Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean always figured Castiel was a Beta.

Or, at least, he figured angels didn't have secondary genders whatsoever. After all, every single angel he encountered didn't have a scent or anything similar. Not Anna, not Gabriel, not Uriel.

Not Cas.

Cas never gave off a scent. Never reacted to Dean’s or Sam’s, not even during rut, when they were raw with instinct and forced to isolate themselves for days. He never so much as flinched at pheromones thick with rage or fear, signals sharp enough to put any Alpha on edge or make an Omega pause.

Cas remained unchanged. Steady. Impassive. Contained.

More angel than anything else. Immune, or maybe indifferent, to anything that stirred beneath their skin.

Beta. Safe. Untouchable.

That was until they made it to Grants Pants Oregon, the place where Eve was hiding out in.

Castiel flew them within seconds, just like he always did. But the moment their boots hit the ground, something was off.

Cas stumbled slightly, catching himself mid-step. Which was not common for the angel whatsoever. He had always been deliberate and precise with every movement, almost as if he had planned it centuries beforehand. Dean frowned but decided not to dwell on it.

Bobby needed to sit down with his computer, so they made their way to the first diner they saw. The diner wasn’t much to look at from outside. Flickering neon sign, tired booths visible through the front window, the kind of place Dean normally wouldn't think twice about.

But Castiel lagged a step behind.

Dean turned to toss some offhand comment toward him when he actually looked at Cas. He kept tugging at the collar like it was too tight, even though he wore it like armor most days. There was a sheen on his forehead, just enough to catch the streetlight. Dean frowned.

“You good?” he asked, trying to keep it casual.

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied, but his voice caught on the word like it didn’t want to be said.

Dean kept walking, slower now. Cas followed, but the rhythm was off. Too stiff. Too unsure. 

Then he smelled it.

It was so faint he almost missed it completely, but as soon as Cas started walking beside him, he smelled it.

Pie. 

Honey pie, to be precise. It smelled like heaven. Warm, rich, and unmistakably sweet. It drifted through the air like something freshly baked. The scent was comfort wrapped in sugar, but underneath that? There was a note Dean couldn’t ignore. Not just pie. Not just hunger. It was sweet in a way only an Omega could be. His mouth watered before he even realized what he was reacting to.

The most delicious Omega Scent he had ever smelt

And it came from Cas.

He blinked twice, completely confused. As he tried to approach Castiel to properly scent him, the angel took a step back.

“Dean?”

“Cas. You, uh.” He stopped, embarrassed. He had never tried to scent Castiel before, the same way he never tried to scent a Beta. It was stupid, almost offensive. “You put on perfume?” Cas tilted his head in response.

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Don’t know, man. You smell weird". So good it’s making me dizzy. Dean swallowed hard.

You smell so fucking good. I need to scent you or I’m going to lose my damn mind. 

“Will that hinder the mission in any way?”

“Well, no, I just thought-”

“Then let's not waste any more time, Dean.” Cas said as he turned around and walked quickly to the diner’s door. Dean followed on instinct, Alpha courtesy mode flipping on like muscle memory. He picked up his pace, reached the door first, and held it open without thinking.

What is wrong with me? This is Cas, not an Omega. My wires must be crossed.

Castiel blinked and frowned, but he still nodded towards Dean and entered the diner before him. They all slid into a booth near the back. Cas sank into one side, looking vaguely uncomfortable, as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard seat. It was weird to see the angel this uncomfortable.

Sam started to slide in beside him, but Dean moved faster. With a muttered “I got it,” Dean shouldered past his brother and dropped into the seat next to Cas, leaving Sam blinking once before shrugging and taking the opposite bench next to Bobby. Something low in his chest uncoiled. He could feel it, even if he didn’t mean to, his scent pushing forward, not aggressive but firm, territorial. The invisible perimeter of a line drawn by instinct.

Cas gave no outward reaction, but he sat a little straighter.

Dean breathed in slowly.

“Dude.” Sam said and frowned at Dean, “Can’t you, like, control your pheromones for a bit? You are going to draw attention to us. Eve could be anywhere.”

“Sorry” Dean murmured, eyeing Castiel slightly. The scent coming from him was still very faint, but it lingered in the air enough to keep Dean’s alpha on guard. 

As they discussed the plan to track down Eve, Dean stayed tense, scanning their surroundings carefully. Anytime an Alpha scent so much as brushed by, his posture tightened, eyes darting. Then Castiel spoke up, calm and clipped as always. 

“I’ll search the town. Give me a moment."

Dean didn’t like that. The thought of Cas just taking off without him scratched at something raw. But he swallowed it down. This was a mission. He wasn’t about to let his alpha instincts screw with the job. Which was ridiculous. Cas couldn’t be an Omega. He was Cas .

Still, when Dean nodded for him to go, Cas didn’t move. And suddenly Dean wasn’t sure which part of this was the most unsettling: that Cas wasn’t flying off like usual or that he was glad he hadn't

“Cas?” Sam asked. Dean noticed a single drop of sweat traveling down the angel’s face.

“I’m still here” He seemed confused by his own statement.

“Yeah you don't have to wait on us” Dean added, still hoping deep down the angel wouldn't leave his side. Castiel closed his eyes to seemingly concentrate but still remained in place. “Now it just looks like you are pooping." Dean joked.

“Something is wrong,” Cas murmured.

There it was again. Omega scent. 

Worried Omega.

It hit like a punch to the chest. Castiel lifted his gaze, voice barely a thread.

“I’m blocked.” He lifted his head to look at Dean. “I'm powerless". Dean blinked twice at the statement. “Something in this town is affecting me. I suppose it is Eve.”

“We gotta find this bitch quickly." Dean said, and Sam frowned at the sudden smell of protective alpha.

“I think I found something.” Said Bobby. He began to explain how a doctor reported an illness he couldn't identify, but Dean only half-registered the words. Castiel was standing too close. Too quiet. His scent was sharp with unease, tinged with something almost frightened. Dean’s jaw tightened. It was getting harder to focus on the case when every nerve in his body was tuned to the angel’s unraveling calm.

“Okay.” Dean simply stated when Bobby was done with his explanation. “Me and Cas are going to check out that doctor’s office.” He patted the angel twice on the shoulder. “C’mon buddy, walking around a little won't hurt you. Let's put those wings to rest.” Castiel frowned in response, but he still nodded and followed Dean outside the diner.

As they made their way to the doctor’s office, Castiel suddenly stopped Dean.

“I should leave,” he added, stiff and clipped. “I’m compromising the mission.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I…” Cas hesitated. His hands curled slightly on his trenchcoat like he needed something to hold onto. “When angels are in vessels, we don’t… present.”

“As in secondary gender stuff?” Dean asked, understanding and softness lingering in his voice. Embarrassed omega scent hit Dean’s nose as Castiel nodded

“The grace, the power, it overrides everything. Secondary characteristics don't manifest. There is no need for it.” They all stared at Castiel in silence.

He swallowed. His voice wavered on the next words.

“But now… I can’t suppress it. The more time passes, the more it surfaces. And I… I don’t know how to manage it.”

Dean stared, words caught somewhere in his throat.

“I’m presenting,” Cas said, softer this time, like the word cost him something. “As an Omega.” Dean was holding his breath. “And I can’t predict how long until my body follows through. If I go into heat while we’re tracking Eve, while you’re exposed to me…” he glanced at Dean then, with something close to regret, “I could jeopardize everything.”

There was fear in his voice now. Fear and shame.

Dean leaned closer, his voice low, steady, and anchoring.

“Cas. You are not a liability.” Castiel seemed so damn shocked Dean felt like crying.

“But you don't understand,” Cas said, voice low. “My status could compromise everything. I’m already…off. Erratic. And if she can smell-”

“Dude,” Dean cut in, sharper than he meant, but the panic in Cas's eyes made him soften immediately. “Bobby is the only lucky bastard here, being a Beta and all that.”

Cas blinked at him.

Dean exhaled and kept going. “You think Alphas don’t react? You ever seen me in a room with blood and pheromones and think I’m rational ? Hell no. We’re wired, man. It’s instinct, not failure.”

Castiel stared at him like he was seeing something for the first time.

“You’re still here, still trying. That doesn’t make you a liability; it makes you brave. Braver than most Alphas I know.” Castiel frowned; he seemed to be having trouble believing it. Still, he nodded.

“Thank you, Dean.” The delicious pie scent hit Dean’s nose again, and he visibly relaxed. The angel did not smell uncomfortable anymore. He smelled calm, and now the natural sweetness of Omega scent was definitely doing weird things to his Alpha’s instincts. He might become addicted to this scent if he wasn't careful.

“Yeah, whatever, man.” He looked away from the angel, trying to stop himself from catching more of that omega pie scent and getting more distracted than he already was. “Let's find this bitch.”

Oh, and find her they did. 

After spending the entire day scouring the town, it turned out Eve had been hiding in plain sight the whole time. Right there in the very first diner they’d stepped into. There was no way she hadn’t seen them come and go. If she’d wanted them dead, they would’ve been. No, she had a plan. 

“Okay.” Dean sighed and looked at Bobby and Cas. “Me and Sam are going in.”

“Dean-” Bobby began to talk, but Dean quickly interrupted him.

“Look, we don't get a shot off; you two better.” He said, pointing at their respective guns, full of phoenix ashes.

“That’s the plan?”

“Pretty much.” Dean loaded his gun, ready to walk in when Castiel suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Dean. Let me come with you.” 

Needy omega scent, calling directly to his Alpha. Oh, Cas was using dirty tricks.

“Cas, we need backup outside, okay?”

“I can be helpful, Dean. Just because-”

“This has nothing to do with it, okay? This is the smartest way to take her ass down. We need people outside, and I trust you, Cas.” The angel sighed, but he still nodded.

“I understand, Dean.” He began to walk away, but when the clear scent of distressed and worried Omega hit the hunter’s notice, he couldn't just ignore it. Without thinking about it for more than two seconds, he pulled Cas gently but firmly toward him, guiding the angel’s face to the curve of his neck, over the scent gland nestled beneath his jaw.

“Dean? What are you doing?” Cas asked, more confused than he should. Has he never done this before? That’s insane. 

“Breathe.” Dean murmured, voice low. “Just breathe.”

His own pheromones shifted, instinctively softening; warm and something steadier underneath, like sun-warmed leather. Calming. Grounding. A silent signal: It’s going to be okay.

Cas froze for a heartbeat, then inhaled. Slowly. Deeply. His shoulders eased, just barely, and Dean felt the tension bleed out of him. They stood unmoving for a couple of seconds, until they heard Bobby clearing his throat behind them.

“Ya’ done?” Bobby drawled, one brow raised in amusement.

As they turned, they found him standing there, arms crossed, while Sam just looked baffled, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. Before Sam could even get a word out, Dean brushed past them both and headed straight for the diner, jaw set and silent.

Well, it all went to shit pretty quickly. The whole fucking diner was full of Jefferson Starships, and just as the brothers were trying to escape, Eve herself stopped them. She didn’t attack. Not right away. Instead, she talked. She explained her plan in that eerie, too-smooth voice: how Crowley was still alive, how he was after the souls in Purgatory, how she needed him stopped. And then she made her offer: bring her Crowley, and she’d let them all walk out alive.

Dean didn’t even blink. “Pass.”

Eve’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, she gestured, and the back door creaked open.

Two of her creatures escorted Bobby and Castiel into the room. Bobby looked pissed. Cas looked pale, drained in a way Dean wasn’t used to seeing. Still powerless. Still grounded.

Dean’s jaw clenched. He tried to step forward instinctively, placing himself between Cas and the nearest Starship. But one of the creatures grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him in place.

Cas looked… wrong. Unsteady and flushed with something more than just exhaustion. His scent hit Dean like a freight train, thick with distress, laced with something deeper. Sweeter. Instinctual. Omega .

Dean’s breath caught. His own scent flared in response. He could feel it happening, the slow and strong smell of heat lingering in the air. Not now. Not here.

Eve tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Oh,” she said, amused. “ That’s interesting.” She walked towards Cas. “I have never seen an Omega seraph. And I am much, much older than you. I wonder what we could do with you”

“Get away from him,” Dean growled, straining against the grip of the Starships holding him back. His muscles burned, but he didn’t stop. “I swear to God, if you touch him-”

Eve turned to him, amused. “Oh, I plan to. After I am done with you.”

And then she was in front of Dean. He barely had time to react before her hand gripped his jaw, tilting his head back. Her mouth was cold against his skin. And then she bit. Deep.

Pain flared white-hot. Dean gasped but didn’t fall. His blood burned, but not the way she expected.

Eve staggered back, hissing, her lips stained red. “What did you…?”

Dean wiped the blood from his neck, eyes dark and steady. “Phoenix ash,” he said, voice low and feral. “Hope you choke on it.” But even as Eve gasped and her body began to quake under the venom coursing through her, Dean’s attention was already sliding, dragging itself toward Castiel.

The angel was ruffled, his coat scorched and clinging. The scent of him was still wrong, something wild and electric and unmistakably omega in heat . It pulsed through the air like a siren call, distorted by pain, and Dean felt it going across his senses like claws. Every instinct in him went primal. Not because Castiel was presenting, but because he was reacting.

He needed to protect him. Cas wasn't safe here

Ferality bloomed in his chest like wildfire. 

Dean took a half-step toward him, hands curling into fists at his sides, barely suppressing the snarl that caught in his throat. “Cas,” he rasped, nearly breathless.

Eve’s gaze snagged on Dean’s again, desperate now. Her body arched, smoke pouring from her mouth in thick ribbons. Her skin bubbled and cracked, vessels going black with ancient rot. With a final breath, she burst, light and ash expanding outward. The Mother of All was no more.

But there was no silence.

Above them, the starships responded, weapons priming with a bone-shaking whine. The air turned to static.

“Close your eyes!” Castiel’s voice cracked like thunder.

Dean dropped, shielding himself just as the room exploded in light.

Grace, untethered and incandescent, poured from Castiel’s body like a detonation. The starships blinked out of existence. Everything burned. When it faded, the room was leveled. Smoke clung to the walls. Blood pooled under limp, unrecognizable bodies.

Dean rose slowly, breath ragged. The scent was gone, Cas no longer radiated heat, no longer smelled like need. But the ghost of it lingered, clinging to Dean’s senses. His instincts were still on high alert, still snarling beneath his skin. He didn’t just feel feral, he was feral.

Dean took a staggering step forward. His eyes, dark and locked, were fixed on Cas, who stood at the center of the wreckage, renewed and utterly blank. Dean could smell the absence on him now. Not omega. Just emptied again.

Sam stepped forward, cautiously. “Dean? What the hell just happened-”

“Don’t,” Bobby barked, sharp and sudden, throwing an arm across Sam’s chest. “Step back, boy. Now.”

Sam blinked. “What? Why-”

“I said back,” Bobby hissed. Sam hesitated, he took a slow step back, hands raised.

Dean didn’t even notice.

He was barely breathing now. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched, eyes wild. His body couldn’t read the lack of scent, couldn’t understand why his instincts still screamed to chase, to guard, to claim something that wasn’t there anymore.

Cas moved first.

He stepped forward slowly and raised both palms like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Dean,” he said, low and calm. “It’s me. It’s over.”

Dean flinched, something shuddering loose behind his ribs. His hands trembled. His voice was a rough rasp, breaking against clenched teeth. 

“Dean, I know it is hard, but I need you to take a breath. I am okay, nothing happened. I am no longer presenting, there is no Omega in need of protection.” Cas said.

Dean shook his head, biting back something raw. “It doesn’t just go away.”

“I know.” Cas closed the distance, slow but steady, until they were almost touching, barely inches between them. And finally, Dean moved. Not an attack or a kiss. Just a collapse. He swayed forward, shoulders pressing into Cas’s chest, like his body couldn’t hold the charge anymore. Cas caught him gently, fingers threading behind his neck like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“It’ll fade,” Cas whispered. “But I’ll stay until it does.”

Behind them, Sam and Bobby stood frozen, silent. Sam’s brows furrowed in confusion. Bobby just exhaled, long and tired.

“God help me" Bobby murmured.

Dean stood slowly, chest heaving. The feral edge hadn’t left him, it couldn’t . Not yet. The phantom of that heat still clung to his senses, ghosting through his bones. Cas smelled like nothing now.

And somehow that was worse.

Chapter Text

It wouldn’t be until nearly a year later that Castiel’s omega nature revealed itself again.

Dean liked to pretend he hadn’t thought about the scent in all that time. That the one and only occasion Cas had been without his powers, when that warm, impossible pie-sweetness had clung to his skin, had been a fluke, a one-time event.

He liked to believe he’d never dwelled on it after that.

But that was a lie.

Sometimes Dean thought it would fade. That with time, the memory would dull like old scars. But Cas’s scent wasn’t a memory; it was a stain. He could taste it in the back of his throat when he was alone.

He'd growled at Bobby once. Bobby. Just because he insinuated that Castiel might be betraying them all and siding with Crowley. Which seemed like crazy talk at the time. His omega- no. Castiel wouldn't do that to them. The mere insinuation that Cas might be going to the dark side almost made him go feral.

Then, after everything that happened, Dean wouldn't allow himself to even think about Castiel.

Him siding with Crowley. Absorbing all the souls of purgatory. Turning into a self-proclaimed god. Being controlled by the leviathans. Dying. Mourning him like crazy. Finding out he was alive but without memories. Taking Sam’s curse and falling into a coma.

And then he woke up.

Meg’s call came moments later. “He’s awake,” she said. “Not all there, but awake.”

Dean barely responded. Just grabbed the keys and peeled out of the lot, tires shrieking. Sam was already buckled in, silent.

The drive was a blur of streetlights and worry. Neither of them spoke. Not until the psychiatric hospital came into view. Dean parked hard. Sam exhaled.

Inside, everything smelled too clean. Too calm. A nurse looked up, but before she could speak, Meg leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head. “Took you long enough.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked, ignoring Meg’s comment. She just started walking down the hall, and the brothers followed her closely.

As they made it to Cas’s room, Meg stood before the door and crossed her arms.

“Now, this is where I might need to stop you, misters.” Meg said, and Dean immediately frowned.

“The hell are you saying?” Dean almost snarled.

“Cas is not letting everyone into his room. I need to ask him if he wants to see you.” Meg smiled at them, pretending sweetness.

“The fuck? Get out of the way, Meg.” As he tried to walk past her, Meg was able to stop him with one simple phrase.

“He is nesting.” Dean didn't move.

“He is…what?” Sam asked.

“Nesting.” Meg repeated. “He woke up and just started flying all through the hospital, taking every pillow and blanket he could find and just…started nesting. It's pretty good, to be honest.” Dean frowned even further at that.

“He let you in?” He tried to hide his anger. He didn't succeed.

“Oh, Alpha, don't get it twisted,” she said with a smirk. “He’s not letting any other Alphas or Omegas in, but I’m functionally a Beta. He doesn’t see me as a threat.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, but some of the tension melted from his shoulders.

“And before you start freaking out,” Meg added, cocking her head, “he’s not presenting. No scent, no slick, no heat. Whatever this is, it’s not part of a heat cycle. He’s just… nesting. Instinctual comfort behavior, maybe. Post-trauma soothing. Who knows? Angel biology’s weird.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “So he’s basically stress-decorating.”

Meg gave a wicked grin. “If by ‘decorating’ you mean cocooning himself in a six-foot throne of blankets and pillows, then yeah, sure.”

“Don't call a nest just decoration. It's weird.” Dean said and frowned.

