The kiss stays with Dean. The phantom feel of Benny's beard tickling his skin. The security of being held in alpha arms bolsters him. He takes another long shower. Being apart from Benny in the tiny washroom, restlessness itches. An anxiety pervades that he should be spending every waking minute on the hunt. It is ingrained. Dean Winchester hunts, follows his Alpha-Dad's orders and he used to take care of Sammy, until Sammy didn't need him anymore.
Maybe a day of downtime is permissible. If he'd been sucker-punched by a vengeful spirit, he might have needed a morning to recover.
Out from under the cooling spray, Dean wipes the unframed mirror. The wound on his arm has not reopened, but it is raw and sore, a pink line raised and puckered. He rubs his hand on peach fuzz, hollowing his cheeks. His torn lip gets a critical appraisal as does a new purpling bruise that overlays the yellowed fading mark of his father's hand. There is no razor, only Benny's beard trimmer. It reminds Dean that all his shit is back in Caleb's family cabin.
There is a folded pile of clothing on the linoleum just inside the bathroom door. A scrawled note on top says that these are Benny's guess at the closest fit. Dean huffs in amusement as he lifts wide waisted pale gray sweatpants and a darker gray Henley. Small mercies exist. There is a drawstring on the pants and although the Henley's big, it is not overly long. There are warm wool socks too, but if he wants footwear he'll have to put back on the boots from the night before. He delays that act and pads out of the steamy room in stocking feet.
"Hi," The alpha smiles kindly. His elbow propped on the rickety table, next to a quart of apple juice and a plate loaded with PBJ sandwiches.
"Hi." Dean responds, suddenly self-conscious.
"You have no clue how good you smell, do you, Cher?"
"Clean?" Dean jests. He is sure Benny has got it backwards. The alpha's cinnamon, musk, suede, and earthy home makes Dean want to bury his nose in Benny's clavicle and never come back.
"Sweet…" Benny begins…
Dean raises a brow. He can't scent himself. Sammy always used to curl his nose and say he was stinky. His previous rolls in the hay commented generically on his sweet sugary omega scent. But Benny isn't finished. Dean's lips part as he listens.
"… Candied orange Bergamot, raw cane sugar melting in my skillet, woody smoky leather maleness. There is a shade of match-strike…"
"Wait… you were going great there, Alpha, but I smell of sulfur?" Dean gapes.
Benny throws his head back, slaps his knee, "D'you always twist a compliment into an insult?"
"You don't know me." Dean mutters.
"Not sulfur," Benny corrects. "No rotten eggs. It doesn't belong. It's almost like beta sharpness. It's not your predominant scent. It contrasts with the others. But don't fret, Cher. It makes your orange taffy sweeter, your wood more balsam."
"Oh." Dean chews his lip, regretting that his long use of suppressants lingers enough to be picked up by a finely tuned alpha nose.
"You smell good to me."
"Ditto, then, 'cause I kinda can't get enough of your musky spice." Dean admits, risking a side-ways glance for Benny's reaction.
"You want, come over, and have a sandwich? They're not restaurant fare. I wasn't expecting to entertain guests." Benny's quirked lip communicates how little trouble it is to have Dean as a surprise visitor.
"Ah-hem, I mean, yeah, that'd be peachy."
Benny rises, as if he is going to pull out the chair for Dean, which would be a bit too much. Instead, Benny wants another hug. Wide-eyed Dean submits and sinks into his arms. He cheekily slides a hand up under Benny's sweater so he can touch with only a layer of cotton as a barrier to the alpha's skin. Benny tightens the hug, giving permission, which is enough to have Dean spread his fingers wide, pressing with his palm and leaning in to rest his forehead on Benny's chest. He inhales deep.
"Huh, 's nice." Dean admits. "I could get used to this."
"Sure hope so, Sugar."
Benny strokes his arm. Dean closes his eyes. He is relaxed, boneless, prepared to phase out. Unfortunately Benny didn't get that memo.
"Eat and hydrate."
Dean smirks, "Yes, Alpha."
He takes a seat, ignores the surprised look at his quick smart response to a lovingly ordered directive.
The bread is dry, two days old, but the peanut butter is thick and the grape jelly generous.
Mid way through lunch, the chef muses, "Y'know, Dean, I don't know if it is safe for you on Gauntlet. That old codger of a cop isn't doing squat, save for watching out for his reprobate son."
