A message on Tumblr suggesting I write Deanjimstiel A/B/O spawned a ficlet, which has turned into this story.

I'm REALLY struggling to come up with accurate warnings for this story, but basically, this story is an exploration of gender fluidity and expression...but with a whole mess of romance and some smut and some dark added in. Instead of gender, it's a society where alpha, beta and omega types are seen as "absolutes," except that in order to maintain that belief they have to ignore all of the people who don't fall neatly into these designations. The characters are not trans-sexual - they are "trans-presenters." There are intentional parallels to real world issues, but there are also intentional differences, so please keep that in mind as you read. Now, that said...if I say something that strikes you as out of line, PLEASE let me know. I am not an expert on this kind of thing and I am always open to learning more. The last thing I want to do is hurt feelings - these are tough topics, and tackling them makes me nervous because I don't want to offend, but I personally think part of the role of fiction is to tackle difficult subject matter, so I'm going to do my best, and I'd appreciate your help, as a reader, in steering me right if I go wrong.

I have no idea how long this fic will be but I'm guessing somewhere around 100k. I will not be updating on a regular schedule; instead I expect to alternate working on this and working on "What Do I Stand For" for the foreseeable future.

As with many A/B/O worlds, this is similar to standard A/B/O but there are some differences. I'll do my best to integrate these differences into the narrative as I write, but if you find yourself with questions about how A/B/O works in this world, please feel free to ask and I will answer if I possibly can without spoilers.

Note:There is underage sex between two consenting teenagers in the prologue of the book (Chapter 1). There is description of another underage character masturbating, also in the first chapter. Based on current plans, this will be the only underage sexual content in this story.

There is incest (specifically twincest) between Jimmy and Cas Novak. There is also polyamide and some other...stuff.

Chapter 1 is a prologue. Rest of the story goes from there. Feedback always welcome. I hope you enjoy!

Prologue: January 24th, 2008

Shouldering the low bookcase aside, Jimmy slumped against the wall, breathing hard. The shelving hardly weighed anything with all the books and knickknacks removed and stacked on the floor nearby, but his entire body felt achy and swelteringly hot. Even the minimal effort involved in emptying the shelves and shoving the furniture aside left him winded. It should be impossible for the house to feel so warm in the depths of an Illinois winter – Lord knew he'd never found his drafty, under-eave bedroom hot in the past – but today it was all he could do to make himself function, it was so sultry. His pajamas were soaked with sweat and slick. He was simultaneously ashamed of and intrigued by the dampness coating his thighs, growing sticky as it dried in place. He could feel the lubricating slick pooling within his body, leaking from his ass. When Jimmy broke past the parental locks on their home computer he had found plenty of pictures of omegas, male and female, spread wide and dripping; of alphas, knots thick and red and swollen; but it was one thing to know about the phenomena and another entirely to experience it.

So hot. So empty. So horny. I need so much. I need someone, anyone.

With the bookcase pushed aside from the wall, a jaggedly cut square hole was revealed. In the midnight darkness, it looks frighteningly black and bottomless, but it was only a foot deep, not even long enough to earn the name "tunnel," and it ended in the blank wood back of a bookcase identical to the one that Jimmy had just shoved aside. Their parents thought that Jimmy and Castiel shouldn't share a bedroom. Their parents thought them too close. Their parents said that growing boys needed space and privacy. Jimmy and Cassie thought that was bullshit, and over the course of several nights when they were first separated they'd use handsaws to carve away the dry wall separating them until they could crawl back and forth. They only used the passageway in the depths of the night when everyone else in the family was asleep and every light in the house was off. Then, they'd push the bookcases aside and reunite, crawl into bed together tangling arms and legs. They'd take care of each other and sleep restfully as they never did alone. Come morning, they'd awake to a quiet alarm set for pre-dawn, retreat to their separate spaces and once again pretend that they did nothing that siblings ought not do. Usually, they came together right at midnight. As a distant church bell tolled, Jimmy waited uneasily, body desperate for touch, and wondered why Cassie hadn't joined him.

No, not anyone, I need Cassie, I need my brother. Please help me, Castiel, please!

The doctor had said Jimmy's heat and Cassie's rut would pass within a week. That had been the only useful piece of information that the medical professionals had been able to provide in a long day spent speaking with every andrologist and gynecologist at the hospital that his and Cassie's panicked parents had taken them to. If the baffled "experts" were to be believed, the only thing more unbelievable than that two siblings – even identical twins – would present on the same day was that identical twins would present differently. Apparently, this never happened. Apparently, this was a medical marvel. Apparently, there wasn't a single person in Pontiac who knew what to make of this, not a single one who had seen anything like it, which wasn't saying much. It felt like they'd been seen by every damn physician with an even vaguely related specialty from within at least 50 miles. A lab-coated old man had even driven down from Chicago to impart his wisdom that no matter how similar they appeared they obviously must not be twins and had made various innuendos about their mother that had left Jimmy and Cassie snickering and their father stammering and blushing. Only a moron could believe they weren't twins. They were precisely the same down to the last detail; even their parents and siblings couldn't tell them apart by sight or scent unless they dressed differently. Except that Cassie was an alpha, and Jimmy was an omega. The hospital had forced further appointments on them for tomorrow, when they'd be meeting with more experts coming down from the city, a prospect whose only enticing aspect was that it guaranteed that Jimmy wouldn't have to try to go to school while he was dripping.

Jimmy didn't give a shit how remarkable he and Cassie were, all he wanted to know was what on earth was he supposed to do to stop feeling like he was burning up from the inside. His mother had told him he was complaining too much; the only doctor who hadn't be a distant, over-professional asshole had sympathetically explained that he wasn't legally allowed to make "those kinds" of suggestions; and when they'd gotten home his parents had locked him in his bedroom after pointedly making sure that nothing even vaguely phallic was within reach, going so far as to take away the jar of pencils and pens on his desk. Mr. and Mrs. Novak had strict feelings about masturbation that Jimmy and Cassie had always covertly, happily ignored, taking care of themselves and each other as need and opportunity allowed.