“He is no omega to be nesting.” Meg added and raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something I don't?”

Before Dean could answer, they all heard the flap of wings, and suddenly, Castiel was in front of them all.

“Hello Dean.” He smiled and only looked at him.

“Heya, Cas.” Without another word, Castiel waved a hand, and just like that, Dean’s jacket vanished, only to reappear in Cas’s hands a heartbeat later. The angel was gone before Dean could so much as blink.

“I'm guessing that means you are welcome to his nest.” Meg said and laughed. Dean swallowed hard.

The thing was, nesting wasn’t casual. Especially not for someone like Cas, someone who wasn’t even presenting but still had the instincts like clockwork. The idea that Cas might want his scent woven into his space, that he might’ve picked Dean, was something warm and terrifying all at once.

He stood outside the room for a full minute before reaching for the door handle, pulse loud in his ears. The air was warm inside, filled with that low, thrumming grace Dean had come to recognize like the back of his hand.

And right there, at the center of the nest, blankets layered with meticulous care, feathers tucked in corners, his jacket still in Castiel's hands.

Dean took a shaky breath.

As Sam and Meg tried to enter behind Dean, Castiel sat a little straighter, and all the lights in the room began to flicker.

“I think this is our cue to leave.” Meg said, and Sam simply looked at her with an expression that read, “Ya think?”. Before walking out, Sam handed Dean the tablet.

“Ask him about it, Dean.” Said Sam and before Dean could close the door, he added, “And don't be too hard on him.”

Dean rolled his eyes in response. “C’mon, man.”

“No, I mean it. You know that nesting omegas are really vulnerable. Don't start with your bullshit.”

“He took your fucking barrier away. You almost died on me. I can't just forget that.”

“Yeah and then he fixed it. Just…” Sam sighed and crossed his arms. “Don't be bothering a nesting omega, okay?”

“He is not even really one.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? He went into heat in front of us. It took almost an hour to calm you down. He may not present on vessels, but he is still an omega.” Dean rolled his eyes but nodded.

“Okay. I'll be nice.” He gave his brother a sarcastic smile and finally entered the room alone.

“Hey, Cas.” The room smelled sterile, just like any hospital, really. There was no scent in the nest.

“Hello Dean.” The angel said, laying the jacket he just stole from him in the middle of the nest and taking a whole minute of complete silence and concentration to just make sure it was placed perfectly. “Oh, please. Come sit. I made it big enough for the two of us.” He smiled and sat on top of the jacket, smiling slightly at it.

Dean approached the nest and entered it carefully, tablet in hand. He had seen Omega's nests but never been inside one in his life. This was something that could never be taken lightly. A nest was an invitation, a courtship. One done only by omegas.

But Cas still smelled like nothing.

“So, uh, a nest for us?” Dean asked, and Cas nodded, smiling widely in response.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry; I got so excited by you being here that I didn't even properly present it to you. I am so sorry, Dean. I know that it is more suitable to wait for an alpha’s offering before adding your scent to the nest.” He pointed to the jacket. “But oh, given our bond, I didn't think it would matter.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Our what now?”

“Our bond,” Castiel echoed, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He tilted his head, studying Dean’s expression with patient fondness. “You let me scent you a while back. That constituted mutual agreement. We’re bonded now, Alpha.”

Dean’s ears went pink. “I-what?”

Before he could get out another word, Castiel moved closer, a low, instinctive rumble vibrating in his chest. He didn’t purr, not quite. The tension wasn’t exactly unfamiliar, but this… this was different. More ritual than flirtation.

Cas leaned in, nose brushing at Dean’s neck like he was reading a map only he could see, already reaching to tuck himself closer to Dean’s scent gland.

“Whoa, wait, Cas,” Dean tried, his voice pitching up half an octave. “We found a tablet. We opened it, and you woke up. Can you tell us anything about it?” He said as he tried to show it to him.

No answer. Castiel only hummed distractedly, nosing under Dean’s jaw now, the barest trace of scenting, claiming, curling at the edges of his mind.

“Seriously, Cas, you can’t keep ignoring this-” Dean hissed when the brush of Castiel’s mouth ghosted too close to his scent gland.

“Cas,” he said, breath catching, “I’ll let you scent me. Properly. Just-just talk to me about the tablet first.”

That did it.

Cas froze, then leaned back just far enough to meet his eyes. The look was unreadable, but a flicker of amusement danced at the corner of his mouth. “A bargain, then?”

Dean exhaled shakily. “Yeah, featherbrain. A deal.”

“You are so silly. Why would I bargain to smell my Alpha?” Okay. Thank God the angel’s scent was not present because he would really lose his mind.

“It-” He closed his eyes, gaining courage before speaking. “It will be a reward. If you are a good omega.”

“I am a good omega. I made a nest for you.” He almost seemed sad.

“I know you are. And it will make me really fucking happy if you tell me about this tablet, okay? And then you can scent me.” Dean didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Not with Cas. Not like this.

He’d always figured that if Castiel ever softened around him, really leaned into the Omega instincts Dean only saw once, it’d drive him out of his mind. He should be on fire right now. But instead?

He felt cold.

Cas was moving like an Omega, doing all the right things, even tilting his head in that obedient little arc that should’ve short-circuited Dean’s brain, but none of it rang true.

This wasn’t the Castiel he knew.

This wasn’t the Castiel he loved.

The fuck?

Dean didn't have time to dwell on that thought before the angel spoke again.

“Very well.” He said as he took the tablet. “Ah, the words of god.”

“From the god?”

“Yes. The words of my father set in stone by his scribe, metatron.” Dean blinked.

“And what does it say?”

Castiel looked down at it for a couple of seconds and then lifted his head towards Dean.

“Tree.” Cas said and Dean blinked. “Horse. I don't know, this wasn't meant for angels.” He kept the tablet on his lap and approached the hunter’s neck.

“Is that all?” Dean moved back.

“I cannot read it, Dean. Only a prophet, god or metatron himself can. I am sorry if I have disappointed you, I promise I won't do it again.” Dean looked at Castiel and simply sighed.

“You don’t disappoint me, Cas,” Dean said, voice low but firm. He held out an arm. “C’mere.”

Castiel stepped in, hesitating only a moment before he let himself be drawn close, face burying lightly into Dean’s neck. His breath caught, Dean’s scent was there, warm and rough and unmistakably his. It curled around him like a memory.

He nuzzled in closer. “Would you… scent me back?”

Dean froze.

Cas felt it, the hitch in his breath, the tension pulling his spine straight. He waited a second, then pulled back enough to look at Dean’s face, brows knitting. “What’s wrong?”

Dean swallowed, “I… I’m trying. But I don’t smell anything, Cas. You don't have a scent.”

Castiel blinked, shoulders falling just slightly, not enough to collapse, but enough that the quiet joy in his expression dimmed.

“Oh,” he said. Simple. Soft. “I am sorry Dean.” He backed away and stood up.

“Cas, no, I-” But before he could finish, the angel flew away, leaving the tablet without any support and falling to the ground, breaking in half. “God fucking damn it”

When he pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, Sam and Meg looked up from where they were mid-conversation. Their expressions shifted at the sight of him, tense, expectant.

“He’s gone,” Dean said flatly. “Flew off. Dropped the damn tablet. It’s toast.”

Meg arched a brow. “Yeah, well. He doesn't like conflict. You must have done something wrong.”

Dean shot her a look, but Sam cut in first. “Where’d he go?”

Meg tapped her temple, thoughtful. “If he’s sulking, he’s probably in the dayroom.”

Dean didn’t reply. He just turned on his heel and walked off, jaw still tight, boots hitting the floor with purpose. As he saw the angel sitting alone in the dayroom, Dean stood before him.

“You realize you just broke God’s word?” The hunter said, trying to control the anger he was feeling at the moment. The angel didn't even look at him. Dean sat slowly in front of him. “It's Sam’s thing, isn't it? The curse you took. Is that why you are acting…like this?”

“Like what?” Castiel smiled again, like he wasn't sulking almost a minute ago.

“You know what I mean.” Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “Like an omega, Cas.” The angel just smiled.

“I am one. Did you like our nest?” 

“Cas. Listen to me for a second.” The angel nodded. “I want you to button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans. Do you remember what you did?” And without saying anything, Cas held up the board game “Sorry!”. And with a simple shake of the box, the board and pieces of it appeared already set and prepared on the table. Dean blinked.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Castiel handed him a game piece. “Your move.” Dean sighed, resigned, but he still started playing with the angel. 

After a couple of seconds of playing without uttering a word, Dean spoke again.

“Cas, where can we find this, uh, Metatron? Is he still alive?”

“I'm sorry. I think you have to go back to start.” Dean sighed and moved the marker.

“This is important, Cas. I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad. You understand that?”

“Dean, it's your turn.”

“Dammit Cas!” He suddenly yelled, making the angel yelp. He pounded a fist on the table and swiped the board to the floor. “Forget the damn game!”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered as he stood up to pick up the pieces of the game.

“No, you’re not,” Dean shot back, hands still shaking. “You’re playing sorry. You think acting like an omega for me is gonna make me forgive you?”

That made Castiel still. His fingers froze around a game token. His gaze didn’t lift, but something flickered behind his lashes. “I’m not acting like an omega… for you,” he said, and his voice caught on the words. “I just… like it. It’s quieter this way. Easier.”

Dean’s expression shifted. The anger gave way to confusion, then discomfort. “Then why don’t you act like this all the time?”

Castiel stood slowly, eyes drifting over the mess of the room, then toward Dean. There was something hollow in his gaze, shame wrapped in resignation. “Because I forget how,” he said, barely audible.

There was a pause, heavy and aching.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. Then came the low rush of wings and he was gone.

Dean sighed and stood up, walking down the hospital corridor, searching Castiel's room again. He had to be there now, in his nest. He paused at the corner before he turned down the hall that led to it. 

Part of him expected Cas to already know he was coming. The guy had a way of feeling things, especially when Dean didn’t want them felt.

He turned.

And stopped cold.

There it was. His jacket.

Folded with characteristic care and set directly in front of Castiel’s door. Not thrown over a chair, not draped over a doorknob like something casually left behind. No, this was deliberate. Symbolic.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He was the only alpha who’d been allowed to step inside. Only his scent rested in the angel's nest.

And now the jacket was out here. Removed. Returned.

You’re not welcome anymore.

Dean stood there, staring down at it. He crouched, one hand brushing the collar. It was warm, like it had only just been set down.

Inside the room, he could hear movement. Soft footsteps, like pacing. Like maybe Cas was listening. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was curled up again, unspooling in a space that was made to be shared and now wasn’t.

Dean didn’t knock. He didn’t call out.

He placed one hand on the door, fingers splayed against the smooth surface. He thought about pushing it open. About demanding an explanation. About yelling until Cas had to look at him.

Instead, he just stood there.

Long enough to feel foolish. Long enough to feel the hurt settle low and tight in his chest.

He was about to leave the jacket exactly where he found it and walk away, but Castiel busted out of the room.

"Angels are attacking Sam.”

And they never talked about it again.

Chapter Text

It all unraveled faster than anyone could brace for.

There wasn’t time for anything; no chance for those quiet conversations about nesting, about instinct, about everything Cas had begun but never finished. He stopped acting as an omega all together, at least in front of Dean. He never talked about scenting or nesting again. Something in him had fractured. He was erratic. Obsessed with irrelevant animal facts, leaping into flight at the first sign of conflict, he talked to himself a lot. Sometimes it seemed he was talking to someone that wasn't really there. The old Cas seemed to be buried deep inside the claws of the curse.

If he attempted nesting again, he did it in solitude. Neither Dean nor Sam ever saw evidence of it.

The Leviathan threat escalated. And finally, they found their weakness; Bone of a Righteous Mortal Washed in the Three Bloods of Fallen. That was their key. They tracked down everything they needed to finally get rid of them all.

They infiltrated SucroCorp as soon as they could. With Meg making the perfect distraction, Sam, Dean and Cas, the only one who could tell who really was the leviathan’s leader, entered the building in search of him. 

Cas seemed uncomfortable and frightened, but he still powered through. More than once, Dean felt the instinctual urge to draw the angel close, to nestle him against his scent glands and let his scent wash over him in a calming embrace. He never acted on it, though. The urge lingered, quiet and unresolved.

The confrontation was sharp, brutal, and laced with finality. Dean stabbed the bone into Dick, a shimmer rippled through the air, and then everything collapsed inward.

Time stopped.

And then it was just Cas and Dean, trapped in the echo of that collapse, pulled into the vacuum. Purgatory didn't discriminate between them. As the Leviathans were dragged back to where they belonged, so were the ones who forced the gates open.

Dean stirred on the forest floor, damp earth pressing against his cheek. Shadows loomed overhead, thick and unnatural. A low hum of menace crackled in the air.

“Wake up,” Castiel said softly.

Dean’s eyes flew open. He scrambled upright, heart pounding.

“You passed out. We don’t have time.”

Dean blinked, still disoriented. “Where the hell are we?”

Castiel tilted his head. “You don’t know?”

“Last thing I remember, we ganked Dick Roman.” Dean glanced around, unease settling in. “Did you fly us somewhere?”

Castiel stepped closer, his expression eerily calm. “And where would a Leviathan go when it dies?”

Dean froze. It wasn’t just the implication that stunned him. Castiel sounded... normal. Like before the madness. Before Sam’s hell-scar. Dean stared at his friend.

Castiel’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “Everyone here is a monster. This is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “Purgatory?”

The word felt foreign on his tongue. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the twisted trees and the heavy air; oppressive, electric.

“How do we get out?” he asked.

A growl sliced through the silence. Dean spun around, hand instinctively reaching for his blade.

“Cas,” he said urgently, “I think we’ve got company-”

But Castiel was gone.

Dean stood alone in the encroaching dark, breath catching. The growls grew louder. 

It would be a while until he saw Castiel again.

He prayed to him every night, quiet, desperate whispers to a silent sky, pleading for even the faintest sign that Cas was still alive. That purgatory hadn’t claimed him completely. Angels didn’t die easily. And Cas… Cas was strong. So impossibly strong. But the Leviathans were still out there, lurking in the shadows. They were the only ones down here capable of killing an angel, and Dean knew it.

And on the darkest nights, when loneliness curled around his bones and the ache of missing Sam gnawed at his chest, he let the worst thoughts take root. Visions of Cas, bloodied and exhausted, being hunted down by a Leviathan. Pinned to the cold ground. Revenge gleaming in the creature’s eyes as it took its time; taunting, savoring, devouring the angel piece by agonizing piece.

Dean interrogated every monster he could find, tearing through purgatory with feral precision. Torture became routine, but no one knew anything. Most didn’t care.

In his desperation, Dean even sided with a goddamn vampire, one who promised a way out of this hellhole. But he couldn’t leave. Not without Cas.

He needed to find him.

His alpha instincts were unraveling, driving him to madness. And he'd be lying if he said he hadn't gone full feral more than once, especially when a monster hinted that Castiel might already be dead.

But he wasn’t.

He couldn’t be.

Still, the prayers went unanswered.

It would take months for him to find any type of useful information; he had a werewolf pinned to a tree, Dean’s new blade directly into the monster’s neck.

“Where is the angel?” Dean asked, just like he did with every single monster they had encountered so far.

“There is a stream.” Dean paused at the monster’s words, trying to suppress his surprise. So far, no one has tried to give the hunter any type of useful information.

“Go on.” He kept the blade steady into its neck.

“It runs through a clearing not far from here. I'll show you.”

“How about you just tell me?” He tightened the knife around it's neck.

“Three day journey. Follow the stream. There’s a clearing. You’ll find your angel there.”

“And how do I know you are telling me the truth?”

“He-He’s weak!” the monster spat, lips curling in a mocking sneer. “Ran from the Leviathans like prey. Not even flying anymore.”

Dean’s fists clenched. Why hadn’t Cas flown to him? Why hadn’t he answered any of his goddamn prayers?

“And he smells nice now,” the creature added, grinning wickedly. “It's hard to see omegas around here anymore. They are easy prey.” 

That was it.

Dean lunged and drove the blade through its throat before the last word left its mouth. The body dropped, twitching. Blood slicked his hands but he barely felt it.

He staggered back, chest heaving. If Cas wasn’t flying… if he reeked like an omega… Then maybe he was low on grace. Or drained. Helpless. And in purgatory that was a death sentence. Predators could smell omega from miles away. And his omega, his angel, was out there.

Unprotected.

Dean gripped the blade tighter, breath hitching as panic clawed its way up his spine. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He was reacting. His vision blurred at the edges, heart pounding like war drums. He needed to find Cas. Had to. Before something tore him apart.

Dean’s head snapped toward Benny, eyes narrowing. The vampire’s alpha scent was thick, dominant, steady, and Dean saw it as a challenge. A threat. Something in him cracked.

Benny didn’t flinch. He raised both hands, voice low but firm. “You gotta calm down, chief. Don’t go feral on me.”

Dean was already halfway there, snarling, tense, vibrating with protective rage.

But Benny kept his ground. “We’re wasting time. You want your angel back? Then quit snappin’ at me like a wild dog and let’s get to trackin’ him down ‘fore someone, or somethin’, gets to him first.”

Silence hung between them. Dean’s breaths were ragged. His whole body shook with the urge to tear something apart. But then he nodded once.

Cas had to be out there. And Dean wasn't letting anything stop him from finding him.

Just like the monster said, it took nearly three days of blood-stained tracking and sleepless desperation before they found the place.

And there he was.

Castiel lay crumpled on the cold ground, his trench coat tangled around him, skin flushed and slick with sweat. His breathing was shallow, ragged, like his lungs were fighting for every breath. The air around him was heavy with scent. Omega. Thick and unmasked.

There it was. After two years, Dean was able to smell it again.

Beautiful and tasty honey pie scent.

His legs almost buckled at the smell.

“Cas!” Dean bolted across the clearing, dropping to his knees beside him.

He reached out, hands hovering for a split second before they landed, one on Cas’s forehead, the other checking his pulse. His skin burned with fever, blistering hot beneath Dean’s touch. But there were no wounds. Dean peeled back the coat, checking for injuries with trembling fingers. Nothing. No bruises, no cuts. Just flushed skin, tremors, and the unmistakable scent of slick and fever. No bleeding. No burned wings on the ground.

Just heat.

Dean’s throat tightened. Castiel wasn’t dying. He was burning up.

“Cas,” Dean murmured, cupping his face and brushing damp strands of hair from his brow. “You gotta wake up, man. C’mon.”

Castiel stirred faintly, lashes fluttering. His eyes opened, distant. He looked straight through Dean, lips parting in a dazed gasp. His pupils were blown wide, his body tense with confusion and instinct he didn’t understand.

“Dean…” His voice was cracked and thin. “I-I don’t… it hurts.”

“I know, Cas. I know,” Dean whispered, brushing his thumb gently along Cas’s cheek. “You’re in heat. But you’re safe now, you hear me? I got you.”

Castiel blinked again, lost and aching, trying to make sense of the flood of sensations and instincts that his grace had once muted. Now everything was raw. Loud. Overwhelming.

“No. No, that can’t be. I am in my vessel. I’m still…” He had to stop to take a ragged breath. “I’m still an angel. I still have powers.”

“Purgatory must be affecting you, man. Don't worry. I'll get you out of here, Omega. I promise I will.” Dean leaned closer, keeping his tone low and his touch steady. “You’re going to be okay.” The scent wrapped around Dean, primal and desperate. His own instincts surged to the surface, tugging at him to shield, claim, and comfort.

