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1
Salt Lake City is, objectively speaking, not the worst place Balthazar has ever been to. His opinion might be a little bit influenced by the fact that he is visiting, and being treated as a tourist, and he is not expected to be servicing anyone, and he flew there like a real person, and his company is Castiel... but still. The hotel they are staying in is fairly nice, too, with large, spacious rooms and extremely professional staff, and since Ash has taken care to check it in advance, it means that they are staying at one of the few hotels that allow the omegas to have a room of their own. (Cassie spent a flatteringly long time being angry with the world when Balthazar mentioned getting them separate rooms might be a problem.)
They are scheduled to meet Anna Milton - Pam’s once upon a time semi-student, who graduated in veterinary medicine and is interested in starting a clinic somewhere - and who, when Pam proposed the idea of employing formerly enslaved omegas, readily agreed. Balthazar was supposed to go with Pam, originally, but there was an emergency and so Castiel volunteered even though Balthazar knows better than most how insecure Cassie is about talking to people.
The meeting goes over swimmingly; the negotiations cannot even be called negotiations, since Anna happily agrees to all aspects of their proposal, and she promises to be set up in Seattle by the next month. They had been ready to spend some more time trying to come to a mutually pleasant arrangement, and so they have three days before flying back. They agree to spend the time getting to know the city and, frankly, enjoy the unexpected vacation.
It’s nice. It doesn’t make up for Balthazar’s past, but he is willing to admit he is enjoying himself, which of course lasts for exactly twelve hours.
In the morning, there is a frantic call from Ash.
Michael Morningstar is to be the main speaker at a conference taking place in their hotel, tomorrow, a fact which Ash somehow managed to miss when checking out their lodgings for potential pitfalls.
To Cassie’s credit, he reacts to the news much better than Balthazar himself.
While he is too busy trying not to be sick, or scream, or slide to his knees because that’s where he should be, Castiel manages to have a cup of chamomile tea and a glass of scotch brought for him (because, apparently, he wasn’t sure which Balthazar would prefer at the moment) and lead a heated discussion with Ash that results in a mutual agreement that Ash will switch their tickets for a flight setting off today. They will get out of Salt Lake City before Michael gets into his own plane in the first place.
Except, then it turns out even Ash cannot hack into the system and change their tickets, since the airlines are apparently trying some new type of protection that their resident hacker is not familiar with yet. That means waiting another three days, and Balthazar absolutely does not fancy the idea of being in the same state as Michael Morningstar ever again, let alone the same city, or, God be good, hotel. Around the time he’s having that particular meltdown, Castiel bites his lip, his scent shifting into something between oh yes, an idea and oh no, an idea. He is purposely not looking at Balthazar when he suggests they rent a car and drive back home.
As much as Balthazar hates the idea of being locked up in a car for any longer than a few hours, the fourteen-hour drive sounds disgustingly good, considering the other option.
He says yes.
To Cassie’s credit, again, he finds them a nice rental and insists on stopping every sixty minutes, because look at that view and oh, have you ever seen so many beehives together? and they stop to get food in nice - but not too nice - restaurants (apparently, Cassie has bullied Ash into checking the reviews and he is only stopping at the omega-friendly places, and Balthazar doesn’t need him to do that, but it is still nice).
They are some fifty minutes away from Seattle, and Balthazar is finally allowing himself to relax, when the snowstorm hits.
To Cassie’s credit, yet again, he does attempt to keep driving. That lasts for exactly forty-three seconds before he almost crashes the car. The obnoxiously cheerful lady on the emergency weather broadcast informs them the roads around Seattle are getting closed and that the snowing shouldn’t stop before midnight, and Balthazar is certain the only reason Castiel doesn’t punch the steering wheel is that he is trying to be considerate.
“The GPS says there’s a motel eight minutes from here,” Cassie says after a few minutes of silence. It is not a question, but Balthazar answers it anyway.
“Well,” he says, as fake cheerful as the lady on the radio. “I’m sure it won’t be the worst place I’ve ever spent the night. Let’s do it.”
Cassie winces at that, but he does start the car.
The receptionist, a beta in his early thirties, smiles at Castiel when they enter.
