A Hole in the World

by anneliese-michel

Dean Winchester never wanted to go home again. Going back to Lawrence meant people who knew what he was, who didn't buy into the lie. But with a tragic accident, he's back and dealing with the death of his father, the social stigma and objectification of being an out Omega, and the lingering aftermath of a long-ago crime.

31. Wild Horses

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away

- "Wild Horses," The Rolling Stones

The first breath of air outside of the courthouse should taste of freedom, exoneration, maybe even redemption for his past sins. It's like ash and dust, instead, and a dry heat even in the early evening hours that has Castiel's skin prickling beneath layers of his suit, the cold sweat he'd had in the courtroom towards the end making everything uncomfortable, even Dean's arm around him.

Gabriel is planning to drag them out to a celebratory dinner, but is instantly onboard with Ellen's plan for food and free rounds at the Roadhouse, closed for a 'family emergency' anyway considering its staff is all there. Castiel's ridiculously grateful for Dean moments later, when he's drawn to a stop on the courthouse steps by the tightening of Dean's arm around him.

"Why don't you guys go ahead without us? Sorry, I didn't sleep for crap last night." Which isn't precisely true. It was Cas who couldn't sleep. Dean's saving face for him though he doesn't need to. Castiel tries not to look confused by that, while Dean is getting them out of socializing.

"You sure?" Jo's doe eyes are pleading, trying to coax Dean out with them all, looking for reassurance that he's alright, but Dean's got decades of experience with the younger sibling ploy. The only person to ever pull that on him and have it work every time is watching Dean from the bottom step, his little brother's eyes sad and sympathetic.

"It's okay, Dean. Take a night off. Get some rest. We can all see you tomorrow." And this is what Dean's escaping; everyone's pitying looks and touches, how they're all ready to jump at any chance to do something for him, the hugs they seem to pass him around for. The man for whom family is everything just needs away from them for a while, to get his head on straight. Sam, Gabriel, even Ash, they slap Castiel on the shoulder, congratulatory for his acquittal, but no one expects weepy confessions out of him and no one assumed Castiel would be leaving Dean by himself to go celebrate his freedom. He wonders if he should read into that.

The Impala is too warm, but Dean strips off his jacket and tie, tossing them into the back seat as he adjusts the air conditioner. He's obviously stalling as he unbuttons his dress shirt and shucks it for the t-shirt beneath, waiting for his family to clear the parking lot, soaking in Castiel's comforting silence and the familiar purr of his Baby.

He doesn't want to go home with memories of recovering from the assault cooped up in that place. He doesn't want to have to go to the Roadhouse and pretend everything's alright. He's not up to a celebration, acting like today was in any way some kind of victory for either of them, something to cheer about. He can't face Alastair's timeline on his walls, and the nauseating truths he's still hiding from. Suddenly he hates this town-the memories of it, the garage, the cemetery that has claimed both of his parents, the stadium he can't drive by without feeling sick, the hospital, the knowledge that those guys pretty much own this place with their 'respectable' families and nepotism-secured jobs and lives.

There's gas in the tank and the itch beneath his skin like he needs to get away. "Wanna get out of here for a while, Cas?"

Castiel assumes the question is rhetorical but he answers anyway, leaning his head against the sun-warmed glass of the window. "Yes. Please."

There's no music this time, no drumming against the steering wheel. The road they hit out of town is as unfamiliar to Cas as most anything but bus routes is, but it doesn't matter their destination so far as Cas is concerned. What's important is how Dean floors it once they're on the open road, the flat Kansas landscape around them making the sky seem to stretch on for miles, the scenery murky gray and green. What's important is how the tension bleeds out of Dean's limbs slowly, how the lines of his forehead slowly unknit as he focuses on driving, taking them on back roads rarely patrolled by the sheriff's department, when most of the population has drifted into cities. A sad old farmhouse surrounded by ash-blighted fields catches Castiel's eye until they speed past it, its paint stripped and faded down to reveal old silvering wood that looks brittle enough crumble at a touch. He knows they're nearing something again when greenhouses are visible in the distance and Dean eases off of the accelerator, watching the side roads carefully as low rolling hills and stubby, twisted trees obscure turn-offs.

Somehow, Castiel isn't surprised when Dean finally cuts the engine somewhere remote and by water, after over an hour of driving. Perry Lake is meticulously maintained-the US Army Corps of Engineers keeps tabs on that as the reservoir central to Lawrence, Topeka and Kansas City, testing various filtration methods and maintaining the dam. Apart from the dam and military recreational areas, though, the rest of it has been left to parklands, to yacht clubs on the north eastern end, to public beaches on the western side, and apparently run-down docks at the bend of the lake the peninsular outcropping overlooking a cove called the Devil's Gap, the no-swimming sign protruding from the water tagged by some delinquent with a sense of humor proving its efficacy. It's very different from the slow-moving gray of Dean's view over the Kansas River, or the bubbling sludge of a creek they found themselves at last time Dean needed to get away, or the artificial blue of the swimming pool at Castiel's old apartment where Dean watched the storm roll in from the hood of his car, but the preference is becoming unmistakable.

