Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Castiel Novak laid eyes on Dean Winchester, he was wiping coffee off his apron and laughing with a customer like the sun itself had asked him to smile.

Cas was already late for a meeting. His limo idled at the curb, the tinted window framing his view like a spotlight. The city around them bustled—glass towers, flashing cameras, the hum of Manhattan’s heartbeat—but all Cas could see was him.

An omega. Unclaimed. Unscented. Working behind the counter of some tucked-away café in the East Village that wasn’t on any curated food blog. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms dusted in flour, hair messy from a long shift. He didn’t belong in Cas’s world—didn’t even seem aware that someone like Castiel Novak existed.

Cas’s alpha instincts roared awake. Protective. Possessive. Overwhelming.

That was before Jimmy slid into the seat beside him.

"You see him too?" his twin’s voice was already low and amused.

Cas didn’t blink. "He’s mine."

Jimmy snorted, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Please. I saw him first."

Cas turned to him, slow and cold. "Don’t do this."

But Jimmy was already opening the car door.

They both stepped out, suits sharp as knives. The air shifted. Static. Electric. Cas felt it in his bones—the way time stilled. The way fate snapped into place like the closing of a trap.

Dean Winchester was inside, backlit by the warm light of the café window. Tousled hair. Cheeks flushed from the heat. Arms wrapped around a tray of croissants, like some angelic vision cast in sugar and gold.

He looked up. And the world stopped.

Two men. Identical. Tall. Beautiful. Dangerous in very different ways.

One in tailored navy, eyes dark with quiet fire.

The other all smirks and swagger, gold chains and trouble.

They watched him like he was already theirs.

Dean’s hands trembled slightly around the tray. His omega instincts flickered, confused, drawn, wary. Want tangled with panic.

He looked away first. But it was already too late.

They came back every day after that.

Not to claim. Not to scent. Not yet.

They brought gifts. First it was pie—flaky, buttery, warm. Then it was pastries from Paris. Then chocolates flown in from Belgium. Then his favorite burger, somehow delivered hotter than if it came from the kitchen.

Dean rolled his eyes every time. But he ate it.

He told himself it was harmless. They were just bored rich Alphas, playing a game.

But then came the poetry.

Letters in thick envelopes. Handwritten in ink, on paper that smelled like sandalwood and clove. Romantic, dramatic, ridiculous stuff about his freckles and the way his laugh curved at the edges.

Castiel wrote:

You are not a flame, you are the match. The spark. The beginning.

Jimmy’s notes were different. Rougher. More unfiltered.

Come to dinner. Or don’t. Just know I’ll still be thinking about your mouth either way. – J.

Then came the clothes. Silk shirts. Italian jeans. Softest underwear he’d ever touched.

Dean kept them in a drawer he pretended didn’t exist.

His friends teased. “Damn, Winchester. Novak twins? Together? You better start negotiating your will.”

Dean blushed furiously but didn’t say no.

Because, God help him, he liked them both.

Cas touched him first.

A brief brush of fingers over his knuckles as he passed over a slice of pie.

Dean jolted. Cas didn’t move.

“You’re trembling,” Cas said softly.

Dean snatched his hand back. “Am not.”

“You are.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No,” Cas murmured. “I think you’re scared of needing something.”

Dean had no comeback for that.

Jimmy arrived a moment later, scent all whiskey and fire. He leaned on the counter, chin in hand.

“You like being spoiled, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Dean scoffed. “I like working. I don’t need your gifts.”

“Sure,” Jimmy said with a wink. “But you like us.”

Dean opened his mouth—and then closed it.

They were both watching him now. Carefully. Hopefully.

Dean hated how much he loved it.

It all came to a head one night outside his apartment.

Dean was walking home from a shift when both cars pulled up at the same time—Jimmy’s electric red Lambo and Cas’s sleek, all-black Maybach.

Jimmy got out first, flashing that movie-star grin. “You ignoring my texts, sweetheart?”