“Hello there! The weather’s awful, isn't it? What can I do for you?”
Cassie sighs. “We’ll have two rooms. Singles,” he says.
The clerk raises his eyebrows, looking them both up and down, and Balthazar is suddenly, painfully aware of the situation they are about to be in.
“That won’t be possible, Sir,” says the man cheerfully. “We don’t allow omegas to have a separate room, you must understand. They always attract attention, and their spouses then file all these annoyingly stupid complaints... considering what they’re like, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Balthazar presses his lips into a very thin line, his whole body tense. He doesn’t move, unsure what to expect, unsure of Castiel’s reaction.
“I am sure I don’t know what you mean,” the alpha says calmly. “But as you wish. We’ll have one room then, if you cannot guarantee safety of your guests.”
The receptionist smiles.
“See, you get it! Anyway, you’re making the right choice, staying with us: we have wonderfully furnished rooms for all of our alphas and their companions. Number 42 has a beautiful St. Andrew’s cross, if you feel so inclined.”
If Balthazar hadn’t been too busy trying not to have a panic attack in this wannabe lobby of this crappy motel, he would probably laugh; he is almost sure Cassie has no idea what a St. Andrew’s cross even is.
To Cassie’s credit, yet again, he ignores the man completely. “A room,” he repeats. “For two. Do you have one free? A normal one, preferably with two queens?”
The receptionist keeps smiling, clearly unbothered by the hostility in Cassie’s voice. He types something into the computer.
“Well, Sir, we have one last standard room, with a king bed. Very comfortable, I am sure you will have fun with your company in there.”
Cassie digs his fingers into the wood of the desk with enough force that Balthazar isn't sure what is going to break first.
“We are friends, however incomprehensible this might seem to your bigoted mind. How much is it going to cost me if I want you to shut up and keep your outdated opinions to yourself?” the alpha mutters, and the beta smiles even brighter.
“Of course, your comfort is what matters to us, Sir. That’s why we offer a no-questions-asked deal for an additional five hundred dollars.”
At that, Cassie looks ready to head back into the storm.
“I walked right into it, right?” he asks, his voice openly hostile by now. “Fine. Whatever, just give us the keys.”
The receptionist does.
“Enjoy your stay Sir. Don’t worry, we’ll add your company as a ‘friend’ to the bill,” he adds, typing, and Castiel looks like he wants to start arguing again, and Balthazar is way too tired and way too sick to go through this whole dance once more.
“Just - let’s go, Cassie, alright? He’s not worth it.”
The clerk smirks, genuinely amused. “Oh, someone’s being mouthy. We do have gags you can borrow if-“
Balthazar ignores him, too busy trying to prevent certainly-not-his alpha, thank you very much, from doing something righteous and stupid. He rests his hand on Castiel’s lower back, steering him gently towards the corridor, and Cassie relents, letting himself be led. They head to the stairs, passing the elevator without any attempt to get in, thank God, and then Castiel looks at him.
“I should have punched him,” he mutters, his side pressed to Balthazar as they stop in the middle of the staircase. “You should have punched him.”
Balthazar isn't even sure if should be annoyed or pleased by Cassie’s attitude. By his naivety.
“We would get arrested,” he reminds him, his voice a bit more shaken than he would like it to be by the possibility. Castiel seems to understand, his scent shifting from apprehension to sorry. “And he didn’t even do anything. Honestly, Cassie, this was pretty mild, all things considered.”
Castiel looks like he wants to say something, but then he seems to notice, abruptly, that they are still in the middle of the staircase. Still in the same questionable motel he has been complaining about.
“We should’ve left, at least,” he says, sounding very sad, and very petulant, and very young.
Balthazar snorts, pointing to the window they stopped at. Their car is already covered by snow.
“I’m sure our heap of snow is different from all other heaps of snow, and would just melt if you asked nicely,” he says, and Cassie smiles at him.
“It is a thought,” he insists, before checking the room number on the keys and moving again.
The room turns out to be a lot nicer than Balthazar imagined (courtesy, probably, of all the additional costs his presence is going to cause, but he is too exhausted to care); there’s a king bed with satin sheets, a small sofa, and a table with two armchairs. Castiel sighs when he closes the door behind them.