"Bobby taught me to fish here." It's a good memory; one of the first good memories after Mary's death. The gruff mechanic wrangled Ellen and Bill into watching baby Sammy and then loaded Dean into the truck for a day trip here. He never really tried to get Dean to talk, but the fishing trip was pretty inspired for giving Dean a safe place where he wasn't required to. Bobby dropped a floppy old cap on top of Dean's head, hauled a cooler and a folding chair out of the back of his truck for himself, and let Dean sit with his toes skimming the water, drinking bottled Coke and watching the lake while Bobby drank a beer and taught him fishing lures and how to cast and about the fish and the lake. Thinking back, Dean's not even sure his own hook was baited most of the time once the lesson ended and the fishing began. That wasn't the point of it.

"Your employer, Bobby? Who. . ." The question's a reminder of how much Castiel doesn't know about him, still, but Dean can tell he's putting together the pieces, stringing together what he knows now from the court case as well. That puts it too close to home on what he's avoiding—he opens the car door instead, shoes crunching over the gravel until he hits the dock. The hollow thump of Cas's footsteps on the wood is his cue to pick up talking again, certain now that he's still listening.

"Kinda became one of my favorite places to go when I was ditching school, too. Topeka's too obvious, and crawling with cops who'd ask you why you weren't in class. Plus there's less to do there than there is in Lawrence, even. Going into Kansas City'd mean not being back in time to pick up Sam." Dean toes his shoes off, dropping to sit on the wood, and tugs his socks off. Taking a moment to roll the bottom of his slacks up, he then fishes his phone and wallet out of his pocket and drops them into a shoe so he can sit comfortably. The water is shockingly cold on his feet, but clean, and he leans back on his hands, tilting his head back to look up at Castiel.

Castiel is frowning down at him in concern, and Dean rolls his eyes, reaches up, and tugs Cas down beside him, sitting shoulder to shoulder. He shakes his head slightly as Cas finally shrugs out of his jacket, folding it neatly like some sort of weirdo before setting it aside with his belongings on top of it, carefully turning his phone off so they won't be disturbed. "What'm I talking to you about skipping school for? You probably signed up for extra credit and stayed late every time you got the chance, right?" They may not have poles, but Dean's still fishing. He wants Castiel talking, wants something else to focus on, pieces of their history that aren't as crappy as what was dragged out in court all day.

"You're not. . . entirely wrong on that." Castiel admits after a moment, opting to fold his legs instead of stick his feet into the water beside Dean's. "Though the Sisters were also fond of detention. And because when we were young they couldn't tell the three of us apart, we often ended up in them together. That's discounting times Jimmy bribed, begged, or paid Emmanuel or me to take detentions for him later." Castiel huffs quietly at some memory, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes crinkling. "As a teenager, Jimmy had a tendency to smart-mouth and speak out of turn, and one detention for that would turn into a week's worth very quickly."

"Sounds like my kind of guy."

Castiel laughs quietly, shrugging one shoulder, but even as he does something lonely and sad steals across his features. "Yes. I think you two would have gotten along. I wish. . ." Castiel wishes that Dean had been able to meet his brother, before he died.

And this is the problem with the crap they've gone through; it somehow manages to spill onto everything, crawling in and tainting memories. Castiel is frowning at the surface of the water quietly, because Catholic school brings it back to his priesthood brings it back to his chaplaincy. Because all of his childhood memories co-star Jimmy in some way, and how no matter how much he learned about medicine, he wasn't able to save the people he most wishes he could have.

Hell, even this place, Dean's escape, he has to keep himself from thinking about what he was running from any time he ditched to come here, or the tragedy that Bobby was trying to help him past that first time.

Or maybe that's just this damn trial, making everything seem grim.

Dean doesn't want to think about it, and he knows Castiel doesn't either. Kissing him seems like the natural progression of that, the distraction for both of them. And it's good—it's always good, the faint prickle of Castiel's 5 o'clock shadow, the way he opens up for Dean, his warmth and taste . . . but Dean's spent hours now kissing Castiel; slow and lazy and sated, or hot and passionate, teeth and tongues and swallowed gasps and moans. Dean knows how Cas kisses—and his hands are still flat against the wooden boards beneath them, and while he's definitely kissing back, he's made no move to take over the kiss the way he usually does. He is a passive participant at best.

