Chapter Text
The first thing Dean notices is the irritation in the deep voice. The deep voice is new, it has only shown up about an hour ago. He’s been kneeling here ever since.
“But why me?”
“It’s part of your inheritance,” the laconic second voice answers.
Dean’s gotten to know that voice already. It belongs to the lawyer. The lawyer’s the one who told him to kneel for his new owner.
“But there were others, yes? And you’re not trying to make me take them home.”
The voice wouldn’t even be unpleasant, Dean thinks, if it wasn’t angry. As it is, it doesn’t bode well for him.
“The others were property of the club, they are going into auction together with the club itself,” the lawyer explains, his voice assuming an overly sweet tone like he’s faking his patience. “This one was your brothers’ personal property. He goes to you.”
“But I have no interest in having a pet .” The word is sneered, the disgust not hidden in the slightest. “Much less one that I inherited from my brothers.”
Dean flinches at the words, even though he understands it logically. Alphas want to break in their own pets, train them themselves. And Master Michael and Master Lucifer have a reputation in the industry. Had a reputation. It’s gotta be clear that over the years they shaped Dean into a toy specific to them. As an inheritance, this Alpha is offered little more than a useless body. Conditioned to behave only in the ways Master Michael and Master Lucifer want. Mind inflexible after years of serving the same Alphas. Not young or pretty enough to be arousing. Too old for breeding. Not trained for anything else than his masters’ kinks and pleasures.
“If you don’t want him, you can always sell him on,” the lawyer placates. “It shouldn’t take more than a month or so until we get the go ahead to make financial transactions with your inheritance.”
“Isn’t there - a shelter or something he could go to?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint, Castiel, but with the murder investigation, you have to hold all of your brothers’ assets for now.” It’s clear that the lawyer attaches a shrug to it, even if Dean can’t see it. The lawyer doesn’t give a fuck.
“Well then, I guess I have no choice.”
It’s said with a heavy sigh of defeat and there’s a spark of something that was once anger in Dean’s chest at the words. Yeah, try to be me for five seconds and then talk to me about having no choice.
He stomps down on it before it can ever make it to his scent. Choice is a loaded word anyway. Both Master Michael and Master Lucifer thought it great fun, playing games like that with him.
You chose this, pet.
Dean averts his thoughts quickly. Can’t get lost in his mind, not today. Not when he has a new master. One who doesn’t want him on top of it. It’s gonna make it even more difficult, keeping the Alpha appeased enough to come out of this in one piece.
“Well, I fear that is the truth. For now, you have to take him. But I don’t think he’s gonna be too much trouble, he seemed well-behaved so far. Your brothers always were attentive when training omegas, especially pets.” The lawyer sounds satisfied with that, but then his voice turns a shade darker, like he’s suddenly worried. “Just make sure to keep his value where it’s at. At least until the investigation is over and we have full control over the financials.”
“Keep his value?” Dean’s new owner asks, derision clear in his voice.
The other man sighs, fake patience getting thinner. “His resale value. Your brothers had other things on their minds than their pet lately, so he’s somewhat malnourished, but otherwise he’s mostly uninjured. So, you can use him, re-train him, whatever, but keep any punishments to something that heals quickly. Don’t add additional scars or broken bones. Feed him a few times a week. Don’t kill him. That should be simple enough even for you, right?”
Dean’s new owner scoffs and doesn’t deem it necessary to answer.
The ball of dread in Dean’s stomach grows. A new owner that scoffs at not killing him is not good. If the Alpha doesn’t even give him a chance to prove that he can be good, if he’s so annoyed that he has to take care of his brothers’ old toy that he can’t be bothered to feed Dean at all, what then?
“Seriously, Castiel?”
The lawyer sounds unamused now, like the Alpha has answered after all, only not with words. Dean wouldn’t know, he’s trying his very best to stay as still and unnoticeable as he can and look at nothing but his hands and the few square inches of floor in front of him.