Cas whimpered softly, brows furrowed, body trembling with need and confusion. He was lost in it. Burning and overwhelmed. And Dean knew he had to ground him before it spiraled further.

So he pressed his forehead gently against Cas’s, letting his own scent pour out, warm, anchoring, Alpha . Protective. Not aggressive, not mating-driven. Just steady. Safe .

“Breathe with me, Cas,” Dean whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Cas exhaled shakily, his fingers curling weakly into Dean’s jacket. The touch was barely there, but it was enough. His muscles began to relax, just slightly, like his body recognized Dean’s presence, his Alpha, his promise.

“I got you.” Dean said, his voice rough. 

“I hate to break up y’all’s sweet little reunion, but we may have company soon. This spot’s too wide open for comfort. We need to get him somewhere safe, and we need to move fast” Said Benny. 

Dean slid his arms beneath Castiel, one behind his shoulders and the other under the bend of his knees. Castiel barely stirred as he was lifted, his fevered body limp but trembling. Dean held him close, chest to chest, the angel’s face tucked against his collarbone like he weighed next to nothing.

Benny took point, machete drawn, and they moved quickly through the skeletal trees and ash-coated earth. Castiel muttered low, rasping strings of syllables in a language Dean couldn’t place at first, but after a while it was clear he was mumbling in enochian.

Eventually, Benny waved them toward a rock face fractured enough to swallow shadows. The cave was shallow but shielded, its entrance masked by collapsed bark and the crumbling remains of old bone piles. Dean ducked inside, Castiel still held close, the warmth of him seeping through every layer Dean wore.

He laid him down gently. His breaths were rapid, and his entire body truly felt like it was on fire. 

“Dean-” He gasped and grabbed the hunter’s arm. “You-you have to make it stop, please.” Another shiver ran through his spine. “They will find us. They can smell me.”

“I know,” Dean said, voice tight, jaw clenched. “I know, but this cave might cover your scent for a while. We’ll be okay.”

But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.

The scent was everywhere now: thick, sweet, and aching. It clung to the air, to Dean’s skin, to the back of his throat. His alpha instincts were screaming, clawing at the edges of his control. Every breath he took was saturated with Castiel’s need, and it was driving him to the brink.

Dean forced himself to stay grounded. He wasn’t here to claim. He was here to protect.

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and lost. “Dean…” he whispered again, voice cracking. “Please…”

Dean hesitated, heart pounding. He feared that one wrong move, one moment of weakness, would leave a scar he couldn’t take back. He had already hurt Castiel before. He hurt his omega while he was the most vulnerable. Cas wasn’t just an omega in heat now. He was Cas . His friend. His angel. And Dean didn’t want to be the one who turned need into regret.

He didn’t want to taint him.

But Castiel was trembling, desperate, and Dean couldn’t bear the sight anymore.

Slowly, he reached out, cupping Cas’s face with his hands, thumbs brushing over flushed cheeks. His touch was tentative, almost afraid, as if Cas might break beneath it or to give him time to change his mind.

And when Cas leaned in, needy and aching, Dean met him halfway. Not to claim, but to promise: I’ll be careful. I’ll be good. I won’t hurt you.

The kiss was soft. Grounding. A tether in the chaos.

Castiel melted into it, the tension in his body easing just slightly, like Dean’s presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

“I’m here,” Dean murmured against his lips. Dean had just started peeling back Castiel’s coat; the trench was soaked through, sticking to fevered skin. Cas whimpered, his body trembling, overwhelmed by the heat. Dean’s touch was careful, focused only on helping him breathe easier. Then it hit him once again.

Another Alpha.

Dean’s head snapped toward the cave entrance, nostrils flaring. Benny.

That scent, strong, dominant, and present , was drifting in like smoke. Dean’s instincts surged. His omega was vulnerable. In heat. And another alpha was too close.

Dean was on his feet in an instant, eyes blazing, body taut with rage. He stormed toward Benny, fists clenched, vision narrowing to red.

“You need to back the hell off,” Dean growled, voice low and feral. “You think I don’t smell you? You think I don’t feel what you’re putting out?”

Benny didn’t move, but his posture shifted warily. “Easy, chief. I ain’t doin’ nothin’. Just makin’ sure y’all ain’t gettin’ ambushed.”

Dean didn’t care. He lunged, slamming Benny into the cave wall with a snarl, his fist cracking against his jaw. Benny grunted, shoved Dean back, but didn’t strike.

“I’m mated , you idiot!” Benny snapped, wiping blood from his mouth. “I don’t give a damn about your omega!”

Dean didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did, but it didn’t matter. His alpha instincts were roaring: protect, claim, eliminate the threat. He tackled Benny again, fists flying, teeth bared. Benny blocked most of the hits, but he didn’t fight back. Not really. He was trying to de-escalate.

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice rang out, weak but sharp.

Dean froze mid-swing, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied. He turned, panting, eyes wide and wild.

Castiel was watching him, curled on the cave floor, flushed and trembling, but his gaze was pleading.

“Please,” Cas whispered. “Come back.”

Dean staggered back from Benny, breath ragged, heart pounding like crazy. He turned and dropped to his knees beside Cas again, hands shaking as he touched his face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I just… I couldn’t-”

“I know,” Cas whispered, leaning into him. “You’re here now.”

Dean wrapped himself around him, shielding him with his body, his scent, and his presence. Benny stayed near the entrance, silent, nursing a bruised jaw but saying nothing more.

Dean didn’t look back.

His omega needed him.

He gently slid Cas's trench coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. Dean began to leave a trail of delicate kisses along Cas's neck, his lips brushing against the skin as if savoring every moment. Cas whimpered softly, a sound that resonated with longing, especially when Dean kissed the sensitive spot of Cas's scent gland. 

"Dean, don't tease me. We don't have much time," Cas murmured, his voice a blend of urgency and desire.

"I know. I know. I'll take care of you, Omega. I promise I'll take care of you properly," Dean assured, his voice a husky whisper, thick with the angel's intoxicating scent that seemed to fill the surrounding air. He felt almost dizzy with it, drunk on the essence that was uniquely Cas. With a gentle, deliberate motion, he lowered Cas's pants.

He had to hold up a gasp as he saw the angel in his underwear, already leaking slick like his life depended on it.

"When we get out of here..." He began to slowly remove his underwear, each movement deliberate. "... I promise I'll take my time with you. I won't rush like today." As he placed the angel's underwear beside his trench coat, his eyes lingered, taking in the almost naked form before him. He lay down and traced a line of slick with his tongue, eliciting a loud moan in response. "Next time I’ll eat you out properly. I won't let a single drop of slick go to waste." He licked again. "So fucking delicious. Just like your scent."

“Dean…” The angel moaned his name. 

The air was thick with the potent scent of Alpha and Omega arousal, a heady mix that seemed to saturate every corner of the cave. Dean's senses were overwhelmed, fixated solely on Cas. In this moment, nothing existed beyond the two of them. This was his angel. His Omega. 

His mate.

He gasped at the way the mere thought of it almost made him pop a knot.

Every movement carried a newfound urgency, as Dean's fingers became slick with Cas's own slick. He opened Cas's legs wider, creating space and anticipation. Gently, he pressed the first finger inside, moving with caution and care.

“Dean… Dean, I need you. All of you. God!” Cas cried out, his voice a mix of desperation and desire as Dean's finger moved within him, working to stretch and prepare him. “Please, no, I need your knot. This is not enough,” Cas begged, his words a plea that tugged at Dean's instincts. Dean growled.

“I know, baby, I know. But trust me, this will make it good. I promise. I don't want this to hurt, okay? I want you to have a good time, Omega,” Dean murmured, and Cas nodded in agreement, finally easing back onto the floor, surrendering himself to Dean's careful ministrations as he continued to prepare him with devotion and tenderness.

It took three fingers and a lot of begging for Dean to finally get his hands away from the omega’s hole. Dean's hands trembled with anticipation as he finally tore them away from Castiel, his fingers lingering like a reluctant goodbye. His breath hitched as he fumbled with his own belt, the clang of the buckle hitting the floor around them. He could feel the thick, insistent pulse of his arousal as he pushed down his pants and underwear, his cock springing free, already thick with arousal. Castiel's eyes widened at the sight, a soft, desperate moan escaping his lips.

Dean's smirk was slow and deliberate, a predator's grin, as he lowered himself onto Castiel, his body covering the omega like a blanket. He could feel Castiel's legs opening for him, an invitation only meant for him. His hands caressed the smooth skin of Castiel's inner thighs, feeling the slight tremble beneath his touch.

"Do you want this, angel?" Dean murmured, his voice low. 

Castiel's eyes were wide and dark, his pupils blown with desire. "Yes! Please, Dean. I want you. I need you." His voice was a choked whisper, a plea, a prayer .

Dean's mouth crashed onto Castiel's, a rough, claiming kiss as he entered him. The world narrowed down to the slick, hot grip of Castiel's body, the soft, desperate sounds he made, the way he clung to Dean. And he knew, in that moment, that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

He began to move slowly, sensing that Castiel remained tense with the sudden intrusion. As a sharp gasp escaped the angel's lips, tinged with more pain than pleasure, the alpha paused immediately.

"Cas. Look at me." Dean's voice was gentle but firm, and the angel's eyes fluttered open. "It's okay. You need to relax a bit, man."

"I'm sorry. It's just…" Castiel's voice trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words.

"We can stop, baby. I can back off if that's what you want."

"No!" The angel's response was immediate and fervent, his nails digging into Dean’s shoulders with a force that elicited a wince of pain. "No. I want to keep going. I need you to keep going. It's just, I’ve never done this before."

A shiver coursed down Dean’s spine as he gazed down at Castiel, a potent wave of possessiveness surging through him. My omega. Only mine. No one else has had him, and no one else will.

"This," the angel continued. "Giving in to my omega instincts. Allowing an alpha to take care of me. I've never…I was always seen as weak."

"You are not weak. You've been looking after me since the day you pulled me out of hell. Let me return the favor, okay?" Castiel nodded, his eyes brimming with trust.

"Yes. Yes, please, Alpha. Keep moving." And Dean found he could deny his Omega nothing. 

He maintained his slow, deliberate pace, fighting against the primal alpha urge to claim, to bite, to assert his dominance now and forcefully. But with each gentle movement, the omega beneath him seemed to relax further, the tension melting away. This was soothing Castiel's heat, he could tell.

But it wasn't enough. The urgency was palpable when Cas, voice trembling, started pleading with Dean to move faster. Responding to his omega, Dean quickened his pace, his movements a blur of intent and intensity. He watched as the angel crumbled beneath him, turning into a pile of incoherent pleas and moans.

Dean pulled back, and before Cas could voice a whimper of protest at the sudden loss of contact, he firmly grasped the omega’s hips. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted Cas slightly, eliciting a sharp yelp from the angel that hung in the air. Dean found the leverage he needed to increase his speed even further, each motion delivered with a forceful precision that sent them both spiraling deeper into their shared intensity.

“You are so perfect, Omega,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with desire as he gently ran his hands along the omega's chest. “So perfect for me. Taking me so well. I’m so close, angel.” He leaned forward, his breath warm against the omega's ear.

“Dean…” The angel managed to whisper, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored the moment.

“You want my knot? Want me to fill you up so good?” Dean asked, his fingers tracing small circles on the omega's skin, coaxing a shiver from him.

“Yes!” The omega moaned, arching his back slightly, his body responding to Dean's touch.

“Then say it,” Dean urged, his voice a low, commanding growl as he tightened his grip gently.

"I need your knot, alpha. Please!" the omega begged, his voice full of desperation, his eyes locking onto Dean's with intense longing. He quickened his movements, guiding his hand to the angel's cock, stroking it gently as he moved. As Cas arched his back, Dean got a clear view of the omega's neck, feeling an overwhelming urge to bite and mate.

“Cas.” He himself gasped at how good he felt inside the omega. “Cas… I need to bite you.” Dean’s voice was low, urgent. The angel's eyes went wide. “If I claim you, if we mate, the heat won’t be as brutal. We’ll make it through this. We’ll find a way out.” Cas trembled, his hands flying to shield his neck.

“No,” he whispered. “No mating. Please.” Dean’s heart nearly shattered.

“Please Cas.” He was still moving, slow now. “They’ll track you. Your scent is too strong. But if we mate, it’ll fade. Just enough to keep you safe.” Cas still shook his head in response. Dean’s voice cracked.  “I know I haven’t been the alpha you deserved. I know I’ve failed you. But let me try. Let me protect you. Let me be yours.” Now Dean was the one begging.

“Its not that, Dean.” The angel interrupted himself with a low moan. “You are so good to me. You are a good alpha. But I don't want to mate out of necessity.” He looked away from Dean. “I want to mate because we choose to. I want to mate out of love.”

Dean froze. That word, love , hit harder than claws or teeth ever could.

Maybe it was the intensity of Purgatory. The way everything here felt stripped down to bone and truth. No masks. No judgment. Just survival and the aching clarity of what really mattered. They could die tomorrow. Hell, they could die tonight . And suddenly, Dean couldn’t carry the silence anymore.

“I love you.”

Cas opened his eyes again, stunned.

“I love you, Cas.” He caressed the angel's hips, lifting him up once again and making the angel whimper in emotion and pleasure as he returned to the old pace. “You are it for me. Ever since I scented you the first time, I knew you had to be mine. Please, let me be yours.”

Cas’s breath caught. He looked at the angel as he had trouble believing him. But, after a couple of seconds, his hands slowly lowered from his neck. Then, slowly, Cas tilted his head, offering.

“Mate me.” The omega said, sounding absolutely sure of himself for the first time in a long while. “Mate me, Alpha.” He repeated. 

Dean’s lips brushed the skin first, gentle. A promise. Then he sank his teeth in, marking with a mixture of instinct and devotion. Cas gasped, body arching upwards, fingers gripping Dean's shoulders tightly. Just before reaching his peak, Dean's knot swelled, locking them together fully for the first time since they met. At the intense feeling that it brought them both, their breaths synchronized, hearts racing in unison, they finished together. They both gasped, Dean feeling like he was in heaven as he filled the angel, his knot preventing any drop of his seed from escaping.

And for a moment, in the heart of Purgatory, there was no pain. No heat. No fear.

Just the bond. Just the love.

Dean let go of the angel’s neck, licking and sucking gently the bits and pieces of blood that was coming out of him. Cas gasped and whimpered as he kept his head tilted.

Dean didn’t let go. He couldn’t. His arms tightened around Cas like he was afraid the angel might vanish if he loosened his grip even a little.

His breath hitched, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Cas…” he murmured, voice dazed. “You’re, God, you’re mine .”

He buried his face in Cas’s shoulder, nuzzling like he couldn’t get close enough, scenting him like it was the only thing he was capable of doing. 

“I love you,” he whispered again, voice cracking. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words spilled out like he’d been holding them back for years, like the bond had ripped open something he didn’t know he’d sealed shut.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, voice slurred with emotion. “I’ll be so good for you. I’ll protect you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Not here. Not ever.”

Cas was frozen, breath shallow, eyes wide. He’d never seen Dean like this, blissed out, trembling, whispering soft things like they were sacred truths.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted in awe. Cas’s heart stuttered. Dean leaned in again, pressing kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw, like worship.

Cas reached up, cupping Dean’s face, and the hunter melted into the touch with a soft, broken sound.

And in that moment, surrounded by the wild purity of Purgatory, Cas understood: this wasn’t just instinct. This was Dean Winchester, undone by love.

For a while, Purgatory almost felt bearable.

Dean had Cas. That was enough.

They moved through the endless gray together, their bond a quiet hum beneath the chaos. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word felt sacred. Dean had never known this kind of peace, not in the real world, not in dreams. Purgatory was pure, in a way. 

He held Cas close at night, arms wrapped tight around him like armor. He whispered things he’d never dared say before.

“I love you,” he’d murmur against Cas’s skin. “You’re mine. I’ll get us out. I swear.”

And Cas would nod, eyes soft, lips brushing his jaw, even though he didn't seem convinced.

Dean clung to that.

But when they found the door out of purgatory, everything cracked.

“There it is,” Cas said, pointing toward the portal as it expanded above them. “It’s reacting to you.”

Dean glanced at him, heart thudding. Cas gave a small nod towards him. Dean swallowed hard and turned back to the plan. He rolled up his sleeve, gripping his knife. With a quick, practiced motion, he sliced a shallow line across his forearm.

“Putting a lot of trust in you, brother,” Benny said, watching the blood bead.

“You earned it,” Dean replied, voice low. “You kept us alive. Sorry for knocking you around a little.”

Benny huffed a laugh, exchanging a glance with Cas. “Yeah, well. I’d have done the same in your shoes.”

Dean smiled faintly and reached for Benny’s arm, mirroring the cut with slow precision. They gripped each other’s forearms, blood mingling.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Benny said. Then he turned to Cas. His gaze didn’t quite meet the angel’s eyes, hovering somewhere around his chest, lowering to his stomach. “Take care,” he said to him. Cas didn’t respond, but Dean felt the weight of his silence.

He began the chanting, voice steady. Each word was deliberate, careful, he couldn’t afford a mistake. As the final syllable left his lips, Benny’s body shimmered, light bursting from within. Then, in a flash, the vampire’s soul surged forward, drawn into Dean through the open wound. Dean staggered slightly, breath catching, but he didn’t stop. The portal pulsed again, brighter now, ready.

“C’mon,” Dean said, breath ragged, extending his hand toward Cas.

The angel didn’t hesitate. Their fingers locked, and together they sprinted toward the portal, its light flickering and unstable.

But then, impact. Two Leviathans crashed down in front of them, snarling, monstrous.

“Dean!” Cas shouted, pulling his blade.

They fought side by side, blades flashing in the dim light. Dean ducked a swipe, drove his knife deep into one’s throat, then severed its head with a brutal swing.

The second lunged, but Cas was faster, his blade slicing through its neck with precision.

The moment the creature dropped, Dean grabbed Cas’s hand again. “Come on! We gotta move! The portal’s closing!”

They scrambled up the rocky slope. Dean reached the edge first. The portal surged around him, wrapping him in warmth and pull, like it recognized him.

But Cas didn’t follow.

Dean turned, eyes wide. “Hold on!” he shouted, grabbing Cas’s wrist.

The angel was slipping, the portal resisting him, pushing him back like he didn’t belong.

“Dean!” Cas cried out, fingers straining, boots skidding on the rocks.

“I’ve got you!” Dean yelled, pulling with everything he had. “Just hold on!”

But the light flared violently. Cas’s grip faltered.

And then, he slipped.

Dean watched, helpless, as Cas fell backward, his body disappearing into the shadows below.

“No!” Dean screamed, reaching out for his mate. But the portal surged, swallowing him whole.

The last thing he heard was Cas’s voice echoing through the void.

Dean hit the ground hard.

The portal spat him out into a forest at night. But he didn’t register any of it. He dropped to his knees, hands digging into the dirt, breath coming in broken gasps.

Cas was gone.

His mate. His bond.

The ache hit fast, sharp, hollow, like something vital had been ripped from his chest. His body trembled, heart pounding in a rhythm that felt wrong.

Dean doubled over, forehead pressed to the earth, whispering Cas’s name like it might bring him back.

But the bond was quiet now.

And if he let himself feel it, really feel it, he knew he’d break.

So he didn’t.

He forced himself upright, eyes glazed, limbs moving on autopilot. He stumbled toward the road, barely registering the startled faces of two teenagers walking nearby. After almost shooting them, they told him the directions to the nearest road and immediately started running towards it.

