FYI - there's a bit partway through this chapter that I think could potentially be construed as relating to non-con. It doesn't. I can assure you there is no past or present non-con in this story. There is no non-con of any kind in this story, or even any dub-con. Just so you know.

Wake up. Take a shower. Get dressed. Go to work at Singer Salvage. Break for lunch. Prank the fuck out of his coworkers. Stay late working on the Impala. Go home. Take another shower. Call Sammy. Order Chinese. Watch Dr. Sexy.

Do not think about the alpha.

Totally think about the alpha.

Take another fucking shower. Masturbate.

Go to bed.

Rinse. Repeat.

So life went.

The wedding was awesome. Sam was an omega, his wife Madison was an alpha, and they were disgustingly cute together. Three different bridesmaids hit on Dean, and he ignored them all, even when they banded together to suggest a ménage-a-quatre

Growing up, Dean had this vision of how his life would be. Everyone assumed he'd show alpha – as opposed to Sam, who everyone figured would be beta or omega – except for Dean himself, he knew exactly what his small cock presaged. His first heat had shocked pretty much fucking everyone, but totally made Dean's day, because finally he could try all the shit he'd been thinking about since he'd been 8 and accidentally stumbled on his dad's porn collection. Sex had become a primary object, and even at 14, getting some proved simple. The reality did not match his expectations. It wasn't that sex wasn't awesome – it was, it so fricken was – but he discovered to his chagrin that it took two months before he stopped smelling the beta on him. The first time he got knotted it was worse. Even now, ten fucking years later, he occasionally caught scent of Benny on himself. That wasn't the end of the world, he and Benny were friends and Benny smelled like fresh pecan pie, but still – they'd just been fucking around, and when Dean still reeked of bourbon and sugar six months later, he decided enough was enough.

He hadn't gotten laid since.

Of course it sucked. It fucking blew epic fucking chunks. But the knowledge that if he messed around he'd continue to smells of everyone he was with kept his damn pants on every time. No one else could smell it on him, at least not after the first few days, but it didn't matter. He could smell it, on his skin, in his slick, around his cock, and while it wasn't gross now, it wouldn't take many partners before the combination of odors became repugnant.

So, he managed. He took heat suppressants. He went out, he got smashed, he danced til he could hardly stand, and then he went home alone.

Sammy mocked him for his nose until he put together what it had cost Dean.

Now Sam talked about his lovely fiancee-turned-wife, waxed eloquent on the success he was having at the archives, and gently, utterly unsubtly tried to hook Dean up with anyone who smelled even vaguely pleasant.

So life went.

A week and a half after the wedding, Dean's willpower cracked and he went back to the Warehouse District.

Without the scent of the club drowning him, it was much easier for him to scent the blue-eyed man. The faded track crisscrossed the area, stronger in some places, more recent or more frequently traveled, fainter others, but fucking everywhere. The dude must have lived there for a while. Dean wandered back and forth, pinpointing the most recent traces, passing through the camp where he found a tent that was thoroughly and wonderfully permeated in the scent of the storm. Stopping outside it, Dean resisted the urge to go in and surround himself in that wonderful smell.

"Yo, Dean!" Henriksen came up to him, slammed him hard on the shoulder, finally tore Dean's attention away from temptation. Despite himself, Dean flinched. Henriksen was stronger than he looked, but more than that, Dean had really been hoping to meet the stranger again when he didn't smell like orgy, and with Henriksen's arm on him Dean was already picking up his scent – an earthy, oily aroma that Dean had never been able to pin down – and that of every other damn person that Henriksen had interacted with since his last shower. "You ever gonna stop givin' me money?"

"You ever gonna stop being the most self-sacrificing son of a bitch I ever met?"

"You ain't bad yourself, you know," Henriksen smiled at him. "It's appreciated, man. By the way, someone asked 'bout you a couple weeks back."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean was shocked to find hope nestled in his breast. It could be anyone, could mean anything, but he wanted it to be...

"How'd you meet Cas, anyway? He's way after your time, only been here...maybe six months?"