“Yes, Crowley, seriously,” the Alpha bites.
The lawyer sighs. “Tsk, tsk. Good thing you pay me well. Now take your property and leave me to deal with the rest of it. I’ll call you when I have any news.”
He doesn’t even wait for a goodbye, just turns around, the clip-clop of his shoes disappearing down the hallway.
There’s a shift in the air as the Alpha’s - Castiel’s? - attention shifts to Dean. Dean resists the urge to cower, keeps his posture straight, his hands on his thighs and his gaze to the floor, like Master Michael taught him.
He hopes the Alpha will tell him if he prefers it otherwise before he punishes him. Lucifer liked it when Dean waited for him with his forehead to the ground, as small and helpless as he could get. But Lucifer also liked to keep Dean’s hands tied behind his back unless there was something that he wanted of Dean that he would need his hands for. Both masters punished him if he knelt wrong or if they caught him quickly switching positions when he expected the one and it was the other who came home first.
The lawyer hasn’t done anything to restrain Dean, hasn’t even put a leash on him, so Dean went for the more classical kneeling position.
Only now, he’s not sure whether it was the right choice, because the Alpha is still staring. He’s come a step or two closer, polished black shoes and equally black slacks having wandered into Dean’s view.
It’s a bit terrifying.
If the Alpha actually wanted him, it might be an inspection. He hasn’t looked Dean over before, hasn’t seen where he’s got scars and whether his body is in any way appealing, or whether he finds things that he immediately wants to correct.
Only, the Alpha doesn’t want him. Which means he’s probably thinking about how to get rid of Dean the fastest while getting around the stipulations of the inheritance. Dean swallows hard. He’s just thought it, how old and used up he is. No one told him his resale value, but it can’t be that high. And the Alpha’s wearing these really nice and shiny shoes that are probably expensive. Meaning he’s rich like his brothers. Meaning he can easily pay any difference in Dean’s value - or for a replacement for him, if he accidentally damages him beyond repair.
It’s almost enough to make Dean open his mouth and try to plead. To try to convince the Alpha that he can still be good for something. Anything. That he can be pleasing. That he won’t be that hard to retrain. That he won’t be difficult and it’s not necessary to dispose of him.
But of course talking out of turn would only prove that he is in fact difficult. That even after so many years his training hasn’t properly taken. That he forgot as soon as his masters had too much on their minds fighting each other to punish him often enough to constantly be reminded of his training by the pain in his body.
So he stays quiet.
Unfortunately, instead of his mouth, his stomach does the talking for him. It lets out a loud growl.
He cringes and flushes and his stomach promptly growls again. He can’t help it, it’s just a reaction because in the bustle of the past couple of days no one really thought about feeding him. But it’s a prompt reminder that he comes with tasks. That he has to be taken care of, however minimally.
The Alpha sighs, the noise having him ripped out of whatever he was contemplating while looking Dean over. “Do you have any clothes?”
It takes Dean a moment to process and then to gather enough spit in his mouth to make his voice work. “Yes, Alpha,” he nods and freezes for a moment, because he’s not sure that that was the right address. But the Alpha doesn’t strike him, so it must be okay.
“Where are they?”
“Umm,” Dean’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know, Alpha.”
“You don’t know where your own clothes are?” The irritation is back full force.
Dean can’t help it, he cowers after all. The one advantage that the falling out between Master Michael and Master Lucifer had had, was that they had mostly forgotten about him. They spent no more time or thought on him than the occasional angry fuck to let off steam. No time for training, no time for punishments. Dean had almost gotten used to not getting beaten.
“They are the masters’ clothes,” Dean whispers. “I don’t need to know where they are, only wear them whenever they’re given.”
It’s just a word by word repetition of what he was taught, but his hands cramp into his thighs when he notices how much like defiance that sounds.
