warning: racist language

He certainly didn't watch enviously as Molly placed the last piece on the stack of perfectly folded clothes. Her work was damn near perfect, not an extra crease anywhere, and the chimney looked like she'd folded it according to a ruler.

Dean glanced at his own crumpled pile, then glanced around him - his gaze wandered to the adjacent table where Lisa was folding the last of the kids' shirts - and honestly, he didn't just feel stupid because, man, what was he doing here anyway? Mostly he felt incompetent, and that was much worse. He didn't need to be the best at folding clothes, after all, it was just that his Omega was giving him such mixed signals.

The whole folding freshly washed laundry thing was nothing new to him or his Omega, and it was kind of stereotypically comforting. Unfortunately, only until someone put him next to ten other Omegas and Betas and told him that he'd been doing it wrong all his life and that he should be just as good, if not better, than the others.

"Well done, Miss Blake. You did a really great job," Mrs. Taylor complimented Molly in that motherly sounding voice of hers that matched her scent perfectly; butter and peanuts. She was such a proper Omega. Not very tall, with wide hips and large boobs, quite pretty for someone who had to be in her late forties. She dressed in muted pastel colors, rolled her eyes at every Alpha she came across, had five puppies, and wore a collar half an inch wide around her neck. The kind with a big dog tag on the front that was impossible to miss. Generally saw quite a few Omegas with collars here in N.Y., but the ones that had them tended to have thin, subtle collars more like necklaces. The huge ones that literally screamed that the Omega was the 'property' of an Alpha he'd seen more in Texas, Oklahoma, or even his homeland of Kansas.

"That's very good, Mr. Winchester," Taylor uttered after she approached his desk and ran a quick glance over his work today, "but I see a potential for improvement here. See how I do it," she urged him before picking up the last of the baby onesies he hadn't folded yet and with a few quick and practiced movements, folded them perfectly to place them on the pile to Dean's right. "See? It's very easy, and I'm sure you can do it without a problem. You just have to practice more at home," she added encouragingly, all soft smiles and sweet scents, and then she just kept going.

To be honest, she folded so fast that he still didn't see how she made the onesies not look like they were first chewed by a cow and then folded. And he decided he didn't really care. He'd let Lisa talk him into this stupid class because he wanted to get under her shirt or, if he was lucky, into her pants, which not only didn't work, but actually... somehow didn't appeal to him the way he wanted it to. The chocolate color of her eyes reminded him of ice blue for some reason. Her sweet and cheerful smile turned a sharp grin glittering with gold. And the soft voice was drowned out by the husky baritone in his barrel.

Shit. Everything just reminded him of Alpha.

The doorbell rang.

Thank God.

He'd have liked to run out of the classroom right then and leave this shit behind, but he still had to return the folded clothes to the closet, which was harder than Lisa's considering how wrinkled they were. Luckily, Beta was waiting for him.

"Didn't you say something about it being fun?" He muttered as they made their way towards the dining room together.

Two days ago he had told Lisa it would be fun to sit together at lunch. She was a little surprised, but then agreed with a laugh and a blush. Except then she dragged her best friend Sarah along too. And then when Kevin and Becky joined in, they formed one of the few mixed tables. The funniest part was that Forest had to bite his tongue with his own fangs while he glared at them with hostility.

"You looked like you were enjoying it the last time we put together a family cookbook," Lisa replied.

Yeah, there was some truth to that. It was fun, and actually not just because he could scare Mrs. Taylor with frozen pizza with marshmallow or fish fingers with pudding and chocolate frosting. He always liked to organize things. He wrote shopping lists, rearranged things on the table or separated the coloured linen from the white. Putting together a cookbook was fun.

"A little," he admitted reluctantly.

"So you see." She smiled and moved closer so their elbows brushed against each other. "And you have nothing better to do anyway. I know damn well you'd be sitting outside this hour with your headphones in your ears. At least this way we're together."

He was saved from having to give her the benefit of the doubt a second time by Becky, who waved at them from the vending machine.

"Dean! Lis! You have to see this!" She waved her cell phone excitedly. "I found this in a group of nineties movie lovers. It's a nineties-style diner, complete with music from the era, plus a gaming room with old arcade machines. They have all the eighties and nineties classics, like Donkey Kong. And even if you get a certain score on the games, you get coupons for free snacks. Doesn't that sound fun? We could go there tonight."

