Castiel is sprawled on the living room couch, propping his left arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. His feet are in Sam's lap and his wife is giving him a foot rub.
As Sam expected, Cas woke up royally hung over, and visibly in pain. It's almost noon and save for water and some paracetamol, he's had nothing else in him. Sam shoots him a sympathetic look every once a while.
Dean and Adam clear out before Cas wakes. He's a little surprised when he finds out but Sam tells him he got it covered to spare him the trips. He totally foresaw that hangover.
He tells Cas how he was rudely awaken by an intensely hot flush from his heat, and decided at the drop of a hat to take Dean to Bobby's, then drop Adam at Castiel's parents. His heat, whose scent is evident, must be giving credence to his story.
Sam skips over the part where he called everyone at ass o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. Bobby is an early riser but Naomi was a bit surprised when Sam inconveniently buzzed her at 7 am, he recalls. In his defense, Sam was confused, overridden with guilt, at his wit's end with Dean, and panicking.
Castiel remains subdued.
"You're welcome," Sam says, giving one of his feet a squeeze.
"Thoughtful, Sam, but you know how much I loathe it when you go out during your heat," Cas says, clearly not pleased.
If there's one thing that Castiel is stringently traditional about, it's this. He prefers Sam cooped up at home when he's pumping slick like this, his heat a constant siren announcing his sexuality to the world. Sure, he's mated, and only suicidal douchebags dare approach a mated omega, but still, suicidal douchebags exist. Castiel would rather have Sam stay inside and avoid coming across these creepy types all together.
"How did Dean take it?" Cas murmurs nearly through clenched teeth. His headache is blinding him, its grip vice-like. His burgeoning rut is also making him on edge, already riling him up.
"Good," Sam says.
"Hold up, he didn't fuss at all?"
"Well, by now, Dean knows it's not punitive, Cas." "Still complains every time."
"I guess he finally gets it," Sam lies, keeping his expression vacuous.
In reality, Dean did actually give Sam hell on the drive to Bobby, but Castiel needn't be told how his son foamed at the mouth and called his own mother "a coward" and "a moralising dipshit"— words that would've easily earned Dean a punch from Sam in the heat of the moment, if Sam hasn't been feeling criminally guilty for harboring sexual desires for Dean to begin with.
Castiel also needn't be told of the sickening new turn that their marriage has taken last night or how his wife spent an hour in the shower this morning under a scathingly hot spray trying to wash off the scent of another alpha so Cas wouldn't smell it on his skin.
His husband is the last vine in the grapevine in this affair, and Sam plans to keep it this way. "Sam, did we have sex last night?"
"What's that?"
"Last night, did we—you know." Cas gestures between them.
"Ehm, no. You went right to sleep after we got back."
"Yeah? 'Cause when I woke up, the room smelled like sex. It was reeking actually."
Sam's heart is beating in his chest at double its speed. He aired out the room a little when Cas was still asleep. But Sam did climax a few times and Dean came on him, and alpha scents are strong.
"Eh, yeah, it's 'cause I'm—I jerked myself off. After you slept. I told you. The heat was coming on strong," Sam says, blushing. "Multiple orgasms. That's what you smelled, I suppose."
"Looks like, yeah."
"Sorry," Sam murmurs.
"Nah, it's hot. You getting off next to me. Who were you thinking about?" he asks playfully. "You, of course," Sam says, with a tight smile. "Who else?"
Cas is too good for him—still blissfully ignorant of the skeletons in the closet of Sam and Dean's evolving relationship. It's painful how much he's oblivious to how his marriage to Sam has become fractured.
And yet they had been fiercely in love with each other once.
Soon, Sam will have to break it to Castiel that his dead-fast opposition to sending Dean away is gone, and that he's willing to discuss options. It's safe to say that Sam's now past the point of denial; if Cas had awoken to the display from last night, it would've been the end of them.
...
Sam and Cas sit in companionable silence for a couple of hours. Castiel nurses his hangover and Sam, laptop in his lap, is reading stuff online.
Sam feels restless inside—partly from his heat and being so close to his alpha, and partly from the guilt racking his brain. The wheels in his head are spinning, trying to gain a purchase on his impossible situation.
He feels disgusted with himself, and a part of him almost wishes Castiel would find out about him and Dean so he'd be sorely and grievously punished.
He deserves to be; he doesn't have an ounce of steel in his spine or else he would've stopped this once and for all. Although, the idea of Dean getting into any kind of trouble over their incestuous relationship makes him feel queasy.
Trouble? Who is Sam kidding?
If Cas ends up knowing, he'll divorce Sam and wring his son's neck. The notion sends an ugly chill down Sam's spine.
Sam surfs the web for self-help websites, but there's nothing much out there about healthily dealing with sexual advances from alphas within one's family—it seems there's a near consensus among the traditionalists that the likes of Sam are breeding holes without opinions or feelings of their own, so it's all obey, indulge, submit.
If one's already mated, it's a different story, and traditionalists are not very forgiving of cheating omegas.
The laws are harsh too, and if an alpha decides to press charges of infidelity, these situations are dealt with in special courts with juries that are almost always pro-tradition.
Progressivists don't pander to these types of topics anyway, being narrowly focused on rights and pushing for liberties and a place for omegas in the social sphere.
In all cases, no one looks kindly on cheaters across the spectrum so Sam's screwed.
He wishes he had someone to talk to, outside of their situation; someone who can help Sam get his life back on to an even keel. He's got friends, but how do you confess incest to anyone then ask for their advice? Sam will come away empty-handed, or worse, severely judged.
There's no way around this: he let his husband down, and there are no do-overs. He'll have to find a way to atone for cheating.
Soon enough, he puts an end to his musings, because, dear God, he's overheated and horny as fuck, and he needs his alpha right about now. Cas not Dean, he reminds himself, and it's quite telling and pretty awful that he has to force the reminder.
At least on the physical intimacy front, Cas and Sam are not a lost cause. It's not as intense as how he feels about Dean, but yeah, he can still get it up for his husband.
Right now, his loins are on fire, and the full body shudders are not letting up.