In the past few hours, Jimmy had tried masturbating and found it depressingly unsatisfying. It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept of what he was supposed to do – no matter how sheltered his parents tried to keep him and Cassie and their other siblings, Jimmy was 14 and he wasn't an idiot – it was that he had only the vaguest idea of how to do it. Insert fingers in anus…and then what, exactly? With only his hand to work with, all he'd been able to manage was awkward half-thrusts that burst neon behind his eyes and felt amazing and left him desperate for more, for deeper, for something bigger and thicker. His preliminary explorations of his ass, the tight pucker of muscles, the hot slickness within, had been adequate to bring his desperate body, overstimulated by hormones, to gasping orgasm, but utterly insufficient to meet the raw need screaming through him. He had to have something inside him. He'd searched his room, his drawers, his closet, for a surrogate cock with which to fill himself, but he hadn't had any luck. In his heart, he had to admit it had been a token effort. He knew what he wanted, what he really wanted, but the fact that Cassie wasn't already in his room frightened him, made him think he was alone in his desires.

A knot, I need a knot, that's what this feeling is, what this feelings mean. What does that feel like, how can I want something so much when I've never experienced it?

Surely his father knew what it felt like to be in heat, surely Mr. Novak was aware as Mrs. Novak never truly could be that a heat couldn't be ignored or prayed into going away. Yet his father had been the one to turn the key in the lock and remind Jimmy sternly that he was still expected to be a good boy even though he was experiencing his first heat. His father had been the one to remind him that sin is punished and virtue rewarded. His father had been the one to search his room for illicit sexual objects, even lifting up Jimmy's mattress and sticking his head under Jimmy's bed. He hadn't found anything inappropriate; Jimmy hid his pornography in the crawlspace between their rooms and didn't own any toys because he'd never imagined he'd need one. He'd always assumed he'd present alpha, since both he and Cassie were well-endowed, both he and Cassie had the excess skin and built-up muscle at the base of their cocks that indicated that a knot would form. It had never occurred to Jimmy that he wouldn't be an alpha, even though he knew objectively that there were omegas that had good sized cocks – he'd stared avidly at the pictures of such he'd found on the internet – and that many betas showed secondary sexual characteristics of alphas and omegas. Everyone thought that Jimmy and Castiel would be alphas. He wasn't unhappy to be proved wrong, though. The unexpected divergence between himself and his brother had, in the space of a scant dozen hours, opened up a whole slew of options he'd scarce allowed himself to dream of prior.

Cassie has a knot now, he's in rut, surely he needs my slick, my ass, as badly as I need him, how could he not? But if he does, why isn't he in here? After scenting me all day, is it possible he doesn't want this as much as I do? He smelled so good. He's not supposed to smell good. Maybe I don't smell good to him! God, I feel like such a prissy omega stereotype, whining that my date stood me up. But…

His parents didn't know how ineffective locking Jimmy in his room truly was.

Mustering his energy, all too aware that he was leaving a wet spot where he'd sat on the carpeting, Jimmy got on his hands and knees and stuck his head into the short tunnel. When they'd first cut it, it had been tall enough that Jimmy could sit upright, leaning against the stud, but now he had to squat down and hunch his back awkwardly to fit. With a light touch, Jimmy ran his nails along the back of the bookcase in Cassie's room, making a scratching sound that could easily be mistaken for an animal in the walls or a cat on the roof on the off chance anyone else in the family overheard.

Whiffs of tantalizing scent found their way through the sliver of a gap between the bookcase and the wall. Inhaling deeply, Jimmy nearly swooned, it was so unbelievably good. Supposedly, it was as impossible for identical twins to smell good to each other as it was for them to present differently, not that either Cassie or Jimmy were foolish enough to tell the doctors about the fact that they found each other's scent to be sweet perfection. Cassie had always smelled amazing to Jimmy, citrus and vanilla and butter, so delicious that even normally Jimmy could swear he could taste the flavors in his mouth. After a lifetime of trying to pin down precisely what Cassie smelled like, the closest he'd ever come was lemon meringue pie. The aroma always lingered in Jimmy's room since they alternated where they spent the night, and Jimmy had already squeezed two inadequate orgasms from his aching cock by surrounding himself in the faint, lingering traces of heady scent that suffused his blankets and pillows. This close to the bookcase, the smell was amplified two-fold, five-fold, and Jimmy tucked himself with difficulty into the tiny space, allowing the smell to intoxicate him, slick soaking thickly through his pants, palming his cock and biting his lip to keep from moaning. With all the desperate, urgent need that lit him afire, Jimmy clawed at the back of the bookcase again.

"Go 'way," Cassie's voice was faint through the obstruction, lower than Jimmy had ever heard it, rough, breathy.

"Please, Cassie." Desire made it hard to whisper, hard to resist the urge to throw all his weight against the back of the bookcase and force entry into the older twin's room, impossible not to beg. "I can't be alone right now, not tonight, I want…I need…"

"I can't," snarled Cassie, much too loudly. "We mustn't."

"Why not?" demanded Jimmy. "How is this different from before?"

"How can you ask me that, Jimmy?" Cassie asked. Pressing his ear to the bookcase, Jimmy could hear Cassie shifting and moving, hear him panting, hear the faintest whisper of a groan that drove Jimmy mad with the need to touch himself, to have Cassie touch him. He knew that sound, he recognized it from every time he and Cassie had held each other close and touched each other everywhere. "This is completely different. You're an omega now and I'm an alpha."

"I dunno." Jimmy's hand dug into his pants as a burst of fresh slick leaked from him. Cassie made a noise that – regardless of reality – Jimmy's imagination identified as a whimper and Jimmy rubbed his fingers down the sensitive flesh behind his balls and massaged over his hole, gummy with thick release. Each breath was a desperate gasp, making speaking difficult, but he forced himself to talk. Nothing was more important than convincing Cassie to come to his room. "Don't you think that sounds kind of perfect?" God, he needed, he'd never imagined how empty he could feel, how urgently he could require something that had never been of interest before.

