deal," Dean says. "You both better listen to your teachers, okay? Unless they tell you to do something that hurts you or scares you, then you find a way to contact me. Jack, if your teacher says Marvin needs to stay in your backpack during class, Marvin stays in your backpack. But if you're scared or you need him, you tell her. He's your buddy and nobody's taking him away from you."
Jack nods solemnly.
"And Claire, try to keep your hands to yourself. Fighting will get you in trouble, even if you're in the right, and we don't wanna deal with that. At least not on day one"
"Try to find a way to mutilate them with words," Sam suggests. "It's just as rewarding with only half the hassle."
Dean scowls at him, but unfortunately cannot argue. Sammy makes a good point. Concerning, but good.
Dean claps his hands. "Time to go learn shit."
After that, the hand-off is smooth. Cas walks Jack to the special door for kindergartners while Sam and Dean help Claire find the line for her fourth grade homeroom teacher. She gives them one last wave before disappearing into the cluster of children, and Jack's little hand stays firmly wrapped around Cas's fingers until they're both swallowed by the crowd.
And then they're gone.
Dean stands there for another few seconds, staring at the doors.
There was a time when Dean's entire life could fit into the trunk of the Impala. Now he's got a house, Sammy back in his life, a handsome soon-to-be mate he's head-over-heels for, and two pups who just walked into school carrying the lunches Dean made last night in their brand new backpacks. They're not living off the "paychecks" of a teenage omega whore, and more importantly, Dean isn't that kind of omega anymore. He's not on blockers or suppressants and hasn't been for months so his scent is as naturally sweet as it's ever been, but it doesn't make him a whore or a slut or less than human. He's just… himself, and he's being rewarded with family and shelter and happiness. With fatherhood.
It's a chance to do it his way instead of John's way and give his pups more love than they could ever dream of. He's embracing things that have always come naturally to him, things he used to get punished for. Caretaking and nuturing and all that omega shit. He's doing it and it's awesome. Different from the first time around when he raised Sammy, but the same amount of love. This time he's got a stronger foundation to build on, not constricting walls of poverty and danger. Dean's a dad and he feels confident in it, not desperate or scared. He's a dad and he's fucking good at it.
He lets himself stand there for another moment and feel it. He wonders how he got here, how he became the person he is— the caretaker, the loving dad, the kind of omega powerhouse that a man like Cas could fall in love with. Certainly wasn't John's parenting that got him here. Bobby gets some credit, but there's still so much of Dean's life that was spent without a trusted adult to guide him.
In the more light-hearted areas of his mind, Dean likes to think he got here by himself. Even with the ruthless training Dad put him through, and the many Alphas he's serviced— the mean ones that grabbed him hard, breath hot and sour against his neck, assuring him he'd never be more than sore knees and back alleys— Dean likes to believe maybe he isn't the way he is because of all that. Maybe he became this fun-loving caretaker because of something he chose. Something he enjoyed.
Like cowboys.
He remembers all those old western movies and dime-store books he obsessed over growing up, the ones where the bad guys ended up dead in the dirt at the gun-slinging hero's feet. Maybe it wasn't his dad who broke him down and molded him into a killer. Maybe Dean's moral code came from somewhere else entirely, from something other than the bitter seed of suffering planted in him against his will in the bathroom of a gas station.
Maybe, Dean thinks, it was the story of Bass Reeves, kicking ass and taking names with nothing but his trusty horse and pistol.
Hell, Dean must've read that book 800 times.
The legend of Reeves was everything little Dean wanted the world to be. A man who'd spent his life protecting people, who'd taken down thousands of criminals and somehow walked away without a major wound. A badass who didn't just know how to kill the bad guys— he knew how to save the good ones.
And maybe that was the part Dean loved most. Not the guns, not the horses, not even the whole badass cowboy thing. Saving people. Being good enough to protect somebody without becoming the thing they needed protection from. Having a life worth living afterward. A comfy house, a small community, people who love him enough to notice when he comes home. Who sing along to his music and eat his cooking and ride in his car.
Little Dean thought that sounded pretty damn good.
And now that he's got it, Dean can confirm. It's damn good indeed.
When Cas returns, Dean can't stop staring at him. The alpha's scent hits him immediately, full of optimism and pride. Dean inhales deeply, not caring if he's obvious. Cas smells so fucking good, like clean forest air and the sharpness of a thunderstorm. His happiness adds a sugary undertone, and the more breaths Dean gulps down, the sweeter it gets. His head gets a little hazy, actually. He's inhaling more than he's exhaling, suddenly pawing at the collar of Cas's dress shirt. The formal attire he chooses to wear everyday is both sexy and adorable, but right now, it's buttoned high enough to muffle his scent gland, and Dean's inner omega is not having it.
"Dean?" Cas asks, confused. He holds Dean's wrists, stopping his shirt from being unbuttoned.
Dean can feel his body warming up and a small whine working its way out of him. Gorgeous, kind, intelligent, good alpha. Dean's so happy this man is in his life, this amazing life that he's building, that he earned. He feels dizzy with his happiness, feels it overflowing and leaking into desire. Goddamn it, he wants his alpha. Skin-to-skin contact, right this fucking second. Why is Cas not getting it? What else is there to say?