He wants to blow Cas first and drink up his release. He wants his husband's semen to sink into his skin. He wants to soak up his scent to make up for what happened the night before, and for every wrong thing, no matter how trivial, that led to it.
He gets up, and the rush of hormones is making him sway a little on his feet. He gets on his knees and plants himself beside Cas, still lying back on the couch. Without warning, he starts fondling his husband. He's feeling quite shameless right now. Cas groans; it's his headache, not the touches.
"Just lay back, let me do this," Sam whispers. "It'll get your mind off the pain."
Sam fumbles with Castiel's fly and takes his cock out, and Cas's breath catches when Sam just swallows him down in one go. "What the-" Castiel is startled at first, but his rut catches up, forcing him to get hard despite how dog-tired he is.
As his husband's dick fills up, Sam's pace picks too.
When Castiel is hard as wood, Sam stops for only a second to tell Cas to fuck his mouth. Cas is gentle, at first, thrusting very shallowly, so as not to hurt his wife but Sam is having none of it.
"Harder," Sam says with a puff then takes Castiel's dick in his mouth again.
Cas pumps hard, accidentally ramming the tip of his dick into the roof of Sam's mouth a little too strongly, and a bolt of pain rips through his jaw but Sam won't pussy out. His eyes water, and it gets worse when he start to gag and choke a little on his own spit, but he soldiers on.
This is it, this is what he wants, what he deservers. It's fittingly punishing, Sam thinks.
Cas sits up, gently prodding Sam's shoulder and scrambling back, in an effort to dislodge him.
"Easy, Sam. You'll choke," he says, and his voice is roughened up by both exhaustion and desire.
Sam can still feel him shivering every few seconds from arousal. Thanks to the deep throating, Castiel's base instincts are still very much in gear even if he's getting worried over Sam.
So Sam doesn't quit; he keeps on sucking, bobbing his head back and forth, taking Cas' dick even deeper, like he wants it to clog his airway.
He does almost choke when Castiel (probably can't help it) shoots off like a geyser. Sam can't keep up with the hot rush of semen and starts heaving around Cas's dick. He still tries to swallow the hot release, but he's forced to pull off with a loud pop when he can't. "Sorr-" he begins to apologize but instead, sputters and coughs wetly. God, his throat is sore.
"What the hell, Sam?" Cas says, slumping back in his seat.
"Don't worry about me," he gasps out.
After Castiel freshens up and gets some chow, he wants to talk about it, see if Sam's alright. Cas fears Sam may have hurt himself some with that intense blowjob.
He's not wrong. Sam's jaw does ache and his throat's still burning, but it feels right.
He false-reassures Cas, and calls him a drama queen. Before Cas responds, Sam gets up and straddles him, right there in their kitchen, thrusts his tongue inside his mouth and starts grinding his bulge against him. "Come on, I want you inside me, Cas," he says, his voice all desperate, almost keening. And they end up doing it on the kitchen floor.
During, Sam keeps asking his husband to give it to him rough, to bite him and leave his mark, pull his hair and make it hurt. Cas is reluctant at first, but blinded by how Sam is writhing, moaning and thrashing beneath him, he ultimately gives in.
...
After they're done rolling in the sheets one more time, Cas asks Sam about what really is up. They're lying side by said, tangled up in the sheets, naked underneath, covered in cum and slick,
and completely worn out.
Sam is thinking about how he couldn't get himself to squirt from his hole like he does in Dean's
arms. And he wants to curl up and disappear for how dirty and bad it makes him feel.
"I'm not saying I don't like roughing things up," Cas says, "I just don't understand where this is
coming from. We've always been pretty vanilla." Because it's what Sam wants, Cas thinks.
"Doesn't hurt to spice up the sex, Cas," Sam says, calmly, like it's nothing, like he's not burning hot inside with shame. He's a cheater and a whore, he wants to say. That's why he needs roughing up.
"You grabbed my wrist, pushed my hand against your throat and asked me to choke you, Sam. Is that normal?" Cas asks flatly.
"Just some light choking, no big deal," Sam croaks.
"You said I shouldn't stop until you almost pass out. Doesn't sound light to me."
"Right, so maybe not normal for us, but people do it."
"Is that what you've been looking up online—you know earlier?"
Sure, why not?
"Yeah," Sam lies, and it's the umpteenth time today. "Thought we can introduce some kinks, explore a bit."
"I don't mind, but Sam, throttling you in bed is where I draw the line. Light or not, I'm not doing it."
Sam rolls over towards Cas and lays his head against his husband's chest, worming his arms around him and holding him tight. "I trust you."
"Doesn't matter. It's way out of my comfort zone, Sam."
Shame, Sam wants the pain and the crushing pressure. He wants to feel the air leaving his lungs, as his heart pounds and his throat burns.
"Alright then, we can try something else," Sam says, and he spends the next morning binge reading about the humiliating things he can let Cas do to him.
...
"I want you to rape me," Sam says, between frantic kisses, while Cas is lying buck-naked on top of him, his hard cock poking his hips.
"Woah, what?" Cas says, pulling back.
Sam's face burns hot but he barrels on, not avoiding Castiel's gaze. "Just pretend rape," Sam says, and it sounds nasty even to his ears.
He doesn't sugarcoat it. He tells Cas he wants to be tackled to the bed, and mounted against his will. "I want you to hit me. Hard. You can twist my arm, spit at me, slap my face. Anything you want."
Cas pushes off of him, and there, the moment is lost. Sam can see that Cas' erection hasn't wilted, so perhaps it's not the idea that's a complete turn off, but how new this is to them. Castiel's face is pained though, his features contorted.
"What's going on, Sam?" He asks, exasperated. "I told you-"
"No, I'm sorry," Cas retorts. "It just doesn't make sense. We've been together for, what, 18 years? You've never wanted this before."
"Well, I want it now."
"You just can't spring something like this on me while we're already in bed together."
"I want us to try something different. Keep things interesting, you know."
"Yeah, but since when have you welcomed any roughhousing, Sam?"
"Since today? What, I can't share my newfound fantasies with my own husband?" Sam says and he doesn't know whether he wants to push on or break down, and confess his sins.