“That’s what Master Michael and Master Lucifer taught me, Alpha.” He hesitates. Because he keeps calling this man Alpha, but Master Michael and Master Lucifer are dead, they are not in fact his masters anymore. For better or for worse, this man owns him now. “Master?” he tries out hesitantly.
“No,” the Alpha replies harshly. “Never that. I’m not your master .”
And that answers that.
“Yes, Alpha,” Dean replies, sounding as meek as he can. The man had said he didn’t want to keep him. Dean shouldn’t have assumed.
There is another tired sigh before the man seems to pick himself up. “Well then, the situation is as it is. We may as well deal with it.”
Dean swallows heavily. Dealing with it doesn’t sound like the Alpha’s assessment of Dean has improved anything.
“Wait here.”
There’s no answer required, so Dean stays on his knees and doesn’t move. If the Alpha is going to get a knife or a gun - well, at least Dean won’t have to worry anymore. Silver lining, he thinks grimly.
He loses some of that bravado, though, when the Alpha’s steps come back. In fact, his arms start trembling and then his body starts trembling, even though he’s never allowed them to do that. But he’s pretty sure that dying hurts something awful, even if in the end, there’s nothing left but a still body.
“You’re freezing,” the Alpha observes, though Dean is not. “Well, all the better then. Here.” He throws a blanket down at Dean.
It falls to the ground, Dean not moving to catch it. He couldn’t have, cause he didn’t see it coming, but he’s also not even sure he’s permitted. And the Alpha just said he thought it better if Dean was freezing. So he only stares at it. It’s the cream colored blanket from the living room couch. It has to be washed carefully. The staff does that. Dean’s not allowed to touch it.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Cover yourself up.” There’s impatience in the Alpha’s voice.
Maybe it was supposed to be a kind gesture? Dean’s confused, but he obeys and brings the blanket around his shoulders with shaking arms.
“Good,” the Alpha nods. “Let’s go then.”
Okay, maybe not a kind gesture. Maybe the Alpha wants to go outside because disposing of Dean here would be too big a mess in the house. Outside, someone can just roll the body up in the blanket for easy removal and use the hose to disperse any blood.
Still, Dean scrambles to his feet. He doesn’t have any other option that he can see. Running’s not a thing, not even just because of the collar. The Alpha doesn’t even have to have the remote for it. In his fancy shoes and having eaten three times a day every day, he’s definitely going to be faster than Dean with his bare feet and starved stomach. So what’s Dean gonna do? Refuse to move and be dragged out by his hair? No, he’s gonna rather walk on his own two feet and take any minute without additional hurt, thank you very much.
The Alpha strives ahead with big steps. There’s purpose in them, but Dean’s not sure whether the purpose is leaving the manor behind as fast as possible or moving forward towards an unknown goal. He hurries to keep up, even though the gravel of the driveway cuts into his feet. It’s by design of course. Makes running even less appealing if your feet bleed after the first few steps.
Thankfully, they don’t go far, though, leaving Dean’s feet cut open, but not in any way that would make him unable to walk. The Alpha stops next to a car. Dean expects the telltale beep of the doors unlocking that both Master Michael’s and Master Lucifer’s cars have, but it’s not coming. Instead, there’s the scratch of a key in a lock and Dean can’t resist looking up.
It’s a big car. But that’s the nicest description Dean can come up with. It’s huge and golden and ugly as fuck. A Lincoln Continental. Aka the worst.
Dean hastily looks back at his feet when the Alpha turns around to him.
“Best get in the backseat. And try to cover up yourself and your - junk as much as you can.” It sounds vaguely appalled.
Which Dean is pretty sure means more than that the Alpha is disgusted by omega dick. He’s pretty sure the Alpha is disgusted by all of him.
He nods mutely as the Alpha lets him pass so that he can climb into the back of the car. There’s not enough space in the footwell, but then, the Alpha gave him that blanket. So he at least makes meticulously sure that no part of his body touches the upholstery so that his scent won’t cling to it.
