"You promised Joshua you would!"
Dean let the water run through his fingers, bending the digits against the onslaught of the heavy rush. To him it sounded like a roar of liquid crashing against the bottom of the tub—almost enough to drown out the conversation happening two walls over.
Almost.
"Come on—don't make this about Josh, okay? Forgive me for having a shift of priorities as soon as I found the kid."
He didn't bother trying to ignore them—what good would it do, anyway? That was the thing about eavesdropping. If they wanted to believe he was listening in, nothing he said would convince them otherwise. If they didn't bother investigating, Dean could get into the next day without any new bruises.
It was like that in most things, actually.
The boy let his eyes slide shut, a low sigh the only noise that passed his lips as he turned off the water. It seemed too still, after the rush of noise. Staring at the low undulations of the clear liquid only made it worse.
"I'm not in the mood for this right now, Max. Besides, that's not what this is about. Not really."
"Okay, what do you think it's really about then?"
He bathed quickly. So fast it could have been equated to more of a rinse than a wash. The only area he used any of the small stash of soap in the corner was his hair—letting the suds that dripped down be what cleaned the rest of him. It worked for his benefit. The water was too freezing for anything else, and he didn't like to stay in a tub too long anyhow. It made him feel too open, too exposed. Almost as much as lying strapped down to that table had…
Dark memories flashed in the eye of his mind. He didn't dare let them take shape, shoving them down before they could snake their tendrils around him. Trying his best to stay in the present, even though that just made the hole in his chest seem to… engulf.
Not grow. Something that was empty didn't grow.
He felt disconnected from himself as he pulled the plug, watching the slightly muddied water swirl down the drain. It dripped from his hair, too—slithering in rivulets down his exposed body. Bending in an awkward, unnatural flow as it snaked around his scars. The cold air struck him hard, raising gooseflesh but failing to draw anything but the slightest shiver.
He stared at the drain, his mind absent as he blinked loose the drops that collected in his long lashes.
"If you think this is such a joke—with what's going on out there—how're you gonna handle it when he takes off again?"
Some of the grime was left behind, the water escaping down the drain and leaving it planted along the smooth porcelain. Marring the otherwise clean surface. The edges of the water glistened around pieces of street dirt, slowly seeping away.
A dark stain grew under Dean, water soaking into the concrete beneath his feet. Each fall of a droplet against the ground sounded like a hammer landing.
He didn't move. His limbs felt too heavy to try.
"What makes you think there's going to be a next time?"
He blinked, slow, at the words.
It wasn't that Dean had never thought about the consequences. It was more like he kept himself from thinking of them. He had spent a lot of goodwill to sneak out, a lot of goodwill that he didn't have. He knew he would be paying it forward sooner or later.
But Alec was hard to place. He was the nicest alpha Dean had ever had, by far. But that meant he didn't fit in to any of the categories he had outlined in his mind. He knew alphas who liked to treat him as his son—even then it tended to be stilted, harsh. Beatings were unavoidable, either way. No matter what he was used for.
That was what stumped him. Made his brow furrow even now as he thought about it, for what had to be the hundredth time since he had woken up on that stretcher.
What was Alec using him for?
"Oh, just that I have eyes. You took the kid from an operation that specialized in selling him off to the highest bidder, Alec. Right now you're the highest bidder. Even if you took the five-finger discount. It's the only way he's gonna see it."
He didn't make Dean work. Dean kept his own space clean, kept himself clean, but he was never told to straighten anything else. Alec didn't make him cook. He didn't give him someone to look after. He didn't give him training to do. He didn't touch Dean like any of the others had. He didn't make Dean kneel. Didn't make him lick his hands. Didn't stretch Dean's lips around his cock. Didn't croon to him. Didn't tell him to relax.
Relax.
"Fuck baby you're tight."
Dean didn't hear the soft whimper that passed his throat—more wolf than human in his mind. Utterly detached from himself as he ran trembling hands down his scarred abdomen. Skin tingling under the touch.
Used.
Maybe that was why. Did Alec not want him?
God, how messed up was he? Following his newest alpha around with pleading eyes, like he wants them to take him up the ass. What kind of fucked up was that?
Dean closed his eyes, his face heating in shame. The water still dripped off his form, the stain beneath him growing darker.
Why was Alec bothering? What did he want? Would the tables suddenly turn? Had Dean already tipped the scales when he hightailed it for a day? Alec had looked furious, but he smelled worried. About him.
But then again, with his enhanced senses Dean knew that anger was already a secondary emotion. Springing from worry or fear or agitation. And he had seen it before; just because Alec was worried about him didn't mean it would keep him from tossing him around.
What if Dean had already crossed that invisible line?
What the hell did the man want from him, anyway?
His other alphas were almost better for that.
Even as the thought formed, his face flushed deeper. But it was true. He knew what to expect, what they wanted from him. Even if it ended with him on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, he knew.
What was even worse, Dean knew he couldn't stop. There was no way he could keep himself from sneaking away—he was never able to before. Even as he was being dragged all over the fucking country, with alphas so harsh that a shock collar was permanently tightened around his neck, biting into his skin, he couldn't stop himself.
He had to find his brother.
How much of that would Alec stand before he finally snapped?
"You don't think I can handle him?"
Some of the worst punishments had come afterwards, if he was caught. To the point where he hadn't snuck away in a year, too nervous that he would get sent back to that hellhole and too far under guard to even try.
Now…
Now, he had a chance. And how could he pass that up?