Cas breathes in deeply and it looks like he's trying to wrap his head around this.
His wife has a point; Sam should be able to share if he wants to get off the beaten track, no matter how taboo or crazy his suggestion is, Cas reasons to himself. He just doesn't know why he feels he's lost his footing all of a sudden. His Sam is vanilla and also somewhat traumatised by his parents and society. Violence, in whichever form, makes him sick—that's the Sam Cas knows.
Cas can't be blamed if he's a bit taken aback (and maybe somewhat worried) that Sam, out of the blue, wants to be pinned down and mounted as he pretends to struggle, or worse, have the oxygen choked right out of him.
"You're right. There's nothing wrong with speaking up. But let's take it slowly, shall we? I wanna make sure you know what you're getting into when you ask for something or another."
"But Cas—"
"Sam! I'm not shaming you for wanting this, I promise. I just wanna know it's coming from a healthy place, alright?"
Sam nods, touched by his husband's concern and caution. Even in the heart of his rut, Castiel is still sensitive, thinking of Sam and his safety first. Sam doesn't deserve him.
"Alright, come here and kiss me, Romeo," Sam says, and Cas doesn't wait to be asked twice. He immediately seals their mouths together, then slides his tongue into Sam's mouth, and really tastes him. He lines himself up, and pushes into Sam in one hard thrust, then he pumps away, his hips snapping.
...
Some time in the next three days, and after some coaxing and negotiations, Castiel comes around.
Sam gets tied to the bed as Cas pounds hard into him. He gets spanked raw with a wooden spoon until he's tearful. He's rammed against a wall, and held, as Cas fucks him with his fist, and it hurts like a motherfucker, but Sam takes it like a trooper. When it becomes too much, too humiliating,
Sam reminds himself that he's nothing but a filthy, lying whore. He repeats the line in his head on a loop.
With every line they cross, Cas seems to feel more encouraged, and his domineering alpha slowly comes to the surface, until finally, Cas holds nothing back and throws him on the bed, tears his clothes off and takes him roughly from behind. Sam squirms and tries to get away but Cas pins him down with his weight and rams deep into him. He gags Sam with his own torn underwear to muffle his growls and screams. It's perfect in how undignified it is and how much it hurts, Sam thinks.
His tears pour freely throughout the ordeal, his fist gripping the sheets like a vice, and his legs flailing. Later, it's Cas who looks a little shaken, and Sam has to assure him (in a voice made hoarse by screaming) that the tears were part of "the game", that Sam himself got carried away in their role playing.
Whatever they do, Sam often reaches climax but he always comes from his dick, never squirts. His asshole pumps slick, but that's it. It doesn't gush like it does when his son touches him. Only Dean seems to know how to coax this maddening brand of orgasm out of him. Only Dean can make him tremble with it. It feels like another betrayal to Cas, but at least he's trying to make it up to him in other ways, Sam tells himself.
No one gets to dominate him like Cas does, only Cas has the green light to treat his body like this, Sam promises, body bruised and ego shattered. Only Cas, he whispers to himself faintly as his heat wanes and as they settle down and his eyes finally flutter shut after a long day.
No one gets to break him or humiliate him except Cas. He won't allow it.
...
Castiel rings the doorbell to the the upper-class Beaux-Arts townhouse in Coldwater Hills compound—the house he used to call home once upon a time.
He's welcomed inside by Jill, a young maid working for his parents. She informs him that his sister Naomi is waiting for him in the upstairs living room.
He really hasn't been in this area of the house for an awfully long time.
He walks up, knocks before entering, and Castiel lights up when he sees Adam sitting on Naomi's lap.
"Aw, there's my little buddy," he says. Adam jumps off and runs into Castiel's open arms. Castiel lifts up his boy, and goes to kiss Naomi hello.
They chat a bit and Naomi apologetically explains that she couldn't follow through with Sam's instructions on potty training. By Sam's standards, Adam's too far behind. By traditional standards, he's doing OK.
"Mom kept guilt tripping me," Naomi explains, sheepishly. "She says these things shouldn't be rushed. That if Adam prefers being diapered until he's 5 even, we should indulge the boy. You know mom."
"Don't worry about it," Cas says. "I know how difficult this little one can get. He's very reluctant to potty train and we've been pulling our hair trying to make it happen. Well, more Sam than me. But yeah, it's hard."
"It's hard," Adam repeats, like he's part of the conversation. "Is hard for me too, daddy."
Both Naomi and Cas laugh.
"I bet it is, buddy," Cas says.
"Alright, let me change his diapers and then you're ready to go. I packed everything up after you called," says Naomi. "Adam, wanna come with?"
"Yeah," the boy says nodding. "Perfect. Thanks, sis."
"And oh, dad wants to see you before you take off. He's in his study, with brother Hael. They're talking business. Give them five, ten minutes tops, and they'll be done."
Castiel's stomach does a backflip, and he swallows audibly. He was hoping this would be a quick in-and-out.
"Sure, yeah. You go ahead, Naomi," he says, sighing.
Naomi takes Adam away and instead of waiting in the living room, Cas decides to venture out.
His old bedroom is on the same floor. He imagines it's where Dean will set camp if he moves here.
Castiel walks up to it, feeling a little strange and out of place in his childhood home. He turns the doorknob experimentally and it's not locked. He takes one step in, flips on the light switch, and looks around the room—it's a time capsule of his childhood, immaculately preserved since he moved out.
He's got time to kill so he walks inside, and scans the framed family photos on the wall. He stops at one with him and his four siblings, crammed into the frame, and his right hand comes up, about to touch ...
"Reliving the great old days?"
Castiel tosses over his shoulders. It's his brother Lucian, as savagely handsome as ever, leaning against the door frame, plastering on that signature lawyer-smile, the one that never reaches his eyes.
"I wouldn't go as far as calling them great," Cas responds, with a smirk. "Oh, Cassie."
Cas does them both a favor and blows past his brother's use of that silly childhood nickname. Lucian, 10 years his senior, probably still sees him as the shaggy-haired little boy whom he helped put in line. So Cas lets it slide, and pulls up his guard instead.