The blanket is big enough that he can also make sure to cover the rest of himself. He’s not sure that it’s going to be enough to dampen down his scent, though. He’s gonna smell as stressed out as he is, and since no one’s done much more than tell him to kneel and not move in the past few days, no one’s given him the opportunity to wash, either.
He looks down at his hands, then. Breathe in, count to ten, breathe out. Breathe in, count to ten, breathe out. It’s a useful trick, taught to him by a nameless omega at the club some day when they strung him up and Dean was terrified. It helped back then, maybe it will also help to calm him down enough right now for his scent to not bother the Alpha quite as much.
They drive for a long time. Dean could try to get a peak at the clock on the dashboard, but he’d rather not have the Alpha look in the rearview mirror just at that moment. It makes no difference anyway. So many things make no difference.
Still, he can’t help but risk a short glance around when the car slows down in a driveway. The neighborhood looks modest, and so does the house. It’s not the sprawling mansion that Master Michael and Master Lucifer shared. The house looks more modern, too, the lines cleaner.
“We’re home,” the Alpha says and kills the engine.
They sit in silence for a moment before the Alpha with a heavy sigh opens the door, allowing Dean to climb out after him.
The driveway is smooth concrete, cold to the touch now that the sun is going down, but no ridges or edges to cut the soles of his feet. It doesn’t seem to serve a purpose other than providing a path to the house.
Of course Dean’s feet are already cut up from the way to the car, so it doesn’t take much to open his skin again.
“Come on in.”
The Alpha opens the door and Dean follows.
There’s rug in the hallway, woven from colorful fabrics.
Dean stops and bites his lip.
“Come on in,” the Alpha repeats with a little more emphasis, and yes, Dean’s heard him and he wants to obey, but...
“Alpha, I’m - I’m not sure. I think my feet are still bleeding. I can clean up the blood, no problem, but can I, umm, can I put the rug aside for a moment so that I don’t ruin it?”
The Alpha hesitates, his scent changing to confusion and then to something darker that Dean can’t readily place. Dean hunches his shoulders. The Alpha’s gotta see it, though, that Dean is trying to be helpful, right? He gotta see that Dean’s not trying to be difficult.
“Crowley said you were uninjured,” the Alpha frowns.
“Yes, I - mostly I am, Alpha. Just, the gravel in front of Master Michael’s and Master Lucifer’s house, it has sharp edges, and I was trying to keep up with you, and -” He shuts his mouth abruptly. He wasn’t asked for an explanation or excuses.
“Oh.”
There’s no further reaction, and Dean squirms until he can’t take it anymore.
“Please, Alpha,” he finally breaks. “It’s nothing serious. Not even really an injury. It won’t lower my value. If you don’t want me to move the rug, you can just tie me up outside until it stops bleeding. Please. I don’t think it will even take that long. It was better in the car already.”
He stops talking, though he really kind of hopes the Alpha doesn't look at that option and decides that it's a great idea to tie Dean to a wall somewhere and leave him there for the next four weeks. Cause if there's one thing Dean has learned, it’s that almost nothing is worse than being left alone in the dark with his own thoughts. He'd much rather be used and let the pain ground him than be forgotten. If there's no one there to remind him, it's way too easy to stop being real.
The Alpha sighs heavily again and then he nudges the rug out of the way with his foot. "Come on in," he repeats and this time, Dean obeys.
The Alpha doesn't even toe off his shoes, just repeats "come on" and leads Dean deeper into the house.
Dean follows gingerly. The house looks modern from the inside as well and it's well kept as far as Dean can see. There's no smell other than the Alpha's and some cleaning products. No live-in staff then. No other omega, either.
Dean shudders a little. He's not sure whether that's a good thing or bad. On the one hand, no other omega means no competition. It means the Alpha can't go and say only the one of you who is best will get fed . It also means no other omega can try to scratch Dean’s eyes out for intruding and taking up what limited resources there are for them. Dean's definitely done that before when one of his Masters brought a pet from the club home to mess with him.
