*Throws balls of cotton candy angsty fluff at you and runs away*
+++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dean guesses the reason Benny sets him down, braced against the side wall of a recessed wooden door, is to get it unlocked and opened. They have halted at the most northerly cabin of those that curve along Inner Cove. Only the abandoned ruin of a 19th Century coastguard station prevents this small building from being the final one Dean would pass before guiding Caleb's boat round Toe Point. Benny has carried him along a coastal path, but Dean figures there is another track that rises to the hill top, which would explain how he got that tantalizing scent of Benny on his first night.
Distracted by his thoughts, Dean registers that the cabin is sparsely furnished and dark. He is guided to a snug bathroom that contains a shower, cracked porcelain basin, and museum piece toilet with a ceiling high tank and a pull chain flush. He's gawping at the worn wood toggle and chain when he hears shower spray hitting tiles behind him.
"Sugar?" Benny's warm tone draws Dean's attention, "There's body wash and shampoo on the shelf. Take your time. I'll be right outside."
Dean nods. His lips twitch upwards in gratitude for the refuge and the privacy. He strips off soiled jeans and boots. He wants to burn them. He'll never wear them again.
The water runs cold before Dean feels that his skin has been scrubbed clean enough. The long cut on his arm has bled watered pink. He spits repeatedly under the spray trying to dispel the taste of the tongue that violated his mouth and the glob of Don Bryson's saliva. When he emerges, there are a couple of threadbare towels waiting. They are no worse than motel supplies, and Dean figures Benny too alpha for fabric softener. Before he dries off, Dean sticks two fingers down his throat. His weak omega gag reflex needs the aid of clenched and rolled stomach muscles combined with the visceral memory of being held down and his throat being rubbed to swallow the spittle. It is enough. Everything comes up, including the partial digested delicious burger and fries Benny's hand had made in Mac's kitchen.
Was that only a couple of hours ago?
He really should be going once he has cleaned up. He doesn't want to impose on the kindness of Benny. He needs to remember that he is a strong capable hunter who has posed as a beta for years. He needs to suck it up and act like the man his Dad always wanted him to be.
Maybe he can ask Benny for some clothes. He'll bring them back.
Dean helps himself to a new toothbrush from a half empty multipack. He brushes his tongue and hard palate too. He gargles, spits, gargles, spits, repeats. He wants every trace of those sonsabitches out of his body.
When he emerges, Benny has changed into long striped PJs. The cabin is lit and a wood burning stove throws out comfortable low heat. Sparse was an accurate first impression. There is a rickety table and couple of hard chairs. Two armchairs, with rips that reveal horsehair tufts, stand to each side of the stove. The so-called kitchen area has a two ring burner, a microwave, and a half refrigerator next to a big old sink with faucets that look like mangled seahorses.
Benny's on one of the kitchen chairs. He's got a bowl, cotton balls, gauze and tape all laid out ready to dress Dean's arm.
Part of Dean wants to act like a macho beta, shrug off the wound. He has self inflicted worse with silver knives to prove he's not a shifter.
When Benny smiles, all eye crinkles and honest joy to see a freshly showered Dean standing on his own two feet, the omega can't deny him the gesture of caretaking. He sits on the other chair, close enough to offer his arm. Benny is careful with the antibacterial wash. He is tender as he wipes, covers and tapes up the dressing. Dean watches every move.
There is something special about this act of an alpha taking care of an omega. Dean's heard of it, in Sex-Ed classes, second hand from guys in relationships, but he never really believed it. In his experience, the omega's duty is to take care of his mate, his family, and those he cares about. The alpha provides and shelters. He was too young when his Mom died to know if his parents' mating had this dynamic. Was John tender and kind with her? Dean hopes so.
Benny clears away his first aid supplies. He wonders if Dean is thirsty.
Dean shakes his head. He'd gulped shower water and he doesn't like the way toothpaste muddies the taste of anything except a morning coffee.