Cas tightens his hold on Dean's wrists and pulls him forward, setting them in motion. Sam lags behind them, brows furrowed in confusion. Family members aren't able to scent each other's arousal, kind of like how humans can't hear dog whistles, so he must be confused as hell, seeing Dean all of a sudden cling to Cas like an octopus. Regardless, the three of them make it to the Impala, and Dean manages to climb into the passenger seat without abandoning his goal of cataloguing every inch of his alpha via touch and taste. Dean'll be damned if something stupid like social norms gets in his way.
Cas is behind the wheel and can't engage with Dean, which makes him whine and writhe in his seat. It's at this point, going by the beet redness of his face, that Sam understands what's happening: his brother is going into heat.
Despite the alpha red rim around his blue eyes, Cas handles the situation impeccably. Dean's sort of listening to his alpha and his baby brother negotiate, so he doesn't freak out when Cas heads toward the Roadhouse instead of their home in Clearfield Park where his nest is. They need to drop Sam off before they get down to business.
After that, Dean's in and out of consciousness. He knows he's stinking up the car just based on how tightly Cas is gripping the wheel, but he's so laser-focused on his alpha's scent that it doesn't even matter. He can't wait to get home and get fucked.
Wait, is Cas gonna fuck him? They're not mated yet, obviously, but is Cas the kind of guy who thinks knotting should wait until after mating? Dean would rather not have sex at all if Cas is going to withhold his knot. That'd be fucking cruel, especially during a heat.
And now that he's thinking about it, Dean should probably be more anxious. Not counting his suppressant failure back in Pennsylvania, it's been years since he's had a proper heat. He knows he didn't start on suppressants until he turned 18 and got off the street corner, a decision that came from his father finally deciding to let Dean's first job be hunting instead of bread-winning, but he can't remember much about heat in his teen years. There were a few customers he had to abandon due to it hitting randomly, one of which he had to kill due to them chasing him as he ran, but the majority of his heats were spent curled up with Sammy on their shitty homemade nest in the motel room. It wasn't too bad, much better than spending it with a customer and ending up pregnant at age 15.
When John was home, though, things were different. Dean spent his heats in the bathtub, writhing around as cold water sprayed down from the showerhead. John always said cold water made the heat pass faster. He was wrong, but that never changed anything.
Under any other circumstances, Dean would be terrified to go into heat again. But now… Well, now he's got Cas. Cas changes the who game.
When they arrive home, Dean's phone beeps with a text from Sam.
Bitch: Hope your heat goes smoothly. Lmk if you need anything, I'll make Jo get it for you.
Bitch: And stay hydrated!!! Lots of water
Bitch: Make sure to eat, too. But not too much or you'll get sick.
Dean laughs and uses his shaky fingers to type back thx mom with an eyeroll emoji, and then a followup text saying love u 2, stay safe. For some reason, he puts his phone in Cas's trenchcoat pocket when he's done. It's the first time Dean's seen him wear the thing since they got the new house, and fuck, it's still that perfect mixture of adorable and seriously sexy. Dean wants to tug on the lapels while Cas is above him, breathing heavily and pushing in—
"Dean," Cas says, trying and failing to pull his arm out of Dean's grasp. "You need to let go of me for a moment, my love. I have to unlock the door."
Pouting, Dean obliges. He doesn't remember getting out of the car but he stays put as Cas gets them inside. Such a good alpha, taking care of him like that. Now, as Dean drags Cas to their nest, he's gotta take care of Dean in a different way.
"Clothes off," Dean urges in the bedroom, fumbling with his own belt. "Hurry."
Cas strips to his underwear very quickly and even helps Dean when his fingers lose the battle against the button on his jeans. The two of them are horizontal in their boxers within seconds, wrapped up in each other's skin and scents.
Dean's content with just this for a little while. The burrowing disguised as cuddling. His tongue leaves paths of saliva all over Cas's neck, forcibly mixing their scents. Cas groans, gripping Dean's hips and grinding their clothed erections together. The scent of slick mingles in the air and Cas rips Dean off his scent gland to kiss him instead, diving in with his own tongue and mapping the inside of Dean's mouth. Dean feels so well used and they haven't even gotten to the best part yet.
Dean reaches for Cas's dick with the vague intent of sucking or getting fucked or something, but Cas stops him with a steady hand. "Slow down, Dean," his alpha rumbles. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Dean fights the urge to whine again, but his body is begging to be bitched around. Still, he's lucid enough to reply. "Yeah, I want you, Cas," he murmurs against the column of Cas's throat, rocking his hips forward. "Want you to fill me up, please, fuck me hard and good."
Cas growls, the sound contained by his jaw clenching. "We ha-haven't mated yet," the alpha reminds him. "We need to ta- mph, fuck, Dean, we need to talk about our feelings—"
"We've been talking about talking about our feelings for ages, alpha," Dean hums impatiently. "You're into me, I'm into you, it's a match made in Heaven. Now I really want you to in me before my heat fully hits. Capiche?"
"Fuck," Cas moans. "But Dean, I was- I was gonna court you. You deserve—" He breaks off, smelling the gush of arousal from his partner. His breathing is heavy, heart pounding, and Dean wants to suck him through a fucking straw.