"It looks great retro, but I gotta watch my little brother. What about after school tomorrow?" Lisa suggested.

"I have something tomorrow," he declined without thinking, realizing only belatedly that Alpha might not agree to dinner at the sports bar after all. It wasn't like they'd made a firm agreement. Dean had just preferred the Monday shift at the diner - Castiel hadn't protested, oddly enough - and this morning, on his way to school, he'd suggested Tuesday night. And since there wasn't one, and he'd texted Alf at a time when he was usually asleep, he hadn't gotten a yes or no answer yet, he just... hoped and assumed Cas would make time for him.

"It wouldn't be the same without you. Wednesday then?" Becky suggested.

He didn't argue against it.

"I'll ask Kev to come along," the other Omega added.

"Sure. And you," Lisa turned to him, "should bring Sammy. I see him with you outside the school, but I don't really know him properly."

"Wouldn't a little puppy like that just be a nuisance? I want to rock it nineties style, not have to babysit him," Becky pointed out.

"Sammy's never a nuisance," he defended sternly, frowning at the omega girl. "And he doesn't need anyone to look after him. If he's got his book and his phone, you won't even hear from him."

"Little Alphas his age can be a right nuisance," Becky replied incredulously.

He took a breath to tell her that Sam was definitely not one of those Alphas, but his mouth and nose were filled with the unpleasant smell of wet dirt. He asserted himself among the other scents with his familiarity and the fact that his Omega wasn't immediately irritated in anticipation of having to protect himself and his pups. And his upper lip tightened as he suppressed the urge to bar his teeth.

Marcus emerged from behind his shoulder, completely ignoring him on purpose as he squeezed between him and Lisa. It forced Dean to take a half step backwards, not in respect of the Alpha, but purely because he didn't want to take an elbow to the ribs. It was Becky who did what a proper Omega would do; she backed up a step and averted her gaze.

"Are we going to lunch, Lis? Barney's saving us seats," Marcus spoke only to the Beta girl, as if neither of the Omegas were there.

"I told you once before, Marcus. I'm having lunch with Dean now," Lis declined his invitation.

"You're not over that nonsense yet?" Alpha snorted irritably.

He squeezed between Marcus and the candy bar machine, forcing him to at least move away from Lisa, if not back away. He got dangerously close to Alf that way, in fact they were almost touching chests, and Dean's nose was literally filled with the strong smell of wet dirt and coal and rising anger and something else he couldn't describe. Perhaps he was more aware of the undertone of immaturity in Alf's scent, so used had he become to Castiel's decidedly mature and perfectly balanced scent. Or maybe Marcus just smelled.

"Look, Alpha," he used his designation as a taunt, "she clearly told you she wasn't interested. How about you quit? We were just discussing something and you weren't invited."

Marcus gritted his teeth and growled, as if perhaps he still thought that applied to Dean. At first he'd felt at least a small twinge of submissiveness, but now? Not even that. What was this little knot against his Alpha? An absolute zero. Just a speck on Castiel's sleeve. And even though he knew rationally that it would only bring him trouble if the Alpha's men actually 'took care of' Marcus, it didn't change the fact that his Omega absolutely despised the Alpha he was currently facing, because she already had her own Alpha that Forest wasn't even close to matching.

"Nobody's talking to you, Omega."

"No. In fact, no one here is talking to you. So get out."

He took a step forward to force Alpha to back up. In doing so, he didn't move his gaze, keeping his head up and his chest out in a perfect Alpha pose that he found easy and, as he knew all too well, very convincing. With his height, where he was looking directly into Marcus' eyes, and the not inconsiderable muscles in his chest and arms, he could very easily pretend to be Alpha. Only his scent gave him away, but it was still laced with an irritation bordering on anger.

As had happened to him several times, being able to pose and act like an Alpha could fool some Alphas, and Forest was no exception. He took a half step back, losing his superior mask for a moment in favor of confusion before growling a little again.

"Or what are you going to do, little bitch?" He bared his teeth. "You gonna send the guys you're fucking on me? You think I'm afraid of them?"

The initial confusion must have shown on his face because Marcus laughed.

"I've seen them with you and then at our house. I know very well what they are. If they come any closer, you're going to get it."