On the other hand, having another omega here might also have helped. Another omega might have been more patient at explaining the house rules than this Alpha is going to be. If the Alpha plans on explaining anything at all. If the other omega didn't see him as a threat - and really, with the Alpha's disgust it's clear that he's not - there might even have been some company that way. Someone to talk to, if the Alpha allows such things.
But of course all of those thoughts are wishful thinking and no more. Because there is no other smell than the Alpha's and all that happens is that they end up in a bathroom. It's modern like the house and has tiles so white that Dean feels like he's dirtying the place up just by stepping inside.
But tiles can be cleaned, so he follows and quickly looks back down at the floor when the Alpha turns around.
"Give me the blanket."
He holds out his hand and Dean hurries to unwrap the blanket from around his shoulders.
"Do you know how a shower works?" The Alpha asks.
"Yes, Alpha," Dean nods.
"Well, that's something. Go take a shower. There's shower gel and shampoo inside."
Dean nods, but he doesn't move.
"What is it now?" There's rustling when the Alpha moves and Dean thinks he's rubbing his head like Dean is giving him a headache.
"Umm, the collar, Alpha?" Dean asks warily. Cause while the outside of the collar is metal, the inside is leather and Master Michael has made sure he understands that this is not a cheap collar and that if he breaks it something much less nice and comfortable will take its place. Dean’s seen enough all-metal collars and the way they rub skin raw to know that he doesn’t want that.
"Oh," the Alpha starts like he hadn't thought about that. "I can't open it. It reacts to Michael's and Lucifer's fingerprints only."
It's Dean's turn to start. Suddenly the collar seems a whole lot tighter with the thought of never again being able to take it off. He swallows against the feeling of budding panic and mumbles. "I'll try to keep it dry, Alpha."
"Yeah, do that," the Alpha nods. "Can you shower on your own?"
"Yes, Alpha."
"Alright. I'll be right back. Wait for me here if you're done before I'm back."
"Yes, Alpha."
By the time Dean has stepped into the shower, the Alpha has already left the room.
Dean finds the soap immediately and he's pretty sure that the mention meant that he's supposed to use it. So that leaves the question of the water temperature. He eyes the fittings nervously. Choosing your own water temperature is a treat for good behavior. Otherwise it gets chosen, and that means usually either ice cold or scalding hot. But the Alpha hasn't specified anything and there's only one lever to produce the water mixture. Dean guesses it's set to the Alpha's favorite setting. So it's probably safest to leave it at that setting, right? So that the Alpha doesn't have to bother with trying to find the right temperature for himself again in the morning? That probably makes up for using some warm water.
Dean decides that it is so because he has no better idea and also because after not having eaten in so long it sounds nice not to have to produce as much body heat to stop from shaking as is necessary after a cold shower.
The water is still ice cold for the first few moments after Dean turns the shower on, but he suppresses his yelp and after a minute, the water warms up nicely. Dean would still like it to be a few degrees hotter, but there's nothing to be done about it, so he goes about washing himself.
He wrinkles his nose at the shower gel. It's heavily scented and definitely made for Alphas. It'll smell ridiculous mixing with his omega scent. It almost makes him sneeze.
But he washes himself thoroughly. He doesn't linger on his private parts, unsure how much touch is allowed, but he takes care to wash his feet until they're scrubbed clean. It stings, but most of the blood that washes away is old. If he's careful, he can probably walk without messing up the floors.
He hears the door open and hurries to get the suds off of his skin. He's probably taken too long already.
But when he turns off the water and opens the shower door, the Alpha is nowhere to be seen. There's a fresh, folded towel lying on the stool next to the shower now. Dean is still staring at it when the Alpha comes back.
