++++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Benny's "No way" reverberates. It pops Dean's bubble, scraping his heart raw, rattling his bones. All the little hopes and prayers, the tentative fantasies, are parceled up and shoved back in their boxes. If he has any lucid thoughts they are to chide himself for letting down his walls, for being foolish enough to believe a good life was being offered to him on a plate.

On the surface Dean is stoic, like stone. He tightens his jaw, squares his shoulders, draws on reserves and speaks.

"I am a capable…" Dean's voice wobbles. He steadies it. "Hell, More than capable hunter. I protected Sammy all his life, since I was a four year old pup. I made my first sawn off at twelve. If you think you can stop me…"

Benny's hand cups Dean's shoulder, "Hold up, Sugar. You don't understand. Not with Don Bryson and his crew out and about… Not alone. I'm all in."

Fingers clench supportively into the hunter's muscles. Dean holds his breath. Does he dare dropping the panic room walls that have shot up into place? Was he too hasty?

Benny's voice remains level, his blue eyes search Dean's, "I want you to take me with you. I can hang back, if you think this anorak won't come if an alpha's too near. What I said was, Sugar, is that no way will I let you do this alone."

"Anorak?" Dean quavers, a sudden hilarity making him tremble. He can see a disembodied floating wet black bomber jacket or orange puffer coat terrorizing screaming omega teens, like some terrible Mel Brooks send up of a B-horror movie.

"Are you alright?" Benny urges, misinterpreting the trembling. "I care about you, care and want to protect you, my omega, please let me."

Dean flushes. He's hot enough to mimic a rush of blood during his heat. Did his alpha ask for permission to try and keep him safe?

"My wariness covers you using yourself to draw this thing out." Benny grimaces in confession. "I mean, you got safeguards? Contingencies?"

Dean leans in closer, shuffles the desk chair towards his alpha. His heart is skipping beats, teeter tottering with his emotions, now on the upswing of amazed happiness that he's got an alpha open to hearing his line of reasoning. "I figure, we go the night before the full moon. I don't want to risk any other omega being taken."

"Sugar, there ain't any other visitors staying on the isle."

Dean shakes his head. "Alpha, it's not always a stranger. You can't spill this… though I guess it's an open secret on Gauntlet, but it happened to Jonah."

The chef covers his mouth with his hand. "Geoff's Jonah?"

"Yeah, way back."

"That brings it home." Benny scratches his beard thoughtfully as another layer of the truth settles. "Makes me more reluctant about you being the lure."

Dean places his hand on Benny's white clad lower arm. "This is what I do. We have to draw out the Angiak. We get one chance a year. I don't want to miss it and I, sure as Hell, don't want to be part of a Saturday search party looking for one of the football playing teenagers I saw last weekend."

"I hear ya."

Encouraged Dean forges on, "It'd be better not to meet the creature when it's at full power. A night early with an almost round moon. Try and get it to appear out of wherever, the sea, the caves, Baleen spring, the ether? If it is a blow out, then we get another shot on the night of the full moon."

"That'd be Thursday and full on Friday, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll talk with Mac. See if I can pull another double tomorrow, then I'll have the following two nights off." Benny half laughs, "I'm getting to see how this hunting gig interferes with a regular job."

Dean smiles knowingly. Benny's got a great trade for a peripatetic hunter, able to pick up casual work or short term contracts. The omega plants a halt there before he presumes too much. They haven't talked about what happens next for them as mates or maybe mates. Not that Dean will want to hunt when bearing pups. Nor does he fancy taking his little ones on the road, but he'll never be able to ignore signs of a hunt. Benny doesn't have to be a hunter. If they mate…

Dean realizes with alarm that he must have spoken some of that whole spiel out loud because Benny is beaming like he's won the state lottery.

"So you're saying I've gotta watch our pups while you fight ghosts and ghouls?"

Dean hears affection, amusement and mild ragging. He rises to the challenge, "…And witches, werewolves and wendigo."

Benny drains the end of his coffee, giving Dean the opportunity to flip the mood darker.

