The entire story (chapters 1-26 or so) is uploaded on Archive of our Own, under my penname there (ashitanoyuki) so if you do not want to wait for updates, feel free to read there! Apologies-I tend to forget to update on FFN.

Shadows whirled about Dean's mind, suffocating him. He tried to yell for help, but was met with nothing but a harsh, nasal voice. "So pretty when you scream," the voice whispered, cold and slimy in Dean's ear. "Gonna mount you, breed you, make you my bitch so you can never leave. Scream for me, Deano."

The walls were closing in on him, and there was nowhere to run. "Dad!" Dean shouted, begging desperately. "Sam! Mom! Anyone, please, help!"

Dean woke in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his ears. "Shit," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and glancing at the clock. Two-thirty in the morning, and he knew he wasn't getting back to sleep. It had been almost a year since he had had a nightmare this intense. It was almost as bad as the flashbacks he had gotten after the… incident.

With sleep out of the question, Dean kicked away the sheets and rose, stretching his long limbs. He would have had to be up in three hours for work anyways, and if he made enough coffee, he might not hate life by the end of the day. With a wry smile, Dean headed for the kitchen, hitting the start button on the coffee pot, setting the grounds and water he had prepared the night before to making their delicious miracle drink.

It was little better than paranoia on his part, but when Dean exited the shower, steam rising from his pink skin, he found himself itching to check the news—just in case. He pulled out his laptop, and left it to start up while he got his first cup of coffee.

All was well. There would have been a report if a registered sex offender like Alastair had moved back into the area. Dean doubted that the Alpha would think to look him up, but he could not afford to be too careful.

He was almost tempted to call Sam, but it was much too early to go waking his brother up like a child looking for comfort. In any case, he already knew what his brother would say. Lock the doors and get your gun, but for god's sake, the man's not getting out of prison any time soon. Dean knew this, but he could not help his unease whenever those buried memories crossed his mind.

Sometimes, Dean had wondered if his aversion to sexual relationships with Alphas and Betas stemmed from the trauma he had gone through with Alastair. Deep down, Dean knew that he had been uninterested in the other sexes long before that chapter in his life, and that he had entered a relationship with the Alpha in an attempt to kindle some passion for them, but it was such a simple, easy explanation. Dean sighed, shutting his laptop. Nothing like a Star Wars marathon to make the ghosts go away, especially since he was already dressed and ready for work.

Dean was well into A New Hope when a knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. A glance at the clock told him that it was three-thirty in the morning—much too early for visitors. "What the hell?" he muttered, rising in spite of himself to answer the door.

A bruised, shivering man stood on his doorstep, clutching his trench coat tightly closed with a single pale, shaking hand. His blue eyes darted back and forth, huge against his pale, shapely cheekbones, a stark contrast to his disheveled black hair. Dean took a breath, and caught a whiff of something that smelled like apples and cinnamon, outing the stranger as an Omega. He swallowed hard, staring at the stranger, no words coming to mind.

"Please," the Omega said, stretching out his hand and grabbing the door-jamb for support. "Please, I need help."

0o0o0o0o0

By the time Crowley returned, more than an hour later, Castiel had made up his mind. He was getting out tonight, no matter what it cost. He could not live another day under Crowley's oppression; he would go mad from the strain and humiliation. His only option was to lull his mate into a false sense of security, and sneak away while he slept.

So Castiel knelt, his hands clasped behind his back, his head ducked submissively, just the way Crowley liked him. He did not look up when the door opened. "I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the floor. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't think you can cute your way out of punishment." Castiel chanced a glance up at Crowley's face; his mate stared down at him, disdain spread across his features.

"I know," Castiel said, every inch the perfectly submissive Omega. "I don't expect it. I just want to make this up to you."

Wordlessly, Crowley dragged Castiel to his feet. He kissed him brutally, to claim rather than out of passion. Castiel allowed Crowley to explore his mouth, lax and pliant in his arms, kissing back to just the degree that Crowley liked, and not a whit more.