"Jimmy…" A low moan, audible now, accompanied the sound of Cassie's elbow knocking lightly against the side of the bookcase over and over again.

"Tell me this hasn't crossed your mind over and over again since this morning," whispered Jimmy suggestively. Instinct screamed that everything he craved was just on the other side of the wall, the most delicious person he had ever smelled, the most amazing cock, the perfect man that was his brother. The sounds from the other side of the wall stopped abruptly. "Tell me you haven't been thinking that this is exactly what you would have chosen, if a person could control how they presented."

"It's wrong, Jimmy," Cassie whispered desperately.

"Says who?" Sourceless, blinding pleasure seared Jimmy's senses from nowhere only to ebb and leave him even more in need. I want a knot. I need a knot. Cassie's knot. No one else. No one else ever gets to have me. "Use your nose, Cas. If it were wrong, would it smell so right?"

Long, agonizing moments passed in silence. Unable to bear the tension, unable to think of anything beyond how amazing Cassie smelled, Jimmy scooped his hips forward so he could touch himself, nudging two fingers through the ring of muscles. The angle worked slightly better than any he'd found on the bed and he huffed a faint moan as his thin digits easily slid within him to the first knuckle, way eased near frictionless by the amount of slick he was producing. Dammit, they were so small, so inadequate, but it was all he had. He worked around his rim, pleasure coursing through his blood, throbbing through his aching cock, thoughts blanked by more sensation than he'd ever experienced before, lips mouthing his brother's name like the most fervent prayer he'd made his entire life.

With a scraping sound, the bookcase shifted to show muted dark blue darkness beyond. Before Jimmy could do more than gasp in amazement Cassie was on him, pushing him to the floor, pressing him against the carpeting, hands on his shoulders, lips working against lips, bodies rutting. A knee spread Jimmy's legs apart roughly, forced space for Cassie to settle between them, and Cassie ground his hard cock against Jimmy's crotch through their pajama pants.

"Need you," growled Cassie aggressively, nipping along the line of Jimmy's chin, hips thrusting hard enough against Jimmy that the carpet forced his shirt up, abraded the skin thus exposed. Whimpers escaped Jimmy as his hips rutted up, what he craved so close and yet still so far away. A hand smothered his mouth, forcing him to draw desperate breaths through his nose. "This is…this is…God, we'll get in so much trouble but I can't, Jimmy, I can't…you smell so good…" Cassie buried his face in the curve of Jimmy's neck, snuffling and mouthing at the soft skin there. "Not supposed to…not supposed to be like this…"

Knot me, Cassie, knot me, I want it to be you, it has to be you. Jimmy mouthed the words uselessly against Cassie's hand, sucking at the pads of his palm. Growling low in his throat, Cassie reached down to lower his pants, freeing himself without pausing in the hard rhythm. Unthinking, Jimmy did the same, using the hand he'd been pleasuring himself with to tug his pajama bottoms out of the way as best he could. Cassie's cock slipped between Jimmy's legs and Cassie muffled a groan against Jimmy's shirt, urgently rubbing into the dampness that smoothed every movement. The thickened head of Cassie's cock coursed up and down Jimmy's crack as Jimmy's fingers had done minutes before, and where Jimmy's fingers had spread sparks, Cassie lit a bonfire, left Jimmy so hot he could have wept for it, he felt so good. Faint pleading noises died against Cassie's hand.

"If we do this…" Cassie broke into a shuddering gasp, struggling to restrain himself. "There's no going back…it's not the same…not the same as what we've done…what we did before. I need…need you…tell me that this…tell me you want this. Please, brother…please…need to hear you say…" Cassie ground to a halt, chest heaving, panting, holding himself over Jimmy with one hand, pulling the other from Jimmy's mouth, the beginning swell of a knot obvious between Jimmy's thighs.

Jimmy wrapped a hand around his brother's head, buried his fingers amid thick, dark, sweaty tendrils, brought Cassie slowly down so he could sniff at Cassie's scent. Orange and lemon and lime swirled together, sweet with sugar, flavored vanilla and cream and butter. Smelling it wasn't enough, he needed to taste, to be enveloped, and he nipped and licked at the glands as his hips chased the wonderful feelings lost when Cassie stopped moving. He tried to set his other hand on Cassie's cheek, but Cassie stared at it like he was starving, eyes wide and dark in the unlit room, and mouthed at the fingers with soft lips, sucking down the slick coating them. Trembling with the difficulty of keeping still, Cassie choked back whimpers deep in his throat, converting them to guttural grunts that were even more of a turn on, and didn't stop running his tongue along Jimmy's hand.

God, he's perfect, he's always been perfect, he'll always be perfect. No one but you, brother, no one but you.

"I love you, Castiel," Jimmy breathed the words he'd nursed his heart for years. His brother spasmed against him, bit back a sob of pleasure, barely aborted another thrust. "Be my mate." A possessive noise rumbled low in Cassie's chest. Jimmy pulled his finger from Cassie's mouth, smeared a line of saliva and slick along his cheek, drew his brother down and kissed him. Tentatively, Jimmy ran his tongue over Cassie's lips. They'd rarely kissed, never open mouthed, but there wasn't the least hesitance as Cassie opened for him. Their tongues flicked wetly together and the mingled taste of himself and Cassie, similar yet subtly different, flooded his mouth. Slowly, confidently, Cassie began to pump his hips again. The kiss ended, Cassie pulled away slightly, and they stared into each other eyes, heartbeats and breathing matched quick and needy.

"Someday," promised Cassie. A fumbling, uncertain hand reached between their bodies, ran with trembling curiosity over Jimmy's slick pucker, wrapped around Cassie's cock to line them up. Jimmy couldn't stop himself shaking in pleasure and anticipation. Cassie did want this too, it wasn't just him, and that meant everything to Jimmy. "Mom says we have to go back to the doctor tomorrow. If I mark you now, they'll see - we can't let them see. But someday…" the blunt head of Cassie's cock pressed against him and it was all Jimmy could not to push against the contact with all his might, not cry out, not to come immediately. "…I will, I swear I will, when we're older. No one but you, Jimmy, just the two of us, forever."