He knew from experience that if they didn't want to be seen by the Alpha men, they just weren't. And that with his father's training, he could be much more observant than a regular Alpha like Marcus. That meant that Castiel had opted for a very subtle warning. He'd simply let his men hang onto Forest's ass for a while to scare him. Apparently it hadn't worked enough on the little Alpha fucker.

"Yeah? And what are you going to do to me if I don't call them off?"

Marcus leaned over and rested his hand on the automatic next to Dean's head. He didn't take his eyes off the Alpha, even as he heard the creak of strained material as the Alpha gripped the corner of the automaton. If he squeezed hard enough, he could easily deform or even break it. Even though Alphas were at the top of the food ladder, so to speak, there were simply too few of them to make it worthwhile to make everyday items resistant to their increased strength. Except, of course, for things specifically designed for them. Every Alpha simply had to learn to deal with the fragile world around them and not rip the handles off shopping carts.

"Everyone knows how to tame rabid bitches like you."

Dean clenched his jaw and lifted his chin defiantly. When some knothead said that, he meant one thing.

"Are you threatening to bite me?"

"If you ask so nicely..." He growled derisively, opening his mouth just enough to show all his fangs, though they were still hidden in his gums, but it was still obvious enough what he meant.

Dean's first impulse was to just punch him in his ugly mouth and, with any luck, break his nose. He clenched his hand into a fist and his whole body tensed as he was about to use the small space to swing and actually do it, before a little voice in his head told him that wasn't a good idea. He'd get himself into real trouble. Punching Alf in the middle of the day, right there in the school hallway, was exactly the kind of disturbance that would definitely get his dad to show up at school. And since their Alpha was away and couldn't come, it would mean he and Sam would have to leave the school and the motel as well to avoid social services. At that point, Alpha Castiel would get involved in the whole thing and... damn. He'd have to think of some other way...

His gaze slid over Marcus' shoulder. The corridor was full of students, of course, so it was all too easy to see where the masses of bodies were parting at the far end as classmates dodged out of the way of some of the teaching staff. There was only one professor he knew who could get students to move all the way to the wall by his mere presence, clearing the way perfectly.

"Professor Hale!" He shouted loudly and desperately.

Marcus shut his mouth in surprise and flinched a little, obviously confused by the sudden change in Dean's demeanor and his tone.

"Believe me, I'm doing this for both our sakes," he hissed half-loudly as he pushed past Alpha into a clearer part of the corridor. "Professor Hale!" He called out a second time and, as he watched Marcus, he also caught out of the corner of his eye that the crowd of students to his left was parting faster as the named professor picked up his pace.

Moments later, Professor Hale emerged from between the ranks of the first onlookers who were beginning to wonder what was going on, bringing with him exactly the right Alpha aura that Dean needed on his side right now.

The professor may not have been as icily scary as Castiel or as physically intimidating as Dad, but despite his age, graying hair, and smaller belly arching over his jeans, he was naturally dominant. It wasn't hard to feign submissiveness. To bow his head and seek the apparent safety of his side.

"What's going on here?" The chemist asked, meeting the eyes of everyone involved with typical Alpha astuteness.

"Threatening to bite me, sir," he replied without looking up. A proper, humble Omega seeking refuge with the nearest Alpha he felt safe with. What Alpha could resist something like that? Teacher excluded.

"Is that true, Mr. Forest?" The older Alpha turned to the younger.

"No, sir, I said no such thing."

It was clear that Hale didn't believe him, because he approached with deliberate slowness, causing Marcus to back away, but at the same time look defiantly into his eyes. They sized each other up for a moment before the professor turned to Lisa.

"Do you have anything to say to me, miss?"

Lisa looked first at Marcus, who didn't dare take his eyes off Hal even though the older Alpha was no longer watching him, and then quickly glanced at Dean. He returned her gaze. Of course, there was... well, a pretty real chance that he wouldn't go up against Forest. She'd known him a lot longer than Dean had, and there was no arguing that the Alpha hadn't provoked his classmate with anything. On the other hand, not only was Lisa uncomfortable with Alf's interest, Becky had also witnessed the whole incident and she probably wouldn't hesitate for a moment to spill everything to the professor if he asked.