"What can I say? We're not the Huxtables," Castiel says. Or they are, with a lot of disciplining and browbeating. "We've had some good times. Some very bad times."
The last words are said with an edge, but it looks like Lucian is willing to push past it.
There was a time when Castiel had looked up to his big brother, even followed him around everywhere and hung on to his every word. But that time is more than long gone. Outside of the
few family gatherings that Cas has showed up to over the years, they rarely ever talk. The two brothers haven't been in the same room for at least a couple of years, now.
Their relationship has been chilly ever since Cas eloped.
He fell out of favor with almost everyone back then, he remembers. Cas managed to rebuild his relationship with his mom and Naomi, to an extent, but only years later.
Cas and his other brothers—Hael and Michael—remained distant too. He and his dad has somewhat of a cold war going on, but that preceded Sam. Their personalities always clashed.
"There's been some rumblings. Your boy is moving up here?"
"I haven't decided yet," Cas responds firmly. "Dean's moving out. Perhaps he'll come here, perhaps I'll let him board at St. Apollo, or any of the other ivy schools."
"Didn't think that it would ever come to that, that you'd even consider having your kid here. I mean you bolted at the first chance you got."
"Yeah, well, things change. We grow older. We see things in new light." Cas speaks the words with a small smile, but there's tension there.
He feels weird discussing this with his brother, as estranged as they are, when he still hasn't had the chance to break it to Sam, or warn Dean this is in the cards. He knows Lucian is not encroaching, per se, but it sure as hell feels like it at the moment.
"Does this new light shine on your relationship with pop as well? Or is this part still in the dark?"
Lucian calls him pop, Castiel calls him father; always had.
"What are you talking about, Lucian? I talk to father all the time."
"You call those clipped phone conversations every few weeks talking? Brother, I've been in courtrooms that were less formal. Same goes for how you treat us all, if I'm being honest."
"Be that as it may, Lucian, it's as good as it gets for us. Your pop tossed me out on my ass. And you practically locked the door behind me—"
"You chose to leave us, brother. Besides, I seem to remember a few choice phrases coming out of your mouth the night you left."
"You're even more in denial than I remember," Cas says, but there's no heat behind it. He's not angling for a fight at all. "He may have been a good father to you, Lucian. Still is. But all he's done for me is set the land speed record for messed up childhoods!"
"Don't be overdramatic, Cassie."
Cas desperately wants to correct him. Tell him it's Cas. Cassie practically doesn't exist anymore. Besides, it's patronising as hell. But he decides to save this conversation for later. They're already getting off on the wrong foot.
"Look, Lucian. Point is, don't expect father and I to bury the hatchet and hug it out any time soon. We have a complicated relationship, always did, but ... at least now we're dealing."
"So Dean," Lucian says, backpedaling. "Is he on board with this?" "He doesn't have much of a say if Sam and I decide it's the right idea."
"He doesn't have much of a say if Sam and I decide it's the right idea."
"I see." A pause. "Does this mean you and your omega have reverted?" "Reverted?" Castiel asks incredulously, his face momentarily losing its forced cool. "You know what I mean, Cassie."
"I don't, actually," he says stubbornly, and to his ears, he sounds like Dean.
"That so? Because, to me, it looks like you're having some sort of an about face."
"Lucian. First off, it's Sam, not my omega. He's my partner, not my slave," Cas says, shoulders tensing despite knowing that referring to omegas plainly by their sexual gender is only un-PC in his circles. In the seedy underbelly of traditionalism, Sam would actually be referred to as his bitch.
"Noted," Lucian says cooly. If there's any hint of mockery there, Castiel doesn't sense it.
"Second off, he and I? We're still the same people we've always been. Nothing's changed on that front. Won't ever."
"So you do know what I mean," Lucian says with a smile that is neither fond nor unkind.
"Hey, you wanna wake sleeping dogs?" Cas says, shooting him a harsh look. They've learned to carefully dance around their differences over the years. Cas doesn't think they should stop now. Lucian seems to be on board because he backs off a notch.
"Alright, chill," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."
"You didn't," Castiel huffs, not wanting to give Lucian the satisfaction of seeing him agitated, but feeling he just did nonetheless. "Just please, don't assume things from here on."
"Sure, brother. Whatever you say," Lucian says, one side of his lips quirking, at least half-amused at Castiel's growing chagrin, and it's quite typical of Lucian, Castiel thinks. He's the only one who knows exactly which buttons to push. Cas wants to tell him to grow up, but he bites his tongue. He doesn't want to sound like he's 10.
"Thank you."
"I mean, as long as you don't mind our lifestyle, we won't mind yours. If Dean moves under this roof, however, it's pop's house rules all the way and nothing else."
"I'm aware."
Instead of letting the conversation drag on, Cas opens a connecting door and moves to the adjoining room. It used to belong to Naomi, but when their brother Hael moved out with his wife to a multi-million-dollar maisonette, she lay claim to his room—more spacious and opens up to a large, luminous terrace—and now hers is empty.
Of his four siblings, Lucian and Naomi are the ones who remained here - Lucian by choice (he divides his time between the family house and a private penthouse that he owns in the city), and Naomi because she's not allowed to leave until she's married off—if she ever is. In traditional families, alpha girls are still married off, and their fates are, more or less, decided by the head of the household.
Knowing his mother, she will most probably remove the bed from Naomi's old room, refurbish it
and give it to Dean too. Connected like this, Castiel's and Naomi's old rooms will feel like a separate apartment. That is, if Dean ends up moving here, as per Plan B.
Or is it Plan A? Castiel doesn't have the faintest idea. He'll have to talk to Sam first.
His attention shifts back to the ridiculously large rooms and they make Castiel feel uneasy: Dean's move from their modest house, and his relatively small bedroom, to Cas's childhood home—a seven-bed sprawling townhouse with dark interiors, arched doorways, custom-designed furniture and a small flock of live-in housekeepers can prove to be more than a little unsettling.