"I was raised in the life, in the pursuit of the demon who killed my Mom, and all the sonsabitches like it. I am a hunter. But I don't want it for my pups. Here am I, not yet mated, about to tell you that if our grown up pups want to join the Winchester Family Business I'll help and train them, but not as little ones." Dean huffs, "I'm a cocky dude, aren't I?"

"No, Mon Cher, you are certain deep down inside that we'll be side by side. I don't doubt it."

There is a lump the size of Texas in Dean's throat. He blinks back emotion, nods and lets his alpha kiss him deeply.

"Now," Benny gets back on point. "How do we kill an Angiak? And don't say by having it K.O. you for 48 hours. What do we do if it does show?"

"I run for my life to consecrated ground." Dean laughs humorlessly. "We douse it in holy water and alakazam."

"Alakazam?" Benny repeats slowly.

"Yeah, Hey Presto, By the Power of Greyskull, Vamoose… Wait until you see a manifested spirit burn up as you torch its bones. There's nothing like it." Dean teases.

"I'll take your word for it." Benny plants a chaste kiss on Dean's proffered cheek. "I'd like a slip more reassurance than magic words, but you're the expert, Dean."

Lips chewed and head ducked, Dean promises, "I'll go over my notes, refine the details, Alpha."

"Sounds good, Darlin'"

"Oh," Dean remembers, "I told Bobby."

Benny raises his brows.

"About us. That I found my alpha."

"Well now, that does make me happy." Benny pulls Dean out of his seat and into a bear hug.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That night they sleep like commas between the last of Benny's clean bed linen. If Benny's arms squeeze a touch tighter, and Dean nuzzles in a little deeper, then that's all fine. They wake early, slowly and lazily. The alpha provides toast and eggs over easy, to be consumed seated together in bed, legs wrapped in blankets. Benny goes to Mac's a little earlier leaving Dean to snuggle alone, rubbing Benny's lingering pheromones into his skin. It's a far cry from his years of scent masking lotions and aerosols.

Eventually Dean braves the dark cloudy sky and seaweed strewn beach to run hard and fast. The training exercise stretches his muscles. The hunter is sweating and panting enough in cold morning air to meet the approval of Alpha John Winchester. After an hour flurries of snow send him back inside, stoking up the stove and getting a decent blaze going.

He luxuriates in a long hot shower and dries off with a thick towel, which he swiped from Caleb's family cabin. The rest of the day moves slowly marked by channel hopping through what Dean considers the highlights of daytime TV.

By mid-afternoon the snow showers have moved off to the south west. He wraps up in layers and the coat Benny let him wear. The snow was too wet to stay on the ground, though slushy patches remain. Dean figures it could freeze hard that night and hopes they won't have inclement weather to contend with on their hunt. He hikes the cliff path to Gaunt, takes the turn by the firehouse to the chapel. He doesn't see anyone he knows, except Kenny at work through the store window. For the sake of thoroughness Dean makes a sweep of the grave markers, going so far to take a couple of rubbings on the older stones. Definitely no Emery bodies in the ground. He passes an older alpha lady carrying a pot of heather as he departs. She pays him no mind. The overgrown path to the source of Baleen stream isn't difficult to navigate. In the summer nettles, brush, high grasses and such probably make it hard, unless the islanders keep it clear. There is no evidence that anyone ever lived there, save for a flatter plateau about 10 foot square, where perhaps Rowan Emery built a dwelling hut. Unless the Angiak explodes from the trickling spring once a year, the site is not in contention for Dean and Benny's Thursday night destination.

Dean mounts a foot path to the cliff. Out to sea the snow clouds are building again. The wind is icy, telling of its Arctic origin. He huddles in the wool of his coat. The tide is against him once more. He can't get round the rocks to the caves below The Knuckle. He makes a mental note to check low tide times.

The Reaves family cabin is gloomy inside. Dean doesn't bother with the generator. He knows what he wants. Benny needs a silver blade, just in case Dean's got it all wrong and it turns out to be wraith. He snags a chunky beaded rosary, a nasty looking machete and a box of rock salt filled ammo to save making their own. Chewing his lip, Dean leaves a list of what he has taken inside the cabinet door. He reckons he is entitled to use the supplies on a case that came from Caleb's lead, but that's no reason not to let the next hunter know exactly what's missing and needs to be replenished.