There's a frown on his face. "Come on, dry yourself off and then sit down." He waves with something, though Dean only catches the movement out of the corner of his eyes seeing how he's trying hard to keep his eyes on the floor as he should.
But he does grab the towel. It's softer than anything he's touched in years. Or at least his memory doesn't provide him with anything that feels similar. He stifles the noise of pleasure that wants to make it out of his mouth.
When he's dry he folds the towel to put it back on the small stool and sits on top of it. It prompts no other commands from the Alpha, so maybe Dean was just too grimy before and that's why he wanted Dean to cover up? Some Alphas are sensitive to such things after all.
He blinks then because suddenly the Alpha is in his space. Not towering over him, no, kneeling at his feet and right in his view.
Dean blinks again because holy fuck, the Alpha is handsome in a way that neither Master Michael nor Master Lucifer were.
He's got intense blue eyes, too, that are currently staring right into Dean's eyes and fuck what is Dean doing staring at the Alpha like that? But the Alpha doesn't look away and he doesn't slap Dean, either, and Dean can feel his face and chest flush, because frikking hell, this Alpha's gaze is intense . His nostrils widen, too, taking in Dean's scent and there's so much attention on Dean that he has no idea what to do with it.
Finally, it's the Alpha who breaks their eye contact. He goes to open the pack he brought with him, his scent getting dark again as he does it.
It curls Dean's insides, but he has no time to think about what it means because the Alpha takes up his foot and inspects it and - oh. The pack he brought is a first aid kit.
"It's not that bad," the Alpha announces after a moment and Dean could have told him that. Still, it lightens the Alpha's scent and - guilt? Had that dark scent been guilt ?
Dean's immediately confused, but then, maybe the Alpha had actually not noticed the stones. He'd been wearing shoes after all and his own driveway is concrete. Maybe he'd never thought about it.
The Alpha puts antiseptic on the cuts and then bandaids on the ones that look like they might start bleeding again. It'll make it a lot easier on Dean because he can move around the house without having to watch his every step for fear of bleeding on something he can’t clean. If he gets to move around the house. No way of knowing that yet. Still, "Thank you, Alpha," he says quietly, opting to take the risk of speaking out of turn to show his gratitude.
The Alpha nods, scent still disturbed. He looks over his work one more time before looking back up. "Is there anything else where you're hurting? Even if you don't classify it as being injured."
Dean frowns. He always hurts somewhere or other. He’s so used to it that it fades into the background, only the sharp stab of acute violence making it through. Even with his feet, he hadn’t been concerned about the pain, just about the carpet. “Uhh, my head and my stomach hurt some I guess?” he wagers. “But that’s cause I didn’t get to eat in a while. It’s not a problem, Alpha.” At least not yet. He guesses eventually he’ll have to be fed something or he will pass out.
"Well, we can remedy that." The Alpha closes the first aid kit and rocks back up to his feet. "Here," he reaches over to the sink to grab a stack of clothes that Dean had dismissed as unimportant so far. "Finish your business here and put these on. The kitchen is back down the hallway to the left. Find me there when you're done."
Dean mumbles, "Yes, Alpha," but he's not even sure whether the Alpha hears it because he's already out of the room.
Dean lets out a breath. That went - well? Dean's not sure, but between the shower and the bandaids and the clothes and now even the tentative prospect of food, he thinks the Alpha has accepted that he's got to take care of Dean for a few weeks. More than that, he seems to be willing to do what Alpha Crowley said and not damage him. Which is good. Better than being a cold body wrapped in a blanket anyway.
Not that he hasn't thought about whether that wouldn’t be easier every so often over the years. Mostly when Master Lucifer had one of his episodes. Master Michael was more or less always the same. Cold, yes. Strict, yes. Unyielding in his punishments. But he was consistent. A rule was a rule. Even if Dean often got hurt quite significantly during punishments administered by Master Michael, he was never quite as terrified of him as of Master Lucifer. Master Lucifer would sometimes give him the rest of a piece of pie he didn’t want anymore and then turn around and not feed him for the next week, without ever telling Dean what he'd done right or wrong.