"He didn't say it directly, sir, but he certainly implied it clearly," Lisa finally said, not even mentioning the fact that Dean wasn't innocent in the whole argument or the strange people Marcus thought he was involved with.

Marcus growled in Lisa's direction.

"Enough, Mr. Forest," the professor admonished him and the younger Alpha immediately fell silent. "Threatening Omega classmates with a bite is considered a serious offense at this school. You will accompany me to the headmaster's office so we can call your father together. This needs to be dealt with strongly."

"I didn't do anything!" Marcus snapped even after the professor, his voice sounding like a growl born in his chest. "He asked for it!"

Even though Hal's scent was almost completely suppressed by the blockers, so that he could barely smell the lemon and hot asphalt, that last remark of Marcus's annoyed him so much that within seconds he filled the air around him with an angry aroma that made Becky recoil and Marcus duck his head.

"Don't you ever say something like that in front of me again, young man," the professor warned in a tone so deep it was almost a growl, but still not, then raised his hand and pointed firmly down the hallway. "Now, walk to the headmaster's office!"

Marcus sent one last angry look in Dean's direction, who returned it without blinking, then obeyed the professor's command and started down the corridor with Hal in tow. He followed them until they disappeared around the bend in the corridor and just as he was about to turn to the girls and say something, he noticed Lisa stand at his side and speak:

"I don't understand what's going on with him at all. He's not... he used to be like this." She shook her head in a clueless gesture. "He acted... stupid sometimes, but he never actually hurt anyone. But the way he acts now... the things he does to others... the way he treats me... that's why I broke up with him. I couldn't watch it anymore."

"That's true. He was never exactly friendly with Omegas, but I didn't think he ever threatened to bite one," Becky agreed.

"He's just an Alpha. What else would you expect from him?"

Lisa frowned at him.

"It's not nice of you to say that. It's like someone saying you're just an Omega."

"Sorry, but he's been acting like an angry, stuck-up jerk since I got here, and I've met dozens of them."

"I'm saying he wasn't like that before. Something must have happened to him," Lisa stated with firm conviction before stepping out into the hallway and leaving them standing there.

Dean turned to Becky, but she just shrugged and followed Lisa. He eventually followed them to have a rather quiet lunch together today.

°°0°°

Setting the dewy glass down on the coaster, he leaned back comfortably and slid his eyes over his men scattered around the table before reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the corner and pulling a lighter from his pocket.

"We should do that." He lit up, took a drag, and released a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "What's next?"

"My DEA contact came to me with this," Oleg volunteered, then reached across the table - to Vladek's angry growl because he'd nearly knocked over his beer - and set his iPad down in front of Castiel.

He pulled the iPad closer and began to slowly flip through the folder. It was a two-day-old coroner's report, dealing with the death of a nameless junkie. He could easily guess from the photos that it was a longtime crack smoker. Like all junkies, he was emaciated to the bone, his eyebrows and eyelashes singed, his fingertips and especially his lips burned from too hot a pipe, and he was missing almost all of his front teeth. Unconsciously, looking at this human filth, he remembered a similar one he had known twenty years ago when he was still selling. He had been a regular customer, only a few years older than Castiel himself, who had more than once offered his battered body for a shot on credit. Even if he hadn't been facing severe punishment for accepting such a payment, he would never have touched the dregs of society with a ten-foot pole. It was bad enough that he had to smell the stench of piss and shit, tinged with the musty musky smell of Alpha wafting off him. Though there was something morbidly fascinating about him staggering in for his last hit, his hands and lips burnt to a crisp and covered in molten plastic as he tried to smoke the stuff out of some plastic tube and it burst into flames.

He took a drag from his cigarette.

Other than memories of his youth, he saw nothing of interest to him in the photos or the whole case. Customers were dropping like flies. He probably didn't go a week without at least one dying, which didn't matter at all because someone else took his place immediately. If times were good, two or three. They didn't have to worry about customers dying off.

"Why am I looking at pictures of dead junkies?" He asked, pushing his tablet a little further away from him as he did so.

"Look at the contents of her stomach, boss."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but pulled iPad back up and started looking for the item mentioned in the autopsy report. There were usually three or four items to be found in the stomachs of junkies. First and most often; nothing. Second, pills of all sorts, which they used to try to manage withdrawal when they didn't have a dose of their own, or trip properly. Third, five to ten standard menus from some fast food joint if they had a bout of gluttony. And finally, on rare occasions, various indigestible items, ranging from their own hair, to false nails or cigarette butts, to bits of tires.