He drops the weaponry at Benny's before heading for Mac's. Wet flakes cling to his coat as he dives into the bar, making it just before the snow comes down in buckets.

Mac is using his office to do accounts but he kindly gives Dean a few minutes of privacy to call his Alpha-Dad. John's voicemail is full, probably partially due to Dean's previous messages. It's a relief. He's not sure how his dodging and fudging was coming across. When John does listen to them, he might turn his truck for Maine.

The hunter considers taking cheeky advantage to do an internet search on tides and the moon's phase. He is about to minimize Mac's accounting program when he notices a slim small volume on the adjoining shelf. As Pilot boat operator, of course the barkeep possesses a book of tide tables. Dean's got to compute the slight difference between Great Cranberry and Gauntlet, but he was always good at Math.

Benny takes his break to eat rib eye and pepper sauce with Dean. The bar is busy and they don't have much privacy. When Dean mentions his hike and how he struck out at Shark Tooth Bay again, Benny explains how to access and egress the caves. Turns out the alpha had ventured there on occasion during the summer months. By his description of the slender gaps and shallow scoops in the cliff, there is only one cave that is large enough to walk inside, close enough for Rowan Emery to clamber into holding a pup, and high enough above sea level not to fill with water until the tide is high.

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The day of the hunt begins like any other. They have to eat. Benny takes their dirty laundry to a neighbor who washes it for him in exchange for chores she detests. Antoinette is a single parent beta in her forties, who fillets fish part-time. It's a long standing arrangement. Today Benny and Dean chop wood for her and clean her gutters, while the linens are washed and dried.

Early evening, they prep for the hunt. Dean spreads hunting paraphernalia over the end of the bed. Benny stands to the side watching each item appear.

Dean clicks his tongue, "Wait till I open the false bottom in my Baby's trunk. Then you'll see some gear. You've got to be prepared for virtually anything."

Benny nods, smiling. "Boy scout Dean?"

The omega guffaws. "Not on your life. Took out a werewolf that was terrorizing a summer camp once. I was sixteen."

"Sixteen." Benny repeats with a puff of air.

"It was my kill," Dean gets lost in the memory. The validation of his Dad's pride in him. The proof he could pass as a beta hunter. "Caught that fugly sonuvabitch bull's-eye in the heart with an arrow from this badass crossbow. Burned it to a crisp in the backwoods. All those carefree teens slept easy in their camp beds, while me and my Alpha-Dad were sucking in the stench of roasted flesh, but y'know, it was pretty awesome. They'll never know it, but we saved their hides. Times like that made all the sacrifices, the aches and nausea from the heat sups, the life on the road, the military standard physical training… everything… all worthwhile."

Dean isn't sure why that story deserved a bone crushing hug, but if Benny's giving out hugs like free candy, who is he to complain. He tells less dramatic hunting stories of simple salt and burns while he makes a thigh holster for Benny so he can Velcro the machete. The silver blade came with a belt holder. He remembers to change the batteries in each of their flashlights. He fills his gun with the rock salt ammo and a couple of canteens with the holy water he's got steeping in a plastic bucket.

Everything ship shape, Dean notices that Benny's pacing a groove in the floor. There is a tinge of acrid trepidation in his scent. Has his alpha got pre-hunt jitters?

Dean narrows his eyes but a smile plays on his lips, ""You good, Alpha?"

"More or less, Sugar," Benny sighs as he comes to stand at the bottom of the bed.

"Awh, Don't worry, Benny, I got your back." Dean smirks, bumping their shoulders together.

"I know. It might be my first rodeo but I got yours too."

"You ready?"

Benny nods, grimly.

They suit and boot up. Benny insists Dean wear a scarf under his coat. He offers him a beanie and an extra sweater too. Dean plants the wooly hat on his head as Benny puts on his own cap, but he declines the sweater. Being wrapped up like a blimp might satisfy his alpha's need to keep him warm, but it's not going to allow the motion range essential on a hunt.