Castiel lived here. He knows how it feels: jarringly lavish, never warm or inviting. Suffocating. Foreign. Ridden with rules. The luxurious veneer more punishing than comforting.
The traditional alpha-omega-specific habits, and the underlying sexism therein, are the cherry on top.
If their situation were different, he'd never let his older son touch this over-the-top lifestyle with a 10-foot pole. But Dean could use a firm hand. Besides, Sam and Cas' well-baked plans for Dean, in line with their choices and philosophy, have been set askew ever since Dean turned full alpha and showed, in actions and sometimes in words, that he wanted something different.
He heard Lucian stepping up behind him.
"You broke with tradition, kept us out of your life for years, rebuffed all our efforts to go back to what we were before, even after pop took you back," Lucian starts again, reciting Castiel's greatest hits like he's keeping a running tally.
It seems that Lucian's never going to let him live this down and he has the gall to call him overdramatic. Cas doesn't even know why his brother is doggedly dwelling on the past right now. It seems they're going in circles.
He zips it, however, and patiently waits for the crescendo.
"I don't even know what the inside of your house looks like, Cas," Lucian barrels on. "But trust me, if Dean ever makes the move here, he'll be looked after. We're still family, you know."
His brother's voice is casual, but his gait is formal. His hands are tucked in his front pants pockets, shoulders straight, like a lawyer negotiating a deal. He fixes Castiel with a steady look, and for a second, Cas feels like the "baby brother" again, Cassie, his big brother looming large over him, boring holes in his brain, and sifting through his thoughts.
"Yeah," Cas answers succinctly. He doesn't need any reassurances from Lucian.
For all their differences, Castiel knows that his mother loves him, and, on some level, the rest of his family does care for him; they'd never hurt Dean, not on purpose at least. He wouldn't have considered moving him up here for a second if it were any other way. In fact—and it saddens him to say it—his son will probably warm up to their ways.
"Anyway, I'll go check on dad and Hael. See if they're done," Castiel says, and pushes past his brother. "Nice talk."
When he's out in the hallway and away from Lucian, he finally feels he can breathe again. ...
Cas would like to grease the wheels with his father.
For Dean moving up here to ever work out (with Cas slipping in some of his and Sam's rules too), he'll have to be as agreeable as he can in the next juncture.
Heading towards his dad's study, Castiel tries to will his posture into becoming less defensive. His shoulders are kinda stiff so he relaxes them, and he stretches his neck to relieve the tightness at its base. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He can do this. He won't get vexed and won't argue.
...
He and Hael brush shoulders as Cas moves into his father's study, as cold and unnerving as ever. The brothers nod towards each other and reluctantly stop for a few seconds to observe the niceties.
"Castiel."
"Hael."
"I trust you're well."
"All good. You?"
"Can't complain," Hael responds, with a polite smile.
"Great," says Cas, returning it.
"Sorry, I gotta run. See you around, Cas."
"Take care then. Send my regards to your family."
"And mine to yours, please."
His father, as imposing as ever, is at his large mahogany desk, still looking over some scattered papers, his reading glasses perched low on his nose and tilted.
Castiel clears his throat to get his attention.
"Father," he says.
"Sit down, Castiel," Henry says without so much as a glance in his direction.
Castiel takes a seat, and waits for him to finish reading. Of all his brothers, physically Cas looks like his father the most. They're both six-feet tall, solidly built, with raven black hair—though his father's has morphed to silver as he aged—and those signature piercing blue eyes. The ironic thing is that they couldn't be more further apart as people.
Castiel's worrying his lips between his teeth when his father finally puts aside the papers and takes his glasses off, his eyes moving to Castiel's face and boring into him.
"It's good to finally see you," his father says, his face straight, looking him up and down. Knowing his father, it could mean anything from I don't see you enough and it's your fault, to you're an ungrateful little shit.
"It's good to see you too, father," Cas says, tilting his chin up.
He waits expectantly for his father to say something, but he doesn't.
"Ehm, Naomi mentioned you wanted to talk," Cas says, because even these few seconds of silence are stretching his patience.
At his son's prompt, Henry jumps straight into it, making Castiel's head spin.
"The Lupercalia. It's in 7 weeks. As agreed, you'll be there with your family so I'd like to set some ground rules," he says a little harshly.
"I'm listening, father," Cas says.
"The first rule: No politics. None of the 'progressive' talk at any of the functions. Zero tolerance, Castiel. Least of all during dinners with the other families," Henry says. "Never slip up, and don't ever think you're too old to go over my knee, if you do."
Castiel swallows his pride and burning desire to lash back, and nods slowly instead. The other families will probably be free to talk Alpha-omega politics all they want, even throw snide comments at his and Sam's lifestyle if they so choose. He won't be allowed to defend it or himself, that's all. This is what his father is essentially saying.
But he promised himself he'd indulge Henry.
"Fair enough," Cas says, when there's nothing fair about it. "That can be managed, father." "Is Sam familiar with the event? I know his family is traditional as they come."
"They are. But as far as I understand, the Campbells follow Pan. And it's a different ritual altogether, father. We mark it in the spring, they celebrate in the fall. We party. They go hunting, and camp in the wilderness for a few days. And it's only Alphas who're invited to take part in their Lupercalia so naturally, Sam's never been to one."
"Hurm. The Campbells are good people. I guess sometimes, the apple does fall far from the tree."
There are so many things Castiel wants to say to this, but he bites his tongue and chooses the path of least resistance.
"I don't know about that, father. Sam doesn't have very fond memories of them."
"Anyway," his father says, waving a hand. "Here's something else you should do: help him get familiar with the practice, Faunus, the feast ... so he knows what to expect."
"Neither of us observe these things," Cas says. "But I imagine Sam would enjoy reading about the folklore-part anyway. I'll get him a book or something. Do you mind if I borrow one from your library?"
Henry takes a moment to come to grips with this, before moving past it, unlocking his steady gaze from Castiel's as he does.
"Help yourself. Moving on. We'll be staying at the Sunset Ridge for 10 days. No kids under 16 allowed. I expect you to be there for all ten," Henry says.