Dean guesses the jury is still out on which of his brothers Alpha Castiel resembles more, but from his first impression, Dean hopes it will be Master Michael. There wasn’t any pretense of charm and friendliness, like Master Lucifer might have shown a new plaything, to suss out whatever likes and dislikes he could eventually use against them. And the irritation and frustration are something Dean knows well from Master Michael. Of course, Alpha Castiel had contained them much more tightly than Master Michael usually thought necessary. But then, if they are the same, there will have to be an infraction for a punishment. Now infractions aren’t that hard to come by if you only look closely enough, but you need to establish rules for your pet to break them. And Alpha Castiel hasn’t set any rules yet.
Maybe he didn’t have them at the ready, seeing how he’s got no pet of his own and possibly doesn't want one at all. And if he is like Master Michael, he will probably not punish without making the rules clear first. There are common sense rules of course, like obeying whatever the Alpha says and not trying to run from him, but it’s been a long time since Dean’s actually broken any of those.
He sighs. He wishes Alpha Crowley’s words about not damaging his value actually meant he was somewhat shielded from harsher punishments for the next month. But of course if Alpha Castiel feels like his brothers haven’t trained him right, he can always argue that a broken bone might lower Dean’s value for a while, but the additional training makes him more valuable in the long run.
It’s no use thinking about this. The rules always favor the owners, never the omegas. It’s just how it is. So Dean better get on with it and find the Alpha before he’s too angry about Dean dawdling and tries out how far he can push Dean’s body before it breaks.
Dean goes to pee even though he doesn’t have to, seeing that it’s been the morning when he last got some water, but it’s always better to use every opportunity that’s presented to him. Then he steps into the clothes. It’s just grey sweatpants and a t-shirt with a 5k run logo on it. Both of them are too loose on him, even though the sweatpants are a little short. Alpha Castiel’s clothes then. They look well worn, but they’re freshly washed and well, they’re clothes. They provide warmth and a little softness in a harsh world. He’s gonna take it.
He already wants to leave when he notices that there’s a small rolled-up ball of fabric that fell out of the bundle. He frowns, thoughts immediately going unpleasant places, but the fabric looks too thick and practical to be any omega-specific wear. So he unrolls the bundle and it’s - socks. Thick, warm socks with a geometric pattern that looks like - honeycomb?
Dean looks at them perplexed. They might just be the Alpha’s socks and unrelated to the clothes he got. But no, they fell out of the bundle. Maybe the Alpha thinks Dean’s feet will bleed on the carpet after all? But he patched him up, there’s bandaids and everything. Dean blinks. Good pets get clothes sometimes, when it’s cold, when they’ve been exceptionally good, or when their master wants their body hidden from view.
Dean guesses that Alpha Castiel falls in the last category. Like with the blanket, he wants Dean’s body hidden from view. Whether it’s only for now and he wants to use it later is anyone’s guess, but Dean’s not gonna not enjoy the comfort of clothes while it lasts, just because eventually they will be taken away again.
Still doesn’t explain the socks, though. Dean doesn’t think anyone wants to hide feet from view, and also, it’s one of these unspoken rules. Pets are not supposed to leave the house, and being barefoot encourages them to not even try. Dean’s not sure when he had worn socks the last time. Stockings, yeah, sometimes, when Master Lucifer wanted to show him off. They were complimenting the lingerie. But honeycomb socks are not lingerie. They are sturdy and for warmth and comfort and serve no purpose beyond that. He doesn’t need them.
But of course he still puts them on. The Alpha gave them to him, after all. He wiggles his toes in them. It feels funny. Confined, somehow, but also nice, like being wrapped up in a soft duvet. He only notices that he’s smiling after the fact, and makes sure to wipe the expression off his face before he sets out to find Alpha Castiel.