Benny’s remains were somewhere. He remembered the coordinates, the plan. The spell wasn’t finished. He had to finish it. Because if he didn’t focus on something , he’d crumble.

It was an almost day walk, but after walking endlessly in purgatory for a whole year, it seemed like nothing. An old pine grove, quiet and untouched. Benny’s body lay where he told him, buried deep. Digging a hole in the exact same place he was told to, it wouldn't take much time to find the vampire’s remains.

Dean knelt beside him, hands shaking as he reopened the cut on his arm. The blood welled up, and he began the final incantation, voice low and steady despite the storm inside him. The spell flared to life. Light shimmered around Benny’s body.

Dean didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe. He just kept going.

Because Cas was gone.

And this, this was all he had left.

A light blossomed from his arm and from his bones and when it all stopped, Benny was standing behind him, stretching himself before talking.

“Did he-”

“No.” The hunter didn't even let him finish the sentence.

Benny looked at him, eyes heavy with understanding. “So… what now?”

“Like we talked about. We keep going.”Benny nodded slowly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. Dean stepped forward and offered his hand. Benny took it, gripping tight.

“I can’t believe I made it out,” Benny said, voice quiet with disbelief.

Dean just nodded, gaze distant. His mind was still in Purgatory, still with Cas.

Then, without warning, Benny pulled him into a hug. A firm, grounding gesture. He clapped Dean’s back twice, steady and sincere.

“I’m sorry about your omega,” he said softly.

Dean didn’t respond. He couldn’t. But he didn’t pull away either.

He found Sam a few days later. The reunion was quiet, grounding. Being with his brother helped at least on the surface. They threw themselves into the search for Kevin, then into the next hunt, and the next. Dean kept moving, kept working, kept pretending.

But this sickness inside him didn’t fade. It settled into his bones like rot.

Separation sickness . He’d heard about it. Read about it. But nothing had prepared him for the way it hollowed him out from the inside or how quickly it would come. 

His appetite vanished. Sleep became a battlefield. His body ached constantly, his scent dulled, his instincts frayed. The bond, once warm and steady, was now a phantom pain, a hollow echo that never stopped. And something else was changing. Dean went feral easily now. The smallest threat set him off. On hunts, he tore through monsters with brutal efficiency, barely registering pain. His eyes would go glassy, his breathing ragged, his body moving like it was still in Purgatory.

He dreamed of Cas every night. Sometimes they were back in Purgatory, running side by side. Sometimes Cas was falling, slipping through his fingers again.

Dean would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then the hallucinations started.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. A voice, soft, familiar whispering his name. If he concentrated a little, he could even smell the faint scent of pie.

Sam noticed.

“You’re not okay,” he said one night, watching Dean clean blood from his blade with mechanical detachment. “You’re barely holding it together.”

“I’m fine.” Dean shrugged.

“No you are not, Dean. Whatever happened in purgatory, whatever happened to Cas, you gotta tell me about it. It's clearly eating you up alive.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean’s jaw clenched.

“Dean, I'm really worried.”

“Oh are you now Sam?” Dean snapped “You were so worried that you didnt even search for us for one fucking minute?”

“That’s not fair!”

“What happened to Cas isn't fair!” He yelled at his brother, making him stop.

Dean turned away, running a hand over his face. His shoulders shook slightly.

“I marked him,” he said finally, voice low. “In Purgatory. We mated.”

Sam blinked, stunned. “You… you and Cas?” Dean nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.

“And for a while, it felt like…like maybe we could make it out together.” He swallowed hard. “But when we got to the portal… it wouldn't take him in. I tried to hold on. I did . But he slipped. I lost him.”

Sam’s face softened, the anger draining away. “Dean…”

“I failed him, Sam. I promised him we would get out together. And I feel him. Every second. The bond is still there, but it’s wrong. It’s quiet. Like a radio tuned to static.” Dean finally looked up, eyes glassy. “I dream about him every night. I see him when I’m awake. I’m going feral on hunts. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’m losing it.”

Sam didn’t speak. He just pulled Dean into a hug. And again, Dean didn’t fight it.

Sam tried to make him talk about it again, but Dean refused. This separation was making him feel worse witht time, and he quickly found out that he could go feral at the mere mention of the angel’s name.

The hallucinations kept coming. He saw Cas In crowds. In the passenger seat beside him. On the side of the road. Outside his window. Sometimes Dean would even hear his voice. Sometimes he’d wake up reaching for him, convinced Cas had just been there. Sam found him sitting on the edge of the bed more than once, shaking, staring at nothing.

Then one night, it happened.

Dean was in the motel bathroom, washing blood off his hands, eyes hollow. He looked up to the mirror, and Cas was standing behind him. Dean froze. His breath caught. For a second, he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Cas?” he whispered, voice cracking as he turned around.

The angel looked at him, calm and quiet, like no time had passed. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around Cas, clutching him tight, burying his face in the angel’s shoulder.

He melted into the touch, breath hitching, heart pounding. Relief flooded him so fast it almost knocked him to his knees.

“You’re here,” he gasped. “You’re here , Cas.”

His fingers gripped the back of Cas’s coat, holding on like he could fuse them together. His chest ached with the sudden rush of joy, of safety, of home .

But then…

He inhaled.

And there was nothing.

No scent.

No bond.

Nothing.

Dean froze. His arms still wrapped around Cas, but his body went cold.

“You don’t smell like anything,” he whispered. He pulled back slightly, eyes wide, searching Cas’s face. He turned his gaze into the angel’s neck, almost gasping at the sight before him. “Where is your mark?” His neck was healed completely. No mating bite in sight. “Where is your fucking mark?!” He yelled this time. 

“I dont-” He seemed to panic as he began talking, but he paused for a couple of seconds. Then, his entire face changed like nothing. It was an eerie sight. The angel looked at him, calm. Too calm. “I’m not mated.” He simply stated, no more explanations added. “I’m an angel again. Fully restored.” Dean staggered back, like the words had physically hit him.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not how it works. That’s not-” Cas didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Dean’s chest tightened. “I’ve been losing my mind without you. I still feel our bond! You don't. How can you?” He simply stopped.

Everything shattered. The joy. The relief. The hope. Gone. And Dean stood in front of him, heart bleeding, bond burning, feeling like he’d just lost him all over again.

After that night, things didn’t settle.

Cas was back, but he wasn’t right .

Dean noticed it almost immediately. The way Cas would suddenly space out mid-conversation, eyes going distant like he was listening to something no one else could hear. The way he moved was precise and mechanical, like he was following a script.

He didn’t remember how he got out of Purgatory. Not clearly. And that was really suspicious as hell. He sometimes wondered if this Cas was a skinwalker or something. But everything besides his lack of scent and mark told him this was Castiel.

And he felt drawn to him, like he was still his Omega.

His alpha instincts clawed at him constantly. Every time Cas walked into the room, Dean’s body reacted; his scent sharpened, his pulse quickened, his bond flared. He could feel Cas. His mate. But Cas didn’t respond; didn’t react, didn’t even seem to notice. It was like calling into a void.

Dean would catch himself watching Cas too long, standing too close, hoping for something, anything , to stir. But the omega was silent ( was he even an omega anymore?), and Dean felt rejected. Not with words. Not with anger. Just with absence.

One night, after a hunt, they were alone in the bunker. The air was still, heavy. Cas stood at the map table, staring at nothing, lips parted like he was listening to something Dean couldn’t hear.

“You okay?” Dean stepped closer.

“Yes. I was… thinking.” Cas blinked, slow and unfocused. Dean’s jaw clenched.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Spacing out. Not answering when I call you.”

“I’m fine.” Cas turned to him, expression unreadable. Dean took another step forward. Too close.

“You’re not. And I’m not either.” Dean’s breath hitched. His instincts screamed to reach out. Dean swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for what happened in purgatory. For letting go. I should have tried harder.”

Cas tilted his head. “Letting go?”

Dean finally met his eyes. “Back then. When you fell. I should’ve held on. I should’ve…”

“You’re remembering it wrong,” Cas interrupted, stepping closer. His voice was gentle but firm. Dean frowned. 

“What?”

Cas reached out, fingers brushing Dean’s forehead. Images surged through Dean’s mind: the edge, the grip, the moment Cas looked at him with quiet finality and let go of his hand. Not by accident. By choice.

Dean gasped, pulling back slightly. “You let go.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“You needed to get out. The portal was not made for me; if I didn't let go, you would have stayed with me.”

“Maybe I wanted that.” Dean responded, and Cas looked saddened at him.

“You don’t mean that.”

”You’re my mate,” he said, voice low. “I need you with me. I can still feel it. Every second. I don’t care what you say; I know .”

Cas looked at him, eyes flickering with something…uncertainty? Pain? But he didn’t answer.

“Say something. Please .” Dean’s hands trembled.

Cas opened his mouth. Closed it. And simply flew away.

All of Dean’s suspicions were confirmed the moment they began searching Lucifer’s crypts.

First, Cas had lied. He’d claimed to be looking for a way to translate the demon tablet before Crowley could get his hands on it, but that wasn’t the truth. What he was really after was the Angel Tablet itself.

Second, Cas still seemed off. Distant. Disconnected. Like something inside him wasn’t lining up.

And third, when they finally reached the crypt and Dean laid eyes on the tablet, Cas changed.

His voice turned sharp, almost frantic, as he demanded the tablet. There was urgency in him, something raw and unsettling.

Cas wasn’t just asking. He was claiming .

“I can't let you take that.” The angel finally said.

“Can't or won't?” Dean asked.

“Both.” Dean nodded, holding the tablet still close to his chest.

“How did you really get out of purgatory, Cas?” The angel just stood in silence, already dissociating as he did now often. “Be honest with me for the first time since you came back, and this is yours.” He looked at the tablet in his hands. Cas kept staring directly at him, not blinking or breaking contact at any moment. His angel blade suddenly slipped down his sleeve.

“Cas.” Dean’s eyes widened, stunned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but if you’re in there, if you can hear me, you don’t have to do this.”

The first blow landed hard, cracking across his chest.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, stumbling back. “You gotta fight this! This isn’t you!”

But the angel’s stare didn’t waver. Cold. Unrecognizing.

Another hit, this time to the head. Dean reeled.

Then Cas froze, breath hitching, voice low and fractured.

“What have you done to me, Naomi?” Dean stepped closer, cautiously, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Who’s Naomi?” he asked gently, trying to steady his voice. He released calming alpha pheromones, hoping, praying , Cas would recognize him. Would feel him.

But Cas didn’t.

He sniffed the air once and looked at him. Dean didn’t even see the elbow coming. It slammed into his face with full angelic force, sending him flying into the wall.

He hit the ground hard, dazed, trying to push himself up, but Cas was already there. He grabbed Dean’s wrist and twisted. A sickening crack. Dean screamed. Cas didn’t stop. He gripped Dean’s shirt and struck him again. And again.

Blood filled Dean’s mouth. His vision blurred.

“Cas,” he gasped. “This isn’t you.”

Another blow.

“Cas… Cas…” he murmured, voice barely audible. “Omega…”

Something flickered.

Cas paused, just for a heartbeat.

Dean noticed it.

“I know you’re still in there,” he whispered through the pain. “I know you can hear me.”

Cas raised his angel blade, hand trembling.

Dean reached up, grabbing the trench coat, staining it with blood.

“Please,” he begged. “Omega, it’s me. You’re my omega. You’re my mate. Please come back to me.” His voice cracked. “I need you. I’ll be better. I’ll protect you this time. I’ll be a good alpha. All for you, sweetheart. I'll be good, I swear I will. Just…please, omega mine , come back.”

Cas stood frozen, blade still raised. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “Come back to me.” Dean’s breath hitched.

Cas’s hand moved slowly, reaching for Dean’s face.

Dean flinched, thinking it was the end. 

“No! Please, Omega! ”

But instead, Cas held his face gently and the pain vanished. Dean gasped as warmth flooded his body, wounds healing instantly.

“I’m so sorry, Alpha.”Dean's breath was strained. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Dean saw his Cas again.

“What the hell just happened?” He stood up slowly, still clinging to the Angel’s trench coat. His scent was still gone. His mark was nowhere to be seen, but at least Dean had his angel again.

“Naomi. She's an angel. She…She got me out of purgatory. She has been controlling me since.”

“And she…took away our bond?” Dean’s voice cracked. Cas shook his head, looking as distraught as Dean was feeling. 

“No. Naomi didn’t sever it. I’m an angel again. Whether she intervened or not, the mark and my scent would’ve disappeared. That’s just… how it works.”

Dean winced, but nodded slowly, as if accepting a truth he couldn’t bear. “Then what broke the connection?”

“You did,” Castiel said, without hesitation. Dean’s breath caught. 

“What?”

“My mark may be gone, but I’m still yours. You’re still my alpha.” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “But I have to protect the tablet now.”

Dean stepped forward instinctively, reaching out, but Cas retreated, a single step that felt like a chasm opening between them.

“From Naomi?” Dean asked, voice tight.

Cas hesitated. “Yes. And… from you.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “From me? What are you-”

The flutter of wings came too fast, too final.

And then Dean was alone once again.

Chapter Text

Dean was on the verge of completely breaking down.

Just months ago, Dean had sworn to protect Castiel. Kneeling, bloodied, desperate, he’d promised to be the alpha the angel deserved. To stay by his side. To never fail him again.

And yet, here he was. Failing.

His grip on the wheel tightened. He couldn’t believe how blind he’d been. Castiel, his best friend, his omega, his mate , had called him, voice strained and human. Vulnerable. And Dean hadn’t dropped everything to reach him. He’d let him fend for himself, telling him to find his own way to the bunker.

Now Cas was in danger. Angels were hunting him. Hunting his omega. His now very human, very vulnerable omega.

Why hadn’t he gone to him? Last time Cas lost his grace, he went into heat. What if it happened again? What if he was out there, alone, scared, and someone else stepped in, someone who wasn’t Dean?

The thought made his chest burn.

He’d been too consumed by the trials. By Sam’s condition. He’d even let an angel possess him. And while he was drowning in his own chaos, Cas had been left behind.

Alone.

Zeke had found him. The hunter wasn't even sure how and didn't even care. He needed Castiel safe now. 

Dean’s boots hit the pavement hard as he jumped out of the Impala, heart hammering like it was trying to break free from his chest.

He burst through the door just as the blade sank into Castiel’s chest.

Time fractured.

The girl jerked the angel blade free, her face twisted in something like triumph. Castiel crumpled, screaming in pain as his eyes went wide and already losing focus.

“No!” Dean’s voice tore from his throat, raw and useless.

She moved fast; one moment she was lunging, and the next Sam was slammed into the wall with a sickening crack. He crumpled to the floor, dazed and bleeding. Dean barely had time to react before she was on him too, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling across the room. His shoulder hit the dresser hard, pain flaring white-hot.

But he saw the blade. Castiel’s blood still glistened on it, lying just inches from where Dean had fallen. He didn’t think, just moved.

As she turned, triumphant and ready to strike again, Dean surged forward and drove the angel blade into her back. Her eyes widened, mouth opening in a silent scream as the light burst from her vessel.

She collapsed, lifeless. Dean didn’t watch her fall. He was already crawling toward Castiel.

“Cas!” His hands trembled as they cupped Cas’s face, the skin already cooling beneath his touch. He gave a desperate slap, too gentle to wake, too frantic to be calm, but there was no response.

No flicker of breath. No flutter of lashes. Just stillness.

“Cas.” He lamented this time, knowing he was cradling the face of the now lifeless body of his mate.

A scream clawed its way up his throat but never made it out. His chest heaved, lungs refusing to fill, heart hammering against the cage of his ribs. He rocked forward, forehead pressed to Cas’s, willing warmth back into the body that had once held him so fiercely.

This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. Not Cas. Not like this.

As Sam, no, Ezekiel , stepped forward, he gripped Dean’s shoulder, intent on pulling the human away to begin reviving Castiel immediately. But before he could even extend his arm towards him, a brilliant yellow light erupted from Castiel’s body.

It surged outward in a blinding wave, flooding the room with a brilliance so intense Dean had to shield his eyes. The glow expanded, pulsing with power, until every shadow vanished beneath its blaze.

And then Cas’s eyes flew open, and he drew in a sharp, gasping breath.

“Dean?” He murmured, sounding as astonished as everyone in the room felt. But it didn't really matter right now, not to Dean.

“Hey. Yeah, it's me.” He moved towards Castiel, hesitating for only a second before hugging him tight. Cas just stood there, confusion clouding his expression, but he leaned in anyway and rested his head on the hunter’s shoulder, nuzzling instinctively toward the alpha’s scent gland. With his hands bound behind his back, it was the only form of reciprocation he could offer.

Dean felt it, Cas’s breath against his neck, the familiar pressure of his face tucked close, and something inside him cracked. Slowly, he tilted his head and scented Cas back, burying his nose in the crook of the omegal’s neck, breathing him in like he’d been starved of it.

It was the first time since Purgatory.

And now, with Cas alive in his arms, scenting him like he belonged, Dean realized something even better.

Cas smelled mated.

The mark was still gone, erased like it had never existed, but the bond clung to him, unmistakable and grounding. He could make a new mark later; what he really mastered was that Cas was his. Somehow, still his. Dean’s heart lurched.

But there was something else.

A faint trace beneath the familiar, strange, quiet, and impossible to name. It wasn’t wrong, exactly, but it didn’t fit. Dean couldn’t place it, couldn’t even describe it. He just knew it was there.

“Cas! You okay?” Asked Sam from behind them. Dean pulled away slightly and looked at his brother. The omega nodded, still looking dazzled. It seemed Zeke was no longer controlling him. “What the hell happened?”

“I…” He looked down at himself. “I’m not sure. I know she stabbed me, but I'm… I don’t appear to be dead.”

Thinking Ezekiel had revived Cas, Dean rushed to explain before Sam could question it. He told them about the deal he’d made with a reaper to bring Cas back. Sam looked uneasy. Cas didn’t believe him. But Dean didn’t press; he could explain it all to him in the bunker.

He could bring his mate to the bunker. 

He could live with his mate. His now very human and very much presenting mate.

He drove there with a restless kind of excitement, hands tight on the wheel, heart racing. Cas was alive and finally by his side. That was all that mattered.

They made it to the bunker. Cas was immediately ushered toward the shower room; his week on the streets had clearly taken its toll.

“You’re gonna love the water pressure here, man. It’s heaven. My Omega deserves a damn good shower.” Dean said with a grin.

Cas giggled at that, and just before stepping into the bathroom, Dean glanced down the hallway to make sure Sam wasn’t lurking. Then he leaned in and kissed him softly. Cas blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away. His hands, hesitant at first, found their way around Dean’s neck as Dean’s arms circled his waist.

When they parted, Cas looked troubled.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Dean shook his head, his voice low and steady. “Cas, I saw you die today. Whatever happened before doesn’t matter right now. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He pulled Cas into a tight hug.

“Mmm,” Cas murmured against Dean’s shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. “Might try to be on the verge of death more often if it makes you this clingy.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Dean said, laughing despite himself. Cas chuckled too, the sound warm and familiar.

After a beat of silence, Cas spoke again.

“Alpha, I need to tell you something.”

“Anything,” Dean replied, voice soft.

“I think-” But before Cas could finish, Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

“Dean,” he said, his voice edged with something unfamiliar. Ezekiel. “I need a word with you.”