"Of course my good little alpha wanted to court me," Dean teases, slipping his leg over Cas's waist. He rises up, straddling the alpha, and rests his palms on Cas's bare chest. "You're so sweet to me, Cas." Rocking down for friction, Dean moans as he adds, "Take such good care of me, baby, fuck."
The sound Cas makes is absolutely heavenly, perfectly matched with the burst of sweet and spicy alpha arousal from his scent gland. Dean leans down to inhale it right from the source because he's truly never smelt something so alluring. They should've done this ages ago, he thinks as he pulls down his boxers. The elastic band digs in just under the curve of his ass, framing his round cheeks.
Suddenly, Cas flips them in one smooth motion, pinning Dean under him. His boxers are then pulled off all the way, freeing his dick and exposing his wet hole.
"I have to say, Dean," Cas pants, staring openly at Dean's ass. "Describing me as 'into you' is the understatement of the millennium. I am hopelessly, irreversibly, entirely in love with you." He rests one hand on the back of Dean's thigh and uses the other to trace light patterns with his fingertips around Dean's hole. "You are truly the most beautiful, breath-taking being to ever grace our planet. From your unwavering moral code to the fields of summer green in your eyes. From your capabilities as a loving father to the very last cluster of freckles dusted upon your body. I love every inch of you, every individual and contradictory piece of you, and have since the moment I met you."
Dean grunts, calling bullshit. "No way. You met me when I was sick outta my fucking scent and a gang of alphas were trying to rape me and my daughter," he says.
"And yet, after all that," Cas continues reverently, "after everything, you are still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester. How could I not fall unswervingly in love with you?"
Dean's face is on fire and it's not just from the heat. "You're a sap," he huffs. What he means to say is, Please be telling the truth. Please believe the words you're gifting me because I cherish them, I will always cherish them, I love them and I love you too.
"I tell the truth," Cas rebuttals, and yes, yes, this is what Dean needs to hear. This is the pleasure his body has been chasing. "You changed me, Dean, and I will never stop being grateful for that." Cas dips down, brushing his lips against Dean's slack mouth, gaping with awe. They don't kiss, just breath in each other's scents. Cas says, "And to repay you for giving me the gift of this love, I will do anything you ask of me."
And Dean's body burns. A good burn, straight from his head and down his chest, zinging in his lower stomach and his dick and his hole and the tips of his toes. He wants to close his eyes but at the same time refuses, unable to look away from the earnest, faithful look on his alpha's face.
Soon, the words catch up to Dean's laggy heat brain, and his spine bows, arching upward in search of more touch, more friction. "Anything?" he echoes, dizzy with power and light headed from the heat. "You— You'll do anything for me, alpha?"
"Anything you wish," Cas confirms, pressing firm kisses to Dean's neck, circling his scent-gland like a shark. The pad of his middle finger rests against Dean's hole, wet with slick, and as he speaks, he dips the tip of it in. "Just say the word, my love, and it's done."
Dean whines as he slowly but surely takes his alpha's finger. It's tight because Dean hasn't bottomed in over a year now, but his muscles are relaxed enough to accept what he's given. And fuck if he isn't wet enough. His slick drips onto the sheets beneath him and forms a small wet spot under his ass. It isn't enough. He needs more.
Cas shushes him with sweet words, adding a second finger. Dean can imagine, had he not been in heat, Cas would've taken his sweet old time, stretching Dean's hole and coaxing more slick out of him, more pitchy noises and breathy moans. He'd have Dean completely strung out, maybe with his little cock as wet as his hungry hole and his throat sore from begging for something bigger. But as it is now, Dean needs a knot as soon as possible, preferably before the cramping starts, and Cas understands that. A third finger is added, making Dean keen and arch even more.
God, he feels like such a slut. He wonders what he looks like. Face flushed, hair a tousled mess, pink lips parted in a silent moan as Cas strikes his prostate.
"Casssss," Dean cries. "Please, I need you, your cock, please please pleaseeee. You- you said you'd do any— anything for me, Cas, I want you to fuck me, please!"
"You're so beautiful, Dean," Cas says, full of awe. He's finally pushing down his underwear, and Dean basically drools at the sight, the thick alpha cock that's gonna stretch his hole and make him see stars. "You want it, baby? Want my cock?"
Dean sobs out his affirmation, spreading his legs wider. Cas holds him in place with one hand still and uses the other to guide his tip between Dean's ass.
"You could've asked me for anything," Cas growls, "and all you wanted was my big cock rammed in your wet little hole. Tell me, omega, is that what you want, more than anything in the world? To be used by me?"
The head pops in, and the pressure relocates, tight around Cas's dick instead of thwarting his entry. Dean moans so hard he chokes on his own sound, eyes rolling back as Cas presses in, in, in. He looks down to try and see what it looks like, but then Cas's hand grips his chin and forces him to meet his eyes.
"Look at me, sweetheart," Cas urges, picking up a ruthless pace. He fucks Dean deep, hovering over him as his hips slide back and forth and back and forth, carving out a tunnel to use as he pleases. "I want to see my omega's pretty eyes when I'm fucking him."