This junkie was the second type. The pathologist found two undigested pills in his intestines, on which the logo was still perfectly visible, but completely unknown to Castiel. A triangle with a sort of rune in it, like a square S in the Latin alphabet. It wasn't like any brand he'd ever seen, either here in New York or back home, or anything he'd ever even heard of. Either there was a new player in the market or one of the old ones was trying to cover their tracks, which would point more to one of their allies rather than competitors.

He slid his gaze to the chemical analysis of the pill, expecting to see the formula of one of the usual street drugs, but what he saw made him first raise an eyebrow in surprise and then frown.

"Alpha enzymes and methadone," he read aloud, then looked pointedly at Oleg. "He had Carmine in his stomach...? Where did a poor street fry like that get his hands on Carmine?"

There were a few things his predecessor was willing to do and sell that Castiel couldn't abide in his territory. The production and sale of child pornography and child prostitution was the first of those things. All of their girls and boys, whether they were hooking, dancing, making video chats or acting in movies, had to be at least fifteen. He was willing to turn a blind eye when they were a month or two under fifteen, but never less.

The latter were drugs that contained Alpha enzymes. They suppressed submissive tendencies in Omegas and brought heady feelings of superiority and strength and courage and confidence in Betas, all without the usual side effects of other drugs, except those associated with added opiates.

But with Alf? They reinforced their natural aggressiveness and reduced self-control, which easily ended in loss of control. And slipping into a full Alpha rage that lasted not minutes, but hours of fury.

Castiel loathed Alpha enzyme junkies more than he did the usual junkies, and he certainly didn't consider it safe to have a drug that made murderous monsters out of his customers. Wonder what would ensue in any of their dance clubs, strip clubs or brothels, or even Blue Sky if an Alpha there lost control under the influence of Ruby dope? Massacre, bloodshed, police investigations... They'd lose more than they'd make from selling Ruby.

Not to mention that Alpha enzyme drugs were at the very top of the international list of the most dangerous drugs, and as soon as Carmine or drugs like it hit the streets, the police immediately launched the most stringent measures. Massive raids, arrests, checks in nightclubs and on the streets. All sectors of the trade were affected, not just the sale of drugs. Even these two fucking undigested pills meant that for the next three or four weeks there would be more police bitches on his territory than in the last six months combined.

And just to avoid all the trouble, he didn't just ban the sale of Carmine in his territory. He's also formed an alliance with the Italians, the Koreans and the Mystic Shadows, and together they've pushed Alpha-enzyme drugs out of the New York market. It was a tough fight, with the Yakuza and Alastair standing against them, but they eventually got their way and cleared the city of Carmine and all drugs like it. There's been a couple of times in the last two years when someone's tried to get some Ruby crumb on the market or start manufacturing it. Mainly niggers thought they had a chance to fill a hole in the demand. Two Skulls and Five Cents tried, but they didn't have the resources or the knowledge to make it work. And they didn't even have rich enough customers who could afford to buy Crimson on a regular basis, so it would end up costing them more to produce and sell than they could make. They just had big mouths and shouted a lot about the fact that no one had invited them to negotiate the phasing out of one entire line of products.

"I don't know, batyushka" Oleg replied.

"'So it appeared in that junkie's stomach by magic? Is that what you're telling me?" He replied coldly as he pushed the iPad away. "It cost us a chunk of territory and half a year of war to get this dangerous stuff out of our city and secure a room from the police bitches. And you're just going to tell me you don't know where Crimson came from?"

"We've asked all the dealers, the regulars, the hookers and their clients, and we've beaten the shit out of a few people, but they all say the same thing. You can't get Carmine in this town. That trash would have to go out of town to get it, but from what I hear, he's been able to piss in his own pants. He probably couldn't even find the station unless someone gave him a ride." He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table. "My opinion is that someone's trying to set the cops on us and then piss in our business. And I'd bet my ass on the Italians."

"Crowley never sold stuff with the Alpha enzyme. He's of the same opinion I am, which is that the profits from selling Carmine don't outweigh the problems it brings."