The moon is low, large and shining an illusionary road on the surface of the ocean. Sands glow below them where the cliff path verges to the edge. The snow has cleared, sky devoid of cloud cover. The temperature is dropping but their quick march and warm layers prevent the chill from doing more than reddening their cheeks and noses.

As they cross the sands of Shark Tooth Bay, Benny asks, "What can we do, can the Island do, if this doesn't work?"

Pleasure at how Benny has accepted the existence of the supernatural on Dean's word alone mingles with amusement that this question comes so late in the day, as they cross below the abandoned solo cabin. He stifles a laugh and gives a considered answer.

"Tradition says the Eskimo tribes moved on. Maybe evacuate Gauntlet?"

Benny cuffs him on the arm playfully.

"I got a gut feeling that the cave's where it emerges. We are on the right track." Dean offers reassurance. "It's the place Rowan left his baby. Jonah woke on The Knuckle, maybe the Angiak left him there before it submerged under the waves for another year."

As they get closer to the rocks, Benny paces ahead. The alpha knows how to negotiate the terrain. Dean's happy to let him take the lead. Being a few steps back, Dean gets a full body view. Benny is freaking sex on legs. Now that they are apart from civilization, the alpha is holding his machete openly in his hand. He swings it loosely as they walk, preceding Dean onto the first low rocks. Admiration releases a trickle of slick, which Dean shrugs off. Neither the time nor the place. However the smell of ripe omega might be just what is needed to lure their revenant from the sea.

Unfortunately Dean has to tear his gaze away from the roll of Benny's shoulders under his dark coat, to watch his own footing. The tide is receding, giving them a decent window to occupy the cave, but it makes the rocks more treacherous with their freshly revealed seaweed coating. Rock pools look a mix of black shadows and moonlit silver. The stratified surface inclines unevenly. Dean's glad they have a cloudless sky. He can cope with the mercury dipping to thirty and the chill wind, knowing he's not going to break his neck on unseen trip hazards.

In broad daylight on a summer's day, the climb is probably a pleasant diversion. It's an easy, if slippery, scramble under the cave entrance. Benny offers Dean his joined finger-linked hands as a boost.

Dean grouches, "I'm not a medieval genteel omega mounting a horse."

He ignores the offer of aid, grabbing a protruding sharp part and using his arms to take his weight, swinging his legs onto the next ledge. He almost harbors a grudge until he looks down to see Benny reaching up for assistance and a helping hand. Dean smirks, braces his side to the wet cliff, and extends an arm down. When they are on the level, Dean claps his alpha on the bicep and they share a grin.

Flashlights on, Dean can peer into the cave. It extends back only the length of two Impalas. There are a couple of ledges and slimy protruding rocks but the basic shape is curved triangular, the point at the rear just right of center. The cave mouth is illuminated by the moon but at the back it is pitch dark.

He clambers over the final lip on his knees before using a handhold to heave himself upright. Benny's right behind him. They move cautiously into the dark space, synchronized without a need for words. Dean takes a parsec to marvel at how they are flowing like mated predators.

He lifts his long blade with his flashlight to illuminate a hip height shelf with a curved dip. It reminds him of a shallow bowl and deep down he knows that this is where Rowan placed his swaddled pup for safekeeping.

"And now?" Benny asks interrupting Dean's gloomy thoughts.

"We wait." Dean replies slinking down to a crouch against the wall. "For the Angiak or until you reckon the rising tide means we've gotta scarper."

"We should have coffee and donuts if it's a stakeout." Benny pouts regretfully.

"You've been watching too many procedural cop shows," Dean ribs, "Chips and bing bongs, or in dire circumstances packets of jerky."

"I'm making donuts for the next one." Benny grouses.

Dean beams at both the promise of homemade donuts and the fact that Benny says they be together on the next hunt.

As they wait, Benny shift uncomfortably from one perch to another, sometimes leaning into Dean's side, sometimes standing at the cave mouth watching the rising moon and starlit sky.

They don't talk much. Dean reveals that he prefers stakeouts in the Impala, where he can listen to his cassettes. Benny gets him to describe his Baby in loving detail, smiling at the hunter's enthusiasm.