“You can shower while I figure out the room service and get us dinner,” he suggests, and Balthazar would protest but he’s too anxious to wash the sick feeling off him. He is only slightly annoyed that Castiel apparently knows him well enough to understand without him having to say it by now.
-
When Balthazar emerges from the bathroom, Cassie is sitting at the table, still wearing his suit -though at least he took off the trench coat. There are two plates with steak, French fries, and salad in front of him.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Balthazar finds himself saying.
Cassie bites his lip. His scent shifts from tired but rather content to sad and angry.
“Yes. That dick at the reception desk was saying that, too.”
They eat in silence, both too tired to talk about anything.
Then Castiel sighs.
“I am sorry for all of this. For ruining your week, for dragging you around the States. Ash was right. I read the hotel website as well, and I should’ve noticed. And this - it’s not fair, and it’s wrong, and…”
"It doesn't matter, Cassie," Balthazar tells him. It doesn't. It doesn't, because Balthazar couldn't care less about what some random douchebag thinks about him and Cassie, and it doesn't when they just managed to persuade Anna Milton to work with them, and it doesn’t when what they do is going to give so many people a chance for a better life, and it especially doesn't when three years ago around this time he was drugged and bleeding and shivering and gagged and on his knees in Michael Morningstar’s office, and now, instead, he and Cassie save people from similar and worse conditions.
"Let's get you to bed," Balthazar says then, and isn't that hilarious?
"I can take the couch," Cassie replies immediately and Balthazar doesn't even bother to suppress the need to roll his eyes.
"Yeah, forget it. Pamela will eat me alive if I let you fuck up your back like that."
Castiel looks over his shoulder to eye the bed suspiciously.
"You don't-" he starts, and Balthazar seizes the opportunity and drags him to it.
"We can share," he suggests and Cassie looks up at him, his eyes huge.
"I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable," the alpha murmurs. He sounds tired, and vulnerable. A very annoying, very primal and caretaking part of Balthazar's brain unhelpfully screams at him to hug him, to soothe him with his scent and with warmth. The rational part, fully aware of how touch-starved Cassie is, agrees. Balthazar tells both those parts to shut up - he is putting all his trust and composure into being willing to fall asleep next to an alpha, and he doesn't have the capacity to bloody cuddle right now, no matter how theoretically useful for both of them it might be.
"If I was ever going to feel comfortable doing this with anyone, it would be with you, Cassie," he manages to admit - Benny would be proud.
Castiel doesn't say anything for the longest time. He just stops arguing, kicking off his shoes. He doesn't even attempt to undress, and Balthazar relaxes a little bit more as he grabs his bag with the intention to locate his toothbrush. Castiel is already falling asleep by the time he finds it.
"'m sorry," Cassie mutters, words slurred, lids heavy. "I keep failing you."
Before Balthazar can tell him he sure as hell doesn't, Castiel is asleep, curled up on top of the covers.
"No, you don't," Balthazar says anyway, grabbing a blanket from a couch and tucking him in with a sigh.
2
Jody forces Castiel Novak to meet her at a café instead of at the center, mostly because she doesn’t want to risk anyone walking into his office while she talks to him – and because there is no way she’s going to make Castiel spend time anywhere but in his office when he’s at work.
She isn't particularly happy about the talk she needs to have with him.
“What can I do for you?” Castiel asks her when they sit down at one of the tables. He looks tired, Jody notices.
She sighs. “Don’t do this to punish yourself,” she tells him, no preamble, and he blinks at her, confused. She sighs again, and continues. “If you’re doing this – I mean, if you created the center to help people, great. But don’t do this so that you can hate yourself even more. Don’t do this so that you can add an extra heaping of self-loathing on top of all you already feel.”
Castiel doesn’t look at her, suddenly very interested in staring into his cup.
“Balthazar doesn’t mind,” he mutters, making Jody consider smacking him.
“Balthazar probably doesn’t know about that little list of yours, and thinks you’re only doing it to help people like him who need it. Which I will be returning to, soon, but first things first.”