Only Cassie's hand placed back over his mouth kept Jimmy from crying out when Cassie uncertainly, inexpertly breached him. Unspeakable pressure, bliss, and satisfaction rocked Jimmy nearly senseless His eyes fluttered open and shut, showing him glimpses of Cassie's rapturous face, lit pale by the dim moonlight that came through the bedroom window. Nothing else in the world existed. Cassie moved slowly, Jimmy's body unused to being filled, resistant even with the ample slick. Then the head of Cassie's cock stretched him, pushed past straining muscles, and he was inside Jimmy. The resistance vanished and the force with which Cassie had been pushing forward buried himself completely in Jimmy in a single thrust, the sharp tug of a nascent knot penetrating Jimmy's body with a wet slap of flesh against flesh.

That, that was exactly the feeling that Jimmy had craved, and his thoughts screamed perfection and pleasure that Cassie's hand could barely restrain. He'd known that, as an omega in heat, his body was demanding a knot, but he'd no frame of reference for what that truly meant, what it would feel like. Good God, it was spectacular. Cassie's mouth was open wide around an enormous, silent groan, eyes rolling back in his head as his back arched backwards. Every muscle in his body strained towards the place where they were joined. With hardly a pause, Cassie hitched his hips back and pushed back in, his knot swelling rapidly, already large enough that it barely won back within Jimmy, the feeling of it stretching Jimmy's hole even wider leaving him senseless with ecstasy.

It was over in moments. They were both too young, too inexperienced, the feelings were too new, their bodies too sensitive. With only a few hard, ill-controlled thrusts, Cassie's knot caught gloriously within Jimmy and they tumbled into orgasm together, hips pumping, muscles in Jimmy's ass compressing and releasing, mouths pressed to each other's scent points in a frantic effort to keep quiet, the effectiveness of which they were both too far gone to assess.

They stayed frozen for long minutes, bodies pressed together, Cassie's knot locking him inside Jimmy, Cassie's cock filling Jimmy gloriously, sweat slowly cooling as the room finally, finally ceased to feel like the depths of a humid summer day. They breathed as one, they trembled as one, they lay silent, united more closely than they'd ever been before, and the hope that Jimmy had scarce dared nurse in his breast since he and his brother had hit gender puberty finally burst into wonderful expectation. They could have this together, they could share this, against all the odds that said identical twins always, always presented as the same dominance type. Content, happy, Jimmy wrapped his arms around his brother and sighed, easing against the carpet.

"4 years," Cassie breathed in his ear. "Once we're 18, once we're at college, there'll be no one to stop us, no one to see if we mark each other, if we claim each other. Can you wait that long?" Jimmy nodded. He could wait forever as long as they could share this. "No one but you, Jimmy, no one but you…"

"Dean, take your medicine," shouted John tiredly from the living room. Freezing in front of the bedroom door, Dean grimaced. It had been too much to hope that his dad would forget. As long as Dean wasn't reminded, he could pretend his oversight was accidental. As long as Dean wasn't reminded, John could be fooled into thinking that Dean was an idiot instead of deliberately disobedient. Once the reminder came, he ceased to have a choice. For years, Dean had dared to hope if he did what his father wanted, John's obsession with Dean's dominance presentation might fade, but instead he only grew worse and worse. The cost of Dean's medical bills had grown so great that John worked three jobs to cover them, requesting time off and scheduling coverage to drive Dean to his appointments in Kansas City. There'd been a point when Dean had been grateful that his dad worked so hard on his behalf, cared so much about him, was so devoted to him, wanted so badly to help Dean get better. Time had worn away his appreciation. In the two years since his surgery, John hadn't listened to a thing Dean had said nor cared one bit that Dean was growing sicker. As guilty as acknowledging the truth made Dean feel, he could no longer delude himself that any of what John pushed him into had anything to do with what Dean needed or wanted. Despite that, he couldn't bring himself to stop. The consequences of disobeying his father frightening him too much, especially the impact that any rebellion on Dean's part might have on Sam.

"Doin' it right now, dad," he lied unhappily. Sighing, he crossed the hall to the tiny bathroom. He'd been feet from escape, inches, from getting in the bedroom and locking the door. John wouldn't pester him if it meant waking Sam up. Thank God, John was so invested in Dean that he didn't pay any attention to Sam and the early signs that Sam was likely to be omega. Like I would have been. He quashed the thought. There was no way to know that. Increasingly, dread tightened his chest when he thought about Sam's future. Though Dean was still willing to strive to be everything John wanted from a son, he could never stand aside and allow John to do to Sam what had been done to Dean. Fortunately, it had been a non-issue thus far. Dean's body had as yet shown no sign of accepting his surgery. The wounds had healed, sure, but he was 15 and he still hadn't presented, despite all the follow up appointments and treatments, despite all the pills he swallowed every day. Nothing would distract John until Dean presented. Nothing would distract John until he was sure that Dean was an alpha. As long as Dean held John's undivided attention, Sam was safe.

The medicine cabinet was filled with a fucking pharmacy worth of bottles. The bottom shelf held the basics – John's vitamin, the gummies that Sam took every day, a worn old box of band-aids, a pair of nail clippers, three tubes of toothpaste, deodorant – but the middle and top shelf were stuffed with all of the orange bottles that had been prescribed to Dean over the past few years. One by one, he took each down and popped them open until his hand was cupped around nearly twenty pills in different shapes and sizes. He hadn't the last clue what most of them did, only that Dr. Alastair sent him home with the slips of paper and no matter how crappy Dean felt, John made him walk to CVS and fill each one, reminded him to take them every damn day. Filling a small paper cup with water, Dean deliberately forced himself to swallow them all in batches of two or three, except the big, vile tasting purple one that he had to take on its own. His thoughts screamed at him not to, to take the handful, throw them in the toilet and flush them, but he repressed the thought and squeezed his eyes shut against the way his stomach instantly twisted. He knew the meds couldn't be making him nauseous that quickly, knew that it was all in his head. He wouldn't actually sick up until he started to digest the pills.