"I agree. Crowley is just a wet omega ass. He doesn't have the balls to take on something so dangerous," Vladko chuckled.

He gave Vladek a sharp look. And he was surprised himself that he did. He never minded when his men made fun of Crowley or outright insulted him. He was a little Omega shit, and Castiel would probably be much happier if he'd never met him. Unfortunately, he was also the don of the largest and most powerful Italian clan operating in the city, and it was better to have him as an ally than an enemy. And yes, that meant keeping the taunts of his men safe and private in such places as the back room of the Dollhouse or Blue Sky. But that wasn't why Vladek's remark had alarmed him so much and made his Alpha growl softly in defense. This was about Dean. How could he trust the safety of his Omega in the hands of men who thought so lowly of another Omega?

"I don't think he'd want to sell himself. He dumped the bitch on our doorstep," Oleg nodded to the iPad lying on the table, "to set the cops on us. He's hoping it'll weaken us and then he can expand into our territory."

"Since when are you such a cowardly little shit that you're afraid of the cops?" Pyotr asked conversationally.

"I'm not afraid of anything," Oleg replied sharply, "I'm just telling it like I think it is."

"I don't think the Italians are behind this, but you'll be right about the trap. Someone like him could never afford Ruby drob. Either he stole it from someone or someone gave it to him on purpose. Either way, it's a problem," Castiel agreed. "After this," he tapped his finger on the iPad, "cops swarm like wasps. For us, it means we'll have to suspend all the big stores for a few weeks, pull some of the vendors off the streets, and cut back on other activities if we want to prevent our men and employees from being arrested and having their merchandise confiscated. And to limit the financial losses that await us anyway. Not to mention the fact that I personally will be the laughing stock of everyone when word gets out that I let someone sell Ruby crumbs on my territory. Do you realize that?"

"Yes, boss. I understand what that means..."

"No! You don't understand what it means at all. My reputation is what I staked in the deal with Crowley, the Shadows and the Koreans. Now it's going to look like I can't even get my own territory in order," he interrupted his incipient attempt at an excuse, deliberately letting some of the anger that his inner Alpha prized his teeth with seep into his voice. They were in for a few weeks of completely unnecessary trouble that could have been avoided if the Beta had been more attentive to his job. He had a hundred urges to break a few of his fingers, but rational thought won out over instinct. Things didn't always go according to plan and Oleg did his job well, he was loyal to the Bratva and he was loyal to Castiel himself. For once he had been careless in letting Carmine seep into their market and even into the hands of the police, but to punish him too harshly would bring more trouble than good.

Oleg bowed his head in humility,

"I'm sorry, Alpha. I'll take care of it myself. I'll find the guy who sold out the dead junkie and get whoever's behind all this off him. I swear on my mother's grave."

"Okay. I'll take your word for it, Oleg," he nodded, looking at him seriously. "You won't let me down, will you?"

"Never, boss," he assured him fervently.

"Good. I want you to inform me as soon as you find out anything, do you understand? I don't want rampaging, drugged-up Alphas on my territory."

"Understood."

"Good. Oh, and... for three months, I'm cutting your pay by a third. Surely you understand why?" he asked, to which Beta just nodded in agreement. He realized that not allowing anyone to sell on their territory without proper payment of their share was his main job. And keeping Crimson out of town too. Castiel took one last drag from his cigarette and, while blowing out the smoke, smothered it in the ashtray. "Anyone else have any unpleasant news?" He asked, looking up from the butt drowning in the mass of ash along with the other butts from that evening.

His men exchanged quick glances, but none of them spoke up.

"In that case, we're done for the day," he decided, reaching for the bottle of vodka and the glasses set out on a small metal tray. "Let us toast together," he began to pour generously into each glass, "to all our successes to date, and may fortune stick with us in the somewhat rough times ahead." He stood, raising his glass, and his men followed suit. "God bless! And cheers!"

"Cheers!" his men replied in chorus.

They emptied their glasses together in one gulp.

"Vadim..." he addressed Beth sitting by the door. "Tell the kitchen they can bring them to the table. And someone turn off the jammer..." he ordered with a vague wave of his hand before sitting back down.