Dean turned, frowning. “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ezekiel answered through Sam’s mouth. Cas raised an eyebrow at the way Sam was speaking.

“It’s okay, Dean,” the omega said gently. “Let me get cleaned up first. We’ll talk after.” Dean nodded, reluctant. They walked side by side toward the war room, boots echoing softly in the corridor.

“Hey,” Dean said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but… thanks for saving Cas. I owe you one.”

Ezekiel glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t save Castiel.” Dean stopped mid-step. 

“What?”

“That’s why I needed to speak with you,” Ezekiel said calmly. Dean frowned.

“Hold on. Cas was dead. I mean, really dead. No heartbeat, no breathing, nothing. If it wasn’t you, then who brought him back?”

“A Nephilim.”

Dean blinked. “A what now?”

“A Nephilim,” Ezekiel repeated. “A child born of an angel and a human. Rare. Powerful. Dangerous, a destroyer of worlds.”

Dean’s breath caught. “Wait, are you saying…?”

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “Castiel is carrying one.”

Dean stared at him, stunned. “Cas is… pregnant?”

Ezekiel nodded. “The Nephilim revived him. Its grace is unlike anything I’ve seen. It didn’t just heal him. He brought Castiel back to life. That’s why he’s alive.”

“But…that's impossible.” Dean stopped. He stared at Ezekiel, heart thudding. Then it hit him. The scent. That strange, magnetic pull. It wasn’t just Cas.  

He was smelling a kid. 

"It's soul… it resonates with yours. It called to you."

Dean blinked hard, trying to process it. “He’s human now. How the hell could he be carrying a Nephilim? And the last time we hooked up was like two years ago. How can he be pregnant now?” Ezekiel’s expression remained unreadable. 

“That, I do not know. But I am sure this is your Nephilim, Dean."

For a heartbeat, Dean felt the world hush. Then heat roared through him. Pride, protectiveness, happiness. His mate was carrying his pup.

“I’m gonna be a father,” he whispered, awe softening his rough edges.  

He pictured midnight feedings, his mate cradling their child to sleep as he watched from the door, cooking for him, and raising him as a normal kid outside the hunting world. It was a dream he’d buried deep decades ago, after erasing the memory of Lisa and Ben. And now-

Ezekiel’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Stop.” Dean just looked at him. “Nephilims are not innocents. They inherit divine fury and human unpredictability. They can lay waste to armies. They can twist reality until it screams. No one can stand against their terror.”  

Dean’s chest tightened. 

“They are hunted,” Ezekiel continued, gaze steely. “Heaven sends angels with swords ablaze. Hell wants them to destroy. Neither side will show mercy.” Dean swallowed, heart pounding like a war drum.

“If they are that dangerous… then what are we supposed to do?” Ezekiel’s eyes glazed with complete resolve.

“It should not be born.”  

Silence slammed into Dean. His knees threatened to buckle. “I…”  

Ezekiel stepped closer, his voice urgent. “You hesitate because this will be your child. But there is no child at the moment. Your hesitation will cost more than one life. It will cost the world.” Dean’s throat went dry.

“There has to be another way.”  

“None that ends well. Allow that abomination to live, and you condemn every soul on earth to annihilation.”  

This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to give something up for the greater good. But somehow, this felt crueler. Letting himself believe, even for a second, that he could have a family, that he could be a father, had been a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake.

The world didn’t care about his happiness. It never had.

And Dean Winchester knew better than anyone, some things had to die so others could live.

Dean looked up, eyes hollow. 

“I’ll talk to Cas.”

“You must do more than talk,” Ezekiel said. “You must act. This creature could be our doom.” Dean hesitated, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. 

“He’s gonna hate me.”

“He may. But if you wait, the child will grow. And once it does, no force on earth will be able to stop it.”

Dean nodded slowly, like each movement cost him something. “I’ll do it.”

“Then do it soon.”

Dean turned away, even as his brother shined through and asked him what was wrong. While he waited for Cas to get out of the shower, he finished half a bottle of whiskey. He stood outside the showers, arms crossed, leaning against the cool concrete wall. The bunker was quiet, save for the distant hum of the overhead lights and the soft rush of water behind the door. Dean had come here with purpose, but now that he was standing there, waiting, the weight of it pressed harder against his chest. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched, rehearsing the words he still wasn’t sure he could say.

He didn't even realize Castiel had come out until he heard his voice.

“Hello Dean.” Cas said with a smile. “You were right, the water pressure here is truly remarkable.” He stepped out, now dressed again in new clothes, towel slung over his shoulders, damp hair clinging to his temples. Dean straightened. 

“I need to talk to you.” Cas tilted his head at the seriousness in Dean’s tone. 

“Of course. Lead the way.” They walked in silence to a nearly empty room, one that could be Cas’s. Cas settled on the edge of the bed, still drying his hair, while Dean sat beside him, close but not quite touching. The quiet stretched between them.

Dean opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. Before he could speak, Cas turned to him.

“Dean,” he began, voice soft but steady, “about what happened today… I don’t know why you said the reaper brought me back. But I wasn’t revived by any reaper.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Cas’s expression was nervous, but beneath it, his scent had never been this sweet. Shining with hope. Radiant, aching hope. And that hope twisted something sharp in Dean’s chest.

Guilt.

“I… I think I’m pregnant,” Cas said, the words tumbling out like a confession. He reached for Dean’s hand, fingers curling around his with quiet excitement. “I’m carrying a Nephilim, a child of a human and an angel, from our time in purgatory. They saved me.” Dean had to take in a breath before speaking again.

“How is that even possible?” Dean asked, voice tight. “Purgatory was two years ago.” Castiel’s smile faltered but didn’t vanish. There was still hope in his eyes.

“When a Nephilim is conceived,” he said quietly, “its grace calls out to every angel. I felt it. Right then and there.” Dean’s breath caught. 

“You knew? Since Purgatory?” Castiel nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean’s voice cracked.

“For the same reason I let go of your hand,” Castiel said, gaze steady. “Because you would have stayed. And I couldn’t let that happen.” Dean looked away, jaw clenched. “You’re the most righteous man on Earth, Dean. And I admire your loyalty to your family, but Earth needed you. Not Purgatory.”

Dean didn’t argue. He would’ve stayed. No questions asked. But righteous? He didn’t feel righteous now. Not even close.

Castiel’s voice softened. “All the angels felt the conception. But when Naomi pulled me out and restored my grace… something changed. The child’s power was silenced. Hidden. That was a relief for heaven, as Nephilims are absolutely forbidden.” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “No angel could sense them anymore, not even me.”

“You thought you lost the kid.” Dean said, and Castiel nodded. 

“We all did.”

“You didn’t tell me anything.” Castiel’s expression darkened. 

“When could I have told you, Dean? You were drowning in the trials, in Sam, in everything. I don’t blame you. I had my own battles.” He took a breath, his voice trembling. “And what would I have said? That I thought our child was gone? I didn’t feel them again until I died.”

His hand drifted to his belly, fingers splayed gently. A smile bloomed across his face, wide, radiant, and full of life.

“I feel them again.”

Dean stared. It had been so long since he’d seen Castiel look like that. So full of joy. So human.

And he had to shatter it.

“This child won't be human, then?” Castiel shook his head in response.

“No. They’re a Nephilim.” Dean took a breath.

“Nephilims… they’re dangerous, right? That’s what I’ve heard. You said angels freak out when they are conceived. They don’t just let them live.”

“They’re powerful,” Castiel said carefully. “But that doesn’t mean they’re dangerous.”

“You don’t know that. No one does.” He let go of Castiel’s hand. “All I’ve heard is that they're unstable. Too much power, too unpredictable.” Castiel crossed his arms protectively around his stomach. 

“They’re not evil, Dean. They’re not a monster.”

“So you’re telling me,” Dean said, voice rising, “if any other angel had a Nephilim right now, you wouldn’t panic? You wouldn’t try to kill it the second you had the chance?”

“I…” Castiel faltered. His scent shifted . Guilt, regret, heavy and sour in the air. Dean stepped closer, the realization hitting him.

“You’ve killed a Nephilim before.”

Castiel’s eyes squeezed shut, like the memory physically hurt.

“Why is this different?” Dean demanded. Castiel opened his eyes, his voice quiet but firm. 

“Because this is my kid.”

“This is still a monster!” Dean’s voice cracked, fury spilling out. 

“Our child is not a monster!” Castiel shouted, voice shaking with rage and heartbreak.

“You don’t know that!” Dean’s voice rose. “You didn’t even tell me! You’ve been walking around with this…this thing inside you, and I had no idea!”

“They’re not a thing. They’re our child.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you'd be happy.” He was. He really, really was. But not now.

“A freaking nuke is coming out of you, and you expect me to just smile and say congrats?”

“I expect you to be a father.” Castiel’s voice dropped. Dean stared at him, breathing hard. 

“I’m trying to keep this world from falling apart. And right now, that means facing the fact that maybe this kid shouldn’t be born.”

“Are you hearing yourself? This child is not destined to be evil; we can raise them right. They can do good, Dean.” Dean laughed bitterly, rising from the bed. 

“And what the hell do you know about doing good, Cas?” Castiel’s breath hitched. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of old guilt pressing down. Dean didn’t stop. “You nearly destroyed the world twice. You did destroy Heaven. You’ve lied, betrayed, and broken everything you touched.” Castiel’s eyes dropped to the floor, shame washing over him. “Why would anyone trust you to raise a kid? Especially one as dangerous as a Nephilim?”

“You don’t mean that.” Castiel’s voice was barely audible. Dean stepped in, eyes cold. 

“I do mean it, omega .” He spat the word like it was dirt in his mouth. An insult, a dismissal, a wound.

Castiel flinched, his hand instinctively covering his belly. His eyes shimmered. Dean turned away, breathing hard, the silence behind him thick with everything he couldn’t take back.

“They’re ours.” Cas said, desperate and seeming completely broken. Dean looked away, jaw clenched. 

“That doesn’t mean it should exist.”

The omega stood there in silence, stunned. His scent was far from the beautiful honeypie he was able to smell again mere hours ago. It stinked of fear, mourning, disappointment.

Anger.

“Get out.” Cas said, voice low.

“Cas..”

“I said get out!” Cas yelled, voice raw and furious. The lights above them flickered wildly, for a split second, Castiel’s eyes flared gold and Dean, heart pounding, reached for his gun without thinking. The moment Castiel saw it, he went still, the power draining from the room as quickly as it had surged. “I…”

“Can't you see what it’s doing to you?” Dean said. Castiel stayed in silence for a couple of seconds.

“I need some time alone.” Cas said softly, curling deeper into the bed until the sheets swallowed him completely. Dean stayed where he was, letting out a quiet sigh and nodding, even though Cas couldn’t see him anymore.

“Get some rest.”

Castiel didn’t respond.

The rest of the day passed in heavy silence. His door stayed shut, and Dean didn’t knock. He didn’t push. He just let the quiet stretch between them, thick with everything they’d said and everything they hadn’t.

He spent the evening replaying the fight in his head; his words, the look on Cas’s face. It needed to be done, but Dean would be lying if he said hurting his mate wasn't tearing him apart.

The next morning, Dean made breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, and coffee, the way the hunter liked, thinking Cas might too. He carried the plate to Cas’s room, knocked once, then opened the door.

The bed was empty.

The sheets were cold.

Dean froze. His breath caught in his throat, and the plate nearly slipped from his hands. 

“Cas?” he called, voice tight. No answer. He set the plate down on the nightstand, heart thudding harder now. “Cas?” he said again, louder this time, stepping back into the hallway.

Silence.

Dean started moving fast. Room to room, calling his name. 

“Cas! you in here?” His voice echoed through the bunker, growing sharper with each unanswered call.

He checked the kitchen, the library, and the war room. Nothing.

By the time he reached the garage, his chest was tight with panic.

One of the cars was gone.

Dean stood there, staring at the empty space, the echo of the fight ringing in his ears.

Cas had run. And Dean knew, with a sinking certainty, that he would not be coming back.

______________

Castiel didn’t look back as he left the bunker, the keys cold in his hand. He moved quietly through the garage, careful not to make noise, not to give himself a reason to hesitate.

He didn’t want to leave. Not at first. The thought of being away from his mate while carrying their child felt unbearable, like tearing something vital from his chest.

But staying felt worse. Staying meant living with the echo of Dean’s words. With the echo of the unavoidable loss of his child.

So he packed a few things, just enough. A coat. Some cash he found lying around. An old car from the bunker that the Winchesters did not use.

He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t know what he’d even say.

The drive was quiet. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly over his stomach.

“It’s okay, dear.” He murmured as he caressed his stomach. “We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay…” He repeated it a couple of more times, not knowing if he wanted to convince himself or his kid.

He didn’t know where he was going. Only that he couldn’t stay.

If his calculations were correct, the pregnancy was about six weeks along. It was hard to be sure, given the circumstances, but there was no visible bump yet; still early. Even so, the child’s strength was undeniable. Stronger than he’d expected at this stage. They hadn’t even begun to show, and yet they’d already saved his life.

He was scared. How could he not be?

Especially knowing no human had ever survived the birth of a Nephilim.

He gripped his stomach slightly at the thought.

Running forever wasn’t an option. He knew that. As the pregnancy progressed, he’d grow weaker, and when the time came, he wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t be alone on the streets when that happened; couldn’t leave his child to face the world without anyone.

He needed help.

He needed someone who wouldn’t look at his child and see a threat. Someone who would protect them when he no longer could.

For the first time since he’d started driving, his mind settled. He turned the car toward the only place he knew where any child, human or not, would be welcomed without question.

Seven hours later, exhausted and aching, he pulled up to a quiet house. The porch light was still on, even this late. He climbed out of the car, walked up the steps, and knocked.

The door opened slowly. A woman stood there, blinking in surprise.

“… Castiel?” she said, confused.

“Hello Jody.” He tried to look presentable, but it seemed to be an impossible task. His messy hair and baggy eyes gave his exhaustion away. “May I come in?”

“I… Sure. Yeah.” Cas smiled towards her and entered the house, closing the door behind him. “Cas, I’m glad to see you’re okay,” she said, watching him closely. “But Dean’s been looking for you like crazy.”

Castiel’s expression darkened. Dean wasn’t searching out of love. He was searching out of fear. Fear of their child.

“Yes. I can imagine,” he said, voice tinged with bitterness.

Jody hesitated, then gestured toward the kitchen. “Do you want some tea or something? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

He nodded, grateful for the offer, and followed her in. As she filled the kettle, she glanced back at him. 

“Dean won’t tell me anything. Just that you’re gone and we all need to find you. Should I call him? Let him know you’re here?” Castiel shook his head. 

“No. Please don’t.” He said. Jody turned, brows furrowed. 

“Cas… what’s going on?” He hesitated, then spoke softly. 

“I’m pregnant.”

She blinked, stunned. “You’re… pregnant?”

Castiel nodded, unsure what to expect.

“I mean…wow.” She paused, sniffed the air instinctively, then tilted her head. “Now that I think about it… you do have a scent now. That’s definitely new.”

Castiel’s shoulders tensed, but he gave a small nod, still visibly nervous. Jody’s face broke into a smile. 

“Well! Congratulations, Cas.” Jody said. Something in him eased. Just a little. The tension didn’t vanish, but it softened.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s Dean’s child.” She nodded as she continued preparing tea for both of them.

“Okay. Does Dean know?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “And he didn’t take it well.” Jody leaned in slightly, seeming confused.

“What do you mean?”

“He…does not want this kid.”

“That doesn't sound like Dean.” She answered.

“He is afraid.” Castiel looked down, fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Not of being a father, of the child. Because it’s not human.”

“What?” Jody’s voice was cautious. 

“A Nephilim,” he said. “Half angel, half human. Powerful.” Jody stayed in silence, pouring tea for both of them. “Dean thinks they will be dangerous.”

“And is he right?” Jody asked as she sat in front of him, sipping some tea.

“No one is born evil.” the omega answered quickly. “They can do good with their powers. They can change the world for the better. A Nephilim, with the grace of angels and the soul of a human...they could be better than all of us combined. Paradise on earth.” She nodded, thinking about it for a couple of seconds before speaking again.

“But Dean doesn’t believe that,” Jody said, her voice steady, but not cold. Castiel nodded without arguing. 

“I need a place to stay. I can’t go back to him.” He said. Jody looked away for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. 

“Cas, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, really. But going behind Dean’s back…” she sighed. “I just don’t know if I can do that.”

“Please.” He reached across the table and took her hands, gently but urgently. “I just need somewhere stable. Just until the birth. I’ll leave after, it’ll all be over.”

He didn’t say he’d be dead before then. Didn’t dare. If he did, Jody would call Dean, and Dean would come. He smelled mated. And the alpha had probably already guessed who Castiel was bonded to.

Jody hesitated. “Cas…”

“I’ll call him when the baby is born,” he lied, his voice thin and shaking. “I just... I want my child to come into this world safely. Being with Dean isn't an option for that right now.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Jody stood and came around the table, pulling him into a hug. Her scent calmed him: warm, maternal alpha pheromones that wrapped around him like a blanket. So different from Dean’s. Not burning, not intense. But safe.

“Okay, Cas,” she said softly. “You can stay. But promise me... when it’s all over, you’ll call him.”

“I will,” he whispered into her shoulder. He lied again.

Later, Jody showed him to the small guest room tucked beside the hallway. The bedding was fresh, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon light. She’d even put out a small glass of water and folded towels on the chair. Thoughtful, practical. Kind.

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his belly, listening to the hush of the surrounding house. It was quiet here. No shouting. No tension. No Dean.

And he missed him. His omega was screaming for his mate.

He turned away from the window and lowered himself onto the bed, one hand cradling his stomach, the other pressed against the worn fabric of the sheet. It was not home. But it was safe. And for now, that had to be enough. He knew Jody would take good care of his kid once he was gone.

A few weeks passed in quiet rhythm. Mornings began with tea, soft conversation, and Jody’s gentle routines: checking in, making sure he was eating enough, and reminding him to rest before going to work or to hunt. The tension from that first conversation slowly thinned out, replaced by a fragile peace.

Every few days, Jody nudged the subject.

“You should call Dean,” she’d say while folding laundry, or as they washed dishes side by side. “He is really desperate, Cas. You know we can get when our mate is away.”

Cas always hesitated. “I will.” he always lied. “Just not yet.”

Donna came by often. Always with something in her arms, a pie, clean towels, or a six-pack of whatever local brew she was trying that week. She didn’t live at the house, technically, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her scent was everywhere: tucked into the blankets Jody left on the couch, clinging faintly to the coffee mugs, layered beneath Jody’s own in the hallways and kitchen. And that scent bond that surrounded the women was impossible to ignore. Cas could feel it like a presence in the room. 

They hadn’t told him they were together. They didn’t need to. His instincts knew before his thoughts caught up.

It was Jody who explained the situation to Donna one slow afternoon, while Cas was puking his whole breakfast down the toilet. How can you save my life but cannot spare me of this hell? He thought to himself. 

“So he is living permanently here now?” Jody nodded at that. “Finaly! Another omega in the house! I was starting to feel lonely” she joked, laughing. “God, Jodes, you should’ve said something sooner! You need help with anything, Cas, you just ask. I’m serious. Nesting stuff, comfort stuff, food stuff, whatever. I’m your gal.” She said, laying against the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Thank you, Do-” He had to turn around to puke one more time. Donna caressed his back.