Dean breaks their lips apart with a quiet curse and settles heavily back onto the dock beneath them, scowling at the water rather than look at Castiel. He can't have this fall apart too.

"I'm sorry." Castiel murmurs, bringing his hand to Dean's cheek, fingers skimming over his skin as if afraid to touch him, and Dean wishes he'd just decide already.

"Made it pretty clear I didn't want your fucking pity, Cas."

"It's not pity. You resent this." It's such a left-field response that it drags Dean's gaze back to Castiel, to sad blue eyes that watch his hand as he brushes his thumb over Dean's lower lip. "What I am to you."

He can't shake it, the look on Dean's face whenever the word mate came up in the trial, the contemptuous way he dismissed the term. How when they met, Dean ran from him after that first kiss. How Dean kissed him to silence, walked away, or changed the topic to keep him from talking about it. Even bringing it up now Dean looks cornered, green eyes guarded, and he turns away from Cas and curls his fingers over the wooden plank at the end of the dock. Cas knows not to press—Dean's silence is sharp-edged but he's thinking about how to respond to that.

If he were blowing it off entirely, they'd be back in the car already.

"I hated you, y'know?" Castiel winces, drawing his knees up and unconsciously withdrawing himself from Dean further. Dean picks at a splinter in the wood absently with his thumbnail, watching a distant boat go by, choppy wake that evens out to gentle lapping by the time it reaches them. "Not you, just the idea of you. I get that I had a pretty fucked up introduction to being Omega, but it wasn't just that. It was shit like. . . as soon as Sam popped a knot, people stopped treating me like I was his guardian, and started talking to him like he was my keeper. He was a gangly fourteen year old kid and I was a legal fucking adult, but he was the Alpha. And hell, that's everyone. That's the 'good' people. That's discounting the assholes that'd rather spit on an Omega male if they couldn't fuck them. These are the ones who'd tell me I was being a good big brother for taking care of Sam like he was my own, and someday I'd make someone a good 'mate,' and then it'd all be just fucking peachy."

"Like I was just waiting around for the right owner, y'know? Passed off to another fucking Alpha." The splinter picked free, Dean tosses it into the water, watching it float on the surface of the lake, anything to not have to look at Cas while he's trying to spit this out. What's one more painful confession today, if it means what he has with Cas not being screwed up? "So yeah. That whole 'mate' crap. . . fuck, Cas, even the word's about making us like the 'bitches' and 'breeders' we get called, another reminder that the only thing we're good for is getting knocked up." Omegas. Last in the goddamn line, only important as the opposite of the Alphas. It wasn't enough to start classifying their genders on a frikkin' ranking system, they went first, second, then hopped to the twenty-forth letter like they had to make it clear who came in last in the genetic lottery, the Omega symbol itself a pictogram for a hole waiting to be filled.

Head down, ass up. Only way you're worth the fuck. A juvenile bully's jeer, cruel and spat against his ear as he fought, the last words he heard as a kid and a virgin. Goddamnit he doesn't need that shit in his head right now. Clenching his hands around the plank beneath him until he can feel the bite of the rough wood against his palms, threatening to leave splinters, Dean schools his expression again and finishes, his voice calmer than he feels.

"I've had the Omega thing used against me before, you know that. And even without. . . without those drugs and shit in my system, we all have to put up with the Heats. But the idea that our wiring's fucked up enough that there's someone out there we'll want to belong to, want to 'own' us? This. . . this claiming shit like we're luggage or whatever. You gotta admit, with the shit we're put through, that's pretty fucked up, Cas."

Castiel's closed the distance between them again, somewhere between when Dean started and his halfhearted shrug at the end. He curls his fingers around Dean's wrist in lieu of holding his hand, thumb stroking over Dean's skin until Dean relaxes into the touch, leaning back into Cas's side.

"I think I understand." Castiel shrugs, aware of how little that means. How academic it is, ultimately, for an Alpha from a rich family entirely of Alphas, even one as dysfunctional as his happens to be, to try claim he can completely empathize with Dean's story. He can feel sympathy, but to pretend he fully understands it would be a lie. For all that Castiel has gone through in his life, he's always had autonomy over himself. Perhaps too much, given his perpetual disobedience of orders, as today's court case painfully illustrated. "As much as I can."

Dean sighs, then bumps his shoulder against Castiel's companionably, watching the summer sun glint off of the lake as it hangs high in the evening sky in these long summer days that never seem to end when Dean wishes they would. He can tell Castiel is chewing on a thought, still weighing what to say, and it's keeping this from being the comforting moment it should be.

"I don't want to own you." Castiel rumbles, finally, and Dean rolls his eyes, glad the silence is broken but determined to end the conversation so they can just relax.