That's you, Dean's brain supplies. You're his pretty omega. Feels good, doesn't it?
They moan in unison when Cas switches his angle slightly. "Yeah, you like that. I can tell by the way your little omega dick is leaking. You love it, the way I'm fucking hollowing you out. Fuck, Dean, you're so amazing, such a good boy for me."
"I am," Dean wheezes, dick drooling precome on his stomach as Cas pounds him. "I am y-your good boy, Cas, I d-didn't know," he gasps, twisting his hips to get more or get away or a combination of the two. "Didn't know it would— oh my god, s-so good, didn't know it would feel so good, alpha." He's crying now, tears clumping in his lashes and rolling down his cheeks as Cas works him, holds him and fills him. "Fuck me alpha, fuck me fuck me fuck me, just like that, ngh- uh, ahh, fuck, fuck!"
Cas praises him, thrusting harder. "So tight, so wet, so hot. You're such a good boy for me, such a good omega taking my cock so well. You work so hard for your family, don't you, baby? Taking care of us, making sure we're okay. Now it's my turn to take care of you."
Dean makes a high-pitched noise that he's not going to think about later. Cas is fucking him perfectly, moved them slightly so he can hold Dean down, and it's perfect. Dean's fucking drooling it's so good, lost out of his mind and high on heat and pleasure. But he can feel the cramps coming, and he knows he's gonna need a knot soon.
He tries to communicate this to Cas, but the only sounds he can make are keening, pleading, pathetic noises. He scratches at Cas's naked back and leaves an array of red marks, making Cas's cock throb inside of him.
"What is it, my love?" Cas asks. His voice is deep as ever and sultry with lust and him being out of breath is ten times hotter. "What would you like me to do to you?"
"Kn-knot me," Dean begs, sobbing. "Please, alpha, need it, need you inside, knot me, stuff me full, claim me, please."
Cas's pace gets rougher, his grip shifting from the back of Dean's knees to his collarbones, just a hair away from choking him. The concept is hot enough to have Dean screaming with pleasure, vision blurry with all the tears he's been shedding. Cas uses Dean's shoulders as leverage to get even deeper, fuck him harder.
It's not long after that Cas's knot pops. He asks one more time if this is what Dean wants, and Dean answers with a frustrated growl and an order to "get the fuck on with it."
So Cas does. He forces his knot inside and fills his omega up with alpha come, listening to the gorgeous wail Dean lets out as he also finishes all over his belly and swiftly passes out.
When Dean wakes, Cas is still lodged inside of him. They've changed positions at some point, so now they're spooning as they wait out Cas's knot. It's a nice feeling, being stuffed full and relaxed at the same time. He likes the heaviness Cas's dick adds, and the cuddling is a fantastic bonus. Cas's arm slung over his middle, pulling his back against Cas's chest. It's pure bliss.
Then, Dean says, "I love you too, by the way. Now that the heat's faded a little, I can say it properly. I'm way more than just 'into you,' too."
"I'm glad," Cas beams, snuggling into Dean's nape from behind. "Though I already figured as much."
"Cheeky bastard," Dean grumbles teasingly.
He gets a playful swat on his ass in response, and the zing of pain is translated into more pleasure, squeezing another dollop of liquid from his spent dick.
They lay there a little while longer, enjoying the quiet and the warm scents of love and sex, before Dean speaks up again.
"Now would be a great time," he says as casually as he can.
He can hear the scrunched-nose confusion in Cas's voice when he replies. "A great time for what?"
"A mating bite."
There's a beat of silence. Cas swallows the spit pooling under his tongue. "I'll admit I was thinking about it as well. Are you sure now is the right time?"
"I'm not outta my mind with heat, if that's what you're worried about," Dean says. "Heat comes in waves, and the waves are only really bad if you don't have a knot to keep the cramps at bay. So no, I'm not just asking to mate because of the hormones. I love you, Castiel, and I'm going to have you in my life for as long as humanly possible whether you decide to bite my scent gland or not."
"I'd consider that a threat if it didn't sound so wonderful," Cas grins. "Well then, I suppose tonight is the night. Just know this won't stop me from courting you."
"Alpha—"
"I want to give you gifts and take you on dates because you deserve someone to dote on you, and also because I love the way you smell when you're being treated like the princess that you are. Do not try to dissuade me when I know you want it just as much as I do."
Dean hides his face in his hands, mortified at both being called a princess and liking it so much. All of it.
"Is that amenable, my beloved?"
"Fucking fine, whatever," Dean huffs, voice strangled by glee. "You can court me. Just bite my neck already, jackass, then pull your crazy monster cock outta my ass and I'll bite yours."
"Has anyone else told you how romantic you are?"
"Shuddup."
School is alright, Claire thinks.
The first hour is spent on icebreakers and getting to know her teacher and classmates. Claire learns that her teacher, Ms. Donna Hanscum, likes hiking, spas, baby animals, and has a daughter named Alex. Overall, Ms. Donna she's pretty fucking obnoxious. Claire likes her both despite and because of this fact, and she spends most of that morning defending Ms. Donna from the idiots in the class who keep being rude.