"I only got one spare set," Benny mumbles as he hands over a plain beige sleep tee with brown plaid drawstring PJ bottoms.
"'s good." Dean affirms, "Thanks, man."
He hangs Benny's towel over the bar of the shower curtain for want of anywhere better. The PJs are worn soft and imbued with Benny's alpha musk. A sense of security settles over Dean as he dons them. He shuffles out, suddenly unsure. Without conscious thought, he wraps his arms around his torso, pulling the oversized material into folds of comforting layers.
Benny cocks his head towards the queen bed in the far corner of the single roomed cabin. Dean plunks his butt down. It sinks into the soft bed, too yielding to be a decent mattress. Dean knows because he's sampled all sorts. Before he can think that it might be insulting to his host, his rescuer, Dean noses into the flannel bottom sheet, checking for damp. He gets a blast of Benny. It provokes strange incomprehensible reactions, like a strong craving to touch the source and a desire never to stray from it.
Craning his neck at the shuffling sound of motion, Dean sees the alpha scattering a couple of blankets near the outer wall. His jaw drops. This guy has taken a disheveled omega into his home. No way can Dean put him out of his own bed, and he selfishly wants the alpha close.
Dean mewls, hand outstretched, and then winces at the sound that has just come out of his own mouth. He doesn't want to be needy. On the other hand he feels safer in Benny's arms. Dean is all kinds of conflicted, but luckily Benny responds to the wordless request. He brings one of the nest blankets to add an extra layer against any chill draft.
"Hey Sugar, you let Benny hold you here. I'm here, Darlin'. It's all fine." Benny mutters the words, low and sweet into Dean's ear. He moves a pliant Dean to be the little spoon. "I woulda been dandy against the wall."
Dean grunts a negative. He can feel Benny's internal laughter.
"Often slept in the back of my old van."
"I hear ya," Dean whispers into the dark, "Kipped in my Impala too many times to tell you."
Benny makes a hum of curiosity.
"'67 Chevy Impala, black as night, a beauty," Dean enthuses. Talking about his Baby always cheers him. He ought to clarify. "It's my Alpha-Dad's car really, y'know, on the paperwork, but he's got this tank of a truck now."
"You drive to the ferry?"
"Yeah. She's parked in the long term lot. Where are your wheels?"
Benny clicks his tongue ruefully, "The great salvage yard in the sky, Brother. She got me close. I hitchhiked the final score of miles. Lucky this place is boats only."
There is a story there. Dean's eyes are drooping. He shelves any questions for the morning. He thinks he hears Benny apologizing that his living accommodation is not much and not his property. He remembers that he was going to leave after his shower, but somehow he forgot. Dean falls asleep hoping that he can still trust his nose on a night that made him doubt his decision making.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dim winter daylight greets Dean when he blinks awake. He is groggy and slow to come to full awareness. Normally he's hyper alert, for threats, for John, for motel owners… His head is muzzy, arm itches, limbs ache, shoulders feel like someone tried to dislocate them. It comes back to him in one wallop. He feels sick, scrambles from the bed, leaving the comforting alpha body heat behind, dives for the toilet bowl and barfs.
They nearly… one of them could have knotted… he could have been…
He barfs clear fluid, then yellow tinged bile.
A cool flannel dabs at the back of his heated neck. Benny is on his knees, sideways in the confined space. The cloth wipes Dean's chin, his lips. It is turned round to clear the beads of perspiration from his brow.
It's not quite believable to Dean, head hung over Benny's toilet decorating it in puke, that the alpha has sunk to his knees, joining him on the floor to offer further kindness.
"Come back to bed. It's early yet, Darlin'," Benny implores, aiding Dean to his foal like legs.
"I'm Bambi," Dean laughs, slightly hysterical.
"Sure you are," Benny soothes, "Bed, my Deer."
"You're hilarious." Dean pokes the alpha's girth with his elbow.
Benny makes a pleased huff. Dean's mood rises further.