At that, he does look at her.
“How do you know?” he asks, guilt in his voice loud and clear.
She laughs, but there is no mockery. “I was a sheriff, remember? Do you really think you’re the only person at this table with a list of people you couldn’t save? Admittedly, mine has some sort of logic. Yours lacks names. You couldn’t possibly have changed anything about what happened to those people.”
“I left,” he argues. “Jody, I left. I could have done something, and I ran away. I am doing this to help people. But tell me how I can look at all those people, at all those things that happened to them, and not feel guilty? When they’ve been tortured and raped and hurt in unimaginable ways, because I wasn’t there?”
Jody leans back, taking a sip of her coffee. She briefly considers hugging him, but he looks like panicking even without that.
“Balthazar doesn’t blame you for that,” she says instead. “I am sure you know that.”
“He should. All of them should, but he should, especially,” Castiel retorts.
“If you’re going to do it like this, it’s going to get you killed,” Jody says instead of arguing. It is not her battle to fight. “Take it from me. This work is going to hurt either way, but the guilt is what kills you if you let it. You’re doing a good thing. Do not let your so-called family’s sins destroy you. And talk to Balthazar about it, for God’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, Jody,” Castiel answers. “I don’t think I can. I… I have to go.”
He stands up, leaving money on the table for both of their drinks even though Jody was the one inviting him.
“I am sorry,” he repeats. “If you decide you don’t want to work with someone like me, I will understand.”
He is gone before she can reply. She contemplates ordering a glass of wine. Then she takes out her phone and calls Balthazar instead.
Someone should force some sense into their resident alpha.
3
The thing is, Castiel Novak might be the most competent not-really-a-boss Meg has ever had. He’s smart and he’s not into micromanagement, and he’s made it very clear he doesn’t care about any boring macho stereotypes, regardless of whether one talks about primary or secondary genders… which means he seems to be perfectly content with the fact that his head of rehab is a male omega, and his security team is… well. Meg.
Another thing is, Meg knows she comes off as the last person who would care about her not-really-a-boss’s emotional health. Which is not entirely true, but it is true enough; she has a reputation to maintain, after all.
“You could have died,” Castiel says. He looks worried out of his mind, which is downright stupid because Meg has a clear shot in her shoulder and is going to be fine. She was the one who fucked up and hadn’t checked for guns when that alpha came to her booth (though, in her defense, the rich ones usually have their thugs do the dirty work and don’t go around armed themselves). Still, if there’s anyone she can blame for the outcome it is herself.
“’m fine, Clarence,” she murmurs. She blames that on the painkillers Pam gave her. They were awesome.
“You were shot,” he reminds her. “I should have let you have a gun, leaving you unprotected was-“
She punches him into the arm, with less force than she wanted to; those painkillers are really doing wonders. “We have protocol for this, Clarence. And your sweethearts are stressed out enough when they see I have a taser; we both know that. No need to pile on more angst.”
“You work for me,” Castiel insists. He sounds distressed. Meg briefly considers asking Pam to give him something to calm down. She also considers slipping him some of her painkillers, but she is going to need them, and it would be highly unprofessional, as Castiel would say. “You work for me, and I should be able to ensure the safety of the people I hired. I am so sorry, Meg. I failed you.”
Meg is, frankly, too drugged to deal with this now.
“Quit that, Clarence,” she mutters, half-asleep. She isn't sure if he hears her at all.
4
It would almost feel like an intentional plan on Michael’s part, if Balthazar wasn’t entirely sure the man doesn’t care about Cassie enough to remember his birthday.
Still, he does announce the expansion of Morningstar Incorporated on September 18th. It is decisively not how Balthazar imagined the day to go, and yet here they are, the whipped cream on the pancakes Balthazar brought him melting happily, as they are too busy watching Michael’s press conference on the computer in Castiel’s office to eat. Too busy listening to the alpha talking about the subsidiary they are founding, about starting their very own brand of punishing implements, to notice or care.
Castiel punches the table, hard enough that the plates rattle, and Balthazar flinches.
“It is not your fault, Cassie,” he says quietly.