When he'd gotten them all swallowed down, Dean brushed his teeth, retreated to the bedroom dejectedly and crawled into bed. Lying on his side, Dean wrapped his arms over his aching belly, knees folded up and in protectively.

Dr. Alastair said that once his body accommodated to the treatment, the sickness would stop. Dr. Alastair said that this was the only way for Dean to have a rut, the only way for Dean to be an alpha. Dr. Alastair said that he had successfully completed this surgery and hormone treatment hundreds of times, that he of all the doctors in the world had found the way to overcome that which nature intended. Dr. Alastair said that he had carved Dean into a new animal.

Dean hated him.

The first year after his surgery hadn't been so bad. Okay, fine, that was bullshit, at the time it had been pretty damn lousy: he'd gotten a nasty infection, then his body had rejected the graft, and all the while he was trying to get used to all the new hormones in his system. John had flipped out when he learned from Dr. Alastair that Dean was producing slick, and flipped out again afterwards because Dean hadn't told him that he was producing slick. It had been one thing after another, and he'd hated every minute of it, but in comparison to now it had been a cake walk. The day Dean turned 15 without having presented, John arranged for an emergency appointment and hauled Dean to Kansas City on his damn birthday to find out what the problem was.

"We'll just have to up his dosages," Dr. Alastair had said soothingly. "Don't worry, your son is going to be perfect."

"He'd better be."

Life had been utter garbage during the two months since then.

With doses in the morning, afternoon and evening, Dean spent all day sick and could hardly keep a meal down. His clothing hung off his shoulders, his pants low-slung over his hips and ass. On its tightest notch, his belt was still too long now. It seemed like no matter how much he rested, it was never enough. His eyes were permanently gritty from lack of sleep. His body ached, his hair was thinning even as his beard was suddenly growing in like it never had before. He had to shave daily. His cock was sore all the time and hard much too frequently, even by the standards of puberty. The forced arousal the hormones induced twisting unpleasantly in his gut, leaving him as sick on the pleasure as he was on everything else. The faded scars between his balls and his shaft itched and burned. It was impossible to concentrate, impossible to pretend that he felt anything other than terrible. One of his teachers had taken him aside and asked worriedly if everything was okay at home, and Dean had lied and said he was sick but didn't want to miss school. Come to that, it wasn't a lie. He was sick, wasn't that what John always said, wasn't that what all this was meant to fix?

Bullshit.

There'd been a time, when he was 8, 9, 10, when he'd believed what John said: that this was the only way, that Dean was busted and he needed to be fixed, that this was what was best for Dean, that in a decade he'd look back and think it was all worth it, that Dean's life would be better because he was going to be an alpha. It was impossible to believe any more. He'd watched all his friends go through their presentations, seen that it didn't fucking matter who was an alpha, an omega, or a beta. Sure, it impacted who would bear children, who would be a caretaker, who would mate and who would penetrate. Some people were excited, some disappointed, some unsurprised. Some people amended their career plans, some people got pissed, some people got cocky, but it had nothing to do with how they presented and everything to do with their personalities and, occasionally, the expectations of their families. All that presentation bias crap was so last generation. No one gave a shit anymore. Except that John Winchester gave a shit, had always given a shit, had never considered simply allowing Dean to be whatever he was going to be.

He was dozing in bed when the sear of acid burned at his throat painfully. He was heaving into the garbage beside his bed before he'd fully woken up.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam whispered nervously. Dean wished there was something that he could do to stop the boy from worrying about him.

"I'm fine," lied Dean. God, he lied to everyone now. His father hadn't left him with any other options. "Go back to sleep."

Silence stretched out and Dean dared to hope that Sam had gone back to bed. He coughed up more bile, the half-digested pills vile tasting and scratchy as he upchucked them, gritty against his tongue. The room was dark save for the line of light glowing beneath the door. There were no windows, no light, and the space was barely large enough for their two small beds. They'd never had much, not since their mother died and the family was reduced to one income, they'd lived in near-poverty. Even though John worked more now, they had even less. Dean's treatments weren't cheap and few were covered by insurance, and so they lived in a small, ratty apartment in a student slum in Lawrence living on ramen and boxes of mac and cheese. Dean intended to get a job when he was 16, maybe drop out of school, so he could start contributing more to the family. Sam deserved better. His brother was still so small and scrawny – surely Dean had been taller and broader than that when he was 11! – and Dean would do anything to give Sam the life that Dean had never had a chance at.

Dad and Sam have given up so much for my treatments. I should be grateful. I should be appreciative. I should want this for myself as much as dad wants this for me.

The thought was plaintive and hard to credit when he was hacking his guts into a garbage can every fucking morning and night.

"You know...you could stop," Sam broached.

"Sammy—"

"Just because dad says you have to...you don't actually have to," Sam pressed on.

"Go the fuck to sleep," snapped Dean, but it was half-hearted. He buried his head against a crooked elbow, curled fetal around his queasy stomach.

"But Dean..." whine Sam.

"Now, Sam," he barked. It was all Dean could do every day to convince himself to keep going, to keep taking his medicines, to keep going to school, to keep getting out of bed at all. If he had to start convincing Sam too, he'd break.

His brother sighed but didn't say anything else. Dean lay in the silent dark for a long time, waiting for his brother's breathing to return to the steady evenness of deep sleep. He managed to bite back further coughs, choke down further vomit, and the hours til morning stretched out endlessly before him.

...Pale lips traced kisses down his chest, gentle fingers toyed with his nipples, hot breath ghosted over his cock, a sultry tongue licked at the tip, something thick and hard pressed at his ass, stretched him open, his slick smoothed the way...

"Dean!"

Something was shaking him violently. Dean woke with a groan, panting desperately, his erection painfully hard even as pleasure scattered like fireflies across his foggy thoughts.