"Cas?"

"Blue eyes, dark hair, standoffish, you can't miss him," Henriksen held his hand up at about his own height.

"Right, him." The annoyingly optimistic feeling grew. "Yeah, I met him, he didn't tell me his name. Bullshit attitude, like you said. He seriously asked about me? I hope you told him what an asshole I am."

"Something like that. His full name is Castiel; if he's got a last name, he's never shared," Henriksen gave Dean a sidelong look. "Kinda struck me as your type, as far as I remembered you havin' a type...you always liked 'um tall..."

"As to that..." Dean trailed off, compounding his frustration with himself by fricken blushing. No. It was just a flush. He was a little over-dressed for the weather. "I...kinda came down here...lookin' for him...you know where I might find him?"

"Cas is easy," Henriksen nodded. Fuck it, it was definitely a blush. "Always in the same place by Sandover's, starin' at the ocean. He's kinda weird, but there's no harm in him. Wish I knew his story, bet it's something."

"If I find out, I'll fill you in," Dean shrugged. "Thanks, man."

"Any time, Dean. Seriously – any time."

Sure enough, the blue-eyed man – Cas – was sitting in exactly the same place as the last time Dean had seen him. It hadn't occurred even occurred to Dean to check there, even though it was where they'd met. From everything Dean could see, the son of a bitch might not have moved in two weeks, except that Dean had scented him all over the damn neighborhood.

Dean stopped quietly at the corner of the building, out of Cas' sight unless he turned. Resisting the urge to inhale deeply, Dean instead kept himself calm, one regular breath at a time, catching a little more of that wonderful rain smell each time until he was drunk on it, until it suffused him so completely he could think of nothing else. Slick dampened between his legs. Fuck, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Even if Cas was interested, even if they messed around, when everything went to hell Dean would end up reeking of stormy weather for the rest of his fucking life.

A low growl broke through Dean's horny reverie. Cas was staring at him, glowering. Though his expression was angry and cold, the raspy sound leaking from him was pure fucking sex and did nothing to calm Dean's raging hard on.

"I said, I can't help you," snarled Cas.

"Then why'd you ask Henriksen about me?" asked Dean smugly. He longed to close the distance between them, but he didn't trust himself that close to the gorgeous man, and that was, frankly, terrifying, so he held his place.

"Because I'm an idiot," Cas groaned and dragged his eyes back to the ocean.

"Tell me you don't smell this," demanded Dean.

"You want to know what I smell?" sighed Cas. "You're leaking all over your damn boxers. It's going to make this whole neighborhood smell like clear, crisp winter nights for the next month, and I'm going to have to find somewhere else to sit. Do you want me to flatter your ego? Sure, you smell good, Dean. You smell great. But it doesn't matter. I can't."

"What, you junkless or something?" Dean laughed.

"Or something," Cas said sarcastically, and Dean's stomach plummeted.

"Shit, dude, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." How the hell do you apologize to someone for their not having a dick? God, Dean felt like an asshole. An extremely disappointed asshole. His asshole was extremely disappointed. Fuck, he had to get his head out of the gutter. "Um..."

"If telling you my most intimate secrets will get you to leave me alone, then fine, I'll do it – it'll be easier and quicker for both of us." Unlike last time, when Cas had sounded distant, this time he sounded defeated. "I'm impotent. Erectile dysfunction. Pretty much my whole life. Haven't had a rut in twenty years." Cas' sadness, obvious despite Cas' attempt to speak as if the experience he described had happened to someone else, drew Dean, helped quell his arousal. Dean crossed the space between them as if in a dream, slowly, one step at a time. "I've got all the pieces, they just don't work right. An omega like you...look, you deserve someone who can give you a knot. And I don't mean that in, like, misogynistically. Henriksen said you're a good guy, and you definitely seem like one, and I'd be lying if I didn't say you smell perfect, but that's how I know it'll never work – because you do smell absolutely amazing, and I'm still just..." Cas sighed, slumping back against the wall, staring with fixed dejections at the ground between his legs, so focused he was clearly unaware of Dean standing before him, offering a hand up.