Under tossed bed covers, they snuggle together. Dean might tell himself it's the coldest morning yet on the island, but he knows that is denial. He's never understood deep in his bones, just how important touch was. His Dad isn't a touchy feely type, and once Sam hit his teens he didn't want to be coddled anymore. Dean hoarded nights that he and Sam shared a bed, or when his brother would score a goal or an A, then fly into Dean's arms for a celebratory hug. When he was 'beta-Dean' he might skip out of a beta girl or guy's apartment in the early hours, but not until he'd lain with them in the quiet stillness of the night. Maybe he was craving this, maybe he'd shut off this side, sacrificed it to be all that his Dad and little brother needed. Dean's brain hurts. Over-thinking manifests as tense muscles, which cause Benny's arm to stretch down, stroking Dean's hip and thigh, as if he is a cat. Dean doesn't relax immediately, but his mind stills. He doesn't fall back to sleep, rather into that half-awake, edge of aware relaxation. He doesn't analyze it, or dwell on why.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Benny extracts himself gently from Dean's spider limbs. Any momentary panic of being left alone is quelled by normal morning sounds from the bathroom.
When Dean opens his eyes again, Benny is getting dressed, plucking his clothes from where they are strewn across the floor. Dean watches. When Benny turns his back, Dean pervs at his fine ass and wide shoulders. Benny wears god-damned suspenders. Dean aches to twang them against the alpha's chest, see what they feel like under his fingers before wrenching them off and jumping Benny's bones. A flush of heat rises up Dean's body. He can scent his own slick. His traitorous cock twitches. It's just as well that a cable knit midnight blue sweater goes over Benny's undershirt.
"Breakfast?"
Dean startles. He can feel his eyes widen. "Ahem, yeah, uh, that'd be good. I mean, thanks."
Geez, Dean, aim for suave. He rolls his eyes. Benny hasn't noticed or presumes Dean is incoherent first thing in the morning.
"You want a hand?" Dean offers, swinging his legs from under the layers of blankets.
"Sure thing," Benny freaking beams, all white teeth and pleased glow. "I got a few eggs. Would you whip 'em up? You like mushrooms, shallot, bell pepper? I was thinkin' of halving a big omelet?"
"Sounds peachy."
Dean is directed to a half-dresser drawer. For all that the kitchen area is clearly made for a single occupant, Benny's got a considerable selection of silicone utensils. Underneath in the cabinet there are several bowls to choose between. There is brown freckled egg in the open carton. Dean huffs with a surreal thought that he is the (bad?) egg that Benny's let into his home.
Dean's cheer at the sight of a double yolk gets Benny spinning round from slicing mushrooms to meet Dean's high five.
"Double yolk, Man. That's lucky." Dean dampens his burst of delight, realizing he might look insane. "My baby bro and I'd say that, or I made it up to get him to eat his eggs when he was little…"
"I like it." Benny grins. "Best eggs in New England. The Shields family…"
"Oh, Jonah." Dean blurts before thinking.
"Yeah, Sugar. You met Jonah? His alpha Geoff is a good man. In the blinkered image I'd built up of Gauntlet, he was the type of alpha I'd convinced myself populated this isle." Benny's head dips, ruefully shakes.
Dean puts down the red silicone whisk. He closes the two paces between them, risks wrapping his arms around Benny's waist, rests his head between Benny's shoulder blades. "You're here."
Benny chuffs a laugh at that. Dean loosens his hold to allow the alpha to turn, but doesn't let go. Benny tilts Dean's chin up, meets smile with smile.
"So are you, Cher."
A caste kiss is pressed to Dean's chapped and bitten lips. The little devil inside Dean wants to poke his tongue out, lick and taste, change it to a deep tangle of tongue and clacking of teeth, but he refrains. He puckers slightly, communicating that he is onboard. Two more brief caresses are shared.