"Yeah, I figured that part out, Cas. You don't have to defend yourself here, man. You asked and I. . ."

This time, Castiel is most definitely not holding back in kissing him. His hand cups Dean's neck, pulling him in and tipping his head until he's right where Cas wants him. He needs this, the reassurance of them fitting together the way they have since the first kiss. He needed to know Dean still feels this for him, too, but he wasn't fully prepared for the strength of Dean's reaction.

Castiel could have gone to jail today. That could have been it for them—not because Dean didn't mean it when he offered to wait, but because Cas would've had all that time in jail to remember that Dean was the reason he was in there in the first place. Because something could have happened to either of them, during that time. So he pours himself into the kiss, and if Cas is all "brainstem" sex and "limbic system" contentment around him half the time anyway, Dean's determined to light them up like a Christmas tree, arousal and emotion to override the fear and misery of the rest of the day.

Blunt nails scrape over Castiel's scalp before Dean gets a solid grip on his hair, tugging at the root gaining him a low, needy groan from the Alpha beside him that he swallows into the kiss. It's as if the sound is a signal, Dean hooking his other arm around Castiel's waist and hauling him forward until he's got Castiel above him, straddling his legs, blanketing Dean's body with his own as he lays him back onto the planks of wood beneath them. Once this would have terrified Dean instinctively—being pinned by an Alpha, any Alpha. Castiel's been tipped off of Dean and had their positions reverse often enough to know this is a show of trust.

He gentles the kiss slowly, hands running along Dean's sides before pressing to his chest, letting Cas leverage himself up slightly, breaking for air. Dean's lips quirk into a self-satisfied smirk, fingers mussing Castiel's hair up again, other arm bent to pillow his head, and Dean looks completely unconcerned about decency as another boat cruises past on the lake, far from them.

"You interrupted. I wasn't done talking yet."

Castiel's grumble is halfhearted, and Dean knows it. Using the grip on his hair to tilt Cas's head to the side, he nuzzles at the curve of his neck above the collar of his dress shirt, unconsciously noting where he can mark without it showing next time they're in court. Dean nips at that spot before speaking, drawing a surprised hiss out of Cas, the Alpha unconsciously shifting in place atop him. Dean may be pinned, but parts of him are definitely sitting up and taking notice of having something riding his lap again for the first time in a long while.

"Mm. Probably shouldn't have started making out with me, then, if you were in the middle of a conversation. Just saying." But he releases Castiel's hair and folds the other arm behind his head, feet trailing in the water still, laying with his knees bent over the edge of the dock. It's a little awkward, as far as positions go, but it's good. "So go ahead, then. We're already airing out all the skeletons in our closet today I guess."

"Your mixed metaphors are increasingly terrifying. But not inaccurate." Castiel deadpans, pressing a kiss to the jut of Dean's chin and shifting again (Dean bites his lip at the sensation, still smirking) bracing a hand and elbow to the dock and putting them a comfortable speaking distance apart without moving away. Castiel has that faintly pained look that says he's thinking too much again, trying to put something into words or decide if he should say what he's thinking. His eyes catch on the curve of Dean's lip because he can't convince himself to raise his gaze those two crucial inches to have eye contact. "I was saying that I don't want to own you, Dean."

"And I was saying I know that." There's a note of sardonic humor in Dean's voice at repeating himself, as if he's congratulating Castiel for managing to remember something that happened only minutes ago. "Thanks for the recap, Cas. Good talk."

Castiel huffs in exasperation, eyes flicking back to Dean's so he can scowl properly, all bluster but no real annoyance. "You're infuriating."

"Yeah, but you love it." Dean grins, a cocky self-assured expression that Castiel's sure won many a pretty Beta girl over while Dean was convincing the world he was anything but an Omega male, and succeeds at makes Castiel swallow heavily and stare. "No take-backs."

"I wasn't going to take. . ." Castiel sighs, rolling his head back to look at the sky as he sits up without moving away. This is good; being here with Dean, slowly shedding the weight the courtroom drama put on their shoulders. The faintly prickly humor, just on the right side of bickering, feels more natural than the comforting, bolstering support they needed to get through the trial. But he is keeping Cas from being able to speak, even while encouraging him to.

It's a clever avoidance tactic, one that like the kissing is easy for both of them to sink into. But he never doubted Dean was clever. Castiel doesn't know if Dean is hiding something, or hiding himself, or if avoidance is just instinctive now.