“It is. I should have taken that job offer. I should have done something from the inside. What I am doing… don’t get me wrong, I want to be doing this; but it's too little, too late.”
Balthazar would like to feel wounded or angry. He just feels sad. Of course Castiel wants to change the world; he is too righteous and too brave and too good to want anything less. He is also clearly too busy hating himself to notice how much he has already done, how many people he has already helped.
“I… I need a moment,” he says. Cassie looks at him, concerned, but Balthazar shakes his head. “I’m alright, Cassie, really. I just need a minute, okay?”
“If you want to talk, I am here,” Castiel tells him. “Or. If you want to punch me, I guess.”
Balthazar forces himself to ignore him. He squeezes Castiel’s shoulder, pushes one of the plates closer to him, and walks out of his office, plan forming.
-
As much as their jobs are decisively not the nine-to-five kind, Balthazar ensures he has everyone ready in the staff room at five P.M. sharp before he goes back to Castiel’s office.
Cassie looks even more exhausted than usual. Balthazar would be willing to bet his favorite shirt that he still has the press conference on.
“Alright, Cassie, we have places to be,” he says. The alpha looks up at him.
“I intended to go home and drink myself to sleep,” he answers bluntly. “You are more than welcome to join me, though.”
Balthazar snorts. “Yeah, no. A change of plans. You aren’t turning thirty every day.”
“I said I didn’t want a party, and I meant it,” Cassie tells him, exasperated and Balthazar winks at him.
“That’s good, since you’re not getting one.”
He is somewhat impressed with himself, especially since the idea of getting drunk doesn’t sound that bad, today.
“Then what-“
Balthazar ignores him, moving to his chair and pulling him up, and Cassie sighs, but he lets himself be half led, half dragged.
They stop in the door of the staff breakroom, and Balthazar looks around with some degree of pride. It’s not the best thing known to man, but it is enough, he supposes. The pizza boxes are stacked on the now-joined tables – and Jody has the champagne poured into glasses. Good.
“I said-“ Cassie starts.
“Not a party,” Balthazar hurries to say, not so gently shoving Cassie into the room as he himself remains standing in the doorway. “But since you seem so sure you have failed us and the world for some reason, I believe a small explanation might be in order. This day is as good as any other. A better one even, probably. Jody, would you like to start?”
“Oh, sure,” Jody agrees readily. She hands both him and Cassie glasses with champagne, and then she takes a step back, smiling at Cassie, maternal.
Good.
Cassie could use someone looking at him like that.
“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be still doing a job that stopped making me feel like a good person years ago,” she says, calm. “And I wouldn’t have a daughter.”
“I’d be real life Penelope Garcia by now, probably,” Ash speaks up next, with no prompting, his voice surprisingly soft and tired. “Which could be cool, I guess, but considering how corrupt and pro-slavery the federal org’s are these days, it would probably mean I would be helping catch runaway slaves and not serial killers, so. You gave me a chance to do something good with my skills. Something truly meaningful.”
Meg shifts in her seat, pressing her knees to her chest. “What Ash said,” she agrees. “Sort of. I would be in the private sector doing ugly things to some ugly – and some not that ugly – people. Might be fun,” she adds, and Balthazar reminds himself that he’s mostly not afraid of her. Mostly. “But still. Tasing dicks who come here waving their macho alpha privilege around is so much more fun than torturing someone for information in a warzone. So yeah. Made my life a lot more worth it, giving me this job. Thanks, Clarence.”
Castiel shifts to look at Balthazar, silently begging him to be able to leave. Balthazar ignores him. He needs to hear it. Needs to be told about all the great things he’s done, because he won’t ever feel like he did enough if they don’t tell him now.
“I’d be charging my clients 250 bucks an hour, if it wasn’t for you, brother,” Benny says, amused. “And I can’t say I hated being able to spend my vacations on a private yacht, but I did hate that job. I hated that I was supposed to be helping people but, in reality, I hardly ever was.”
Gadreel raises his hand. “You gave me a chance to do something really good with my skills, too,” he says simply.
This is getting ridiculously sappy. Right now, Balthazar wouldn’t want it to be any different.