"Sam?" he croaked.

"Dean, are you okay?" A hand pulled away from his shoulder and Dean went limp against the bed. Sammy's presence beside him was palpable even though Dean couldn't see anything. He had no idea what time it was, but the hallway light was off. John must be out on a late night call for the tow company.

"Fine, Sammy, I'm fine, I..." His hand ghosted to his hardness, movement covered by the night and his thin blanket. Trembling fingers unzipped his fly, reached into his jeans, found the moisture pooled at the tip of his cock, the stiffness below, the swollen knot at the base. Dean moaned hugely.

"No, you're not! You're really sick," Sam said, frightened. "Dean, you've got to talk to dad, you've got to stop taking all those pills, it's not healthy. I looked up some of the labels on Google. Do you even know what you're putting in your body? What dad's doing to you?"

His knot had never swollen before, that was the whole damn point of the medications he was on: to finally make him an alpha, to force him to present, to induce the flesh surgically grafted from his balls to form a knot at the base of his dick to function as if he'd been born that way.

"I'm having a rut," he gasped. "Shit." Even as awful as he felt, the need to touch that sensitive skin was all-consuming. He had to feel, to release, the urge overwhelmed even his self-disgust that he was handling himself with his kid brother only feet away from him. Wrapping fingers around the base of his cock, around the burgeoning knot, he clenched his fist and rubbed urgently. Just like that, just like that, holy shit I'm close, feels so good, feels so...so wrong...oh God...

"You need to go to the hospital," Sam sounded so scared it was chilling, but even that couldn't win through the need and fire consuming Dean's body. He'd only scarce hit gender puberty when he went in for the surgery, and had hardly had an erection since then due to the modifications that had been made to his body and the medications he'd been on. With so little experience, the feelings now were unbelievably intense, bordering into painful, yet he had to keep going, had to stroke and massage himself, had to chase release. "I'm going to get help, I'm going to wake dad up—"

"No!"

The word tore free from Dean as he came hard, cock spurting in his hand, and fuck did he hope that Sam had no idea what had just happened. Panting as if he'd run laps, Dean waited for his heart rate to slow, waited for his frantic thoughts to come under control.

John mustn't know, John mustn't hear, Sam must not talk to John.

"Sam..." he gasped, his vision flashing white again. His empty stomach roiled and he leaned over and retched acid into the garbage can as a second aftershock of orgasm rocked him. The combination was awful and left Dean curled against the mattress. With difficulty, he forced out, "Turn the lamp on. Grab your bag, pack some shit, we're getting out of here."

John can't know.

"What?"

If I've presented, then I'm fixed. If I'm fixed, John will stop focusing all his attention on me. If John isn't focused on me, he'll start noticing Sam. If John notices Sam, he'll spot all the little signs that Sam is probably going to present omega. He'll start to trying to fix Sam.

"We're leaving."

I cannot let that happen.

"Now?"

"Right now. Pack some clothes, quick. Grab some shit of mine, too. I'll be ready in a minute."

I cannot let him do to Sam what he's done to me.

"Okay...okay." That was it. No protest. No argument. No disagreement.

Sam knows it too. Sam knows that it's not safe for him if we stay here.

There was no way to know how long they had before John got home from his tow job. As Sam quickly stuffed his backpack with necessaries and clothing, Dean tugged on his boots and ransacked John's drawers, hoping to find some money, but there didn't seem to be a penny in the house. Dean didn't have any money at all, and when asked Sam ruefully produced a five dollar bill.

God we're fucked. It doesn't matter. We can't stay here.

Five minutes saw them ready to go. Throwing on his leather jacket and tossing Sam his winter coat, Dean grabbed the spare keys from the table next to the door and heaved a sigh of relief as he went out to the driveway and saw that his dad had taken the pickup truck with him and left the compact. If not for that, Dean might have been forced to take the Impala. His father would follow that car to the ends of the earth if Dean stole it.

John would follow that car further than he'd follow his sons.

Once they were on the road, they were soon swallowed into the silence of early morning. The adrenaline surge of his orgasm and his fear wore off, and the harsh reality of how terrible he felt slowly wore on him as he pushed on, driving inexpertly, doing his damnedest to obey the traffic laws for fear of what might happen if they were pulled over. He didn't have a license, had barely driven before in his life, and was obviously underage. At least he knew the trip to Kansas City like the back of his hand, fuck knew he'd done it enough times. That was a big enough city that they could fade away, disappear. No one would find them there. His head ached, arousal and disgust and nausea pulsed through his body, but the thought that they had to get away spurred him on. He couldn't face his father knowing that all that shit had worked, he couldn't face waking up at home in the morning and taking all those pills again, couldn't conceive of allowing Sam, little, innocent Sammy, to visit Dr. Alastair's office. Maybe Dean had needed fixing, but Sam definitely didn't. His brother was sweet and caring and brilliant and trusting and there wasn't a damn thing about him that Dean would change.

Sam sat silently, shadowed face tense with worry that made him look years older than he actually was. The miles seemed to pass in fits and starts, some endless, others passing so quickly that he'd look up and realized that several had gone by. They reached the city in no time. Driving along the highway, the lights of the city twinkling in the dark and illuminating the sky brightly, seemed small in the night, and the belief that Kansas City could make an adequate safe haven fell away.

It's the nearest city to home. It's the first place dad will look. Dr. Alastair is here. Dad has spent loads of time here. Someone will see us. Someone might recognize us. He'll find us, of course he'll find us. After how long he's worked to get the perfect son he's not going to let me go now. I have to get Sammy to safety.

A sign caught his eye, "Omaha, Nebraska," labeled with an arrow pointing north. Without a clue what he had in mind, Dean took the ramp and pulled on to route 29. They'd started with a full tank of gas. There was no need to stop so close to home. They had to get further away, as far away as possible.