"I like this, Dean. I like what we do to each other." He dips in again, laying himself back out over Dean, and kisses the corner of Dean's mouth as he explains his meaning, tilting his head away before Dean can chase his lips down and get something more substantial from him. Dean draws a hand from behind his head, fingers finding Cas's hair again warningly, as if reminding him that Dean could haul him back in for a kiss if he wanted, before his movements turn comforting, fingers mussing his hair lazily. "I like that you make me forget myself when you kiss me. From the very first time, at my apartment. I liked sharing your Heat with you, sharing that need. …And I like that being with you feels like home."

Dean's watching him, and he can see the twitch of a smirk reshape the curve of Dean's lips, but he keeps going knowing he's probably making a fool out of himself. "I think that's the difference between belonging to someone and belonging with them. And I know I belong with you."

Dean's laugh in response to his solemn declaration catches Cas by surprise, and he nearly tips sideways with it, but it's hard to glare at Dean when he's smiling, particularly when it's the best thing he's seen and heard in weeks. After today, after everything he's had to relive, Cas isn't sure he could begrudge Dean anything that makes him laugh. He falls back on dry humor instead. "You realize this isn't an appropriate response to someone telling you they're in love with you."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't but you're a sap." Dean tells him frankly, still laughing, though his hand squeezing Castiel's shoulder belies the sentiment and takes the sting out of the words.

"I don't know that mocking me is wise. We're surrounded by a lake and you. . ." He shouldn't have said it. He can see the moment the idea takes root in Dean's mind, the wicked cant to Dean's head and sudden spark of a plot, but he doesn't have time to defend himself.

Castiel shouldn't have threatened, even vaguely, to put Dean in the water while he himself was perched precariously on Dean's lap at the edge of a dock. He's supposedly intelligent and strategic, and he should have known better than to. . .

Both hands to Castiel's shoulders as he surges upright, Dean shoves, and Castiel has nowhere to go but off the edge of the hits the water hard, sinking underneath and spluttering cold as he rises, grabbing for the dock with water streaming into his eyes.

Sitting up at the edge of the dock again, laughter ringing out over the water, Dean offers Castiel a hand to pull him back onto the dock, ready to call truce. Their day has been long and neither of them really has the energy to put into this, they're both in the remnants of their courtroom attire, and Cas was trying to have a serious conversation until now. However, Cas thinks Dean sometimes forgets a significant piece of information about him.

Castiel grew up with nine Alpha brothers and no parents to make them get along, or reel them in, or make any of them behave. He may be the most restrained of all of them, the most stoic, the least socially adjusted. . . but that just meant his brothers enjoyed giving him hell for it. He's no stranger to fighting dirty. He recognizes a dare when it's thrown, and a challenge. Accepting Dean's extended hand in a firm grip, he clamps his other hand around Dean's opposite bare ankle as soon as Dean tenses himself to pull Cas up.

"Cas, don't you dare you. . . Son of a. . . !" Castiel dives, hauling Dean down into the water with him off-balance and turned about by wrist and ankle. He releases him as soon as he's in the water, trying to get a head-start before Dean gets his bearings, while he's still a mess of flailing limbs entirely too close to Cas for comfort. He's clambered up onto the dock when Dean surfaces, flopping backwards onto the wood and throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the evening sunlight, smug at having won that round.

He hears Dean moments later, puffing and grumbling, haul himself up over the edge of the dock. Eyes closed, secure in the center of the dock, he ignores the patter of water that tells him Dean is standing over him and speaks in his most know-it-all do-gooder formerly-virtuous priest voice.

"The sign says no swimming, Dean. I wouldn't want you to get arrested."

"Jackass. I can't believe you did that." Dean sounds like he's trying not to laugh, dropping down to sit beside Cas where he stretches out to dry.

"I can't believe you didn't think I'd do that."

"You're so fucking lucky you look like you fell out of a porno right now." Dean mutters, and Castiel raises the arm over his eyes a few inches to arch an eyebrow at Dean, earning him a sweeping hand gesture and a leer. "Dude. Wet white button-up gone all see-through and clinging slacks. It's like, the flipside of the sorority carwash porno schtick. Wet and Wild Alpha or something. It's a good look for you. I wanna make you soap up all the cars that come through the garage in that getup."

"My shoes are going to slosh the entire rest of the day." Castiel counters in a huff, dropping his arm back over his eyes, but the slow full body stretch that arches his back slightly may, perhaps, be a bit like preening under Dean's attention, knowing that Dean is watching the slide of muscle and skin beneath fabric. He can nearly feel Dean's single-minded regard, heating his skin better than the sunlight, and he basks in it happily though he'd deny it if asked.