“There, there. The little fella is making it tough on you?” Cas nodded, tired. “Let me make you some tea and you just go rest, okay? Do ya need anything else?” Castiel shook his head, still looking directly into the toilet just in case. “Okay papa, keep up the good work.”

Almost two months into living at the Mills house, as Cas stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, steam curling around the edges of the mirror. He wiped it clean absently, until his reflection came into focus. His breath caught.

There it was. Subtle, soft, barely visible beneath the towel knotted around his hips: a baby bump.

Cas stared. A quiet, tender smile spread across his face, wider than any he'd worn since escaping the bunker. 

“Hello,” he whispered, shy and awestruck, fingers lifting to caress the gentle swell of his belly. “I see you now.”

He smiled even wider, eyes gleaming and then shining. Gold shimmered across his irises, sudden and bright. Cas gasped, startled by the flush of light, but it faded quickly.

“Oh,” he murmured, hand soothing across his stomach “No, dear. You just surprised me. I’m not afraid of you.”

Silence settled over the room. A few seconds passed, then his eyes lit again.

“There you are,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder.

He didn’t move from that spot for a long time. Just stood there in the half-lit warmth of the bathroom, tracing soft circles over his stomach, speaking quietly to the child. There was no reply except for the glow in his eyes, flaring gently when his voice softened or his touch lingered. But that was enough. More than enough.

For the first time in his life, Cas felt truly connected to his omega. He'd been taught that presenting as an omega made him weak. That to lead, to command, and to earn respect as a seraph, he needed to silence that part of himself.

This did not feel wrong or shameful.

Alex and Claire hadn't come back to the house yet. Alex had nursing school, but she’d promised to visit soon. Especially now that a pregnant omega was living under the roof; she’d even promised a check up and help Cas out however she could. Claire was harder to reach. Always off hunting, rarely picking up the phone unless it was Jody on the other end. She hadn’t set foot in the house since he started living here. 

Then one night, well past midnight, Claire came home.

She climbed in through her bedroom window like always, not wanting to wake anyone. The room was dark and silent, just as she’d left it. But when she flicked on the light, her breath caught, and then a scream tore out of her throat.

Castiel jolted awake from the bed, blinking at the brightness and scrambled to sit up, heart hammering. Claire’s voice rang.

“What the hell?! What is he doing here? Why is he sleeping in my room?!”

Her voice cracked with genuine shock and something sharper, resentment, maybe, or disbelief. Donna and Jody came running, footsteps heavy on the stairs.

Jody put up both hands. “Claire, hey, slow down. Let’s talk about this, okay?” She stepped in, guiding Claire out of the room before anything else could spark. “Let’s take a breath.”

Claire followed stiffly, still bristling, eyes flashing toward Cas one last time before disappearing into the hallway.

Donna stayed behind.

She crossed slowly to the bed and knelt beside Cas, who was still sitting frozen in place, towel-clad, half-curled like he wasn’t sure whether to flee or apologize. His eyes flickered faintly, gold glinting at the corners like a flare of emotional energy he couldn’t contain. Donna stayed though it all.

He smiled faintly, excused himself with a quiet thank you , and slipped down the hallway toward the bathroom. He wasn’t sure he needed anything, just space, maybe. A locked door. A moment to breathe.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

The bathroom door was halfway closed when he heard voices drifting up the stairs. Jody’s, steady and low, and Claire’s sharp, angry. 

Jody was explaining. Not calmly, but not with anger either. Just the facts: Cas was pregnant. He needed somewhere safe. Dean wasn’t an option, so he was staying here. Making Claire promise he wouldn't tell Dean anything. She did not mention the child not being human, which he was grateful for. Hunters did not tend to be open-minded about non-humans.

Claire’s voice cracked through the hallway next. Louder. Angrier. Not just upset, but furious. Cas couldn’t make out every word, but the ones he caught hit hard.

“That thing…”

“...into my father’s body….”

“No! No You can’t…”

“...he is pregnant in my dad’s body…”

“...fucked up.”

“...don’t fucking want him here!”

“...Don’t care!”

“He killed my dad!”

“...he is using his body, and for this?!”

Castiel took a big breath and quickly returned to his room, trying to ignore anything more than that.

Things didn’t get better after that. Not really.

Claire barely tolerated his presence. Her silence wasn’t cold, exactly; it was sharp, edged with something older than anger. Castiel understood the basics of grief, but what Claire carried wasn’t fresh loss. Her father had died a long time ago, and now he was here. In her house. Wearing the same face while pregnant.

He relocated to Alex’s old room. Jody and Donna had reassured him, told him he didn’t have to move. Said it was fine if he stayed where he was. But Claire had gotten hurt on a hunt, and she needed to stay home for a while. Castiel hadn’t wanted to make things worse. 

It wasn't that big of a change, really. He hadn’t settled in the old room. No nesting. No claiming. The instinct tugged at him; he’d seen how omegas made spaces into sanctuaries, how certain scents and objects grounded them, but nesting without an alpha in mind felt wrong. Nesting without Dean felt wrong. His coat remained folded over the back of a chair. He didn’t touch anything unless he had to.

Claire didn't look at him when she passed in the hallway. 

But it wasn’t all bad.

Donna helped more than he could have ever asked for. As a fellow omega, she was the one always there for him. She didn’t have children of her own, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Cas would sometimes find her completely immersed in parenting guides or omega-specific pregnancy books, highlighters scattered across the table, muttering to herself about nutritional deficiencies. When he started to get weird cravings, he tried to hide it for a while, embarrassed. But Donna was able to scratch that itch, not being bothered to go out at any time of day to buy something the omega felt he needed. She wanted to help, and he was grateful for it.

Alex started coming home more often, too. Cas suspected she was trying to temper Claire’s anger, though he never asked. Whatever her reasons, her presence helped steady the house, and Cas was glad to have her, especially since hospital visits weren’t an option. Not with everything that came with this pregnancy. The child wasn’t human, not entirely, and Cas didn’t trust what medical tests might reveal. Too many unknowns. Too many risks.

But it was also the vulnerability. The public exposure. Being out there, in places swarmed with security cameras and networked systems that the Winchesters could access in a heartbeat. It wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t risk it. Not now. 

And so, Alex, with her nursing textbooks and quiet competence, became his lifeline. In-home checkups, whispered advice, a steady hand when the anxiety clawed at his edges. She didn’t push. She just showed up.

They made things feel more grounded, more real. And maybe that’s why, almost without noticing, Cas began to prepare.

It began with a fluffy bee plushie.

Cas hadn’t planned on buying anything, but he saw it while running errands and couldn’t leave it behind. Soon came tiny socks, a bottle, and a single onesie, all quiet gestures, tucked neatly into a drawer he’d repurposed. All things that he would not see his child wearing, but he wanted them to have it. He wanted to be remembered after his passing. That’s also why he agreed when Donna offered to create a photo album documenting his entire pregnancy. He let her take pictures of him almost every week. He hoped his child would get to know him in some way.

One day, after a lot of insisting (and some borrowed money), Castiel finally agreed to buy a crib. Jody had made it clear: no matter what happened with Dean after the baby was born, Castiel would always have a place here. A crib would be needed eventually. And if he ended up leaving, he could take it with him. Castiel just thought the Mills would need it once he was gone, so he agreed.

By now he was five months into his pregnancy. The baby bump was more than visible; it had started interfering with his everyday movements. His back hurt constantly. Carrying things was exhausting, and bending down was no longer a small task; it was a full-body activity. And Donna had to buy more fitting clothes for him.

Jody had planned to go with him, but just as they were about to leave, she got called away for an emergency downtown. Donna was out of town, Alex was stuck in her nursing practices, and in a final act of maternal strategy, Jody roped Claire into going with Castiel.

Claire had protested. Loudly. She was angry and miserable about the whole thing. But Jody didn’t budge. Said it’d only be for an hour. Said it wouldn’t kill her.

They drove in silence.

At the store, the baby aisle was a sprawling blur of pastel colors, with cribs stacked like miniature fortresses. Castiel hesitated. There were so many kinds. Wooden frames, foldable ones, and cribs that converted into beds. He stood still for a moment, hands resting awkwardly on the curve of his stomach.

Claire stood at the edge of the aisle with crossed arms, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“They make these more complicated than necessary,” Castiel said softly, gesturing toward a display model with drawers built into the base.

Claire didn’t reply. She just shifted her weight and looked the other way.

“I liked the blue one,” he added, trying again. “Not the navy. The soft one with-”

“I’m not here to help pick the damn crib,” Claire snapped. “Jody made me come. That’s it.”

Castiel went quiet. He nodded , but didn't walk away. Instead, he turned back to the cribs, pretending to study a tag he couldn’t focus on. Claire lingered nearby, radiating tension, but she didn’t leave.

They wandered the aisle in an awkward shuffle, Castiel stopping too long at each display, Claire trailing behind with her arms folded tight across her chest. He hadn’t said much since she snapped earlier. But now, he tried again.

“This one seems… sturdy,” Castiel said, tapping the frame of a pale birch crib with rounded corners. “Safe edges. Jody mentioned the baby could get hurt if the edges are too sharp.”

Claire didn’t answer. She was pretending to study carefully another crib, jaw tight.

“I know you don’t really want to have me around,” he said, quieter now. “And I don’t expect that to change. I don’t even expect your forgiveness, Claire, but I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for what I did to your family.”

That made her glance over, just briefly, eyes wary but less sharp.

“And I know an apology won't bring your father back.” He continued. “It won’t undo the silence or make me less of a stranger in the skin you remember. But I say it anyway, because what he meant to you still matters, and I’d rather honor that than turn away from it.”

Claire stayed silent, simply looking at him.

“I am sorry.” He repeated. “I don’t get to claim your father's memories, but I remember them anyway. His love for you, it stayed with the vessel. And it stays with me. He would be proud of the woman you have become”

Claire didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, nodding toward a crib at the end of the row, “are you picking one, or am I going to stand here all day while you get weird about them?” Castiel blinked, surprised. 

“The maple one, maybe. It feels...steady.” He said. She pressed her fingers against its corner. 

“Yeah. The color is kinda boring, but we can paint over it if you want.” Claire said, and Cas smiled softly.

“Yes. I would love to.”

She added the set to the cart, keeping Cas away from doing any heavy lifting. They turned towards the checkout, walking in silence, something not quite forgiveness lingering in the air, but not hatred anymore either.

And then it happened.

A light thump against the inside of his stomach, soft, but distinct. Castiel froze mid-motion, hand still resting on the edge of the cart.

He waited.

Another gentle kick, deeper this time. Real.

His breath caught. He turned, eyes wide, face suddenly luminous.

“Claire,” he said, voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly might scare it away. “The baby… it’s kicking.”

Claire blinked, thrown off by the shift in his expression.

“I mean, it’s the first time,” Castiel added. “It just happened again.”

She hesitated. Then, slowly stepped closer.

“Can I…?” she asked, pointing toward his stomach.

Castiel nodded. Carefully, Claire laid her hand against the curve of his bump. For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence.

Then the kick.

Her mouth parted in surprise. Her expression cracked into something softer, something vulnerable and unsure.

“Whoa,” she whispered.

They stood there like that, no war between them, no Jimmy-shaped shadow in the way. Just Claire’s hand resting lightly against Castiel’s stomach and a baby that hadn’t yet seen the world kicking out into it anyway. Castiel cleared his throat, eyes misty. 

“I never imagined I’d feel something so… human.” He said. Claire looked at him, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah. It’s weirdly amazing.” She kept her hands on him, smiling. “I always wanted a sibling.”

“You did?” Claire nodded, her hand still pressed to the curve of his stomach. 

“Not like this, obviously,” she said. “But yeah.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched her fingertips linger where the baby had kicked. There was a flicker of something in his chest, complicated and unfamiliar. A thought he didn’t voice: that maybe, in some strange, accidental way, he was giving her a piece of the family she’d never had. Not redemption. But something tangibly good.

The baby kicked again. Claire looked up at him, smiling more than before.

“They better not be annoying,” she said lightly. Castiel laughed, breath catching. 

“ He is already dramatic.”

“Perfect fit, then.” Claire snorted. “So, it’s a boy?” Castiel hesitated, watching her hand still resting on his stomach. He nodded slowly. 

“I have a feeling.” He said as Claire raised an eyebrow. 

“Mysterious omega instinct?” He gave a small smile. 

“Something like that.”

But he didn’t say more, not about the quiet, familiar energy he’d been sensing for weeks. Not about the way it echoed, just slightly, with the memory of a Nephilim’s overwhelming presence. He was sure the baby was a boy.

They stood like that for a moment, until Claire let go of him and crossed her arms. They paid for the crib. Drove home. They spent the better part of the afternoon surrounded by wood panels and screws and a manual that made less sense the longer they stared at it. Claire kept swatting Castiel’s hands away from anything heavier than a screwdriver.

“I got it!” she said for the fifth time, halfway under the frame. “Stop hovering like a tragic Victorian ghost.” Castiel gave her a look and handed her another bolt. 

“I’m supervising.”

It took a couple of hours, three arguments, one moment of near collapse, and exactly zero instruction-following, but eventually, the crib stood upright. Claire wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and took a step back. 

“So? What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said, brushing his fingers along the edge. He imagined a tiny blanket draped over the rail, soft toys tucked in. The baby curled up, asleep and safe. He smiled. Then the smile faltered, just for a second, as a quiet ache pulled at him. He would not be around long enough to see it.

He gripped the rail tight. Then let go.

“So…” Claire began. “Do you, uh, know how you’ll call him?” Castiel turned toward her, eyes lighting up. 

“I have a list!” he said, suddenly animated, digging through his coat pocket. “I made a list.” Claire raised an eyebrow as he produced a crumpled, lovingly folded piece of paper and handed it over with something like pride.

She unfolded it. The top few names were familiar: James , Daniel , Jack . Claire nodded. Normal. Maybe too common.

Then she hit the middle: Zeruel , Barachiel , Sahaquiel , Zadkiel .

“What the hell?” she muttered, laughing. “Are these biblical or Pokemons?” Castiel blinked. 

“Angelic lineage. Some of them.”

“You’re not naming him Sahaquiel ,” she said, still laughing. “You’ll doom him to solo lunch tables for life.”

“I wasn’t leaning toward Sahaquiel,” he said, slightly offended. “It’s just... unique.” Claire shook her head, still grinning as she passed the list back. 

“I like Jack.” She said. “Simple but good. Doesn’t sound like he writes prophecies in his spare time.”

Castiel chuckled, his fingers brushing the corner of the crib. Jack. It felt right. Familiar. Like it already belonged to someone. He nodded slowly, a smile warming his face. 

“Jack,” he said again, savoring it. “I like it too.”

Their relationship wasn’t perfect after that, but it was easier. Claire started talking to him more, asking how he felt, teasing him when he reorganized the nursery three times in one week, and showing up with bizarre cravings he swore were real. It was usually Donna’s job to make sure he ate and rested, but Claire started pitching in without needing a reason.

The pregnancy was steady. Quiet. Good.

But some nights, when everyone had gone home and the lights were dim, Castiel would lie curled up around the baby bump, fingers resting lightly over his baby’s constant kicking. And he’d think of Dean, of what he lost, this bond he still carried deep in his bones. His alpha.

The weight of missing him sometimes slipped past Castiel’s defenses. Not just grief, but need. That ache in his chest when the baby kicked and he instinctively wanted to tell Dean everything. There were nights he cried softly into the pillow, quiet enough that no one would hear. Not every night. Just the ones when the loneliness pressed too hard against the ribs.

His loneliness and his fear.

He didn’t want to die. Not really. 

He wiped his eyes, his breath steadying, and shifted under the covers. The baby moved again, a flutter more than a kick this time.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

And he was. Still here. Still carrying this life forward, one breath at a time. Even if some days hurt.

One day, Castiel was staring at a pile of baby onesies with visible concern.

“These are too small,” he said to no one in particular. Jody poked her head out. 

“They’re for newborns , Cas. They are small.” He held one up, eyes wide. 

“Are we certain the baby will be this size? It seems... too tiny.” Jody walked over, snatching the onesie and stretching it between her fingers. 

“It’s perfect, Cas. We can buy more if you want to, though. Babies grow quickly; having different sizes might be a tactical advantage.” He frowned, unconvinced. 

“I may need to consult a pediatrician.”

“You already emailed three,” she said. “Don’t panic so much, papa.” She shoved a tiny pair of socks into his hands. “Aren’t they cute?”

“Yes.” He smiled and rested the socks in his belly. “Do you like them?” He asked his kid, getting no response other than a couple of kinda of painful kicks. Jody simply laughed and returned to the kitchen.

Months passed, quiet and dense. The socks were tucked away long ago, their novelty faded into memory. Castiel was now eight and a half months pregnant, undeniably, breathtakingly heavy.

The house held a cautious calm, Cas reading quietly as he lay down on the sofa, waiting for Claire to come back with some ice cream, until Jody’s phone rang. She squinted at the name, then answered casually, but her eyes flicked toward Castiel before she even said hello.

“Well hello Dean.” Cas' breath stopped as he looked up at her. “Yeah. No, everything is fine. The girls are alright” She paused, listening to Dean. 

“Yeah. Sorry, no, I got no news of him.” She looked at Cas, clearly feeling extremely guilty. “Oh? No, no you don't have to! We…” Another pause. “Okay. Okay, sure. Yeah, we haven’t seen each other in a while. Yeah, okay. I’ll be waiting. Talk to you soon.” She hung up and sighed.

“Dean uh… Is coming to visit.” That did it. Castiel’s panic surged hot and electric.

“No.” He shook his head. “He’ll smell my scent everywhere. He cannot know i’m here.”

“You’ll be away for a couple hours. We’ll fill the place with scent blockers, Cas. It’s not my first rodeo hiding a scent.” She walked towards him and kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry, okay? We got you covered.”

The day Dean was set to arrive, they swept through the house like a storm with scent blockers. Every trace of Castiel, his clothes, the photo album Donna was making, all his parenting books and toys for the baby were vanished into storage. Jody scattered scent blockers in every room. Just to be sure, they doused Castiel as well. He would be a town over, waiting for Dean to come and go, shielded by distance. Claire planned to join him after greeting Dean, so he wouldn’t be alone.

As Castiel stepped through the back door, every movement careful and heavy, he paused and murmured. 

“I’m sorry for all of this.”

“It’s alright.” Jody said “You’re not hiding forever. Just until you’re ready.”

And that made him feel even more guilty.

Castiel drove by himself to the next town over, parking near a park and finding himself now sitting down on one bench, too nervous to even open the book he had brought to pass the time.

He spent the past few hours folded into stillness. It was a sunny day, lovely for a walk, but Cas couldn't bring himself to get up from the bench. 

Claire was late, just slightly. When her footsteps approached, they were faster than usual. She seemed angry, with a hint of hurt shinning in her face. The beta didn’t look at him. She set her bag down quietly and sat beside him, curling inward like she wasn’t sure what to say or whether she should speak at all. Something was wrong.

“Is everything alright?” Castiel asked. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then fiddled with her bracelet. Her voice was low. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked as Castiel tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t tell me the baby won't be human.” Claire’s gaze met his, sharp now. He swallowed.

“I… I thought Jody would eventually tell you.” Claire’s jaw clenched.

“Dean said the baby could be dangerous.” A crack opened in his chest. 

“Jack is not dangerous. No one is born dangerous. He just needs to be raised right.” He stopped for a couple of seconds. “I never meant to lie. I meant to protect him. Hunters are not fond of non-humans.”

Claire stood abruptly, hands on her hips now, blinking too fast.