One boy, a baby-faced young alpha, raises his hand and asks in a snooty fucking tone how Ms. Donna can be mated and married to a police officer if she's a beta. "All police are alphas, and my alpha-dad said alphas only get with omegas 'cause only omegas can satisfy 'em. Betas aren't useful for anything."
While Ms. Donna stands frozen, shocked and unable to answer, Claire throws her two cents in the mix.
"That's not true, you fucking dopehead," she snaps. "Tell your stupid red-pilled father that he needs to get with the times before he's hunted down and exterminated like the pathetic knot-sucking cockroach that he is."
Yeah, she gets in trouble for that one, but the trip to the principal's office is worth it. Ms. Donna looks impressed and a little thankful, and that dumb alpha boy shuts his trap for the rest of the day, so it's a win in Claire's book.
The principal lets her off with a slap on the wrist, anyway. She gets a lecture about doing what she's supposed to do which includes not speaking out of turn and certainly not using bad words. Claire tunes him out until he gets to the punishment section and then nods her thanks when the squirrely principal says she's still allowed to go to recess. He makes it clear that if she does something like that again her recess privileges will be revoked for a whole week, but since it's only the first day, she's spared.
"I will be speaking to your parents, though," Principal Shurley adds. "That kind of language is… I'm sorry, what did you call that boy's father? A cockroach?"
In a flat voice, Claire corrects him. "A red-pilled, knot-sucking cockroach undeserving of the air he breathes."
Principal Shurley looks absolutely bewildered, seemingly fighting off a smile. "Right. That. That kind of language is unacceptable. I think…. But wow, you really said that? I feel like I should write that down."
Afterwards, Claire is sent on her way.
During lunch, She finds Jack in the sitting with another girl his age at the peanut allergy table. The girl's name is Maggie, and, as Jack eloquently explains, she's the only one in his class who doesn't think he's a scary monster.
Claire frowns, sitting down at the table with them. "Why would they think you're a monster?" she asks.
"'Cause of his scars," Maggie answers simply. "Makes him look like Frankenstein, like from Monster High."
Jack's shoulders hunch a little.
"But I like Monster High," Maggie adds, "so I'm not scared. Jack is funny, and I like his tutu."
"That's… nice," Claire decides is the best thing to say. Honestly, she kind of forgot about Jack's scars. They're mostly hidden beneath his clothes now, on his chest, back, and thighs, but there's still little pink ridges poking above his collar and disappearing beneath the cuffs of his cargo shorts. Claire remembers what they looked like when she first met him, all open and wet with blood and pus. His whole body was torn up so badly that she hadn't been able to look at him without feeling sick.
Now they're just... part of Jack. He's her little brother, and that's kind of it. She can't believe other kids are seeing something frightening.
Jack doesn't seem particularly bothered anymore, though. He's already showing Maggie the lunch Dean made them and explaining at length why PB&J sandwiches are better than sandwiches with meat, even if they're cooked.
Maggie listens like this is extremely important information. Claire decides she likes her.
At recess, Claire accompanies Jack and Maggie to the enormous oak tree at the edge of the playground.
Jack and Maggie immediately start digging around in the dirt for bugs. Claire sits beneath the tree with Marvin in her lap, carefully keeping the teddy away from the mud while the two younger pups crawl around searching for worms and beetles.
It's peaceful.
A little boring, maybe.
Claire is beginning to think she should've brought a book. She hasn't read a book since before she got on the road with Dean, but she supposes now that she's back in school she should probably pick one up.
Suddenly, she hears shouting. Not the normal playground kind of shouting, but an angry kind. It's got that alpha boom to it, and it snaps her out of her thoughts.
"Where the hell do you think you're going? Get back here!"
She knows the alphas her age aren't much of a threat compared to people like Ruby and Nick. They're just copying what they see alphas on TV do, going along with the stereotypes their parents lay out for them. But after everything she's been through, Claire's fight-or-flight is revving up anyway. She whips her head around, looking for the culprits, when she catches sight of a girl in an orange hoodie sprinting across the playground.
She's fast. Really fast. She's got dark hair flying behind her, one shoelace untied and flapping dangerously around her ankle.
Behind her are three boys, all young alphas. Claire knows it immediately from their scents and their voices, even before she can see the way they're running. They're bigger than the girl, though not by much, and they're laughing as they chase her.
The girl looks over her shoulder. "Fuck off!" she screams.
One of the boys laughs.
"Come back and fight us!" another one yells.
"You'll have to catch me first, dipshit!"
The girl changes directions, zig-zagging quick enough to make one of the boys trip over his own feet. Claire finds herself grinning, belatedly realizing the girl is heading directly toward the oak tree she's sitting under.
It's like a movie scene. The girl leaps forward, pushing off the tree's roots and grabbing hold of one of the branches. Claire watches from directly beneath her, watches as the girl grabs the lowest branch and hauls herself up. One branch after another, the girl climbs until she's devoured by the green leaves. The only evidence of her existence is the shoelace hanging like a wind chime outside someone's house.
"Hey!" one of the boys shouts, skidding to a stop in front of Jack and Maggie. Claire's hackles rise as he shouts, but he's looking up, not at the little pups. "Get down here!"