Bitterness flares in Dean's chest. He forces down his bite of sandwich, throat dry and narrowed.
"So, Sugar, if you want, we can make a trip off island? Call your parents? Arrange a meet up place?"
Dean tenses. He knows Benny can sense it by the way his large hand reaches over and resumes stroking his arm.
He clears his throat, "Ah, no... I mean, no thank you, Alpha. I need to stay. My Dad expects me to be here."
"But if we tell…"
Dean interrupts, "No way!"
He shifts so he can look Benny in the eye, slows his speech to impart that he is deadly serious, "My Dad can never know. He will never hear of it. You promise me?"
Benny takes a beat. It is enough time for Dean to dread both an enraged John taking the law into his own hands, and an enraged John banning Dean from solo hunts until Hell freezes over and opens a skating rink.
"Sure," Benny nods slowly, but not because he is being false. Dean can scent his honesty like pure freshwater. "My first natural reaction was to find your Alpha Dad and let him know you were attacked. However, I respect your judgment. You have my confidence."
Warmth blooms in Dean's core. He doesn't even bother figuring out if Benny means that Dean has his silence or his esteem, either is awesome, both would be out of this world.
Benny leans across to press his lips tenderly against Dean's brow. It's simple to give into that touch, affectionate and freely given.
They tidy up together. An old cabinet in the corner opens to reveal a dinky portable TV. Benny flicks on the local station to catch end of the news. A raised brow and jerk of the head asks Dean if he wants to leave it on. A banner on the screen says that WABI has the daytime soaps coming up next. He shrugs while hoping that Benny won't turn it off. He's no soap addict, but many boring motel days were relieved by the impossible events in Seattle Mercy or Genoa City. Benny interprets Dean's body language correctly. The TV plays on while the alpha cleans out his stove. Dean re-dresses his arm wound before shaking out the linens and making the bed.
"Thank you, Sugar," Benny says softly while Dean is bent over, smoothing down the top blanket.
"'S nothing," Dean turns, seeing Benny standing with his weight on one leg, just looking. The omega smirks with a jaunty hip wiggle, the supreme dorky dance move. He puts on a sultry voice, "You like what you see?"
"Uh-hum, you could say that." Benny's voice lowers an octave.
Wetting his lips, Dean is almost rendered speechless. "Well if you want it, come and get it."
Dean sprints in a curve around Benny. Laughing like a pup, he puts the kitchen table between them.
In a blink of an eye, Benny's palms brace the opposite edge of the wooden surface, "You think this old thing would keep me from you? I'd break it to kindling with my bare hands."
Benny leans in. Dean bends forward. They meet in the middle. Dean scrapes Benny's lips, nips the bottom flesh between his teeth and tugs playfully. A hand spans the side of his neck, holding him in place. Dean goes to touch, finds his fingers linked and squeezed. They breathe the same air until their awkward postures make them part, topping off the moment with final pecked lips.
With a regretful smile, Benny hits the head. Dean makes coffee and takes his mug to an armchair to watch Dr Sexy MD. Benny putters around. He brings in more wood. Dean protests that the alpha should have asked him to help, but Benny wants him to take it easy. When the alpha takes the adjoining chair and sups at his cooling coffee, he asks what brought Dean to Gauntlet.
Dean puffs. He turns down the volume, chews the inside of his cheek, and discovers he cannot spin the story of a vacation to Benny.
"I'm not here to get a cabin ready for the arrival of my Alpha-Dad. We're not on vacation." Dean checks for reaction. Benny's ice blue eyes are wide and he's got his ears on. "We're… that is… my family are sorta PIs."
"Someone hired you to investigate a case on Gauntlet?" Benny's voice rises in disbelief.
"Not exactly," Dean winces. "We heard about the omega boys who vanished, and Dad wanted to look into it."
"Dean."
The omega's head whips up.
"I'm calling bullshit." Benny intones. His scent hasn't flared with anger, but it is heavy with concern. "What private investigators take on cases with no remuneration?"
Dean coughs. "We're sorta PIs. We've looked for missing people, investigated so-called accidents, bounty hunted, looked into suspicious arson, cattle deaths, and all kinds of crap. We'll take on cases that other investigators have dumped and ones they wouldn't touch with a barge pole."
Dean hopes the deception of speaking not-quite-the-truth isn't obvious.