“I want to protect Jack too,” she said. “But I can’t if I don’t know what he is.”

“He…” Cas took some air. “He is a nephilim, a child born of an angel and a human. He was conceived when I was still one.” Claire nodded. “He will be powerful, but he will do good, Claire. Paradise on earth. Can you imagine?”

“I really can’t.” She answered.

“You’ll see.” He said firmly. But Claire didn’t move, didn’t soften. Her arms folded inwards. 

“I should’ve known sooner. I thought we were… I don't know, getting better at talking to each other.”

“We are.” Cas assured her. “Your company has been more than appreciated. I cannot know for sure where Jimmy starts and ends in my feelings for you, but you are a good kid. A good daughter.” Claire’s eyes watered. 

And then something shifted inside him. He had grown close to her. They had built something fragile and warm between the ache and quiet hours. And she didn’t know he would die. He hadn’t told her. Not her, not anyone.

His hand curled slightly against his knee. The words she’d just heard were affirmation, but also a quiet betrayal. Because this connection, this growing love, would end. She’d lose him. She didn’t even know yet.

She’d already lost one father.

Guilt swept over him, bitter and consuming.

“There is also something more you should know.” He started before he had time to back down. “I didn't want to hide this from everyone; you all took care of me in more ways than I could have imagined. I hate that I had to hide it. But they might have told Dean, and I couldn't take the risk.”

“What’s going on, Cas?” She asked.

“You have to promise you won't tell anyone.”

“I…”

“Promise, Claire.”

“Okay. Okay, I won't tell anyone.” He nodded in response, trying to stop his heart from beating so fast.

“I am not going to survive the birth.” Castiel admitted, the weight of it pressing against his voice. “No human body can endure the arrival of a Nephilim.” Claire recoiled, just slightly, like the words had shoved her off balance.

“What do you mean you’re not going to survive?” she asked, voice sharp. “You can’t just… say that.”

Castiel didn’t respond right away. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in his fingertips, and in the ache behind his ribs. The air between them thickened.

“You are going to die,” she said, louder now. “And you weren’t going to tell me ?”

“I wanted to,” he whispered. 

“That’s not good enough,” Claire snapped. “You don’t get to keep something like this from me- from us.”

Her eyes were damp, but her hands were fists at her sides, like she didn’t trust them not to break something or grab hold and not let go.

“You’re the closest thing I have to a dad,” she said. “And now you’re leaving. Again. And you weren’t even going to let me prepare.” Castiel’s face crumpled. He reached for her, but she stepped back.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “I still am. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. Claire wiped her face angrily. 

Claire stared at him, breathing hard.

“I’m not just hurt,” she said finally. “I’m furious . And terrified. And I don’t know if I can forgive you yet.”

Castiel nodded slowly, grief curling tight in his chest.

“But I’ll be here,” she said. “I’ll stay.” 

Claire hesitated for a second, but she came close to him, hugging Cas tight, making sure to not put much pressure on Cas’s belly. Castiel returned the embrace, resting into her and closing his eyes. 

She stayed quiet for a long while before backing away and sitting down next to him once more.

“What about Dean?” She asked. Castiel looked up slowly. “He should know. He’s your mate, isn’t he?” Cas sighed. “He is going crazy without you. He is already experiencing separation sickness, and…he doesn't know you will die.”

“He knows enough.”

“Cas, c’mon.”

“He didn’t want Jack. Dean thought he would destroy the world.”

“But he will destroy you. Does he know that?” Cas shook his head. 

“He doesn’t need to carry that weight. If I told him now, he’d come charging in and try to fix something that isn’t fixable. You know that Dean is capable of doing everything to save the people he loves. I am afraid of what he might do. I don’t want him to hurt Jack.” Claire didn’t argue, but the silence between them grew heavier.

“I know you’re angry,” he added, gently. “And I know this might be too much to bear, but please, let this secret stay between us.”

Claire looked down, then rose slowly. She lingered at the door, her hand on the knob, her back still turned.

“Okay.” She murmured.

They sat together in thick silence. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Then Jody called.

Claire answered quietly, a quick exchange, the words short and clipped. She hung up and looked at Castiel with a nod.

“He’s gone.”

Castiel stood slowly, one hand on his belly, the other brushing past Claire’s shoulder as he moved towards the car.

“Let’s go home,” she said. And this time, he didn’t hesitate.

—---------------------------------------------------

These had been, without question, the worst months of Dean’s life.

Every day blurred into the next, all of them stained with absence. He spent every waking moment hunting for Castiel, calling in favors, retracing steps that never led anywhere. The moment Cas left, something inside Dean had frayed. The separation sickness wasn’t metaphorical; it clung to him like thorns in his lungs, a constant ache in the back of his throat. His mate was gone; he ran away from Dean.

On top of that, the Gadreel disaster had detonated his trust with Sam. Dean had watched Kevin die on the bunker floor, his body cooling while Sam stood there possessed, unaware. Pulling Gadreel out had felt like yanking the bones from his own chest. Sam had barely spoken to him for weeks afterward. Silent meals. Tense hunts. But he stayed. Because he knew, despite everything, that Dean needed someone to anchor him, now more than ever.

Without Cas, Dean felt like a loaded gun with no safety.

And then there was the Nephilim.

The idea of this creature made his skin crawl. Over the past few months, angel after angel had appeared, summoned or not, always with the same agenda: The Nephilim is dangerous. It had become a chorus, celestial and cold. Dean stopped keeping track of names. They didn’t threaten him. They didn’t beg. They just insisted.

It will destroy the world as we know it.

Its power will warp everything you’ve saved.

You have to act before it’s too late.

He didn’t even know the baby’s name. Or if it was born yet. Or if Cas was okay.

He didn’t know anything.

And so their warnings started to stick.

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined the child glowing in ruin. He dreamed of Castiel bleeding on a floor he couldn’t reach in time. Of cities falling. Of heaven breaking.

Every heartbeat felt like a countdown.

But beneath all that fear was something simpler. Louder. More devastating.

He missed Cas.

Missed the way he softened the air around Dean. The way he listened, really listened, even when Dean said nothing. The quiet devotion. The presence.

It wasn’t just longing anymore. It was ache, sharp, constant, physical. Sleep refused him. Food tasted like cardboard unless Sam forced him to eat. The bunker felt colder, emptier, every echo too loud.

The separation sickness gnawed at him. Phantom pains bloomed in his shoulders, behind his eyes, under his ribs, like something was tearing loose inside him. 

One night, drunk and hollow, he punched the wall and slid to the floor, shaking and breathless. He said Castiel’s name like a prayer, barely louder than breath, eventough c

Cas was no longer an angel and he would not receive his call.

In moments like this, he didn’t care about the Nephilim or what his birth might mean.

He just wanted Cas back.

Cas should’ve been at the end of his pregnancy by now, if he hadn’t given birth already. But the world hadn’t crumbled, hadn’t split open or burned, so Dean figured it hadn’t happened yet. Or maybe it had, and the fallout was still coming.

He didn’t know. He hated not knowing.

In a rare moment of surrender, he drove out to visit Jody, hoping for a distraction. Something normal. Family talk. He’d been so consumed with searching for Cas that he’d stopped speaking to anyone but Sam, staying close but not interfering.

But the moment Dean stepped into Jody’s house, something felt off.

First, the smell, or lack of it. The place smelled like nothing . Sterile. Scrubbed. Covered in scent blockers, clearly. That was weird, but he didn’t press. Maybe Donna had gone into heat recently. Maybe Jody had gone into a rut. He didn’t ask.

Second, everyone was tense. Smiles too tight. Eyes flicking toward each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. Claire left halfway through lunch, muttering something about errands. Donna barely touched her plate. Jody kept refilling his drink like she was trying to keep him seated.

Dean didn’t say anything. But the taste in his mouth was wrong. Suspicious.

He tried to enjoy the visit anyway, forced himself to laugh at Donna’s stories, and nodded through Jody’s updates. But the whole thing felt like a performance.

Two hours into the drive back to the bunker, Dean’s phone buzzed.

Claire.

He answered instantly. 

“Hey. Did I leave something at the house?”

“Cas has been staying here,” she said, no hesitation.

Dean’s brain short-circuited. He swerved slightly, heart slamming against his ribs, then parked on the side of the road; gravel crunched under the tires.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice cracked, louder than he meant, sharp with disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“Don’t get mad,” Claire rushed out. “He was terrified, Dean. We were all trying to protect him. He didn’t feel safe. Not with the pregnancy. Not with almost every angel and demon looking for him. He thought If anyone knew where he was, especially you …” Dean gritted his teeth. 

“You all hid him? Lied to me?”

“We didn’t lie,” she said quietly. “We just didn’t tell you.”

“That’s the same damn thing.” His voice was rising again, low and furious. “You let me tear myself apart looking for him. While you played house like everything was fine?”

“It wasn’t fine,” Claire said. “Dean, the baby isn’t what you think.” Dean barked a bitter laugh. 

“Don’t tell me it’s harmless. It’s not human.”

“I know what it is!” Claire snapped, then softened. “But he’s not evil. Cas believes he’ll do well. That this kid could help people. Being a Nephilim doesn’t mean he’s doomed to be a monster.” Dean clenched the wheel, knuckles white. 

“You sound like Cas. Like this is all just... hope and light and faith. It’s not. It’s dangerous. This whole thing’s been dangerous.”

Claire was quiet for a second.

“You’re scared,” she said, “and I get that. But you're not the only one who's been scared.”

Dean didn’t speak. He wanted to yell more, wanted to rip the steering wheel off its column, but his throat was closing up with the weight of everything. Of being lied to. Of being left behind. Of not knowing.

Just as he was about to snap again, Claire’s voice broke through, lower, almost  trembling now.

“Dean... he’s going to die.”

Everything inside him went silent.

“What?”

“Cas won’t survive the birth. No human can carry a Nephilim and live. He knew that this whole time.”

Dean sat there, motionless, hands frozen on the wheel, breath stalled in his chest.

The anger was gone. Just like that.

“I need to see him.” He whispered.

“Dean, I don’t really think that's a good idea.”

“I need to see him!” he barked, slamming the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. The impact echoed through the car. He tried to breathe, but everything in him was spiraling.

“Dean,” Claire said sharply, “listen to me very carefully. Cas will give birth any moment now , and we don’t fucking need you showing up like a storm and stressing him out.”

“This is my mate we’re talking about!”

“I fucking know ! That’s why I called you!” Claire’s voice cracked, sharp and furious and grief-strained. “Because no matter how pissed he is, Cas still needs you.”

Dean swallowed hard, chest heaving.

“You need to understand something,” she continued, quieter now. “This baby? It’s gonna be great. Because Cas is great. And despite everything, you’re great. That should matter more than what he is. More than the Nephilim bullshit.”

Dean said nothing. His jaw worked, but no sound came.

“Cas adores this kid,” Claire went on. “He sings to him. Talks to him everyday, buys almost all the stuffed toys he thinks he’d like. If you're coming to see Cas, then you better come ready to be his father. Because once Cas is gone... that’s who you’ll have to be.”

Dean winced. The silence in the car grew unbearably loud.

Claire’s next words dropped like a stone.

“You already failed my family.” she said. “Don’t fail yours .”

The line went dead.

Dean sat in the car, phone pressed to his ear, long after the call ended. His breath stuttered out of him. Everything hurt. His hands, his heart, the stretch of time that suddenly felt too thin to hold him.

He wasn’t ready.

He didn’t know if he could accept this child, but Castiel’s voice echoed in his head, relentless:

I expect you to be a father.

And in some fractured corner of his heart, he knew that meant more than stepping up, it meant staying.

Even when it hurt.

Even when Cas was gone.

And that was the part Dean couldn’t breathe through. The part that broke him all over again.

He threw the gearshift into reverse, peeled off the shoulder, and turned the car around. He drove fast, but measured. Every mile back toward Jody’s house felt heavier than the last. His heart was racing, not from panic anymore, but from the quiet horror of reality settling in.

Castiel was dying.

And Dean hadn’t been there. Hadn’t held his hand. Hadn't felt the baby kicking for the first time. Hadn't bought clothes or toys for him . Hadn't been there when Cas found out about his sex. Hadn't promised he’ll spoil the baby rotten. Hadn’t kissed his mate’s belly as he whispered to his child. Hadn’t gone outside at 3 am to buy Cas all his cravings. Hadn’t kissed his temple and whispered, You don’t have to do this alone.

He was late. Maybe too late.

But he was coming anyway.

Not as a hunter. Not to argue.

As a mate.

As a father.

He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

I’m coming, Cas, he prayed. Just hold on.

He barely parked the car before he was halfway up the porch steps, boots heavy against the wood. The sun was low, casting long shadows across Jody’s front yard, but there was no calm in him anymore, only the pounding echo of Claire’s voice and the certainty that Cas was here, and Cas was dying.

Jody opened the door just as he reached it, clearly on her way out. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“Dean?”

“Where is he?” he barked.

“Dean, listen-”

“No.” He brushed past her without ceremony. “I don’t want to listen. I want to see him.”

“Dean,” Jody tried again, trailing behind him, “you can’t just barge-”

Dean tore through the first floor like a man possessed: bathroom, hallway, guest room, kitchen. Empty. Every door he opened only fed the panic rising in his chest.

He was seconds from losing control when something cut through the thick wall of scent blockers, a hint of honeypie , faint and familiar, drifting in from the backyard.

He followed it like a lifeline.

The screen door creaked as he stepped onto the porch, and there he was.

Castiel lay reclined in a chair, cradled in the soft glow of sunset, a book resting across his belly. He looked impossibly pregnant now, stomach full and heavy, cradled by one hand like he was trying to shield the child and feel it move at the same time.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught. His heart did something unnatural.

Cas looked up at the sound of footsteps, the page half-turned under his fingers.

“Dean?” His voice broke with shock. His whole body went tense, fear flooding his eyes like he might stand, might run, or might vanish all over again.

Dean didn’t speak.

He just moved across the porch in three steps, dropping to his knees beside the chair, wrapping his arms around Castiel with a force that trembled.

Cas flinched, then melted. Slowly, carefully, with a gasp that sounded like release.

He didn’t speak either.

They just held each other.

And for the first time in months, the ache in Dean’s chest quieted.

Tentatively, almost shyly, Cas scented him.

Dean inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut. The sensation was overwhelming, familiar, grounding, and achingly intimate. His chest stung with relief. A tear slipped free before he could stop it, and he wiped it away with a breathless laugh.

Then he scented Cas in return.

Desperately.

Dean pressed his face against the curve of Cas’s neck, nose buried deep in the angel’s scent gland like he could memorize every molecule. It was rich, with the same delicious honeypie scent. Dean could’ve drowned in it.

Cas huffed a laugh, startled. “That tickles,” he murmured, his voice rasping but light.

Dean smiled.

Smiled without guilt clawing up his throat. Without fear blotting out the moment. Without the weight of the world, death, or failure.

Just Cas.

And Cas laughed again, soft, full-bodied, like it belonged to someone who hadn’t carried grief for months.

Dean’s hands slid to his sides, fingers twitching. He gave in.

He tickled Cas gently, teasing the edges of his belly, watching his mate squirm and snort with laughter in his reclined chair.

For one blessed moment, they were just two idiots on a porch.

Dean tucked his head against Cas’s shoulder, arms still looped around him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracked and low. “For all of it. For what I said. For making you run away.” Cas didn’t reply right away. He just stroked a thumb along Dean’s jaw, soft and grounding.

“We need to talk,” he said gently. Dean pulled back enough to meet his eyes. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” His voice frayed around the edges. “You’re not gonna make it.” Cas nodded. “No,” Dean breathed. “No, there’s got to be a way, Cas. There’s always another way.”

“Not this time,” Cas said. Quiet. Final.

Dean’s arms tightened around him, like pressure could change fate.

“I need you,” Dean said. “You can’t die, Cas.”

“Dean, darling. Look at me.” He did. Cas reached out and brushed a thumb against Dean’s cheek. “He’s going to change everything,” he whispered, gaze drifting to the soft curve of his stomach. “This child… he’s the beginning of something new. Of peace. He’ll bring balance. Paradise on earth.” Dean blinked at him. 

“Paradise?” Dean asked as Cas nodded, quiet certainty in his voice. 

“Not the kind the angels talk about. Not made by obedience. But the kind that’s earned. That’s chosen . He’s good, Dean. I feel it in every part of me. This world needs him.” Dean shook his head, breath hitching. 

“And you’re just supposed to die so that happens? That’s it?”

“Dean…”

“No,” Dean cut in, his voice climbing. “No, don’t start with your self-sacrificing bullshit.” Cas gave a tired smile.

“It’s not sacrifice. It’s love.”

Dean’s eyes flooded again, jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want to be saved,” Cas said. “I ran because I wanted him to have a chance. And I knew what that chance would cost me.”

Dean looked at him like he could undo the truth by sheer will alone.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to,” Cas replied. “But I need you to be here when I’m not.”

Dean’s hands trembled where they rested over Cas’s belly. The baby shifted gently beneath his palm. Dean had to hold a gasp as he felt his child moving.

“I can’t raise him alone. I don't think I can even look at him. He’s not just a baby; he’s-he’s-” He couldn’t finish.

He is a Nephilim. He is an abomination. He is the reason you will die.

Cas caught Dean’s shaking hands and laid them gently against the warm swell of his stomach.

“He’s ours ,” Cas whispered. “And he’s good. You have to believe that. You have to love him.”

“I don’t even know how,” Dean said.

“You do.” Cas’s smile was tired but honest. “You already were a father. To Sam. You love like it’s instinct. That’s what he’ll need.”

Dean blinked hard, a tear slipping free.

“I’m gonna mess it up,” he said. Cas brushed his fingers through Dean’s hair. 

“Everyone messes up. Do it with love and care in mind.” Cas said, and Dean swallowed. 

Dean nodded against Cas’s chest, breath shivering.

“I’ll stay.”

Cas exhaled, content. And pulled him close again. They stood in silence, Dean resting in his omega shoulder as he caressed his stomach, feeling his child move.

“He is, huh, pretty active today, huh?”

“That he is.” The omega smiled. “He must be excited to meet you.” Dean smiled at that.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“I have. Claire helped with that.” He smiled. “His name is Jack.”

“Jack.” He repeated it, savoring it. “I like it. Short and classic, like any Winchester name.” Castiel smiled at that.

“ Jack Winchester. I love how that sounds.” The omega said. Dean smiled, fingertips still resting over the swell of Cas’s belly. They sat together for a while longer, shoulder to shoulder in the fading light of the sunset. 

Dean glanced sideways at Cas, who’d tipped his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded, soaking in the glow like it might preserve him. Dean reached out and laced their fingers together. Eventually, Cas shifted, his body heavy with strain, and Dean helped him to his feet, guiding him with quiet reverence through the screen door and into the house.

Jody was standing by the hallway entrance. Donna hovered near the kitchen. Claire had just come down the stairs.

None of them spoke.

They watched as Dean walked beside Cas, one arm around his waist, one hand cradling the side of the belly like instinct had taken over. They looked guilty. Quiet. Caught between regret and relief.

But Dean didn’t meet their eyes.

He just led Cas gently down the hall toward his now bedroom. Inside, the air was dim and still, the bed tucked against the far wall like it had been waiting. Dean helped him ease down carefully, adjusting pillows, checking the angle of Cas’s stomach. Every movement was cautious, reverent, like Cas’s body held something sacred. Because it did.

Dean kissed his forehead once, then again. “You okay?”