Sunset Ridge is their estate up in Telluride. A sight for sore eyes. Really, it steals one's words away. Lying within 40 acres of land on a private peninsula. Surrounded by mountains and overlooks a few ponds. Sullied by awful memories.
Castiel hates it.
"But father, there's Adam, and I can't be away from work for that long. I just got promoted, and I don't think I should—"
"—Castiel!" Henry says, his voice raised. "Son, let me make it clear, in case you misunderstood what's going on here. This wasn't a suggestion, and this is not a negotiation. You just got handed down a rule. And I'm not a big fan of disobedience. This is your son's first Lupercalia as an Alpha Winchester. We'll do this right. So, put your affairs in order and make it happen. Show some respect."
"Yes, father," Cas says, his lips pursed. See, totally agreeable. Not vexed at all. He meets his father's eyes though, without flinching.
Pushing his advantage, his father continues: "You'll be present for all meals at the main table. No shutting yourself out. On the eve of the Lupercalia, we'll dine at Samuel Colt's. This year he's hosting. Don and Maggie Stark's son is also an alpha coming of age. He'll be celebrated too. We'll be joined by the Braedens. The Talbots. The Vanderbilts. Samhain and a couple of his omegas. His wife can't make it. Bobby Singer of course, and Caleb too. Father Delaney and Jim Murphy. Cain and Collete Mullen. And oh, Lilith and Alastair."
Mostly old money families like them. And incidentally, a collection of Castiel's least favorite people on the planet, except for Bobby and Pastor Jim. He knows his father is proud of Dean—or rather, proud of officially adding another alpha to the family tree. Still, Henry is emphasising the importance of this mainly for his son's sake, but Castiel is already dreading the Lupercalia, and all the small confrontations and big discomforts it can bring.
His father proceeds, "On the day itself, there will be a grand feast at Blue Earth Church and more families will join. You remember your first Lupercalia? It means something to us."
"Right," Castiel huffs.
"Optics are of grave importance at events like this, Castiel. I expect your wife to look the part."
And here it comes.
"I'm sorry I don't follow. Look the part?" Castiel says, his defenses coming up and it shows in his tone. "Look the part how?"
"The least he can do is not look like an alpha that smells like an omega," Henry barks at him. Sam has always been a sore spot for his father. "Not in your realm, but some people get offended by this."
Sam will murder Cas, and then bury his lifeless body at the foot of those beautiful Telluride mountains, if he ever goes along with this.
"What, you want Sam to wear a dress? We both know that's not gonna happen, father."
People dress up for the Lupercalia and the gender differences are usually very pronounced in the dress code, almost vulgarly so. But Cas won't push this on Sam.
"Omega dress robes or a kilt will do," Henry says dismissively.
"Tall order," Castiel blurts.
Henry stares daggers at him, his eyes darkening. Castiel takes a deep breath. He tries not to let this —his father, the atmosphere, the talk—get his under his skin. "Look, father, I can promise to run it by him, and see how he feels. It's his decision after all," Cas says, and he chooses the last words
deliberately. He knows he's rubbing it in.
"I'm sure I don't care for your tone," Henry says.
"No disrespect, father. I'll suit up. But I can't force my wife into anything. It's not how we do things in my household. If he doesn't want to abide by the traditionalist dress code, I can't make him."
As far as Cas is concerned, the bargaining scope is not wide when it comes to this issue. "Can't or wont'?"
"Can't, won't. Both, either. Does it make a difference?"
Henry shakes his head, and looks away.
He's displeased, but he's not exploding in his face. And Castiel will grant him this; it looks like his father is actively restraining himself too. Castiel respects that he's trying, struggling even, to put up with their differences and to make this as civilized as possible.
Sometimes his father is a typical knothead, and sometimes, like now, he's patient enough that Cas can almost, almost forget he has a few omega mistresses on the side and that he used to be a member of an elite S&M Alpha-Omega club as a younger man ... one that incidentally, Lucian (he hears) is a regular at.
"Will he at least be on suppressants? We don't need him distracting people."
By distracting, his father means tempting, and by tempting, he means asking for it, as some alpha douchebags think omega men always are.
When they're pounding alcohol and feasting, alphas' hands can wander, and their judgement can get clouded. Especially during the Lupercalia. It's like spring break for alpha-omega adults. The lavish parties can turn lewd, and some people exhibit and scene without shame, and though Castiel doesn't plan to be part of any of this being so far removed from this lifestyle, he won't be able to control his surroundings at all times.
At the Lupercalia, they'll be neck-deep in the armpit of traditionalism. Castiel attended only one but it's still etched in his memory.
"I don't like him being on suppressants, but I think Sam won't mind if it's absolutely necessary. ... You think it is?" Cas is now genuinely asking, getting a little perturbed.
"We're not barbarians. You'll be around some of the best in this country. I don't have to explain the ABCs of who we are, and who we know, to my own son. No one would dare make any serious advances towards your omega, but omega scents are quite strong, enticing, even intoxicating and yours is a man, so it's double the trouble. Use your imagination a little. The scent may invite some touches, some words. People will be happy, drinking each other under the table. Most families there are very open. Expect some propositions to share your wife, even."
"That's outrageous—"
"The fainter the scent, the more you'll be at peace. That's all I'm saying. I don't like suppressants either. They're against nature. I'd suggest using a collar, or public reclaiming, but I know you're a snowflake. So here we are. ... I'll leave this to you to sort out."
So basically, Cas is being simultaneously asked to put his wife in a skirt to flaunt his omega, while
keeping his scent smothered in order to fend off the voyeuring drunken pervs and the sexual deviants "among the best people in this country." Either this or he's left with the revoltingly embarrassing option of mounting Sam somewhere public in front of strangers, family and friends as a preemptive measure, or wait, collaring him like cattle.
Such a lovely culture, Cas thinks sarcastically. He can hardly wait for all the festivities to begin.
After a beat, Castiel slants a look in his father's direction. His father is giving him his time to mull this over, and Castiel thinks perhaps this specific forewarning is his father actually accommodating him and Sam. He's obviously trying to spare them the unwanted attention, and he thinks that being blunt about it like this will ease Castiel in, or at least give him a heads up.