Crowley shoved Castiel, who stumbled backwards, falling onto the guestroom bed. Rather than protest, he wiggled his body so that he was fully on the mattress, spreading his legs invitingly. "Whore," Crowley growled, shedding his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he stalked over to Castiel. "Nothing but a needy little bitch. You're lucky you're carrying my child right now, or I'd have to beat that out of you."

Castiel whimpered, drawing a smirk from his mate. It was a game that he knew how to play all too well; submit and beg, play the wanton whore or the shy innocent, all depending on Crowley's mood. Tonight, his best bet was to put on a mask of desperation, and hope that he exhausted his mate before too long.

Demurely, Castiel looked down, tugging at the hem of his shirt; widening his eyes, he looked up at Crowley, his lips parting slightly in an unspoken question. "Make it good, and maybe I won't punish your earlier insubordination as harshly," Crowley ordered, his pupils dilating with lust.

Castiel felt nothing as he stripped, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and wiggling out of his pants, rotating his hips tantalizingly in movements that he had long since committed to muscle memory. Sex with his husband was expected, and Crowley had very particular tastes, but it was not required that he enjoy it—only that he fake it. Fully undressed, Castiel arched seductively on the bed, looking at Crowley from beneath long eyelashes and half-closed lids.

"Sit up," Crowley ordered. Castiel did, and slunk on all fours to the edge of the bed, swaying his hips slightly as he reached for his mate's belt. Crowley's slacks fell unceremoniously to the ground, and Castiel quickly divested him of his underwear, reaching with slender fingers for his husband's erection.

Crowley caught his wrist in a bruising grip. "No," he ordered dangerously. Castiel wanted to scream; it was going to be one of those nights, then, where Crowley dragged things on and wore Castiel into the mattress. He would have to be careful to fake exhaustion before his mate truly did wear him out, or he would never get away before the man woke.

In an instant, Crowley was on the bed, his weight holding Castiel flat against the mattress. Castiel gasped, falling limp as Crowley grasped his wrists, his fingernails digging into Castiel's skin as he raised his torso. Castiel whimpered, but it was not the whimper of desire that Crowley so expected from him, and he could only hope it would pass.

It did. "Like this, slut?" Crowley squeezed Castiel's wrists, rubbing between his legs with one knee. Castiel whined, his erection perking up at the stimulus, his body releasing its pungent slick despite his feelings about the situation. And that was fine. Physical arousal would help him convince Crowley that he was, indeed, sorry for what he had done. In Crowley's mind, Omegas were inferior, irrational creatures, fit for sex and breeding and not much else, their emotions and thoughts ruled by hormones. It was the traditional view of Omegas, and Crowley was among that minority that still held those views as fact. Castiel was simply confirming his belief in the irrational, sex-driven Omega, and if it would help him escape, he was perfectly all right with that.

The night seemed to drag on forever. Castiel functioned on auto-pilot, moaning and writhing and begging at all the right times, touching Crowley in all the right places, reacting with the perfect mix of shame and physical arousal to the degrading insults his husband hurled at him. Castiel had long since learned the art of allowing his body to function while his mind drifted, and even as his nerves screamed in exhaustion and his body ached for release, he planned, and he plotted.

Hours passed before Crowley collapsed, spent, rolling off his mate to sleep on one side of the bed. Castiel allowed himself to drift back into full awareness of his body and took stock of the situation. His wrists were bruised, his ass was sore—sometimes he was surprised that such a thing was still possible—he had not orgasmed, and his head was pounding from having smacked against the headboard several times. Castiel had come out of sex in worse condition, to be sure, but he had hoped to be in better condition before setting out.

Luck was in his favor in one respect, at least; Crowley had always slept like a rock. Quietly, Castiel slipped out of bed and dressed, slipping Crowley's wallet out of his pants pocket. All the years of degradation he had put up with, his spouse could afford to spare a hundred dollars or so for him to get a cab out of there.

It was not until Castiel had left the house, wrapped in a trench coat from the back of the hall closet, that he realized that he did not have any idea of how to go about getting a cab. It was not as if he lived in the city, where he might simply hail a passing vehicle; their upper-class suburban neighborhood did not see much commuter traffic. Castiel had learned to drive as a teenager, but he had not been behind the wheel since his wedding to Crowley, and the noise of the garage door might well wake his mate. Shivering, Castiel jammed his hands into his pockets and chose a direction, determined to walk until he collapsed.