When Cas didn't notice him, Dean dropped to a squat. After a moment's internal debate, he reached forward, put a finger on Cas' chin and encouraged him to look up. Though Cas allowed himself to be moved, his gorgeous gaze remained fixed on the pavement.

"Come on, man, it's just dinner," Dean said.

"You can't fix me, Dean," Cas replied, finally looking up to stare at the ocean over Dean's shoulder. "I'm sick of trying. I'm sick of doctors. I'm sick of side effects on medicines that don't fix the problem. I'm sick of putting myself out there. I'm sick of being a side-show alpha. You're not the first shallow omega who has thought I just hadn't found the right person yet. We've got nothing to talk about."

"Wow, I'm the one being shallow? Maybe I don't care about your dick," Dean said. It was only kind of a lie. If Cas were hard, Dean would have been riding him against the damn building five minutes ago. But he wasn't, and it wasn't as simple as that. "Look, I've got a problem too." Cas looked up at him startled, then looked pointedly at the fading bulge in Dean's pants. "Not that problem." Dean let go of Cas' chin and tapped his nose. "I can smell everything. Seriously, it's fucking disgusting. You said I smelled like a bus last time? You have no idea. That was my favorite shirt and I had to throw it away because I'd be smelling all that garbage on it forever, no matter how many times I washed it. When I'm with someone, it's the same – once and it's like I'm fricken marked, and I seriously just can't. So, I've been alone. Sure, sex is great, I'd love some sex, but honestly? Really, utterly, totally honestly? Like, the most honest I will ever fucking be? I'm lonely, dude, and I'm fucking tired of it. You seem like a cool guy, and if I smell like you...that actually sounds kind of awesome. You smell so clean. I'm not looking for a lay. I'm looking for a friend." Wearing his most winning smile, Dean waited for some kind of reaction, and he got nothing. Cas might have been chiseled from fricken rock. Frantically, Dean fished around for something more, anything else he could say to make the point that he didn't know why but he knew he wanted, no, needed Castiel in his life, but though his thoughts screamed the truth loudly, Dean couldn't bring himself to admit any more. This was already the biggest confession he'd made since he'd told Sam he'd rather be with a male alpha than a female. He needed Cas to say yes, but no more words would come.

"Will ya just go out for a meal with me?" he croaked at last. "If we don't get along, fine, we part ways, no harm, no foul, you never have to see me again."

The silence stretched out, and Dean rose, his legs aching from kneeling, and began to make his slow way back around the building, more disappointed than he'd ever have expected.

"May I take a shower first?"

Stunned, Dean turned around. There was the fucking chick flick moment. Cas was standing unsteadily, looking like a stiff wind would blow him down. The blanket had fallen away from his shoulder, showing his crazy, long, tangled hair, his unshaven cheeks, his wide-shouldered frame grown gaunt from hunger and ill-use.

"Yeah," stammered Dean. "Yeah, sure, and I bet my clothes would fit you, you can borrow an outfit. I can get a room, like I offered last time...or we could go back to my place, if you didn't mind..."

"Let's go to your place," said Cas, breaking into a shy smile.

Dean was utterly screwed.

Castiel was perfect.

Dinner went awesome. Talking with Cas was easy. There were no stakes, and the guy was sweet, funny, smart, casual. Their conversation started with a back-and-forth about where to get dinner – they both loved diner food – and easily segued into comparing quirky diners they'd been to, favorite meals, a chance comment shifted the talk to books, Dean's ring tone turned them into music, and it turned out they had a lot in common, and every topic led to "if you liked this, have you read that? No? Come on!" Dean promised to read Palahniuk, Cas asked with hilarious seriousness if Dean would show him Dr. Sexy, and somehow, after cheeseburgers and pie, they ended up on Dean's couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, Dean practically buzzing with energy as he tried to keep from spilling spoilers while showing Cas the first few episodes of his favorite show. During the credits after each episode, Cas asked the cutest damn questions with his head quirked to one side, and listened attentively to Dean's enthusiastic explanations of the alpha-beta-omega dynamics that made the show so damn interesting.