They are both standing, facing each other midway when the alpha asks what he should do if the Angiak shows and casts a spell over Dean.

"Hum, I'm not sure it's a spell, so to speak." Dean flicks his gaze and the beam of his flashlight to the cave roof. "If it looks like I'm in a trance or I'm losing consciousness, then throw the holy water at it, or throw the sliver knife at it. I wish we had a flamethrower. I'm certain water creatures hate fire."

"Splash or stab." Benny confirms

"But Alpha," Dean emphasizes, "Don't be hasty. This may be our one shot at it, and I know if I am threatened every alpha molecule in your body'll want to end the thing. You've got to give me a chance to get it to follow us to the chapel."

"That's a fine line you're asking me to tread, Darlin'."

"I trust you." Dean says simply. He knows for certain that Benny won't risk it if he is in too much danger. The trust he places is that his alpha won't act to protect him prematurely.

No sooner has Dean spoken when there is a sibilant breathing noise from outside. A shape crawls over the lip of the cave, dripping water.

Dean flings his arm back, palm wide, connecting with Benny's chest.

"Stay behind me."

Dean knew the Angiak would not have the appearance of a newborn. Research, the passage of time, and Jonah's nightmares suggested an older pup. All the same, his breath catches in his throat at the wretched pitiable sight approaching them.

Young, never matured beyond toddling age, the Angiak's pallor is gray. It moves in a crouching crawl, all thin brittle elbows, and wrinkled boney knees. Sea water drips from its open mouth, ripped thin shift, and papery skin. It is an uncomfortable reminder of Pup Emery's horrific drowning. Huge pupil-less, perhaps nothing but pupil, eyes focus in on Dean as it lifts its nostrils scenting the air. Its neck looks unable to support its head, breath steams from between pale bloodless lips.

Part of Dean wants to run, another part wants to wrap it up in fluffy soft towels and bring it in from the cold.

"Dean!" Benny expels as the creature reaches, open fingered with an uncanny whine towards the omega hunter.

The Angiak's head swivels at an unnatural angle. It hisses at the unexpected non-omega intruder. Benny takes one intimidating step to put himself between it and Dean. There is only time for Dean to open his mouth to urge Benny to stay back, when the Angiak issues a howl of desperation. Benny's whole bulk is flung back, slamming against the cave wall. The alpha raises one palm, gesturing to Dean that he is uninjured.

The Angiak moves crablike, jerky, looking less than human. It crawls up the cave wall opposite to Benny, all sharp angled elbows and eerie pup-like whines.

Benny throws Dean a 'what do we do now?' look.

The flashlights flicker and die.

Dean reaches for his gun with a shaky hand. He can't shoot it. It's not that he can't see the wretched creature in the gloaming, nor that he's unsure if rock salt would work. Normally he'd shoot first and ask questions later, but it's a tiny pup, a lonely heartrending babe, who is pulling on every parental instinct the omega possesses.

With a quick tongue swipe of his lips, Dean opens his arms to the shivering Angiak.

It makes a spider leap from the wall, aiming for and landing into Dean's hold. It clings on, not so tight as to hurt Dean. Feeble vocalizations mixed with an ungainly attempt to hug, lead the omega to wrap his arms around the miserable creature. It is so cold. The chill spreads into Dean's chest, tightening it. His breathing becomes shallow. The edges of his vision blur. He can see the Angiak's little face, but all around is cloudy. Someone with a wonderful voice is calling his name from far far away. His balance falters, plunking his butt onto hard ground. The reason why he is holding a pup dies away. Dean is no longer sure where he is. What is vital is that this tiny pup needs him. All else is indistinct and unimportant. The world diminishes. All is fuzzy, gray, fading…

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Acknowledgement: the conversation between Gordon Walker and Dean in Bloodlust is the source of werewolf kill story when Dean was sixteen years of age.

Thanks again everyone for all your encouragement. This story was originally plotted as a nine chapter Dean/Benny A/B/O chiller, but once I began writing I thought it would be 13 chapters. Looks more like 17 chapters now… hope you all don't mind my wordy rambling extending the tale.