Cas followed, slower. Steadier. Eyes on Dean like he was trying to read him like scripture.

“I told you not to disturb him,” Cas said lowly to Jimmy.

“Then stop showing up everywhere I do.”

Dean groaned. “Seriously?”

They both looked at him like he hung the damn moon.

“I can’t date both of you,” Dean muttered. “This isn’t a Netflix drama.”

But Cas just stepped forward, voice a rasp. “If you chose him, I’d let you go. But not easily. And not quietly.”

Jimmy’s smirk dropped. “If you chose him, I’d burn down every room he ever put you in.”

Dean stared at them, heart pounding.

And still—still—he didn’t run.

Because he wanted to be wanted like this. Just once.

He was breaking.

And God, he loved it.

Chapter Text

Gabriel leaned against the ropes of the private Novak boxing ring, dressed in an unbothered three-piece suit, sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a soda in one hand and a half-eaten Twinkie in the other.

“You know,” he said casually, glancing between his younger brothers, “back in the day, Alphas used to settle things with a good old-fashioned dominance brawl. No texts. No passive-aggressive poetry. Just fists and pheromones.”

Cas cracked his neck.

Jimmy grinned, already pulling off his shirt.

Dean, standing off to the side in a hoodie too big for him and a wary expression, blinked. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Oh, deadly. You think either of these testosterone fountains is gonna let this go quietly? Nah. Might as well let them punch it out. In a controlled environment. Supervised by their charming, rational older brother.”

Jimmy hopped into the ring, bouncing on his feet. “Winner gets the omega?”

Cas followed, eyes locked on his twin, voice low and hard. “Winner gets the chance. Dean still chooses.”

Gabriel pointed at him with the Twinkie. “That’s the correct answer. Someone give this Alpha a gold star.”

Dean moved toward the ring, nerves twisting. “Guys, seriously. This is ridiculous. You don’t need to—”

Crack.

The first punch landed like a gunshot. Dean flinched.

“CAS!” Jimmy growled, stumbling back, lip split. “You fucker!”

“You hit like you flirt—sloppy,” Cas muttered, ducking Jimmy’s swing and returning one that caught his ribs.

Dean moved fast, ducking under the ropes, sliding between them.

“Stop it!” he shouted, palms pressed to their chests. “You’re both bleeding and sweaty and insane!”

Before either could respond, strong arms hooked around Dean’s waist and yoinked him backward.

“Time out, lover boy,” Gabriel said, dragging him to the corner like a misbehaving kitten. He dropped Dean on a bench and shoved a paper plate into his hands.

It had a slice of cake. Vanilla. Perfect frosting. Still warm.

“Eat. Watch. Don’t interrupt the circus,” Gabriel said, flopping into the seat beside him and taking out a bag of popcorn from nowhere like a trickster.

Dean stared at the cake, then at the ring. Jimmy’s nose was bleeding now. Cas’s eye was swelling. They were growling like wolves.

“This is barbaric,” Dean muttered, tearing off a bite of cake anyway. “And pointless.”

Gabriel tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth and hummed. “Yup. But also hot. And honestly, they deserve this.”

Dean turned to him, eyes sharp with concern. “Gabe, why are you doing this? It won't change anything if they fight. Someone could actually get hurt.”

Gabriel paused. For a second, the smirk dropped.

“They've been idiots, Dean. Rude, entitled, walking wet dreams who think showing up with gifts and pheromones gives them a right to you. It doesn't. But maybe—just maybe—a black eye will knock some sense into their thick Alpha skulls.”

Dean exhaled slowly, scent laced with distress, eyes never leaving the ring.

“They’re going to kill each other.”

“Nah,” Gabe said, patting his shoulder. “They’re just going to break a rib or two. It's how Novak men say ‘I love you.’”

Dean groaned and took another bite of cake.

His eyes, though—green and stormy—never left the ring. Never left them.