Heck, he liked Cas so much he forgave the guy when he fell asleep during Dean's favorite episode of the first season.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Cas was brewing coffee and attempting to cook eggs when Dean emerged from his bedroom. They were rubbery and a little burned, but Dean couldn't have done much better, and it was nice – it was easy. They went out to Goodwill to get Cas clothes that actually fit him, and then they went for a walk along the boardwalk along a much nicer section of the ocean, and then somehow it was evening again, they were getting dinner again, they were starting Dean's favorite episode over, it was 2 AM and Dean had work the next day and Cas was asleep on the couch and it was all good.

Without ever talking about it, that became the new normal. Cleaned up and fed, Cas shed the dejection that had characterized him almost as easily as he shaved his scraggly excuse for a beard. He got a job as a checkout clerk at a supermarket, convinced them to match his hours pretty closely to Dean's, and with that foundation, Dean found himself attached at the hip to someone he wasn't even screwing. He'd always resented the possibility of giving up his independence, but with Cas it didn't feel like he'd given up anything. It felt like he'd found his shadow when he hadn't even realized it was missing. Every one of Dean's friends assumed they were banging like bunnies – except Sam, who knew his brother's scent well enough to smell the truth – but it wasn't like that at all.

They were friends.

Dean whacked off daily in the shower moaning Cas' name.

Alright, it wasn't perfect, but it was so much better than anything else Dean had ever had. Coming home to Cas was great, and the way Cas' face lit up whenever he spotted Dean in a crowd or scented him approaching was glorious. They fit, and the idea of not having Cas in his life slowly became inconceivable.

They'd been living together, Dean in the only bedroom, Cas on the couch, for a little over a month when football season started. Dean held a kick-off party, a bunch of their friends came over: Sammy and Madison and Bobby and Charlie and Benny and Ash and some chick named April that Cas had gotten to know. Cas was pretty quiet, minding his own business, occasionally asking cute questions like "what's a down?" or "how many runs is a touchdown worth?" Afterwards, once their friends were gone, they cleaned up, Sam tried and failed to initiate a heart-to-heart about something or other, and finally, blissfully they had the house to themselves. It was important to Dean to be social and hold events, but he hated having large groups over, it always left the place stinking for days afterwards. As usual, he set up the fan in the window and did what he could to get the air moving, got the couch cushion covers in the wash and prayed that the morass of mixed scents wouldn't last too long.

"Did you have fun, Cas?" Dean asked. His friend looked exhausted. More worrisome, there was a tightness in his expression that Dean hadn't seen since those first few days they'd been together.

"Yeah," Cas nodded slowly. His scent spiked, suffusing the room, driving out every other smell as if it were a cleansing rainstorm in truth. Dean swallowed hard, and before he knew what was happening, Cas was pressed against him, his nose snuffling at the short hairs behind Dean's ear, the lips Dean had dreamed of proving to be every bit as chaffed yet soft as Dean had imagined as they brushed against his neck. Dean's heart went nuts, pounding out of his damn chest. Cas lay a hand over it and gently pressed forward, forcing Dean back step by step until the backs of his knees hit the couch cushions and he crumpled into a seated position. All Dean could do was stare at Cas with his jaw agape, wondering what the hell was going on – not that he minded. They froze in tableau, Cas' eyes boring into his, dark blue in the dim lamp light, expression inexplicable because Dean couldn't bring himself to dare hope it was lustful.

Before Dean could process what he saw, what he smelled, what he felt, Cas was in Dean's lap, straddling him, his nose buried against Dean's neck, lips mouthing at the scent glands concentrated along the curve, nudging aside Dean's collar to suck lightly on his clavicle. Cas took a loud, deep breath, then sighed contentedly, the sound shivering down Dean's spine. It took every ounce of willpower for Dean not to wrap his arms around Cas, pull him close, kiss him and caress him and scent him and see what other enticing noises he could draw from the man.