Vadim just leaned out the door, called to the bar, and a moment later Ulyana Leonidovna herself was rushing in, plates full and fragrant, her daughter in tow, laden with more food. Sometime between the two women setting the food out on the table for them, Vadim turned off the jammer. Almost immediately, to his certain surprise, Castiel's phone beeped like crazy as one stuck message after another came in. He wasn't used to being paged this late on an American phone.

He looked at the screen and saw that all the messages were from Dean.

His Alpha immediately became alert, all tense, teeth bared and ready to protect, bite and tear if necessary. Castiel pushed him to the back of, because unnecessarily many messages meant nothing - Gabriel could easily send dozens of drunken messages during his parties, flooding the chat with blurry snapshots of ladies' and men's asses in swimsuits - and opened the conversation.

Dean: ketchup

Dean: ketchup saves everything

Dean: BeBe didn't come

Dean: I have to deliver ?

Dean: I'm supposed to have a uniform!

Dean: they don't have a second men's

Dean: I might get a mini

Dean: ? ? ?

Dean: just an apron

Dean: ? ﾟﾘﾤ? ﾟﾘﾤ

Dean: shitty tip

Dean: I think I'm gonna poke someone's eye out with a fork

Dean: ? Can you get me out of jail?

Dean: just kidding

Dean: still at the diner

Dean: Alpha?

Dean: hello?

Dean: sleeping beauty?

Dean: is everything okay?

Dean: are you dead?

He raised an eyebrow at the last bit of news. How exactly did Omega think he would have answered him if he was really dead? And why had he come to the conclusion that he was dead just because he wasn't answering him... he glanced at his watch and realized that it had been almost three hours since he had come to the Dollhouse.

He placed his fingers on the keypad when the phone in his hand buzzed and Dean's name popped up on the screen.

He wasn't interested in talking to Omega in front of his men, regardless of the fact that someone had already managed to turn on the hockey game and the room was too noisy to talk on the phone because of it.

He leaned over to Pyotr and said:

"I'm going to take this outside."

The burly Beta nodded in agreement.

He left the room through the door Vadim had held open for him, and on his way past the bar, he caught out of the corner of his eye that Boris had risen from the barstool from which he had been watching the game and followed him outside the pub. But when he saw that Castiel had his cell phone in his hand and was about to make a call, he quickly moved to a polite distance.

"Hello, Dean."

There was a slowly lengthening silence on the other end of the line, but there was definitely someone there. He could hear Dean's breathing quicken, as if surprised or frightened.

"Um... Alpha... hi," finally came Omega's somewhat puzzled voice. "You picked up..."

He frowned in confusion.

"You're calling me. Of course I picked up. Do you need anything?"

There followed another pause during which he could hear a mixture of the sounds of the diner's night traffic, consisting mainly of faint music, a few voices and the very distant sounds of car traffic, and Dean's breathing.

"Nothing," he got another delayed reply, spoken in a sort of strange tone that confused him even more. Did his Omega need something and was reluctant to ask? Was he in danger and unable to speak? These were thoughts that rushed into his head on their own, unexpected and unwelcome, and made his Alpha shift nervously in his seat and growl softly. Rationally, he knew that his men still had Dean under surveillance, so nothing could happen that he didn't know about, but Omega just sounded strange.

"Is everything alright, Omega?"

"Yeah!" This time the answer was immediate. "Everything okay with you too?"

"Sure."

"Good. That's good," he said again in that strange tone, again remaining silent for a moment before speaking. "You didn't write back."

"I was in a business meeting."

"Oh, I see. All right." This time Dean sounded almost normal. "I've been... for a while. Dean! You got the order!" A distant female voice interrupted him mid-sentence. "I have to go, Alpha. I'm at work and I can't talk. Bye."

"Okay. Bye."

He frowned at the screen, which already had a picture of a half-naked Henry Cavill in place of Dean's name, and wondered if this was the strangest conversation he'd ever had with anyone, or if he'd had some stranger ones. And he felt even more confused than when he'd read Omega's texts. It didn't seem like he wanted or needed anything, and certainly not that he was in any danger. He just... called... completely unnecessarily, only to hang up again after barely two minutes of mostly silence.

Castiel growled half angrily and shoved his phone into his pocket.

Omega could be so frustrating.