The moment ends. There is butter for the deep heavy skillet, salt and pepper to be forked through the egg. Benny cooks the savory fillings slow, pours the egg in next. Dean stands beside, watches the chef's practiced motions. Water is heated for coffee. There is a notch of cheddar cheese in the fridge. Benny doesn't bother with the grater, he chops it into tiny cubes that Dean is sure have some fancy French name. The cheese is scattered, omelet folded, slid onto a large plate, and spilt down the middle.
Dean makes wordless noises of appreciation. He tries to remember to eat with his mouth closed, but the omelet is so damn fluffy.
"It warmed my bones to see you enjoy my simple fare," Benny comments as he clears their plates.
"You can cook like that for me every morning." Dean's mouth runs away with him. He is shocked when his ears pick up what his larynx has spewed. He bites down on his lip, prepares to back track, freaking grovel to excuse his presumptiveness.
He lifts his apprehensive eyes, expecting censure or a cold veil to have fallen. Instead Benny is looking at him as if Dean just hung the moon.
"Mon Cher, it would be my honor." Benny actually chokes up as Dean stares. "You, my mate…"
He said the four-letter-M-word. It isn't out of left field. Dean's lungs have been blessedly filled with Mate-Mine-Alpha. It's the impossible dream, the one Dean shelved. It's not like in the movies where the mates-to-be court and glow and overcome engineered obstacles before declaring their love to all and sundry. It's not a fairy tale where Dean lost his shoe at a ball. It's not like porn either, where an alpha and an omega can't keep their paws off each other and knot before they exchange names.
"Mate." Dean repeats.
"I'm no Rockefeller, Dean. And I'm sure it's all kinds of inappropriate to be talking about this…" Benny swallows hard, "…this morning after what has happened. But I'd like to get to know you, and I believe you are my mate."
Dean isn't sure what to say back to that. He takes few moments to comprehend every individual word. When he parcels them back together, he gathers he had been proposed to. He titters softly, offers a smile and an extended hand. He stands to meet Benny, wraps his arms around him and speaks to his collar bone.
"I'd like to get to know you too, Alpha."
"You don't gotta call me 'Alpha'. Name's Benny."
Dean smirks, "Okay Alpha."
Benny hums. "I see. Gonna be like that then?"
"Uh-huh Alpha," Dean agrees, the teasing lifting his tone and his mood.
Their tender moment is interrupted by a demanding rhythm of knocks on the door. Benny moves with great reluctance. His hand trails the sleeve of the sleep tee on Dean's arm.
The alpha twitches the curtain of the front window and sighs. He turns back to Dean with a cloud over his features.
"It's Sherriff Bryson."
Every muscle in Dean's body tenses. He has done nothing wrong. He's not even desecrated a grave, yet.
"I gotta let him in." Benny says apologetically.
Dean nods. His throat has tightened. He seeks his game face, fights to find his hunter training.
The tall older lawman nods to his fellow alpha and greets him with a curt good morning as he crosses the threshold.
Benny's reply is equally terse.
"I heard reports of an altercation." The cop removes his hat. He scratches his bald plate in a way that transmits to Dean that the dude knows exactly what went down.
"An altercation?" Benny parrots.
"Abe Littman's got a broken nose."
Dean gives an internal cheer.
Benny nods . The set of his shoulders shows that he is proud that he caught one of the dickwads good.
"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Alpha Lafitte?"
"I know that I intervened to prevent a gang rape last night."
Dean is stony faced. The plain speaking doesn't faze him. He's pumping for Benny to throw the truth into the old lawman's face. However the sheriff balks at Benny's blunt speaking. He holds up one hand like a traffic cop.
"Now, Alpha Lafitte. That's a strong accusation you're making."
Benny grunts in acknowledgment. Dean slips his hand into Benny's back pocket, stays by his side.
Benny stands taller. "I'm telling you, Bryson, that if I hadn't come out to dump my fryer oil, then you might be investigating a rape, maybe a rape/murder, this morning."