"Cas. Dude. What the fuck?" There was a hysteric edge to Dean's voice. Sure, Dean was totally cool with not banging the hottest, best smelling, nicest fucking alpha he'd ever met. It wasn't easy, but it was night and day to life before, and he was managing. But if Cas was going to start pulling shit like this? Fuck did Cas smell amazing, his scent burgeoning to fill the room, mixing disgustingly with the lingering smells of everyone who had been in the apartment that day. The combination was unbearable and Dean's self-restraint cracked, he nuzzled behind Cas' ear, inhaling deeply the calming aroma of the storm, blissfully cleansing his senses after an entire day surrounded by his friends.

"Cas..."

"Too many people," mumbled Cas, lips brushing Dean's neck as he spoke. He paused to inhale deeply again and Dean could not let himself believe for an instant that the noise that followed was a moan or he'd fricken lose it. "The apartment doesn't smell like you anymore. You don't smell like me anymore. I don't like it."

"It doesn't smell like you," whispered Dean. Cas licked at the dip at the base of Dean's neck and Dean couldn't hold back a whimper. "That's why we did all the cleaning, why the fans are running. It's hard, but the alternative is to never have company."

"It's okay," Cas was practically panting, taking desperate draws of Dean's scent. "You're still here, it's okay. We'll get it smelling right again in no time. I look forward to coming home all day, you know. Nowhere else smells like this. It's you, Dean, it's all you."

"That's not true." Lost in the moment, forgetting all the reasons he shouldn't, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, drew him closer, adored the feeling of their bodies pressed together. It wasn't erotic; it was comfortable. It was home. "It's both of us. I look forward to it all day, too. I hope you'll stay, Cas. It'll smell like you forever. I couldn't bear it if you left, I'd have to move."

"I'm not going to leave, Dean," the beautiful man ran a hand soothingly through Dean's hair, and Dean could swear they fucking melted together, the room suffused with the wonderful scent of a winter storm, the crisp clarity of Dean's crystalline frozen night mixing with the ozone and rain of Cas' thunderstorm to make a nor'easter. "My home is wherever you are. If that's alright with you, I mean...if that's what you want..."

"It's great, Cas. It's perfect."

That night, Cas slept in Dean's bed, curled up close to the edge as far from Dean as he could get, except for his hand reaching across the intervening space, finding Dean's fingers, intertwining them together. He didn't let go all night.

They woke up curled together, Cas' face pressed to Dean's neck, Dean's morning wood twitching against Cas' thigh.

Cas never slept on the couch again.

Cas whimpering in his sleep woke Dean a couple months after they started sharing the bed. Reaching over, Dean shook his friend – his boyfriend? His platonic life partner? He had no fucking clue – but Cas didn't react beyond moaning pathetically. It wasn't a sexual sound; it was pure misery.

"Hey, Cas."

"No," mumbled Cas. "No, please." His voice grew stronger. "Please don't, please."

"Come on," Dean took his hands away nervously, not wanting to freak Cas out further. "Cas, buddy, you gotta wake up."

"No...no, no, no..." Cas thrashed and cried out. Alarmed, Dean got up, afraid that Cas would hurt himself, and straddled Cas, pinning his arms and legs. Cas was only a little smaller than he was and nearly as strong, but Dean had leverage and was actually fricken awake, which helped. "Stop, please, stop..."

"Not gonna hurt you, Cas," Dean said loudly, hoping to break through. "Not gonna let you hurt yourself. Wake up!"

Cas woke up with a start and a gasp, straining against Dean until he had to grip so hard that Dean feared he was going to leave bruises, eyes wide and terrified. "No, Dean, please, don't go, don't go, I'm sorry I'm broken, I know I am, I know it. Everyone leaves, and I get it, I understand, why should anyone stay, there's no reason to stay, but please, please, I can't lose you too, I need you – I need you, Dean!"