"Show off. And you shoulda taken the shoes off and joined me, then, huh?" Castiel startles moments later when cold water splashes over his chest. Sitting up gets him a faceful of wet shirt that Dean was wringing out over him as payback. With a discontented mutter, Castiel grabs the dangling fabric out of Dean's hand, wads it up, and shoves it behind his head; softer than the wood beneath him for a pillow, if infinitely more soggy. He bats a hand vaguely in Dean's direction, trying to hook the now shirtless Omega closer until Dean finally stretches out beside him, resting his head on Cas's chest, scraping his teeth just once over the nipple clearly visible through Cas's shirt before settling.

Cas is exhausted but comfortable here like this with Dean, even with the obvious trust games they're working through as they try to find out where they stand now that Castiel doesn't have to stay. Now that there are no criminal charges to fight, making keeping Dean by his side crucial to his freedom. Even as they skirt around the events of that trial. This is about choice. Establishing that they're not here, either of them, because they had to be. Castiel doesn't own Dean, and either could go as they wished now.

He prays that Dean will stay. Or that he meant it when he invited Castiel to move in with him. He prays for any outcome that involves them together. But he can't push for it, isn't entitled to it.

"C'mon, Cas." Dean's trying to rouse them without actually moving, weighing his own follow-through on the pep talk. "If we stay here like this you're gonna burn."

"No, I'll tan. You'll freckle. And probably burn." Castiel corrects him matter-of-factly, but he lets himself be pulled back to his feet, Dean's arm slung around his shoulder once they're up, lips pressed to his temple. For all the humor in his next words, there's a thread of something truthful, serious, a proclamation if Cas will just hear it.

"Yeah, and if you don't think I resent you for that a hell of a lot more than the 'mate' crap, you're wrong."

Dean Winchester has perhaps the strangest ways of saying 'I love you too' of any human being Castiel has met. Cas smiles to himself as Dean gathers up their things, tossing them into the Impala, generally answering Dean's rambling about picking up dinner and getting them home for a shower with shrugs and nods, letting himself be buoyed along in the wake of the man he loves.

xXx

Castiel falls asleep in the car long before they hit the Lawrence city limits, snoring gently against the door almost as soon as he finishes voraciously downing a drive-through burger. His arms fold around himself to hold the blazer closed over his otherwise bare chest, like he's prudish even in his sleep, or cold in the air conditioning.

He'd teased Dean's fairer skin and freckles again and insisted he put on the dress shirt he'd shucked when he got out of the courthouse, but mostly Dean's pretty sure Cas just doesn't want the people they pass to gawk at him. He may not want to "own" Dean, but he's a possessive guy in his own right. Dean teased him for it, but if someone made a move on Cas these day's he'd probably deck them. So maybe they're both a little guilty of that. When he eases them into a gas station to top off the Impala in case of future escape needs, he lets Cas sleep through it, and tucks his own jacket over Cas like a blanket before going in to pay.

Somewhere between the cold sweats in the courtroom, the impromptu dip in a lake, and the Alpha laid out like his personal wet dream, his scent blocking wore out. The attendant gives him the universal once-over leering douchebag look of approval, like Dean should give a shit what he thinks.

Yeah. He still has issues with Alphas. Even his boyfriend, who has never had to wonder if he was being followed back out into the parking lot or if the guy there was just going for a smoke. Even his little brother, who never had to fight for any scrap of approval he could get. And that's not even touching the myriad daddy-issues he knows are currently pinned to the walls of his home.

It's harder to keep the bad mood brewing with Cas at his side with his cheek plastered to the window, somehow comforting just for being there. Dean's not going to turn into a giant sap about it though. One of them needs to be sane about this and it isn't going to be Cas, who looks at him like he hung the frikkin' moon. Doesn't mean he has to be a prick, though. He lets Cas sleep until they're in the garage, the door closing behind them and shutting out the fading daylight with it. Coaxing Castiel awake and out of the car, he tries not to laugh at him too obviously when Cas just follows him out the driver's side rather than expend the energy to open his own door, his hand caught in Dean's like he's a kid, eyelids heavy and his yawn irrepressible.

"I'm not carrying you up the stairs, dude. And you need a friggin' shower."

"So do you." Castiel's sleepy voice rasps and rumbles, and as easy as that the entire conversation about the information spread across the house goes by the wayside—Dean keeps the lights off until they hit the bathroom, where Castiel crowds into him in the shower. It's clear they're probably not having sex tonight—Cas is handsy but not pushy, and Dean's not in the mood to take it past this, soap-slick hands against each other's skin and Castiel kneading Dean's tense muscles with talented fingers making up for the crappy water pressure of the garage apartment. By the time Dean finishes lathering and rinsing Castiel's hair, Cas has his head leaned back against Dean's shoulder and looks like he's nearly asleep on his feet again. It's relief as much as it is anything. Stress has been affecting him more than he lets on.