"I deal in facts." The Sherriff juts his chin. "Fact is, I got reports that some fun verged on the wild side, and you flew at The Lookout boys like a man possessed."
"Fun?" Dean chokes in disbelief. "They tried to drug me. They tied me down. They took my clothes, and would have taken…"
Benny's growl commenced when Dean mentioned the drug.
"The boys say it was consensual. The unaccompanied omega came into the bar, already having consumed alcohol, looking for a good time. That he stayed and imbibed further beers. They say the omega had been telling porkies around Gaunt. That he was more than willing."
"I'm right fucking here." Dean seethes.
Benny's arm pulls him in closer. "They had tied Dean down. How is that consensual?"
The sheriff's sneer almost transmits his thoughts of kinky omega sluts. The cop steps forward and takes Dean's wallet, money clip, amulet and notebook out of his pocket. He doesn't hand them over, rather sets them on the table. He taps the dark leather of the wallet with his pointer finger.
"Omega Robert Plant, age 23, Beta Brian May, age 22, Omega Dean Winchester, 23, and a credit card for Ming Gordon." The sheriff's mouth is a thin line.
As he reaches for the amulet and slips it over his head, Dean experiences relief that his FBI and Ranger IDs are back at Caleb's cabin and weren't found scattered on the dive bar floor.
"I don't know what sort of game you are playing, Omega. But we don't take kindly to shady characters here."
Dean drops his eyes and gives a well practiced line, "Travelling on my own I gotta be careful."
Bryson's snort of disbelief is lost under Benny's exclamation, "A couple of fake IDs are serious, but rape is fine then?"
"Alpha Lafitte! I believe we established there was no such offence committed." He directs his attention to Dean again, "Which one if any is real? You name? Age? Responsible Alpha?"
There is no arguing with the authoritative demand. Although Dean can sense the prickle of rising aggression from Benny, he knows both that you have to pick your battles, and that the command is drawing the answer out of his mouth.
"Dean Winchester, 23, My Dad John Winchester."
Bryson flicks open Dean's wallet, extracts the two other cards and the Ming Gordon Amex. He nods in satisfaction.
"Until your father arrives, I recommended you be more circumspect in your behavior."
Dean seethes alongside Benny who is almost shaking with contained rage.
"Don especially wants to thank you Benny, for stepping in before things got out of hand."
"Bullshit." Dean and Benny hiss in unison.
"Can we be reasonable and logical here? You want me to round up our trawelermen, barkeep, volunteer firefighters, water taxi men and young bucks?"
"Yes." Benny growls.
The sheriff spreads his palms like a politician seeking favor, "The boys are sorry."
"They can stick their apologies up the proverbial." Benny spits with built up venom.
"They assaulted me," Dean stares straight at the older alpha, daring him to deny it.
"It is your word against theirs, Omega."
That's the rub. Dean bets they are all over in Don Bryson's house cooking up a tale, creating matching stories, and exchanging alibis.
"Listen," The sheriff continues. "Abe and the others with the marks of your fists and teeth will drop any allegations against you, Alpha Lafitte, if this can all be tidied away. No reports of identify fraud or affray."
"Out-fucking-rageous." Benny fumes. "I'll support you all the way to the damned Supreme Court, Dean. It's your call."
Dean sucks his lower lip, chews on his flesh. He came here to protect other omegas. The whole reason he is on the isle is to prevent more young guys going missing. He wonders if there ever was a real hunt on Gauntlet. Maybe this was always a place of unspoken omega attacks. On the other hand, Dean's hunter-savvy about his rights and the law. Normally from the other side of the fence, coming to bail his Dad out of local lockups, knowing how long he can be held for breaking and entry of shambled haunted buildings. He can imagine the Grand Jury's questions. He'd had a couple of beers. He didn't run out the door of The Lookout. He wasn't breached. There are no witnesses to testify for the prosecution until the very end. It's not a solid case. Dean can't be the poster boy for the ACLU's omega rights campaign, can't be the center of a media shit-storm. The very first things that would happen are a medical exam, a statement… which require John Winchester's consent and presence.