Dean felt fucking sick. Letting go of Cas' arms, unpinning his legs, he gathered Cas up in his arms and held him tight as Cas drooped limply, babbling his fears, tears streaking from wide eyes that showed Cas still trapped in his nightmare.

"I know you want more and I'd do anything to give it to you but I can't no matter how much I want to, please, you have to believe me! If I could, I would, I truly would, but Dean...Dean...!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Cas! I'm not leaving," Dean said gruffly, trying to get through to him, but Cas continued on oblivious.

"I'll do anything, I'll try to fix it, oh God, I thought you were different, I thought you weren't like them, I thought—"

"Castiel!" Dean shouted. Cas froze in his arms, trembling in fear. "Look at me, Cas." Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, Cas' eyes came into focus on Dean's face. Cas looked petrified, flinching at the anger on Dean's face, and Dean forced himself to relax. He wasn't mad at Cas. He was mad at every son of a bitch who made Cas feel like he was worthless because he was an alpha whose cock didn't work right. Who fucking cared? Cas was fucking amazing. Over the months, Cas had spoken little about his past, only enough for Dean to figure out that pretty much everyone in his life had walked out on him and abandoned him, even his family, even his friends. They'd all given up on him until he'd finally given up on himself. "You're not broken, Cas."

"Dean—"

"No, Cas. You gotta listen to me. I don't think you're broken. I don't think there's a single damn thing wrong with you. I think you're fucking awesome. I think you're perfect, okay?" The words poured out of Dean, he panted with the effort, his own fears cascading out of control. If Cas got scared enough, would he leave to protect himself, leave before risking Dean hurting him? "Stay with me, buddy, please stay with me."

Don't go, Cas, God, just like you said, I'll do anything, anything at all, to be what you need.

Dean was also trembling now, they were both shaking, breathing hard, Cas' arms wrapped around him. Cas scented at Dean's neck, and then lips found Dean's chin, kissed a line along Dean's jaw, met Dean's lips. The kiss was chaste, promising nothing, but even so, it was absolutely heaven and Dean returned it gently, undemandingly, lips moving against Cas'. They were soft, smooth, and felt even better against Dean's mouth than they'd felt against his neck. Sensation poured through him, coursed through his veins, hardened him no matter how he wished otherwise. The last thing he wanted was for Cas to feel Dean's erection and draw away or grow afraid again. If Cas noticed, he didn't react, instead he deepened the kiss, pressing more insistently against Dean's mouth. It was nothing like Dean had expected – he'd expected nothing, despite the encounter after the opening day party, despite sharing a bed, Dean hadn't dared dream Cas would ever kiss him – but it was perfect, so kind, so warm, unskilled but fervent.

Unknowable time passed in tender kisses, lips meeting lips, no tongue, no need, no urgency, the warm glow suffusing Dean leaving him dizzy and horny but not unsatisfied. It was the most bizarrely sexual, utterly non-sexual thing Dean had ever experienced.

Finally, Cas broke away and lay his head on Dean's shoulder, using his nose to push aside the loose t-shirt Dean slept in, smiling blissfully, scenting Dean's skin. Cas' eyes slipped shut, his breathing grew steady, and Dean couldn't but smile. Gently, he tried to disentangle them, to lay Cas down so he could sleep comfortable. To his surprise, Cas refused to budge, instead tensing his arms against Dean's back, holding Dean close.

"I love you," Cas whispered in his ear.

Dean couldn't answer, it was impossible, but he didn't need to. He tucked his head alongside Cas', enveloped his every sense in a summer storm, and sighed contentedly against the other man.

The next morning in the shower he came so hard he collapsed to his knees.

It was weirdly perfect, weirdly disfunctional, and Dean wouldn't change it for the world.

So life went.

Author's End-Note: This wasn't where I wanted to stop this chapter but I have to go. This story breaks fairly conveniently into halves, and my goal is to get the first half posted today - but while editing I ended up deciding to expand what had been a paragraph synopsis into an entire scene (a smutty, smutty scene) so it's going to take longer than I have right now. :)