The girl in the tree throws an acorn, barely missing the second boy's shaved head. "Make me!"
"You're gonna get in trouble, Kaia!" the third boy warns. "We're not supposed to climb trees!"
Huh. So that's her name.
The first boy kicks at the trunk in frustration. "You think you're funny, Kaia?"
"Usually, yeah," is Kaia's dry response.
"You really are gonna get in trouble!"
Kaia rolls her eyes. "You've been saying that since kindergarten. I never get caught and you never grow up."
Claire's mouth twitches. Color her impressed.
One of the boys notices Claire sitting beneath the tree, smiling to herself. "Hey. You."
Claire looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Me?"
"Yeah. Move."
Claire hands Marvin back to Jack just in case she needs to hit somebody soon. Jack seems both petrified and determined, holding his teddy tightly. His friend Maggie is still counting the legs on the weird little worm she found, like this is just another day to her.
Claire looks up at the tree branches overhead, at the single shoelace hanging down. She doesn't know Kaia, doesn't know what started this or whether Kaia actually needs help. But she does know what it looks like when someone bigger decides somebody smaller is entertainment. She's seen it before in alphas much bigger than these three boys, and she'll be damned if she stands around and does nothing.
"No way, dude," Claire says, arms crossed over her chest. "We were here first."
The boy blinks. "Huh?"
"I said no. What, are you deaf? I think I know how to say it in sign language." Proudly, Claire sticks up the middle finger. "There. You get it now or should I knock your fucking teeth in to make sure?"
Two of the three alpha boys growls at her, but Claire simply growls back. She must make a pretty intimidating picture because the third boy pulls his friends back and retreats across the playground. They shout something mean at Kaia before disappearing into the sea of elementary students.
A few seconds tick by before Claire deems it safe to let Kaia know they're gone. "You can come down now," she offers.
There's no answer at first, but then Kaia swings down, not landing but instead dangling with her knees hooked over a thick branch and her hair tickling the top of Claire's head.
Claire moves back so she can look at Kaia's face. There's a brief, wonderful silence where Claire just catalogues her: dark hair, tanned skin, round eyes, and the craftiest smirk she's has ever seen.
Claire thinks she might be in love.
Then Kaia starts laughing, swaying slightly with the force of it, and now Claire understands why Cas is always staring wowed and crinkly-eyed at Dean, why Bobby's gaze follows Ellen's every action. Claire's only ten years old, turning eleven in February, but she gets it now. Bonnie, Clyde, Bert, Ernie, Jack and Diane growin' up in the heartland— she fucking gets it.
This girl, lauging and hanging upside-down out of a tree, is on the short list of most important people Claire will ever meet.
"Dude," Kaia begins once she's caught her breath. "That was awesome."
"Thanks," Claire says, a little bashfully. "I'm Claire."
Kaia pulls herself up so she's sitting on the branch and then slides off of it, her feet hitting the dirt with a loud thump. "I'm Kaia. It's nice to meet you."
"So, do you make a habit of riling up idiots and hiding in trees?"
Kaia grins. "Only when they deserve it. And yeah, I'm not a fighter so the tree comes in handy. Though I'm guessing you are, unless you were bluffing. Either way, you scared the hell outta those guys. Good job."
Claire does her very best not to let her scent blossom, but she's so smitten it just happens automatically. Thankfully, the only one tuned into her scent is Jack because of their scent-bond, and he wrinkles his nose in confusion. Kaia must be unpresented, thank god.
"Well, next time you need some muscle," Claire says, clearing her throat in hopes of sounding more tough, more like Dean, "just let me know. I'll kick their asses to Timbuktu."
Kaia beams. Then, in lieu of answering, holds out her hand.
Claire stares at it. "What?"
"Partners?"
Oh god. Yes, Claire wants to scream from the mountain tops. She glances at Jack to make sure he's alright, and yeah, he's looking at her and smiling so wide his face might break. He gives her a big thumbs up, and that's enough of a greenlight for Claire. She turns back to Kaia and takes her hand.
"Partners."
Kaia's grin turns downright feral. "Awesome. C'mon, let's go play on the swings. And tomorrow, I'll teach you how to climb trees!"
Yeah, school isn't bad after all.
When the final bell rings, Cas picks up Claire and Jack and drops them off at the Roadhouse.
"You'll be able to call Dean on Jo's phone," Cas explains, "but he's gone into heat so he'll need space."
"For how long?" Jack whines. "I don't wanna leave Dean!"
"Yeah," Claire tacks on. "Shouldn't we be there? Our scents will help!"
Cas's face flushes red, and Claire immediately gets suspicious. She squints, looking more closely at him, trying to figure out what he's hiding. It's hard to see from the backseat, but once Cas turns his head a bit—
"Holy shit!" Claire screams. "You mated him! You mated my dad!"
"Huh?!" Jack blurts. "When?!"
"Ew! Cas, that's fuckin' gross!"
"Please calm down," Cas sighs. "Yes, Dean and I have mated, but that's no reason to be yelling and especially not swearing. I don't want to hear that kind of language again."
Jack giggles. "Claire said lots of bad words at school today."
Snapping her teeth, Claire says, "Shut it, dude. No one like a tattletale."