Fortune must have smiled on him, for Castiel had only been walking for ten miles or so when a passing taxi actually pulled over to the side and stopped, the driver poking his head out the window. "You okay, man?" the kindly-faced Beta asked.

"Yes," Castiel said automatically. The driver raised an eyebrow at him, and Castiel realized how he must look, a bruised, disheveled Omega walking along the side of the road in the middle of the night. "Actually," he said, swallowing hard, "is there any chance that you could give me a ride? Just—any direction, as far as eighty dollars will get me."

The driver sighed. "Front seat," he told Castiel, gesturing to the front. Castiel nodded and got in. "Name's Benny. And don't worry about the money, okay? This ride is on me."

Castiel swallowed hard. "That is not necessary," he said, his voice small. "I can pay."

Benny shook his head, pulling back onto the road. "Look, I don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that something bad happened to you. And I'm just some stranger, so I don't expect you to tell me about it. But I'll tell you what, my best friend, my brother, is better than any blood I've got, and he's an Omega. If anything happened to him, I'd hope that someone would help him out. World's a crazy place sometimes."

Castiel nodded, swallowing hard. "Then… It doesn't have to be as far," he offered, reluctant to force Benny to spend the gas.

Benny nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "You got friends anywhere nearby? Someone you can stay with?"

Almost ashamed, Castiel shook his head. He had not had friends in years—the partners of Crowley's business associates did not count. They were all loud and happy, and Castiel had always had the sense that they looked down on him for being a house husband. If only they had known, maybe they could have helped him, but there was no sense in dwelling on them now.

Benny frowned, seeming to think. "My friend I mentioned, Dean," he said finally. "He's got his own house. Lives alone. Can't make any promises, but I can take you to his house, and he'll probably help you."

"I just need to be able to set up an appointment with a lawyer. Even if he only lets me use his phone, that's fine." And it was. Castiel was perfectly all right with sleeping on the street. It would be a damn more restful night than any he had spent in Crowley's bed.

"Nah, he won't turn you away. Dean's a good man. Besides, he's a mean enough shot to take out the baddest Alpha, so he's not gonna be threatened by you." Benny laughed, and Castiel gathered that the man really was quite fond of this 'Dean' character. Castiel was just relieved that the mysterious Dean was, apparently, an Omega who lived alone. Intellectually, he knew that most Alphas and Betas did not share Crowley's values and opinion of Omegas, but that knowledge only went so far when he still carried the bruises from his mate's rough treatment.

Castiel remained silent, content to listen to Benny chatter the way he would at any other customer. He watched the streetlights blur past him, each one a marker of increasing distance from Crowley. He breathed, some of the tightness lifting from his chest.

Benny turned down a quiet suburban street, all tiny houses and neatly trimmed lawns. It was not at all like the lavish, sprawling neighborhood where Crowley lived, and Castiel felt immensely better for the difference. "Looks like his light is on," Benny said, frowning, as he stopped the taxi outside a one story house. "What's he doing up?" he mused aloud.

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, opening his door. "You're sure you won't take payment?"

Benny grinned at him. "You didn't pass out from shock in my cab. Let's call it even," he said. His expression sobered some as he looked at Castiel, as though he had forgotten how utterly wrecked the man looked. "I'll wait here until you're safely in the house. You take care, all right?"

"Yes. Thank you," Castiel repeated fervently. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked up the steps to the porch. He gave a hard knock to the door and stepped back, waiting for an answer.

It seemed to Castiel that an eternity passed before the muffled noise of footsteps reached his ears. He took a deep breath, willing his pounding heart to calm down.

The door swung open, revealing a tall, freckled man, his bright green eyes alert and wary. His short, damp dirty-blond hair was beginning to stick up in the back, and he was dressed in day clothes rather than any gear for sleeping. Lush pink lips parted slightly as he stared at Castiel, concern and bemusement warring across his face.

"Please." The word wavered slightly as it slid from between Castiel's lips, and his stomach clenched in shame. He pressed his palm against the edge of the doorway, his knees threatening to give out. "Please, I need help."