He's not giving up. He'll work the case to the bone. He'll make sure there isn't a monster of the supernatural variety. Then he'll report to John. If the only monsters are human, then they'll deal with that too. Bobby has lots of contacts. John is the bomb on sneaky underhand cons. It won't be the first time that in the Winchester's wake a tax audit commenced out of the blue, or a rake of bank accounts got emptied by credit card fraud. Dean's preference for Gauntlet is the satisfaction of knowing the real feds could show up on an anonymous tip about omega disappearances.
Before he can agree, Dean is driven to ask.
"What about the others? What about the omegas who were never found?"
The sheriff looks at him as if Dean has grown an extra head, "What are you talking about?"
"The disappeared." Dean challenges. "All down the years."
"I don't know what tourist stories they've been feeding you, Omega, but since I moved here with my mate and sons five years past, there have been no missing persons of any gender, aside from a few silly boys who stayed out overnight and caught chills."
"Oh," Dean's mouth remains open. The sheriff is sincere. Dean would bet a year's supply of bacon cheese burgers on it.
"Are you coming to the station to file a complaint?" Bryson's question is verging on a snarl.
Dean shakes his head painstakingly slowly.
"You sure, Darlin'?" Benny rumbles.
"They'll stay out of my sight?" Dean checks assertively, demanding this concession from the sheriff.
"Won't see a sign of any of the boys during your vacation." The sheriff agrees.
"Better not." Benny grinds out through gritted teeth.
"I'll come down hard on any one who harasses you, Omega."
"Pity that attitude didn't exist last night." Dean gripes. He twists his lip as the Sheriff offers Benny his hand. The two alphas' shake is so brief Dean isn't convinced that skin actually met skin.
Once the door has been slammed hard enough to rattle the hinges, Benny gathers Dean in so tight, it seems their bodies are merging. He offers greater solace than Dean feels he has any right to.
"You're not underage are you, sweetheart?"
The words are muttered into Dean's hair. He shakes his head and mumbles back, "No. I'm really Dean."
There is a relieved sigh. A hand spans his back and rubs soothingly, "Don't be insulted, Cher. Those big green eyes and such beauty, you could pose for younger. I'd want you if you had just reached mating age or were shaving years off to avoid the stigma."
Dean's breath hitches. The narrowed eyes, assumption of defects, and disapproval experienced by older unmated omegas looms in his late night ponderings of a dismal future. The bitter sidelined maiden aunt and lonely bachelor omega are stereotypes exploited by sitcoms and soap operas.
"I've upset you." Benny's tone rings with self-condemnation.
"No, Alpha." Dean whispers.
"I'm the unmated guy in his early thirties. But no-one points fingers at alphas who want some life experience before they settle down." Benny sucks air. "I hate that expression settle down as if finding your mate is settling."
Dean laughs. He shudders with deep guffaws, shakes until tears wet his cheeks. Benny joins him with a puzzled lilt to his head, as if Dean's laughter was contagious but the alpha doesn't know what they are getting hysterical about.
Finally between gulping breaths, Dean explains, "After all the crap… those sonsabitches… that douchebag sheriff… you go all alpha over semantics…"
Benny's thumb wipes away the dampness from Dean's cheekbones, "You are amazing. I want to make you smile and laugh."
Dean breaks out a wide shining grin, "You got it."
"I hope so."
When their lips meet this time, they part slowly. Benny cups the back of Dean's neck. Dean rests his arms on wide shoulders and joins his hands. Benny's kiss is sweet and tenderly slow. Dean closes his eyes. He commits to the embrace, takes it up a level, showing his alpha that passion won't break him. He tastes, flicks, explores, and presses their bodies together. Benny gets on board. He is pulled tighter. The alpha moans deep in his throat.
It's glorious. Endorphins run riot, pumping through Dean's veins. The world and its problems drop away. He could stay here in this moment forever.