If he wasn't so uncomfortable, Cas might even appreciate the gesture. In another life, maybe. "I'll talk to Sam about the pills."
"You see to it, then. Questions?"
There's no way Cas can broach the idea of bringing Dean here, right now (frankly, he's not even sure he wants to anymore. He'll have to scope out all the possibilities first), so he just shakes his head.
"No. Thank you, father."
"Great. Tell Dean he should come visit his grandpa more often," he says gruffly.
"I will," Cas responds, standing up.
"Take care, now," Henry says, and he's already popping open his laptop, and it lands like a Dismissed on Castiel's ears.
Well, it still went better than he thought it would.
They had a conversation of sorts. It wasn't all one sided—sure, the bar is low, but this is him and his father. Therefore, all things considered, this wasn't entirely disastrous.
Castiel hurries out and goes looking for Naomi. He wants to fetch Adam so that they can be on their way.
When he does, he's out of his childhood home along with his son as quick as he can. He feels like he wants to take some time to recover from the two short but strenuous conversations he's had with his father and sibling before he sees Sam again, so he swings by the nearest grease pit, orders burgers and fries with Adam and just kicks back.
He soaks up the neighborly feel of the place, and how down-to-Earth and noisy it is, compared to where he just came from.
Since Dean is coming back home tonight, Cas orders some pie to go before he settles the check— a sort of a peace offering to his son.
Then Castiel drives them back to Sam, to normalcy, to the familiar. They'll watch Netflix together, Castiel thinks, and when the kids are asleep, they'll slip out of their clothes, go to bed and cuddle. Everything will be alright with the world again.
...
A few days later ...
Dean is turning 16 in less than a week.
Cas and Sam want to buy Dean a car for his birthday—well, Cas more than Sam. The latter is still nervous about Dean driving so he's not as enthusiastic.
Cas calls Dean into their living room and sits him down to discuss it. He can't just spring a gift like this on his son without getting his opinion, not with Dean being the car enthusiast that he is.
"I was going to surprise you but I thought I better not. You're not a kid anymore. So the least I can do is let you choose your wheels. You gotta have a say ... Besides, you've been quite unpredictable lately with your likes and dislikes. So better leave this in your hands. But nothing too expensive, De. I'm on a budget here."
"Awesome, dad. I've got something in mind, actually. It's at Uncle Bobby's." "You've got an eye on something in a scrap yard? What, a piece of junk?" "Dad, it's anything but piece of junk, trust me. Let me show you, please." "Alright, how about we swing by tomorrow?"
So they do. ...
When they're at Bobby's the next day, and Dean shows him, it's clearly not what Cas expects to see. It's a dented 1967 Chevy Impala. Black. Leather seats. Hard top. The kinda car a bad boy would drive (and eventually crash).
Cas quirks an eyebrow and gives his son an Are you kidding me? look. Dean responds with a shit- eating grin.
Cas circles it, inspecting it, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt.
It's in great shape, a beast of a car, and it's got attitude, like his son. But Cas is on a budget, not a shoe-string budget. He can afford something more high-end for his son, certainly something better than a car manufactured at least three decades before Dean was born.
"Dean, are you sure about this?"
"100 percent."
"Dean's right on the money. It's a Rottweiler of a muscle car, Castiel," Bobby says.
"It's on a league of its own, dad!" Dean barges in, and it's been a while since Cas had seen his son this hopped up—he's eyeballing the Impala like it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.
"It's the kinda car that when people stop next to at the light, they lock their doors," Bobby says. "Wait and see how she looks when I bang out the dents and give her a spit shine."
Castiel doesn't doubt that if anyone can restore this monster of a car to its mint condition, it's Bobby.
Bobby opens up the hood. "390 four barrel, 385 horses. A little TLC and this thing is cherry," he says.
"The standard is 275 hp, but Uncle Bobby upgraded the horsepower quite a bit with an engine rebuild," Dean explains.
"Added a disc brake kit to the front wheels too, brand new suspension ..."
"He also retrofitted a power rack and pinion," Dean cuts in again, filling in the gaps.
"Six inch travel, so top of the line," Bobby says. At Castiel's blank expression, he elaborates, "We're looking at smoother, more responsive steering here. Better maneuverability."
"Oh. And a new $2,000 AC system," Dean says with a wink.
"It's sealed off well, too. So you won't have to worry about venting coming through the doors," Bobby adds.
Bobby and Dean continue their back-and-forth, giving Cas a run down of the car's specs, fuel efficiency, all the upgrades, the whole nine.
Castiel only understands half of it. But he's impressed with how his son seems to know the vehicle inside out. In one of his past lives, Dean must have been a mechanic.
He's also surprised at how much Bobby has invested in the car to begin with. It's like he used the original as a skeleton to build on, and turned it into this beautiful, powerful thing.
Dean calls it a "work of art". Cas wouldn't go that far, but it is indeed a labor of love. "Top speed?"
"98 to 100," Bobby shoots back.
"Not bad for a car this old."
"And it's not just in theory, I gave it a trial run," Dean says excitedly. "Goes from 0 to 100 in five seconds. Dad, you can chase demons with this baby. It's probably 40 but goddamn, it's still badass."
"Not helping the decision-making, Dean," Cas says. "I don't want you ever going over 60 mph. And that's an order."
"Yes, sir," Dean says, with a smile.
"Also, you better watch your language around me, young man."
"Sir, yes, sir."
Castiel is barely covering a smirk. He knows he's being petty. It's not like Dean doesn't say worse things in front of him. Dean seems to know it too, and it's why he's giving him cheek.
Castiel just stares at the car for an extra minute. Honestly, Cas was thinking along the lines of a Toyota Prius, a Subaru, a Chevy Cruze or even a used Buick LaCrosse. Safe choices all of them. He wanted something fitted with some new technologies that can help them avoid accidents—a modern, decent car with blind spot monitoring, automatic braking and the ability to set speed restrictions. Something more suitable for a hot-blooded teen like Dean, so he and his mom won't have to endure panic attacks every time he's out and about.