It's as unsurprising that Cas wraps himself around Dean as soon as they hit the bed as it is to wake up to lazy kisses down the side of his neck. Castiel's arms are loose around him, unrestraining as he lets Dean get his bearings and respond before going any farther. He's gotten better about waiting for Dean to be clearly awake before pressing flush against him, more perceptive about Dean's frequent nightmares than Dean really wishes he was, though he can't argue the results.

"Oh, so now you're awake." Dean mutters, looping his arm back around Cas's shoulders as the Alpha rocks into him, cock riding the crease of his ass with each lazy roll of Cas's hips as he nuzzles into the bend between Dean's neck and shoulder. Dean's thoughts are still pleasantly hazy, just far enough removed from the rest of their drama that he can just enjoy this, the Alpha who is quickly becoming some sort of erotic alarm clock in his life. Telling Cas as much wins him a nearly silent huff of laughter, Cas's hand pressed low on Dean's stomach to pull him back into the movement.

"We were too busy yesterday." Castiel defends himself, and he groans into Dean's skin when Dean drops his arm, reaching between them to curl his fingers around Cas's length, repositioning him so he can feel the slick of Dean's arousal.

"Oh, and now you're deprived? Lifetime without sex and now you're claiming blue balls because you went a day without?" Dean teases, dragging his fingers down the sharp line of Cas's hip until he can get a grip on an ass that could make him sing praises to a life spent walking and jogging everywhere, if perpetual pedestrianism wasn't against everything held dear by a car-loving mechanic. He pulls until Cas is rutting into the channel formed between bowed thighs, sliding along Dean's perineum, so close to where he clearly wants to be but not making the move to shift them. Castiel's breath against the back of his neck sounds almost like a whine, a plea, and Dean smirks lazily and shakes his head.

"You woke me up, man. I'm not doing the work here. You want it, you take over."

Cas bites down on Dean's shoulder as he rolls them abruptly with that command, the hand against Dean's belly hauling his hips up as Castiel drives into Dean with an uninhibited moan. Dean's soaked and ready for him, but he clenches around the intrusion and it only takes a moment for Castiel to understand his sudden tension.

Face down in the pillows. Ass hauled into the air and an Alpha pressing him into presentation, into submissive posture. Before Cas can stammer an apology, or pull away completely, Dean gets a hand on the wall at the head of their bed, other braced beneath him to push himself up, and rocks himself backwards abruptly to seat Cas completely inside him.

"C'mon, Cas. Thought you were planning to fuck me." The words, riding back against Castiel's cock. . . Dean's in control here. He's teasingly challenging Cas, just as he had by tossing him in the lake. And he's challenging himself, forcing another show of trust contrary to his protective instincts, trying to tear apart his own issues. "'M not gonna break."

Not again, at least. Maybe he's a little cracked still, emotionally, but physically he can take anything Cas can dish out. He knows Cas isn't going to try and hurt him, or humiliate him, or force him into anything. Cas is good, and he feels good like this, hand coming to rest on Dean's hip, breath a stuttering hiss across Dean's shoulders as he obediently, tentatively rocks into his mate, groaning when Dean uses his leverage against the wall to meet him roughly.

He can move, here. Lift himself up, meet Cas halfway. His hands are free. No cords biting around his wrists and binding them at his back, no spreader bar forcing his ankles apart. No chafing pinch of the almost midieval stock Alastair liked to call the rack, forcing him still when he'd fought, his face near the filthy concrete floor and hips clamped high, back bowed awkwardly unless someone paid well enough for Alastair to adjust the height of the planks binding neck and wrists to the right level for his "pet" to be used at both ends. No ring keeping his mouth open because clients liked to hear him, liked the humiliation of making him whimper or drool without the ability to stop himself. No searing pain, no jeering comments about what a bitch he is, no broken bones, no gang waiting their turn. No drugs in his system, no one forcing him to beg to be raped.

Everything is so close to the surface these days, things he's managed to suppress for years. It won't stay buried, so Dean is going to face it head on for once, and this is a fight he intends to win. He beat them in the courtroom once already. He's going to do it again soon, the ghost of Alastair with them. He's not going to let them win in his head and his memories.

He can't keep waking up twisting in the sheets until he can get on his back again, terrified of anything holding him down. He used to reach for a knife, and now he has Cas reaching for him when that happens, and he wants to be able to grab hold of that offered comfort and just be normal. He wants to be able to give up control sometimes without worrying about it being ripped away entirely, and he wants to be able to let himself be loved without looking for the catch. He wants to be unashamed for liking this with Cas.

It's just not easy.

Dean hangs his head down to rest his forehead against the pillows, a full bodied shudder taking him that Cas can't miss, and doesn't miss. He's going to work through this though, and Cas understands that. He knows what Dean is asking him for, but it takes a moment, pressing kisses to Dean's shoulder over the mark his teeth left, nuzzling the soft skin of Dean's unprotected neck and back, to get himself back into the game.