With hands spread open and a slight head shake Benny comments, "This sounds like a 1980s TV show, Dean. You telling me that your family is the A-Team?"
Dean throws his head back and cracks up. He can barely breathe from silent laughter, "If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire – The Winchesters."
Benny hums thoughtfully, "That does explain the hint of synthetic beta."
"Is it really strong?" Dean self-consciously sniffs at his own armpit, which has Benny whooping with mirth.
"You hear me, Darlin'? I said hint. If I have to keep tellin' ya you scent like magic, mate and more, I'll keep doing it."
Dean puffs air and tries to process. "I was on sups and maskers for years. It takes a while…"
Dean's voice trails away when he finally realizes that Benny is not condemning him. There is no backhanded critical slap to the compliment. No 'great job but do better next time'. Dean looks up into shining blue eyes spilling understanding and care.
He licks his lips, "My baby bro left, I came off 'em. Then Dad…" He looks to the ceiling, "He didn't like it. He wanted a beta partner on cases. Few months back, kinda like now, we scored two hunts, huh, I mean, cases at the same time. Mine was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere."
It was a werewolf in the Cascades. Dean had to track it. He needed his nose and his sups were almost out anyway. Then there was a Vetala pair that Bobby Singer sent him to Portland to chase. The venomous bitches had a taste for omega blood. Dean used himself as bait and ganked the vile duo before they saw his sliver blade coming. John wasn't best pleased when they'd finally rendezvoused in Pennsylvania. Dean suspects that being exiled to Gauntlet is part of some passive aggressive John Winchester tactic to get him back on the sups.
Dean's been lost in his memories too long. He looks up from under his lashes.
"So? Why isn't your Dad with you now?"
"The Reaves family who own the cabin over on Harpoon Cove heard of the omega boys… asked Dad if he could give it a look over, see if there is a case here, and I guess, Dad wasn't all that sure that it was our sort of gig, so he sent me to check it out."
There is a growling rumble of disapproval deep in Benny's chest. Instinctively Dean knows it isn't aimed at him. One side of his lips twist in forbidden amusement that Benny's gone all alpha in defiance of John Winchester's orders. There is no rant from Benny, but Dean guesses that his alpha is going to store up that information.
"I'm twenty three." Dean points out. "I'm an experienced investigator. I grew up in this business. It might not be stable but it's all I've known."
"I hear you." Benny nods. "I can't cast stones. Last few years I've wandered. Arrived here summer before last, Mac's short order cook quit, he needed help, I offered, next thing I know I'm going through my second winter on the island. Guess you could call me an outsider."
Dean dry laughs, "Join the club. Look up Misfit in the dictionary, odds on you'll find a picture of the Winchesters."
A serious pall falls over Benny's features, "I am sorry. That's no environment for a young omega."
Dean bristles. Maybe he gave the wrong impression. "It was fine, cool even. Sammy and me, we've seen the whole country. Biggest ball of twine, twice. We always had the Impala, and our Dad was a hero, helping all those people when no one else could."
"Well, Sugar, I'm a novice compared to that. Aside from a few vacations, I journeyed a spiral path up the east coast when I left Louisiana. Took my sweet time reaching here."
"And you're here to stay?" Dean asks lightly, but deep down it's an important question.
"I got no ties." Benny hums. He signals the talk done by rising to stretch his arms. "I'm bushed. Are you tired, Dean darlin'?"
He has been lazing in the chair but his alpha is dead on. Dean's energy levels are dipping into the red. He nods his agreement, then gets blindsided by another of Benny's unpredictable tender acts. He is led by the hand to the bed. Lying down for a nap, unless he has been up all night grave digging, is unheard of. They don't undress, just lie on top like the elderly mates who hugged together on their bed as the Titanic went down. Dean might have embraced his omega empathy and shed a tear during that memorable scene in a darkened movie theater in Ohio.
Nosing into Benny's neck, nuzzling like a pup, Dean falls into a light siesta.
He startles wake in panic. He hasn't checked in with John. He is scrambling out of the bed. He'll have to make it to the phone booth and make the call.
"Dean. Dean?"
His boots are here somewhere.
"Dean!"
Like he has been jerked on a string, Dean's attention snaps towards his barked name. His breath is ragged. Thoughts flip flop between getting to the phone, finding footwear and Benny's call.
"Where is the fire, sweetheart? What's going on?"