"It's not tattling! I'm telling the truth!"
The car ride continues like that, and honestly, they wouldn't want it any other way.
Dean's heat is a short one. By the time they get the call, the pups are on their third day of school and his scent has mostly gone back to normal.
Reaching blindly for his phone on the side table, Dean groans as his ringer blares through the quiet, dim room. Cas is asleep beside him, both of them naked as the day they were born. Since their pups get nightmares frequently, sleeping naked isn't an option, but thanks to Dean's heat, they've been indulging in quite a few things they usually don't. For one, they've been fucking like rabbits for the past few days, obsessed with each other and the mating bites and Dean's delicious heat scent.
Today has just been a lazy day. Sleeping, eating energy bars, drinking water, and watching bad TV. The phone ringing pierces right through it all.
Dean glances at the screen, seeing Bobby's name. He picks it up immediately. "Hey, Bobby. What's up?"
There's a pause, then Bobby's voice comes through, rough and gruff as always. "You enjoy your heat, son?"
Dean grins. "You bet your old alcoholic ass I did."
Bobby laughs. "Alright, good. But spare me the details. If you're feeling up for it then it's time to get your ass over here. Bring Cas and Sam. Shit's about to hit the fan."
Dean's grip tightens around the phone. "What happened?" He's expecting someone else to have died or been taken or something, maybe John's liver finally snuffed out or Nick found out where they live, but what he hears instead is—
"Ruby's in labor."
By the time they pull into Bobby's driveway, Dean can hear somebody screaming. Not the kind of screaming that makes his blood run cold anymore. This is different, ragged with pain.
Ruby.
Sam, who Dean and Cas picked up from the Roadhouse, goes rigid in the backseat. "That's her?"
"By process of elimination," Dean jokes, though it falls flat due to the horrified look on Sam's face.
Sam swallows hard. "I don't think I- I can't—"
"Deep breaths, Sam," Cas says, removing the keys from the ignition. He hands them to Dean, and then the three of them leave the car. The garage is shut down, the roll-up doors chained at the bottom, but the front door is unlocked so they have no trouble getting in. Cas goes in first, carrying his impromptu medical bag from the trunk, and Sam follows. Dean is the caboose mainly so he can keep an eye on everyone. He's feeling frantic and almost forgets to lock the door behind him.
In Bobby's basement, the Panic Room door is thrown open. Probably why they could hear Ruby's screams from outside, Dean guesses. He keeps glancing at Sam to make sure he's staying upright, but so far the worst Dean sees is trembling hands and watery eyes. Cas, on the other hand, is goal-oriented enough to march right into the iron-plated room and unload his bag on the folding table Bobby already has set up with other miscellaneous tools.
Ellen's here, too, and when she sees that they've arrived, she joins Dean and Sam outside of the room while Bobby and Cas talk shop. ("Shop" being the alpha in labor strapped to a cot in the middle of the room.)
"You two alright?" Ellen asks, resting her hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam seems to sink into it, eyes fluttering closed. "Sam?"
"'M okay," Sam mumbles. "The scent-bond has mostly, um, worn of, so…"
"Shit, I didn't even think of that," Dean curses. They figured out Sam and Ruby were scent-bonded about a two weeks into Sam's recovery. Without her scent, the drug withdrawal got a lot worse, and when Ellen came to drop off a blanket Ruby had been using, Sam nearly had a seizure from the overload of distress-scent all over it. "I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean says. "Wanna get out of here? I can take you back to the Roadhouse or our place. The scent is probably back to normal—"
"No," Sam huffs, squeezing his hands into fists. "I wanna… I w-wanna be the first one to- to hold my pup. That's my pup, Dean, that's my baby. I need to be here for them."
And Dean can't argue with that. "Okay," he says. "I hear you. But you let me know if at any point you feel like it's too much, alright? The baby is going to be okay no matter what."
Sam's eyes are full of tears. He looks like a pup himself, even though he's towering over everyone in the room. Those are the same dewy green-brown eyes that watched Dean cook Kraft mac and cheese for dinner at their little motel kitchen, the same eyes that insisted Sam wasn't tired even if his whole body was swaying, his head drooping and the cartoons on the TV long forgotten. Sam is Dean's pup, and Dean swears to god, if there is one up in that empty sky, that he will kill Ruby. He will make that bitch pay for ever hurting his Sammy.
Bobby and Cas throw words back and forth, mainly Bobby asking how it's possible that Ruby's in labor so early and Cas trying to both prepare for the procedure and explain how female alpha biology works. Something about their alpha hormones registering the fetus as a parasite and causing many alpha women to have premature pups.
Dean tries to listen, but his attention is always pulled back to Sam.
"Do you want to play a game on my phone or somethin'?" Dean asks.
Sam snorts. They're sitting outside of the panic room on camping chairs pulled so close together they're basically on top of each other. But Dean doubts Sam would actually let himself be held, even if his hands are still shaking.
"That probably works for Claire," Sam answers, "but I'm not ten, so I'll pass."
Dean frowns. "Dude, I've got good games on here. You ever play the garden zombie one? It's like a strategy game. You'd like it."
"Dude, I'm not playing games on your phone while my child is being carved out of my evil ex-girlfriend."