They drove all night, until sunlight pinked the horizon, until the fiery orb seared painfully at his eye, until the day grew bright and the sun rose chill over a landscape that grew increasingly bleak and snowy the further north they went. They passed Rockport, Nebraska City, Omaha. Dean had been to Omaha a few times for medical shit before John decided he liked Dr. Alastair best. Remembering his past visit, remembering driving there with John, left him feeling like they were still too close to home. John could still reach them there. Dean kept them moving, grateful that Sam didn't complain, didn't ask to use the bathroom, didn't ask where they were going. Dean couldn't stop, and he didn't have answers to the questions that Sam might ask. They still had nearly half a tank. They could go further.

It was mid-morning when the car gave a miserable stutter and began to slow. Sam was asleep beside him, looking so small and young. Seeing his face, peaceful and relaxed, gave Dean all the strength he needed to push through his fatigue and hunger and nausea and the arousal tingling agonizingly through his body, making him feel like he was on the verge of crawling out of his skin. Dean pressed down on the gas-pedal desperately, but the car didn't accelerate. The odometer still indicated that they had fuel, but when Dean reflected on how far they'd come, he realized that had to be the problem. They'd easily covered 350 miles, the compact had a small gas tank, it was a miracle they made it as far as they had. As traffic sped by them, honking shrilly as the car slowly decelerated, Dean pulled into the shoulder, coming to a stop alongside a sign that listed the next exit: Sioux Falls, 22 miles.

"Come on, Sammy," he mumbled, picking at his brother's jacket.

"Wha...? Where're we?" Sam slurred, blinking against the morning brightness.

"South Dakota."

"Where're we going?"

"Sioux Falls."

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam asked worriedly.

"You were right," Dean said, getting out of the car, walking around to Sam's side and pulling his door open. The cold of the day was shocking. The past week had been unseasonably warm in Lawrence, temperatures in the 50s and even in the 60s, and South Dakota felt frigid by contrast. It was still going to be a long, unpleasant walk. At least the air was fresh and crisp, helping to clear his head, and the chill felt wonderful against flesh buzzed hot by his rut. The landscape was bleak, thick snow carpeting the land, barren brown field peaking through where the wind had scoured away the cover, distant buildings seeming closer as they shadowed the horizon.

"Huh?" asked Sam, rubbing his eyes.

"You were right about dad," clarified Dean. He went in the trunk, fishing for anything useful, and came out with a ragged blanket that he tucked around Sammy's shoulders as the boy buttoned up his jacket and got out of the car. "I don't have to do what he says, and you definitely don't have to do what he says. You're right that I'm not okay. I gotta protect you, Sammy. It's the only thing I can do that's of any damn use."

"Protect me from dad?" asked Sam, and Dean was shocked by how calm he sounded about it, how grown up.

"Yeah."

There was a long pause, Sam standing unmoving beside the car, Dean lingering by the trunk trying to decide if there was a single helpful thing mixed in with the detritus within, and then Sam nodded. "Thanks, Dean."

"Don't worry 'bout it, you little bitch," said Dean, abandoning the trunk and joining Sam, scruffing up his hair. "Grab the bag, we got a long walk."

"Don't be a jerk, Dean."

They started walking. The wind swept across the plains, the sun glowed bright without giving the least warmth, and the side of the road was a mess of pebbles, ice chunks, salt, snow, and road debris. Eyes fixed north towards their destination, Dean put Sam on his right, further from the traffic speeding by them, and started walking at a brisk pace, blood-warming pace.

The first five miles were exhausting.

The five miles after that were agonizing.

The five after that were endless. Sam tripped and cried out, and though he insisted he was fine, his pants were torn, his knees and hands bloody. With stubborn determination, Dean hefted his brother up and carried him piggy back one plodding step at a time, on the verge of falling on his face the whole time. He hurt everywhere, his head spun, his mouth was parched. The morning stretched into afternoon. Wrapped in his warm blanket, Sam dozed against Dean's back, arms around Dean's neck, head lolling on Dean's shoulder. Dead leaves and lengths of brown hay swirled by on breezes that scorched frigid through his clothing and left his skin numb save for light tingling. He still preferred the chill to the heat, it kept his head relatively clear, kept his body calm, helped him focus, helped him continue.

Traffic was shockingly sparse considering how close they were to the city and most of the cars that went by ignored them, though one or two slowed and honked to get Dean's attention. Voices called through rolled down windows asked if they were alright, if they needed anything. Dean shook them all away, saying whatever he had to in order to make them leave. Strangers couldn't be trusted. Who knew if they actually wanted to help? Maybe they wanted to take advantage, maybe they wanted to hurt them, or – most likely and by far worst of all – maybe they would try to take them home. Some passersby were more insistent than others, but in the end all drove away. Even as Dean's knees began to shake with exhaustion, the tight knot of fear in his chest began to ease. They weren't far now. Sioux Falls was so far from home, John would never think to look for them there. Once they arrived, they could find somewhere to sleep, they could steal something to eat, they could wait out Dean's rut, and then Dean could figure out a way to rebuild their lives without John.

"Alright, boys, that's far enough," said a stern voice immediately behind him. Dean started, jerked around and collapsed painfully to his knees as his legs refused to support his weight any longer. Sam mumbled something inaudible and shifted but didn't wake up.

A woman in a cop uniform stood behind him, her brown jacket decorated with a thick, fuzzy neckband and a gold star badge like some douche bag out of a John Wayne movie. Her arms were folded below her breasts, her short dark hair mostly covered by a hat. Rosy cheeks grew more pink as the wind kicked up, her lips were curled in a wry smile, and one eyebrow was quirked at him. Parked scant feet behind her was her patrol car, pulled into the shoulder, sirens off but lights circling red and blue lazily. Dean hadn't even noticed someone was driving behind him. God he was tired.

"No," snapped Dean stubbornly, too caught up in his goal to think about how pointless defiance was. He struggled to get his feet under him, but his blistered feet felt swollen and his muscles refused to engage.