"I gotta go. Sorry, sorry, Benny. I just gotta. I forgot and I gotta run." Dean chants as he stuffs his heel into his left boot.
Two hands place steadying weight on his shoulders. How did Benny get that close that fast?
"Hold your horses. Tell me. Why?"
His exhalation shudders through his breast. "Dad. I gotta check in. Every day. Need to call." Dean brightens with inspiration, "You got a cell phone I could use, Alpha?"
"No, Sugar. I got one but Gauntlet's too far out for a signal." Benny scrubs his jaw. "I don't like the idea of you going running out of here to the phone booth."
Dean takes Benny's hands in his. He sucks in his lips, swallows, "I'm not disrespecting you here. But I have to check in. It's how Dad knows what I'm doing, how the case is going, that I'm good."
Benny's lips part as if he going to make a comment about the previous night but he closes his mouth and huffs a nasal sigh. "Okay."
"Okay?" Dean checks. His racing heart calms a fraction.
"Ground rules." Benny states.
Dean nods his acquiescence before he's heard them. Almost instantly marveling at how he has placed an instinctive trust in Benny.
"We go together… To Mac's. He's got a landline in the office. I'll give ya privacy for the call, Cher. I gotta pick up some victuals or we'll be on canned goods and peanut butter. I'll come back to Mac's for you. We'll take the boat."
All that sounds reasonable and sort of amazing, and it's not yet 24 hours since the douchebags tried to… but Dean's gotta nip this coddling in the bud. He can't have Benny as his shadow if there is something paranormal going on here, or later during an afterwards that he is too afraid to hope for.
It's like Benny can pick up on Dean's doubts.
"It's not that I don't think you couldn't handle yourself if you bump into one of the dickwads from last night, but I would go out of my mind, Dean, if I had to stay behind," Benny breaks the tension by grinning widely, "'specially since I'd be following you like a lap dog."
Dean smiles back. He can't be annoyed. It's endearing. They are sounding out each other's limits, discovering what one needs from the other. If Dean could persuade Benny to head north to Harpoon Cove, he could enter Gaunt dressed as John Rambo, which would make him feel a gazillion times better about the potential of seeing one of his attackers. On the other hand, trigger happy and armed to the teeth might not be the best option, and with Benny by his side he doubts he'll face trouble.
They push out the boat together. It's similar to the one at Caleb's, although better maintained. Once they are on their way Dean makes a suggestion.
"Can we come back via Harpoon Cove? I want to pick up some stuff. You can stay in the boat. I don't have much, and I'd like to shut off the pump and generator if I'm not going back there…"
Benny nearly scuttles the small craft, tipping it dangerously to embrace a shocked Dean.
"Cher," Benny's chest swells, "You'll stay with me? I'd be honored to help. I'll do the pump and the generator, stow their boat, help you lock the place down, anything you want."
Dean laughs fondly, "Benny, you are cracking me up. I've got a duffel that I can pack up quick smart. I want to put away the cabin linens. I wasn't there long enough to mess it up much."
He thinks of the hunters' weaponry that he wants to get locked up in the cabinets and of his research notes. "I'd gotten some provisions. Can bring them with. If you'll tackle the outdoor chores, I'll deal with inside."
"Deal," Benny chuckles. "Come on then, let's get our business done in Gaunt and we'll pick up your bag."
A comfortable silence falls as the buildings of Gaunt grow larger. Dean twists round to let his eyes follow the far receding shape of the ferry on its run to Little Cranberry. Dean takes a chance to parse how overcome Benny was that he would stay with him. Benny must have been thinking that Dean might want to return to his 'vacation' cabin. His shoulders shake at how unintentionally cheeky he was to presume he could move right on in. To cover his well-received boo boo, Dean outlines the groceries they can collect later. Benny takes a chewed pencil from his breast pocket and scrubs lines through items on his list.
After all the anticipation, they tie up the boat and mount the ladder to the boardwalk without being accosted. They see only a few people busy with their own affairs as they march to Mac's. Benny salutes a few patrons, who tactfully ignore the omega tucked under his arm. Dean fends off apologies from the barkeep, given on behalf of all those mortified that their youth would have attacked a lone omega. Dean insists he isn't harmed. The words ring in his ears, wondering if he sounds like so many others in the past.