Being with him was like breathing paradise gas. His aroma, his smile, the sparkle in his green eyes, the freckles scattered across his face and smooth neck that he had set on offer several times, it was all literally like a drug. It was intoxicating. And that Castiel knew what it meant to get high. But at the same time, every time they seemed to actually be getting somewhere, Dean just froze like a scared rabbit, his sweet scent of apple and pine resin filled with a wicked undertone of fear. The most frustrating part was not being able to figure out what was scaring Omega so much. It always happened without any cause. They were having a good time, joking, flirting, Dean smelled of contentment and happiness, and then it was as if something in Omegas' brain short-circuited and suddenly, with the snap of a finger, his behavior changed.

Just like during their last date.

When Dean had pulled him to him, there had been no doubt what he wanted, and the strong scent of an aroused Omega only confirmed it. He could already see him in his bed. Naked, flushed, sweaty and begging for more, and himself with his head between his thighs. He could imagine his nice cock just long and thick enough to fill his mouth and press pleasurably against his palate, a perfect match for the muscular thighs he sensed under Dean's loose jeans. And he could totally hear the sounds he'd make as he sucked. The perfect end to a pleasant afternoon.

He was sure Omega was thinking the same thing, but the short walk to the car was all it took for all the sweet scent of arousal to waft away and be replaced by a much less pleasant smell. He'd thought the gift would fix it, but in reality it only made it worse.

Of course, their encounter hadn't been the happiest, but Castiel had done his best since then to demonstrate the purity and, more importantly, the seriousness of his intentions. He'd seen to Dean's safety, made him as comfortable as their complicated situation allowed, given him all the freedom that such a wild Omega could ask for, been patient, even gentle, though it wasn't a natural part of his nature, but none of it was enough. He'd expected at least a small show of gratitude. A small token of appreciation for the effort. Instead, he was getting the exact opposite, and it was beginning to irritate him.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He should be thinking about the next few weeks of losses and which of their competitors and allies alike had the resources to produce or at least import Ruby, as well as the reasons to want to start a war, rather than Dean and his senseless behavior.

The first thing he began to consider was that the Japanese or Alastair had gone back to selling. Except that back then, years ago, they were not only selling, they were manufacturing. And he was convinced that they would return to manufacturing, if only to show their arrogance and power and spit in the face of the entire Pact. Except... getting premises, but more importantly equipment and cooks for something as complex and expensive as the Crimson was not so easy, and with the proper contacts - which they had - quite easy to track down. This was no ordinary meth that even a slightly more adept high school student could cook up in his own garage.

For that reason, he automatically ruled out The Shadows. Their strength lay mainly in quantity and wanton brutality, and their main stock-in-trade was meth, heroin and coke, and murder-for-hire (very dirty work. Castiel would never dream of carrying out a job with a baseball bat and nails and barbed wire, no matter how iconic it supposedly was) and stealing cars, dismantling them and selling off the parts.

The Koreans and Italians could get everything they needed, but neither had ever tried to make or sell Carmine before, even though they were able to compete with the Japanese and Alastair. And, of course, Castiel's own people at the time.

So he couldn't rule out the possibility that someone was manufacturing in their city, but he'd bet more on imports from outside, since they always found out about someone building a lab for Carmine before they could get it up and running.

The question was who?

The door of the pub opened, sending a blast of warm air hitting his face and the echoes of the match coming on the television along with the chatter and clinking of dishes hitting his ears for a change. He looked around at all the sounds and saw that Pyotr had come out.

"Everything okay, boss?" The hulking Beta asked while still holding the door open.

"I had to make a short call," he assured, heading back to the door.

"Young Mr. Winchester?" he asked a little curtly as he was obviously trying to give Dean the proper respect, but he didn't know how to properly speak of someone three times his age.

"Yes," he nodded, and a moment later a chorus of half curses and half shouts of victory came from the pub. He glanced over Pyotr's shoulder at the screen, but unfortunately the bad angle didn't allow him to read the scoreboard that had just popped up on the screen. "Who wins?"

"Last time it was the Finns..." growled Beta absently as he squinted at the scoreboard as well.

At least something good had happened today.

"Great. I bet five on them."

"I only bet two. I didn't really like the way they played last time. Remember how...", Pyotr launched into a commentary on the Finnish strategy in the last game as he retreated back into the warmth of the pub.

Castiel followed him, and for the moment at least, he focused on what Beta thought of the Finnish referee, instead of worrying about business or his omega.