"Jeez, no need to be such a party pooper. And 'carved out' is a little excessive," Dean huffs. He takes his phone from his back pocket and unlocks it. He finds the little zombie icon and clicks on it then passes the phone over to Sam. "Me and Claire can't get past this level. Wanna take a crack at it, hotshot? Fall semester is gonna start soon so your brain could use the exercise."
"Dean—"
"Just try," Dean insists. "Please?"
Sam sighs, taking the phone. He spends the next half an hour staring at the little screen, tapping his foot and chewing on his lip. Ruby's cries die down, and at the forty minute mark, Ellen calls them over.
Ruby is cut open and breathing heavily on the cot. Cas stands over her, folding flaps of bloody flesh back over the open wound. Then he removes his gloves and gets a new pair, snapping them on quickly. Dean's eyes follow the alpha as he rounds the cot, picking up a clamp, a soft washcloth, and a towel. Then Cas is standing in front of Bobby, who has a newborn baby in his arms.
Sam says Dean's name, his nails digging into the meat of Dean's arm, but he doesn't really hear it. He holds Sam close, glad his baby brother is allowing the physical comfort, but Dean can't hear. His ears are ringing, and the scent of blood dominates the room, and there's a newborn in Bobby's arms.
"You wanna hold her?" Bobby asks Sam, gesturing to the baby carefully cradled at his chest. "Doc says skin-to-skin with a parent is how the scent-bond forms."
Sam nods dumbly, moving to unbutton his flannel. Dean helps, even ushers Sam forward when he's frozen on his feet and doesn't know what to do next. Bobby carefully deposits the little girl into Sam's big hands, and Dean watches, enraptured. That's his niece. His niece. And she's so ugly yet so cute, covered in blood and a greasy white substance that Cas calls vernix. Sam's unique scent is filled with joy, and as the baby wails, he gently shushes her.
"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here, and I’m gonna keep you safe."
And Dean can't help but realize that's exactly what he said to Sam the day he rescued him from Ruby.
Cas comes with a vitamin K injection for the baby, and then a clamp for the umbilical cord, and then washcloths and towels and warm water to clean up. When it's time to cut the cord, Sam looks right at Dean and says, "You do it. Please. I want you to."
Dean doesn't remember doing it. He can't feel his hands when they move. But he does it, and Sam's crying tears of joy, and the baby is gurgling happily wrapped up against her dad's bare chest. She looks even smaller than she already is. Dean loves her immediately.
"What're you gonna name her?" Bobby asks. "You thought about it yet?"
"If not that's fine, too," Ellen chimes in. "Joanna Beth didn't get a name until week 2."
"Her name's Deanna," Sam announces weakly. "Deanna-Eleanor Winchester. Two first names, not a middle name." He sniffles, grinning. "I always thought that was cute, y'know?"
Dean's scent explodes with happiness. "Sammy," he sniffles. "Are you sure?"
Sam nods. "You're my big brother, Dean, and the best person I know. If giving my daughter your name gives her even a fraction of the love you have inside, then that's what I want. I want her to be like you."
Bobby pats Dean on the back. He's tearing up, too. Everybody's fucking crying except the newborn. If half of them weren't covered in blood then Dean would demand another family hug.
As it is, though, Sam needs to get the baby somewhere more comfortable, and Dean needs to finish up with Ruby.
Ellen seems to be thinking along the same lines because she claps her hands and nods to the door. "Alright," she says. "Let's get little Dean-Ellie and the weepy boys out of the Panic Room. I'm sure Dean's got some plans for Ruby that we don't want to stick around for."
Dean looks at his brother, smiling softly. "I won't be long, Sammy."
Sam nods. "Make it hurt," he whispers. It's so quiet that Dean nearly misses it. But the words register, and when Dean turns to look at Ruby, there's fire in his veins.
Bass Reeves never tortured anybody, but that's okay. Dean's his own kinda cowboy. One that gets the messy kind of justice
When the operations over, Cas is exhausted. His shirt is covered in blood and other miscellaneous bodily fluids that all smell like Ruby and her excruciating pain, and his equipment is strewn all over the small iron room. Bobby and Ellen are a mess, too, but they'll have time to change as they head upstairs with Sam and the baby. Cas is staying in the Panic Room with Dean.
Which for some reason Dean seems confused about.
"This ain't gonna be pretty," Dean tells him.
"I know," Cas answers.
Dean stares. Blinks. Cas tilts his head. He doesn't know what's so confusing about this.
Dean clears his throat, waving the scalpel he picked up as he speaks. "Are you sure you wanna be here for this?"
Cas frowns. "Haven't we discussed this already? Yes, I want to be here. I want to be anywhere you are."
"I'm going to torture this bitch to her dying breath, Cas. This is, like, true sadistic serial killer shit. A little outside of usual mating vows territory."
"I don't mind," Cas replies. "There's a reason I didn't administer an anesthetic, after all."
Dean's smile is laced with salt, vinegar, and everything sinister. Cas wants to kiss him. He decides after this he'll fuck Dean in the shower. In the meantime, though, "Shall we begin?"
"Hell fucking yeah, angel. Lets get this party started."