"Look, I'm sure your mom and dad have been incredibly unreasonable and that running away sounded like a great idea but you've had your fun. They're certainly worried sick about you, and you it's time for you to go home now," she said. Near-frozen liquid soaked through the knees of Dean's jeans, stinging as the water carried salt into the scrapes he'd gotten when he fell. Sam whimpered unhappily.

"We're not going back – Sam's not going back," Dean growled with all the bravado he could muster. She wasn't a large woman but she seemed so tall standing over him, looking down with an expression that screamed that she had heard every excuse in the book and wasn't having any of his bullshit.

"I get it. Eating your vegetables and brushing your teeth is a pain in the butt," the officer's eyes grew hard. "You're a teenager and no one could ever, possibly understand your pain and how hard life is, right?" She paused to give him a chance to speak, but Dean held silent and stared aggression and challenge even as his stomach rumbled emptily and the arms holding Sam to his back trembled. "Game's over. Don't make me handcuff you."

Events happened faster than Dean was able to process. The policewoman started to move towards him, Sam detached from his back and practically leap-frogged Dean's head, and next thing he knew Sam was standing in front of him, back to Dean, arms stretched wide to separate the police woman from him. She froze, blinking in shock.

"You can't send Dean home," declared Sam. "He's sick, and dad refuses to help him – dad's making it worse. I'll go back if you want, but please, you can't make him. He'll die!"

"Sammy—!"

"No!" Sam snapped over his shoulder. "You're right, you can't stay there, but I can, I'll be fine."

"Woah, boys, hold up. What exactly is your daddy doing?" her eyes narrowed but her posture eased. Far from soothing Sam, her change in stance only made him stand taller, back stiff.

"Doesn't matter," muttered Dean. "All of this is to protect Sam. I don't care what happens to me—"

"Dean!"

"—but Sammy can't be there anymore," Dean's teeth chattered, his breath steamed in front of his face. Now that he wasn't moving, he felt cold to his bones, as if he stood naked before a winter gale.

"Why not?" she asked. "Wait – explanations can wait. You look frozen to death. Get in the car." Neither boy moved. "I won't take you home, at least not yet. We can go back to my office and talk. I won't take you back to someone who is endangering you, I promise, but you are going to have to trust me."

Sam didn't budge. The officer looked from Sam to Dean and back again. Her expression was tough as nails, but there was a softness to her eyes, a confidence, and for no reason Dean could put his finger on, he felt comforted by that expression – maybe she's a beta – and he wanted to believe her, wanted to trust her.

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean said. "I think...maybe she's telling the truth."

"I won't let you take Dean back home," said Sam with all the impossible defiance an eleven year old could muster.

"Where'd you like me to take him?" she asked kindly, gentleness spreading over her face.

"The hospital," Sam announced. "He has been throwing up constantly for, like, months. He needs help." As he spoke, Sam relaxed his defensive stance, and the officer brushed by him to come to stand in front of Dean. A moment later, she dropped to her knees in front of him without any apparent care for the mess of oily run off on the road shoulder that instantly stained her pants.

"Is that true, Dean?" she asked. She reached a hand towards him, and when he couldn't muster the energy to shy away, she set a hand gently on Dean's cheek, encouraged him to keep meeting her earnest expression. Her gloved fingers traced lightly over the hollows in his cheeks, her eyes quickly raked over him, and whatever she saw made her eyes tighten with concern.

"Yeah," he mumbled, ashamed of the confession. "Not the hospital – don't wanna see a doctor, no doctors – but, um, yeah...I've been...sick...kinda sick..."

"Cause of your dad?" she asked.

No, because of me, because I was born busted, because I was supposed to be an alpha and I'm not and that's all my dad has ever wanted for me, because he's given up so much to raise Sammy and I and why shouldn't he want a son he can be proud of? Because...

...No! There was nothing wrong with me until he let Dr. Alastair dose me with all this shit! Why wasn't the way I was good enough? Why isn't the way Sam is good enough?

"I don't think he meant for me to...be like this..." Dean had no idea if he meant his illness or his rut or his induced alphahood or what he'd long ago come to suspect was his biological, inborn omegahood, long since repressed by hormone treatments. The words were true regardless. How Dean was, mind and body, bore no resemblance to what John Winchester had expected from him.

"Okay, then," she leaned forward and, without asking his permission, latched an arm around each of his thighs. Dean squawked in protest but was too weak to resist as she lifted him up with depressing ease in a reverse-piggy bag, his legs straddling her thin stomach, his chest leaning against hers, his head leaning on her shoulder. Even the firmness of her breasts against his body couldn't rouse any interest in him. It felt nice, and this close he could pick up her scent, calming, lavender and aloe like the lotion his mother used to use on her hands. She was definitely a beta. Her body was warm, the arms holding him up supportive and strong, her voice kind and nonjudgmental. In so many ways, she evoked memories of his long-dead mother. God, he was tired. "What's your name?"

Mom would never have let this happen to us. She would have protected us. She would have told dad we were fine just the way we were born.

"Dean…Campbell," he improvised tiredly, latching on to his mother's maiden name as memories of her continued to stir. Can't let dad find Sammy, can't let dad find me. This is nice. She's nice. Dean allowed himself the luxury of melting against her body.

"How old are you Dean?"

"16," he lied. There was no state in which being 15 was old enough to do jack shit, but he'd heard that some places, sixteen year olds counted as adults. If he was really lucky, South Dakota was one such place. "It's my birthday today." Another lie. God, he'd told so many lies over the past few years, I'm okay, I feel fine, nothing is wrong, this is what I want, every one wearing him down, every one repeated so often that some days he wondered what the truth was, if there even was any truth. Maybe it was all a lie, maybe Dean Winchester was one enormous, all-encompassing, endless lie. This lie didn't burn and hurt as his past ones had, though. For once, he lied and felt liberated instead of trapped. For once, he lied for his own sake, not to hide how damaged he was, not to protect his father.

"Happy birthday," she murmured warmly. "It's gonna be okay, Dean. You're safe now. You and your brother, you're both safe now."

He was asleep before she settled him into the backseat of her patrol car.