But it looks like his son is only interested in this passion purchase, and Castiel did make him a
promise. Whatever he likes as long as the price is not over board. And it's not, by a wide margin. Besides, it's not perfect, but with all the numerous upgrades, conversions and the brand new parts,
Cas gotta admit it looks reliable.
Man, Sam won't be happy about this. Cas is married to the alpha-iest omega in town. Multiple Helicopter-Parent-of-the-Year award winner. He'll probably tear him a new one when he knows about this monster of a muscle car - upgrades or not.
When it comes to their sons, Sam can be quite picky ... and pretty scary. "So?" Dean asks.
"Final verdict?" Bobby says.
"Let's do it."
"Yeah!" Dean and Bobby say together.
Dean gives Bobby's fist a bump and after a moment's hesitation, hugs Castiel. It's very brief, their chests barely touching, and Castiel wonders if his son feels uncomfortable being close to
him, because it feels like it sometimes.
It's partly Castiel's making; they're used to spending days without any meaningful contact.
Castiel takes Bobby aside to discuss payment, but the man won't have it. He refuses the very idea of taking a penny from Cas.
"Argh, you're a fool if I ever saw one. I'm not taking your money." "Bobby, don't be ridiculous. Of course, I'm paying."
"Look, I meant to give it to Dean anyway. But only after talking to you, of course. I pimped her up for him. Besides, the boy already worked on this car plenty."
"Be that as it may, it's my gift to him. It's his 16th. That's big, Bobby. He's not gonna come of age everyday. I gotta at least chip in, you know," Castiel says, and really, the cost is nothing to him. It's probably less than half of what he'd planned to pay for a brand new teen-friendly car.
"Pick him something else, then. Besides the Impala."
"Bobby, come on—"
"Tell you what? He doesn't even have to know it's from me."
"Well, that's not fair."
"Cas, for all I know the car's always been Dean's. D'you know the kid named her already?"
"That so? What does he call it?"
"Hey, don't let him catch you speaking of her like some inanimate thing. It's a her, and it's Baby according to Dean."
"Baby?" Castiel huffs a laugh. "Wow! Frankly, I thought he was a little too infatuated. Didn't realise he went ahead and fell in love."
"You see the way he fawns over her?"
Castiel laughs because he did, and what he's seen? It edges on being lust. "Yeah, like he wants to marry the thing and have her babies," Castiel jokes. "Idjit," Bobby says, and he means Dean. It's very fond.
Cas is suddenly reminded that Bobby sort of considers himself a second father to Dean. He really is always happy to step up and take care of him when Sam's in heat. And he's always been patient and very kind to his boy.
He can understand where it all comes from. Bobby had quite a rough upbringing and he lost his wife to cancer a few years back. No siblings. No children. Besides his car, and a couple of friends, Bobby doesn't have much of anyone else besides Castiel's family.
They're not actually family by blood, he's sort of an "honorary relative" who was taken in by Henry Winchester's cousin Charles.
Charles had unofficially adopted him when Bobby Singer's old man, who was working on Charles' ranch, shot himself. Bobby was a young teenager at the time.
"Family doesn't end in blood, boy," Charles had told Bobby back then.
Ever since, he'd been considered part of the family, a "third cousin" of sorts who's always been around, always present at big family functions. He'd inherited a sum of money when Charles had died, but his wife's illness had exhausted most of the funds.
If gifting the car to Dean means this much to Bobby, perhaps Cas should make him a part of it. ...
In the end, Cas and Bobby agree to split the cost 50-50. Cas, of course, doesn't forget to tell Dean that the gift's from Bobby too. Dean thanks them both profusely.
They go for a test drive, Dean can't wait to get behind the wheels apparently and Cas has to admit that he's excited too. The car is huge and intimidating, and a little eccentric for a teen, but it's smooth. The seats are comfortable, and it looks like the engine rumble is music to Dean's ears.
They'll have to add an ipod jack though. Castiel can't imagine Dean listening to cassette tapes. When Cas suggests it, Dean grimaces, however.
"It's not necessary, dad."
"But who listens to tapes now?"
"Well, maybe I should start. I listen to classic rock bands. Bet I can find their cassettes on ebay." Cas raises an eyebrow. "Really, you'd do that?"
"Sure. I mean we're supposed to take care of this sweetheart, not douche her up."
Cas barks out laughing. Yup, the boy's in love alright.
"Fair enough. Your car, your rules, Dean."
"Hell yeah!"
They can't drive it back home yet. There's still minor repair work left (Bobby will hammer out those dents too). There's paperwork, and Bobby still has to transfer the title and registration to Dean.
On their way back to Bobby's yard, however, Dean is squirming in his seat, and Cas can tell that the kid wants to go faster. A moment later, he does ask Castiel if he can pump up the speed a little and show him what the car's got.
"Sure, why not?" Cas sighs, defeated by Dean's own rendition of puppy eyes—something he inherited from Sam.
His son lights up like a Christmas tree as they gain speed; his eyes full of so much fire. Riding shotgun beside his son, Cas feels like he's finally bonding with Dean. It's their moment. Just a father and his son shooting down the road.
Cas realises that he'll have to sully Dean's happiness soon by talking about switching schools and moving out. It sends a cold chill to his heart, and Castiel almost wants to change his mind about it.
He wishes things were different; that they've had more of this, and less butting heads and arguing. Definitely less attitude, and territorial marking. He wishes the alphas in them would chill some, and stop rearing their heads at every turn.
In the end, Castiel knows giving Dean a chance to find himself and explore a different lifestyle is the right thing. He could use some disciplining too and if there's anything that Ivy schools, or his father's rules, can supply in abundance, it's discipline.
At least it's what Castiel tells himself. It's the alternative version of the other reality: that Dean is changing into something that Castiel is afraid he can't control. That he feels threatened, on a deeper, primal level, and he needs Dean to back off. That Dean is clinging to his mother, and Cas can't find a better, less invasive way to stop it.
Castiel banishes this train of thought before it wears him down, and forces himself to come back to the moment.
As much as it will pain him to see Dean leave, it's inevitable. So he'll just have to enjoy this as it lasts.