Benny runs over to the general store while Dean reaches voicemail, waits 15 minutes and tries again. John's still not picking up so Dean repeats his message. He's not worried about John, who could have had to take off into the wilds to find his target. In fact, Dean is thankful there wasn't a conversation. He was unsure what to report, and couldn't bear any probing questions on what he has being doing. He's still kicking his own virtual butt for leaving himself exposed and, he cringes, vulnerable. The message Dean left was to the point. No conclusion yet, but he is making progress.
When he emerges to the alcove with restroom doors opposite, Benny is heads together with another alpha in plaid, jeans and an open parka. Both are in agreement, exchanging inflammatory words about how the sheriff is sitting on his hands. Slightly behind the new wiry blond alpha, is Jonah, in a thick navy sweater the arms of which come over his hands. Dean decides both that Jonah knits his family's woolens and that the alpha must be Geoff.
"Hey Dean," The brunet omega greets in a soft hush, raising his hand to wave at Dean who is less than five feet away.
"Dean," Benny turns with a welcoming beam, "You got your father?"
"Uh-huh, voicemail." Dean nods in Benny's direction, greets Jonah and is introduced to Geoff, who handshakes with a firm grip. Jonah tugs at the extra material of Benny's old jacket where it falls loose on Dean's body. The two omegas step to the side.
"Are you okay?" Jonah whispers, patting Dean's arm as if trying to imbue him with some arcane omega fellowship healing powers.
"Uh-uh," Dean nods. He keeps his voice low because Jonah wants the conversation to be private. "They didn't... Benny arrived in time."
Jonah's eyes well up. "I can't imagine… so awful. I cried when Geoff came home, wanted him to go back and ask you to shelter with us and the pups, but he told me Alpha Benny had you."
"Um, yeah, Benny's been great."
"I bet," Jonah wiggles his eyebrows.
"Hey, no and yes, I mean," Dean swallows, "I think we are compatible, but…"
"Sorry! Oh my God," Jonah is suddenly shamefaced, "I put my foot in it. I'm always doing that. Dean, honestly, I didn't mean to suggest, not after you were almost … by those…"
Dean reaches out to grab the shorter omega's wrist, "It's alright, Man. I'm good."
Jonah nods.
With a shiver Dean considers, "Benny came. I don't even wanna think what happened to the others."
Jaw dropped open enough to catch flies, Jonah gapes. "What others?"
"Y'know, the ones who disappeared?" Dean leans in, "The male omegas who turned up saying that they weren't injured? Who knows what they did to them?"
Jonah's eyelids flicker with disbelief, "No, Dean. You have it all wrong."
Dean startles, "What?"
"Those omegas weren't violated. They really lost time and woke up on the cliff path."
"Jonah," Dean hates to break the innocence of this sweet guy, "They tried to roofie me, and then they could have dumped my comatose…"
"Stop." Jonah hisses, "No. That is not what happened to us."
Dean stills. Jonah's hand flies to cover his mouth.
Without pausing for breath, Dean pulls Jonah's arm, dragging his new friend to the first low round table. He gives thumbs up to Benny and Geoff, signaling that all is okay. The table is in the alphas' line of sight, but far enough away that if they speak in hushed tones they will not be overheard.
"Talk." Dean demands in a tone that brooks no argument. It is one he trained hard to develop.
"I was…" Jonah glances round. He unconsciously pats his clavicle and runs his finger along the edge of his inch-wide black collar, begins fiddling with the narrow sliver D-ring. "I was seventeen."
Dean hums encouragingly.
A slight brightness shines from Jonah's gray eyes, "I was seeing Geoff. We didn't mate until the next summer. I had Daniel, my pup who's in kindergarten, before my nineteenth birthday." He takes a beat, "I guess 'cause I was dating Geoff, Mom and Mother weren't as strict with me, about curfews and stuff. It was about this time of year. I'd been in heat seclusion for four long days. The moon was full. The house was closing in on me."
Dean makes a noise of empathy. He remembers a time before suppressants, motel walls shrinking around him. He'd hotwired a car after his heat had broken, driven in circles around Algona, Iowa, until dawn. He'd returned it to its driveway, crawled back in the bathroom window, and made Sammy's breakfast.