The first true snap of his hips is hard, rocking Dean forward, startling a gutteral cry out of the Omega beneath him before he can hold it back, a chorus to Castiel's. Dean's hand slips on the bedding, bowing him down again, and this time Cas follows, blanketing over him, arm tightening around Dean's waist to keep him angled.

"I love when you let me hear you." Cas's teeth catch his ear lobe, biting down with the next hard thrust, lips grazing it gently to counter the sting as he continues. "Even when you come you can be so quiet sometimes, I can't..." Dean slaps his other hand to the wall just above his head and meets Cas in the next motion, hard, drawing a string of stilted profanity and prayer from his lover that never fails to turn Dean on.

"You sure you just can't hear me over your own blasphemy, 'padre'?" Dean relishes the scrape of Cas's teeth over his skin, the bruising grip on his hips, a hint of roughness he's convinced himself he was sick for wanting after everything he's gone through. Even during his heat (maybe especially then) Cas has been a considerate of his issues. Always ready to back away, making it Dean's responsibility to keep him there. This time, he's not going anywhere, he's committed himself to driving Dean into the mattress, letting instincts he probably didn't even realize he had take over.

This feels like power, not subjugation. Like he's not being treated like a fragile victim any more, and God does he need that right now.

It's a hard, brutal pace, a two way push and pull that leaves Dean breathless, that has Cas making enough noise that they'd probably get the cops called on them if they lived anywhere with people around.

Cas pulls out and leaves him empty for a moment, and Dean whines at the loss, too caught up in it to care about embarrassment, or whether or not he sounds like a needy Omega in a cheap porno. Cas is an Alpha: the benefit of that is he doesn't have to pull out, he can fill Dean up and stay there, knot him, soothe some deep-seated fear of being left behind again.

It's the first time outside of the blind need of his heat that he's considered the knotting something for him, instead of just how Cas needs to get off. But even if he were up to critical thinking right now, the feeling of Cas fingering into him, pressing him open and forcing more slick out of him while putting those nimble hands to good use, would shut down any higher brain function.

"Cas, I want you to fuck me, not..." Dean cuts off with a moan, biting the pillow beneath him and rolling his hips back into Cas's questing fingers when they hit just right. He's so damned close he can feel his limbs quaking.

"Was thinking how much I wish you could feel this. How wet you are. How tight." Cas's tongue darts out to join the party, teasing over his sensitive rim before Cas points it and thrusts it in between his fingers. Dean can feel the answering wave of slick soaking Cas to the wrist, down the backs of Dean's thighs as Cas hoists him up higher with his other arm, forcing him to put weight on his knees.

"This was the best I could do right now." Cas's hand clenches around Dean's cock, so wet with Dean's slick that he can hear it squelch between Cas's fingers. When he thrusts back into Dean, it rocks him into the tight channel of Cas's coated hand, the scent of aroused Omega so thick on the air that Cas has to be desperate from it. The slow swelling of his knot is already stretching Dean, pulling slightly with every thrust as if Dean's body desperately doesn't want to let him go. He's being bounced hard and fast between the tight-wet of Cas's hand and the hard body behind him, completely at Cas's mercy as the hand still at his hip forces him both directions.

Dean comes with a cry, falling into the pillows as his legs can no longer hold him, too high on his orgasm to notice or care that Cas buries his knot into Dean's ass moments later, collapsing on top of him heavily on the bed, breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

It's not a rush, it's bliss; peaceful, a calm that melts Dean into the mattress and shuts down the stupid nagging issues in his head. When Cas tenses again with a soft moan, rocking into Dean through another wave of his own orgasm, Dean hums contentedly and doesn't move, taking everything Cas can give with his eyes closed and his body limp and seemingly boneless.

He drifts there until Cas comes to his senses enough to pull Dean with him as he rolls them into their sides, tucking his chin over Dean's shoulder and pressing both their hands over Dean's stomach, fingers splayed wide as if he can feel himself beneath, pressure of Cas's come trapped within him by the knot making Dean feel full and anchored; cherished and held rather than vaguely dirty and used and trapped.

He doesn't fall back asleep, but it's still the most restful Dean's felt in a very long time, worshiped by Castiel's slow-rubbing hands, his praise whispered into Dean's ear, cradling Dean to him and fucking him in slow, careful circular motions that grind him into Dean's prostate, milking every ounce of pleasure he can get out of the Omega in his arms.

This time, when Castiel leans in to nuzzle the soft hair behind Dean's ear, whispering his love, Dean answers back in kind, slurred, content and unguarded.