He held that thought close, like a buoy to keep him afloat once the other thoughts started rushing in. The doubts and fears that rushed up to his neck, trying to drown him. Keep him under. Keep his tail between his legs.
His wolf wanted to shrink under the onslaught. His human half did too. But both couldn't let go of one image—floppy brown hair and big doe eyes. An inquisitive question babbled at him that Dean somehow could always understand. A small lisp when he said the only word he had ever favored—De.
And either way… Alec seemed reasonable enough. Dean was sure he could survive whatever the man doled out, almost completely positive that the man had no interest in killing him. Even if he also had no reason to keep Dean alive.
He gave Dean clothes.
Clothes.
Max was saying goodnight to Alec, her tone somber and low, as Dean opened the sole cupboard in the bathroom and started rifling through it for a clean set. Alec didn't have a lot of clothes that he said Dean could use—two or three pairs, all of them ripped and worn.
But they were dry. And clean. And they fit.
He pulled on the freshest pair of boxers and jeans he had—Alec had told him to clean up, after all. He didn't know how clean he was supposed to be.
The boy paused when he finished pulling on a black shirt, eyes landing on the hoodie of Alec's he had last worn. It had somehow ended up with his clothes, and his alpha didn't seem to be missing it much.
His face flushed with embarrassment even as he took the warm cloth in his hands and inhaled the scent. There was a little of his own in there now, mixed up with the transgenic's scent. But it still had the same effect, soothing his wolf and making the anxiety ebb.
Maybe he could use it… the man really didn't seem to mind.
But that was before Dean fucked up.
He put it back, closing the door with a definitive snap. Dean didn't know what he was walking into—he wouldn't ruin Alec's clothes just because he got a little clingy before a punishment.
How pathetic was that? Still being soothed by his alpha's scent even as he marched closer to the slaughter. He should be terrified of the transgenic… and he was, in a way. But that didn't mean it wasn't easy to fall into patterns with Alec. Even in the span of a week Dean couldn't count the number of times when he had gotten too casual, too free, caught himself too late. But the transgenic only laughed, or didn't even seem to notice.
He definitely noticed this time, though.
Dean steeled himself as he came out of the bathroom, clicking off the light before he opened the door. The bedroom was empty. But as he inched around the corner of the archway, concrete floor rough under his bare feet, he caught sight of Alec sitting at the table. The transgenic was hunched over, turning a mug of coffee in his hands, looking deep in thought.
He blew out a low breath, still half-hidden behind the wall.
Was it worth it?
The voice sounded suspiciously like his trainer. Whispering that in the end he hadn't gotten anywhere last night. He was back at square one.
When it came to looking for his brother, he only had one lead. One. No phone numbers were remembered, no last names, no family contacts. Everything he did recall was meaningless. Completely useless, except to widen the hole in his chest—strengthening the ache that he felt. Like a limb was missing. Hell, like his lungs were missing, and he was just using borrowed air to breathe.
He missed Sammy.
His eyes burned. The weight of the situation pressing even further down on his chest. He stayed hidden behind the doorway, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, feeling the phantom burn of past discipline that had left its mark on his skin. Permanent. Like a map marking Dean as the world's biggest fuck up.
Sometimes it almost seemed like it would be easier to just give in to it. Oh, he wasn't allowed to kill himself, but what did it matter? He would be dead before the punishments were doled out. If he did it right. So why not?
He already knew the answer.
Sammy.
Was it worth it?
Yes. Yes it was.
His plan was haphazard, messy. The chances of it working were little to none, but he had to try. Because he only had one lead.
Kova.
The thing about Skinwalkers… the older they were, the earliest in the generation line, those were the ones that people should be scared of. And the training house had caught one. Their prized possession, treated to a life of almost luxury compared to the rest of them.
Dean's alpha.
He still remembered glimpses of those days—left inside of the old wolf's cell. Kova had told him later—the dogs they took immediately, dragging them away from the old Skinwalker as soon as their eyes peeked open. But Dean was different.
Dean wasn't a dog. And Kova wouldn't let him be taken away.
He doesn't remember much of it. As a cub, hairless and probably ugly as all fuck, he was also deaf and blind. Submerged in a world of black and stillness that only broke when his alpha curled up around him. Protected him. When Dean was at the lowest he could remember—so helpless that the wolf's warm tongue massaging his stomach had been the only thing that let him urinate.
That was the only time Dean's luck had held out—the man was one of the rare few in that hellhole that didn't get a hard-on for a seven-year-old boy. Otherwise, Dean might not have survived those first three weeks. And why Kova had even thought he was worth the effort was beyond him. There were a lot of things the man had never told him, and a lot of things he had promised he eventually would.
But when Dean left the training house, sold to his first owner, by the time he came back the man was gone. Escaped. And that was two years ago.
And Dean's only lead from there was that he knew the man had made a living off of the underground fighting rings.
"When I was first turned I wrestled two bears to the ground. Humans were easy after that. It was the only profession I ever knew."
It was more than a long shot. It was ten leaps over jagged cliffs and hoping Dean wouldn't break an ankle jumping to a conclusion. But it was all Dean had.
And Kova had something of Dean's. The boy would be damned if he didn't get it back.
The thought made him square his shoulders a bit more. He would be more careful, not quite so obvious. He would lose sleep sneaking out in the middle of the night. But he wouldn't stop.
Dean's resolve hardened as he watched the transgenic, his fingers whitening around the frame of the door.
No matter what Alec did, he wouldn't stop.