“I don’t know what I would be doing if it wasn’t for you, Cas-man,” Garth quips, honest and teary-eyed. “I don’t. But I know I wouldn’t know my wife without you. I wouldn’t know you guys. I would be alone and insignificant, with a perfectly normal life without meaning. So yeah, dude, believe it or not, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have a family.” Bess smiles at him, kissing his cheek, and Balthazar suspects there will be some additional cuddling when the two of them arrive home.
“I second that,” she says. “I wouldn’t have met my husband without you. And I would have been a secretary in some stupid corporation.” She says the second thing with so much disgust that it makes Balthazar laugh, and even Cassie smiles a little at that.
“I’d still be with my abusive stepmother if you didn’t help Jody sort out the papers and bribe the state officers,” Alex says shyly. When she realizes what she just said, she looks around, nervous, but she relaxes again when Jody smiles at her, resting her arm protectively around her daughter’s waist.
Pamela coughs and when Cassie looks at her, she smiles at him, eyes soft and wet. “I’d be in prison,” she says, with her usual tact. “If I were lucky,” she adds, bitterness clear in her voice.
Cassie is very openly crying by now, and Balthazar almost feels wrong for adding the final nail into his coffin. Thing is, they don’t talk about this if they can help it, and he’s fairly sure Cassie should hear it. Balthazar is even willing to accept that everyone else will hear it, too.
“Without you,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady, “I’d be dead.” He shifts his gaze to Pamela for a moment, mockingly raising his glass. “If I were lucky.” Their resident doctor snorts through tears and raises her glass as well.
He’s aware he could say more – he could remind Cassie of how exactly they met, of the growing and growing chance that Castiel wouldn’t have been the Morningstar to find him. Of the fact that any of Balthazar’s future clients could have - would have - killed him, of the fact that he spent months still marked in the system as a slave, of the fact that, if he got caught, he would have been hand-delivered to Gabriel in the best case, to Michael in the worst one.
He doesn’t remind him of any of those things. Cassie already knows it all.
“I-“ Cassie starts, his voice rough. “I don’t know what to say. I didn't - I haven't done anything exceptional, I merely had the funds to provide-"
"Your so-called brothers have the funds as well," Balthazar interrupts, forcing himself to sound calm. He isn't entirely sure if he’d sound shaken, tired, or exasperated otherwise. "I don't see Michael spending his inheritance on creating a safe space for omega slaves."
“He’s right,” Jody speaks up, her voice rough – she sounds like she is seconds from crying. “Kid, I know you feel like you are doing the bare minimum, but you aren’t. And we want you to know that we love you and that you’ve changed each of our lives in an incredible way.”
“And that’s not even touching on how much you’ve changed the lives of the residents,” Pam adds. “I know, I know. You’ll say it’s our job and our accomplishment. But it was you and Balthazar who made this possible. You need to stop selling yourself so damn short.”
“Thank you,” Cassie manages to say, his eyes wet. “Thank you all. You are-“ his voice breaks and Balthazar opens his mouth to rescue him, but Meg beats him to it, pointing to both of them and smirking.
“You two should hug,” she says. “You know, since you are like the center’s parents and stuff, Clarence. And the pizza’s gonna get cold if we don’t eat it now. Hop to it. ”
“Well, it has certainly been a pleasure to co-parent the center with Cassie and Jody,” Balthazar teases, and Castiel laughs through tears and pulls him into a hug.
“By the way, you are not allowed to do this again,” Cassie mutters into his shoulder, his voice rough and vulnerable, and Balthazar laughs, ignoring the fact that his eyes are wet, too.
He is not above blaming that on allergies.
He also has a snarky reply ready – one pointing out that it’s a fairly mild order, as far as orders from Cassie’s family go (and he thinks he should buy Benny a chocolate, or maybe a car, since he can joke about it now) – but considering he spent a rather long time trying to persuade Cassie he isn't a monster, he doesn’t want to ruin his progress.
“C’mon,” he says instead. “I’ll get you another glass and a piece of pizza, and you can tell me all about beehives.”
The way Cassie smiles at him, his eyes wet but his scent calm and thankful, makes the following hours full of bees perfectly worth it.