Jonah sighs deeply. "I wrapped up warm. I wore Geoff's scarf, to have his scent with me. From my parents' home there is a path down through the scrub to the Baleen. I hiked upstream, free and blessedly chilled. I remember marveling at how white the chapel looked in the moonlight, then nothing. Until I was so cold, stiff and exhausted. It was daylight and I was on the cliff path. It had rained. My clothes were damp and patterned with thin ice. I couldn't believe how I could have fallen asleep. I didn't understand how I'd made it from the church to a patch of grass on The Knuckle. And I was crapping myself about the lecture I was going to get for staying out all night. I can't tell you how cold I was. Mild hypothermia, Doctor Russo said."
Jonah goes silent. His eyes are distant.
"Your folks must have been frantic." Dean prompts.
"That's just it. I dragged myself towards home. They met me on the path, hugging and sobbing, overwhelming me. I hadn't been gone overnight. I had been gone two nights. I didn't believe them until we got home and they turned on the TV. Geoff had been out of his mind with worry too. Some people were looking at him as if he'd abducted me. They asked me endlessly, but I didn't remember a thing."
The way Jonah's voice slows on the last sentence makes Dean narrow his eyes, "But there was something else?"
"It's dumb," Jonah ducks his head.
"I'll listen."
"Have you ever had a vivid nightmare where you know you are dreaming but you can't wake up? You are trapped in the fear?"
Dean blows a sympathetic raspberry. He doesn't think he ever had one that bad, but Sammy sometimes used to wake from vicious night terrors. Dean would hold his freaked out little brother for an age before he'd fall back to slumber.
"Strange awful terrors would wake me in a cold sweat. They came for months, not every night, but for months and months. I thought I was going wacko." Jonah gulps, "There is this child, y'know?"
Dean doesn't but he nods.
"I was alone when I vanished, but in my dreams, I see a lost child, a baby, a little tot. It calls plaintively to me and I want to comfort it, help it, but it's waif-thin, dripping water and gray. I mean, its skin, the shift on its tiny body, its fingernails, pupil-less eyes are all gray. I'm so scared that in some dreams I piss myself. In others I run and the child follows in a panic. The worst was when I took the babe in my arms and it sobbed for its Papa until I felt so terribly drained and spent."
"Geez, Jonah. What stopped it?"
"I don't know. They came less frequently as the days lengthened. I'd lost weight that winter, but with the summer my health improved and the nightmares tapered off. I had two maybe three of the child crying in the distance after I mated Geoff, then no more."
"You don't think it was a ghost?" Dean tries for bluntness to provoke Jonah's theory.
"Come on, Dean? Have you been reading horror stories? No such thing. I guess it was my brain trying to comprehend what had happened, mixed in with my desire for pups with Geoff. Perhaps the story that losing time had happened to other omegas made me fantasize subconsciously. Perhaps I'd slipped and hit my head, maybe even bruised some area of the cortex responsible for dreams?"
Dean nods, covers his slight disappointment that he'll have to hide his hunter side from Jonah. The omega is not the first victim of a specter or monster who rationalized away the supernatural. In the face of firsthand experience it's amazing how a logical brain can deny, twist facts and misinterpret perceptions until the person is convinced nothing paranormal happened.
However, now Dean is convinced there is a monster. Maybe not a monstrous monster but perhaps a poor trapped spirit of a child, who over time is becoming vengeful, twisted and dangerous. He hates the thought of digging up such small bones and torching them, but it might have to be done. That's all presuming Dean can successfully research who this child was. Also it presumes that there is a child. Racking his brains, Dean is sure he has seen accounts of monsters who can take the shape of children. Was it in one of Jim Murphy or Bobby Singer's books?
Geoff and Benny approach. Jonah stands and slips under his mate's arm. He smiles wanly at Dean, who tries to return a friendly enough grin to communicate that he both believed Jonah and is grateful that he confided in him.
"You want to eat here?" Benny asks. "Or go home and I'll use some ground round to make spiced patties?"
Dean doesn't want to receive sympathies in looks or words from Mac's patrons. Also it is more urgent now to get his stuff from Caleb's cabin, because there is a rock solid case on Gauntlet.
There are reasons they don't tell civilians the truth. Being considered completely insane is the doozy. Dean has no clue how he is going to broach the topic, not to mind explain The Truth to Benny. He doesn't want to hide the hunt from him. If they have any future together, then Benny's going to have to find out about the family business. Instead of being able to ease into it and formulate a plan of action, Jonah's tale means he doesn't have the luxury of time to think about a slow reveal. He can't delay. He is mid-hunt and he's going to have to tell his alpha.