Cas nodded, eyes fluttering. “Just tired.”

Dean helped him out of his clothes with slow hands, folding each layer aside like it mattered. He found a pair of soft pajamas tucked in the dresser and eased Cas into them, one sleeve at a time. He paused and kissed the curve of Cas’s shoulder, then his hand, then the side of his swollen belly.

“You want something to eat? Water?” Dean asked. Cas shook his head with a faint smile. 

“No. This is perfect.”

Dean nodded, then stepped to the window, pushing it open to let in the night air. It was cool and quiet. Crickets chirped softly in the distance, the breeze lifting the edges of the curtains. He unlaced his boots but didn’t bother taking anything else off, still in his jeans, his jacket, everything he’d arrived in.

He didn’t care.

He climbed into bed behind Cas, curling around him, one arm draped gently across his belly. His fingers splayed wide over the skin there, feeling the faintest kick beneath his palm.

Cas hummed quietly, leaning into the embrace.

Dean buried his face into his mate’s shoulder, scenting him once again.

“I love you,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible against the hush of the room.

It was the first time he’d said it since that night in the crypt, when they were bloodied and broken, clinging to each other like the world was ending. Back then, it had been a plea. Now, it felt like truth.

“I love you too,” Cas replied, soft and sure.

The words settled between them like grace. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Dean felt whole again. 

He stayed curled behind Cas, one arm wrapped protectively around his belly, the other stroking gentle patterns across his side. He murmured quiet things, sweet nothings, half-formed promises, and fragments of memory. Cas didn’t speak again. He just breathed slowly and steadily until sleep took him.

Dean didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

He lay there all night, holding Cas close, afraid that if he let go, even for a second, he’d lose him forever. His eyes never left him. Not when the moon shifted across the window. Not when the baby kicked once, then settled. Not when the house creaked with the weight of silence.

He just watched him.

Watched the rise and fall of his chest. The way his fingers twitched in sleep. The faint crease between his brows that never fully smoothed.

And in that quiet, Dean memorized him.

Because he knew the end would come.

And the end would take something from him he couldn’t bear to lose.

But the end didn’t come right away.

They were given a week.

A week of quiet peace, tucked into the corners of Jody’s house like it was borrowed time. Just soft mornings and slow evenings, the two of them wrapped around each other like they could hold the world at bay.

Dean cooked. Cas read. They napped tangled together on the couch or sat on the porch watching the wind move through the trees. Sometimes they talked, about the baby, about old hunts, about nothing at all. Sometimes they didn’t. Silence had become its own kind of language.

Dean held him constantly. Touched him like he was trying to memorize every inch of him again and again. Cas leaned into it, letting himself be cherished. Let himself be loved .

They pretended, just for a little while, that the ending wasn’t near.

But one morning, Cas gripped Dean’s hand a little tighter. His breath hitched. He didn’t say anything at first, just closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his belly.

Dean knew.

The hours that followed blurred together. Alex came in quietly, calm and focused, her training taking over. She didn’t ask questions. She just helped. Jody and Claire stayed close, hovering in the doorway, silent and pale.

Dean never left Cas’s side.

He held his hand through every wave of pain, whispered steady words, and wiped sweat from his brow. Cas didn’t cry out. He didn’t panic. He just looked at Dean like he was anchoring him to the world.

And then-

Light .

It started slow, pulsing from beneath Cas’s skin like something divine was waking. Dean’s breath caught. Cas turned to him, eyes glowing faintly, and yelled to everyone in the room:

“Close your eyes!”

And those would be Castiel’s last words.

The explosion came a second later, a burst of light and force that knocked everyone off their feet. The room shook. The air split.

Silence.

Followed by the sound of a baby crying.

Dean scrambled up, heart in his throat, vision still blurred from the blast. The others were stirring too, dazed but alive. The light had faded.

And on the bed, Cas lay perfectly still. His body was arranged with care, tucked into the sheets like he’d simply gone to sleep. No pain. No strain. Just peace. His hands folded over his chest. His face serene.

It wasn’t how he’d looked moments before.

Dean stepped forward, knees weak, throat tight.

He reached out and touched Cas’s hand, his wrist. There was no pulse at all.

And then he heard the baby again.

Alive.

Waiting.

But the sound didn’t comfort him.

It echoed in the room like a reminder of everything he’d lost.

Cas was gone.

And even with his son crying just feet away, Dean had never felt so completely, unbearably alone.

Chapter Text

The pyre crackled like it was angry.

The flames licked upward, greedy and bright, casting long shadows across the clearing. Smoke curled into the cold air, thick and bitter, and Dean stood at the edge of it all, unmoving. His hands were clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He didn’t feel it.

Jody had said a few words. Donna too. Alex had even prayed for him. Claire hadn’t spoken. She just held Jack close to her chest, rocking him gently as he cried, soft, hiccupping sobs that didn’t stop, even when she whispered to him.

Dean didn’t hear any of it.

He was staring at the fire. At the shape of Cas’s body beneath the logs. At the way the light made everything look unreal, like a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

He’d built the pyre himself. Cut the wood, stacked it, laid Cas down with his own hands. He hadn’t let anyone help. Not even Jody.

Now he wished he hadn’t touched him at all.

The heat pressed against his face, but he didn’t step back. He wanted it to burn him. Wanted it to hurt. Maybe then he’d feel something other than this hollow, gnawing ache that had taken up residence in his chest.

Jack wailed louder, and Dean flinched.

Claire shifted him, murmuring something Dean couldn’t make out. The baby’s cries pierced through the quiet like sirens, raw and desperate. Dean didn’t look at him.

He couldn’t.

Cas was burning.

Cas was gone.

And Jack…Jack was still here. Still crying. Still needing.

Dean turned away from the fire, walked a few steps into the dark, and bent over like he was going to be sick. Nothing came up. Just the sound of his own breath, ragged and broken. Jody approached, slow and careful. 

“Dean.” He didn’t answer. “Do you want me to take Jack for a while?”

Dean shook his head. Not because he wanted the baby. Because he didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be seen.

He felt like a wound walking around in a man’s skin.

Behind him, the fire roared higher. Someone added more wood. Jack kept crying.

Dean didn’t turn back.

Jody stepped away from the fire, her phone already in hand. She didn’t hesitate, just dialed, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the dark horizon like it might offer her something steadier than the grief clawing up her throat.

Dean didn’t need to hear the words to know what she was saying.

She was telling Sam. Telling him everything.

That Castiel had been staying with them. How Dean found him. How Castiel was gone. That Jack, his son, was alive. Castiel’s funeral. Dean could imagine the silence on the other end of the line. Sam’s devastation. The way he’d probably sink into a chair, hand over his mouth, trying to breathe through it. Trying to make sense of it all.

Jody’s voice stayed low and steady. She was good at that, being the calm in someone else’s storm.

Dean turned away before she finished the call.

He walked past the edge of the clearing, boots crunching over frostbitten grass, until he reached the tree line. The cold didn’t register. The ache in his chest didn’t dull. He found a thick pine and started swinging.

Fist to bark. Over and over.

The first hit split the skin on his knuckles. The second made the tree shudder. By the fifth, blood was dripping down his wrist, and he still couldn’t feel a damn thing.

He wanted to break something. Wanted to break himself .

Behind him, he heard Claire’s voice, quiet but firm.

“I want to go back to the bunker with you.”

Dean didn’t turn around.

“I want to help take care of Jack,” she added. “He’s my brother.”

Dean stopped swinging.

He didn’t say anything. He just leaned his forehead against the tree, his breath fogging in the cold.

Claire stepped closer. “I know you’re hurting. But he needs someone. And I’m not gonna let him grow up thinking he’s a mistake.”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

“You don’t trust me,” he said, voice flat. Claire didn’t answer right away. Then: 

“I don’t know if you trust yourself.” Dean let out a bitter laugh. 

“Fair.”

He turned, finally, and looked at her. She was holding Jack again, bundled in a blanket, his tiny face red and scrunched from crying. He was quiet now, looking directly at him without even blinking.

Dean couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to be okay,” Claire said. “I’m asking you not to disappear.”

Dean looked at the blood on his hands. At the tree bark stained with it.

He nodded once.

The drive to the bunker was silent.

Claire sat in the passenger seat, Jack bundled in her arms, his tiny hands reaching for her. Dean kept his eyes on the road, knuckles white on the wheel, the Impala’s engine the only sound between them.

He didn’t turn on the radio. Didn’t speak.

Claire didn’t push.

Outside, the landscape blurred: gray skies, bare trees. Inside, the car felt like a tomb. Dean hadn’t even looked at Jack since they left the cabin.

When they pulled into the garage, Claire got out first, without even talking to him. She went right past Sam as he entered the garage.

Sam’s eyes found Dean immediately, slumped against the car, unmoving.

Sam didn’t speak.

He just looked at Dean with that infuriating mix of sadness, pity, and guilt, like he was mourning something he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to. It was the kind of look Dean hated most. The kind that cracked him open without a single word.

But Sam didn’t launch into his usual “Dean, you gotta talk about your feelings ” routine. The cut was still too fresh. The grief was too raw. He just walked over, rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and waited.

Dean looked up.

And Sam saw it, grief, unfiltered and immense, carved into every line of his brother’s face. The tough facade was gone. What was left was hollowed out and trembling.

Sam pulled him into a hug.

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t. But he let himself be cradled, let his weight fall into Sam’s arms like he didn’t know how to hold himself up anymore. His hands stayed limp at his sides, but he didn’t pull away.

They stayed like that for a long moment.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered. It was the only thing he said.

Eventually, Sam stepped back, not out of discomfort, but necessity. He wiped at his face, then turned and headed for the garage.

The crib was still in the trunk.

It had once stood complete in Castiel’s bedroom, assembled with care. But they’d had to take it apart to bring it here. Now it lay in pieces, wrapped in old towels and tucked between duffel bags and baby supplies.

Sam lifted it out gently, like it was something sacred.

He carried it inside, one piece at a time, through the bunker’s cold corridors, back to the room Claire had claimed for Jack. He didn’t ask for help. Didn’t speak. Just started reassembling it in silence.

Claire unpacked the few things Jody had sent with her, diapers, formula, all the while Sam worked on the crib. It came together slowly, wood against wood, memory against grief. And when Sam laid the soft blue blanket inside, the one that still smelled faintly of Castiel’s scent, Dean had to take a breath.

He watched from the hallway. He didn’t step in. But he didn’t walk away either.

They placed Jack in the crib.

At first, he just blinked up at the ceiling, his tiny fists curling and uncurling. But within minutes, he started fussing, soft whimpers that quickly turned into full-throated cries. Claire crouched beside the crib, trying to distract him with a plush bee that jingled when shaken. Sam offered a pacifier, then a rattle, then a stuffed lion with a crooked smile.

None of it worked.

Jack’s cries grew louder, more desperate. Claire picked him up, rocked him gently, murmuring soothing nonsense against his hair. Sam tried to feed him formula, but Jack turned his head away, lips trembling, refusing the bottle.

And all the while, Jack’s eyes stayed locked on Dean.

Even through the tears, even as his little body shook with sobs, he kept reaching, tiny arms stretching toward the man in the hallway, fingers grasping at air.

Dean didn’t move.

His jaw clenched. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor. But Jack kept crying, kept reaching, like he knew something no one else did. That baby was fucking creepy.

“Dean… do you want to hold him?” Claire looked over her shoulder, her voice soft but steady. 

Dean didn’t answer.

He just turned and walked away fast, like the room was on fire and he couldn’t breathe. His boots echoed down the hallway, sharp and final.

Claire didn’t follow.

Dean didn’t come back that night.

Or the next.

He holed up in one of the storage rooms, dark, windowless, and cluttered with old weapons and dust-covered lore books. He didn't even go to his room to sleep; he didn't think he deserved it.

Dean drank instead.

Not in loud, messy bursts. A bottle at a time, no glass. Just the burn and the silence.

Claire and Sam didn’t ask where he was. They knew.

They took care of Jack without him.

Claire handled the feedings, the diapers, the late-night rocking. Sam helped when she needed sleep, pacing the halls with Jack tucked against his chest, whispering old stories about angels and hunters and the family Jack had been born into.

Jack cried a lot.

He cried when Claire left the room. He cried when Sam tried to feed him. He cried when the lights were too bright or the silence too deep. But mostly, he cried when Dean passed by, just a shadow in the hallway, smelling like whiskey and regret.

Dean never looked at him.

Claire tried once more. She found Dean sitting on the floor of the storage room, back against the wall, bottle half-empty in his hand.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she said.

Dean didn’t answer.

“He’s not going away,” she added. Dean stared at the floor. His eyes were bloodshot, his face hollowed out by sleepless nights and everything he refused to feel.

“I don’t know how to be around him,” he said finally. “Every time I look at him, I see Cas dying.” Claire didn’t flinch. 

“Then try harder.” She left him there.

That night, Jack cried for hours. Claire tried everything, rocking, singing, walking laps around the war room. Sam took over when her arms gave out. But Jack wouldn’t settle.

He kept reaching toward the hallway.

Toward the place where Dean wasn’t.

Dean’s scent turned sharp. Sour. Disgusting, really. His alpha instincts, already frayed from years of loss, now spiraled into something raw and volatile. He wasn’t just grieving, he was unraveling. The death of his mate had carved something out of him that couldn’t be stitched back. Not yet.

He drank constantly. Not to forget, but to chase something, some echo of Cas’s presence, some phantom warmth. The whiskey didn’t dull the ache. It just made him frantic. Hysterical. He muttered to himself nonsensically.

Then his body gave out.

Sam found him collapsed on the floor, burning up with fever, soaked in sweat. The bottle was still clutched in his hand. His breathing was shallow. His scent was wrong, too cold, too empty. Like something vital had gone missing.

Sam carried him to bed.

Dean didn’t wake for two days. When he did, he was delirious. He called out for Cas, his voice hoarse and broken. He thrashed against the sheets, tried to get up, then collapsed again. Sam sat beside him through it all, pressing cool cloths to his forehead, whispering grounding words. “I’m here, Dean.” he said. 

Claire kept Jack quiet. She sang lullabies in the war room and paced the halls with him tucked against her chest.

On the sixth night, Dean woke properly. He didn’t speak. Just stared at the ceiling, eyes hollow. Sam offered water. Dean drank it. Slowly. Mechanically.

“I thought I could handle it,” Dean said, his voice barely audible. “I’ve lost people before.” Sam didn’t answer. Dean turned his head. “But this… it’s like my bones don’t fit right anymore.” Sam nodded. 

“Separation sickness,” he said quietly. “It’s worse when it’s final.” Dean flinched. 

“It shouldn’t be final.”

They sat in silence.

Two nights after waking, Dean slipped out while the bunker slept.

The Impala’s engine barely made a sound as he coasted down the empty road, headlights off, bottle tucked under the seat. He didn’t need light. He knew where he was going. The closest crossroad to the bunker. Just a patch of dirt and gravel under the moon, quiet and waiting.

The crossroads were quiet, just gravel and wind and the hum of distant traffic. Dean stepped out, clutching the small wooden box he’d prepared in silence. Inside: a photograph of himself, creased and faded. A handful of graveyard dirt and a black cat bone, brittle and cold, all found in the bunker.

He knelt in the center and dug with his bare hands. The earth was dry, stubborn. His fingers bled before he was halfway down. He didn’t care. He buried the box deep, packed the dirt tight, then stood and waited.

The wind shifted.

The air grew heavy.

Then she appeared.

Tall. Elegant. The crossroads demon smiled like she already knew what he would ask.

“Well, well. Dean Winchester once again. Who would have thought?” Dean didn’t blink. 

“I want to make a deal.”

She arched her brow. “Your soul?” He nodded. 

“Bring Castiel back. Whole. Alive. No tricks.”

She circled him slowly, appraising. “You know, Heaven’s got a tight grip on that one. But… there are ways. Costly ones.” Dean’s heart thudded. 

“I don’t care.” Her smile widened. 

“I believe you. Ten years. Cas returns. You go to Hell when it’s done. No loopholes. No take-backs.”

Dean reached for her, knowing what he had to do.

“Dean!”

The voice hit him like a gunshot.

Sam burst into the circle, eyes wild, breath ragged. “Don’t.”

Dean froze.

The demon sighed. 

“Always with the interruptions.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist, yanking him back

“You’re not doing this.” Sam said. Dean’s voice was low, desperate. 

“She can bring him back.”

“At what cost?” Sam snapped. “You think Cas would want this?” Dean’s jaw clenched. 

“I don’t care what he’d want. I need him.” Dean pleaded. Sam stepped in front of him, blocking the demon’s gaze. The demon watched, amused. 

“I could make it quick. Painless. You wouldn’t even feel the descent.” The demon said Sam turned to her, eyes blazing, pointing Ruby’s knife at her. 

“Get out.” She raised her hands in response.

“Fine. No deal tonight. But he’ll be back. They always come back.”

She vanished in a flicker of smoke.

Dean collapsed to his knees, trembling. 

“I just wanted him back,” he whispered. Sam stood over him, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

“You were really going to do it,” he said. “You were going to sell your soul. Again.”

Dean didn’t answer. Sam grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. 

“Get in the car.”

Dean stumbled toward the Impala, legs heavy, head spinning. He didn’t fight it. Didn’t speak. Just slid into the passenger seat and stared out the window as Sam slammed the door and started the engine.

The drive back was silent for the first few miles. Then Sam snapped.

“You think you’re the only one who lost him?”

Dean didn’t look at him.

“You think you’re the only one who’s grieving?” Sam’s voice cracked. “Cas wasn’t just your mate, Dean. He was my best friend. ”

Dean flinched.

“You didn’t even call me,” Sam said. “You found him. You knew he was dying. And you didn’t tell me. I had to find out though Jody after his funeral.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

“I couldn’t even say goodbye,” Sam said, voice low and furious. “I lost him. You lost him. And now Jack’s lost both of you.” Dean turned, finally. 

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.” Dean said. Sam’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. 

“Me neither. But I’m still taking care of Jack.”

Dean looked down.

Sam slammed the brakes as they pulled into the bunker garage, the tires screeching slightly. He turned to Dean, eyes wet but furious.

“You don’t get to burn the world down because you’re grieving. You don’t get to leave Jack behind.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“He’s your son, Dean,” Sam said. “Cas died for him. You think this is what Cas wanted? For you to drink yourself sick and try to sell your soul to a demon?”

Dean stared straight ahead, knuckles white on his knees.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Sam said. “You can’t keep drinking yourself into oblivion and disappearing. He’s your son. You don’t get to opt out just because it hurts.”

Dean didn’t move.

Sam got out first, slamming the door behind him.

Dean stayed in the car, the silence pressing in like a weight. He could smell himself; alcohol, sweat, grief. He could smell Jack, faintly, somewhere in the bunker. That scent was wrong. Familiar. Like Cas, but not. Like something Cas had loved.

Eventually, the garage door creaked open again. Claire stood there, arms crossed, eyes wary.

“He’s been crying for hours,” she said. “Won’t eat. Won’t sleep.” Dean didn’t look at her. 

Sam appeared behind her. 

“Come inside.”

Dean followed them down the hall, each step heavier than the last.

The crying grew louder as they neared the nursery, thin, aching sobs that sounded like they were unraveling something inside the boy.

Claire paused at the door. “We’ll give you some time.” She and Sam disappeared down the hall.

Dean opened the door.

Jack was curled in the crib, fists balled, face blotchy and red. His cries faltered when he saw Dean, hiccupping, then quieting, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

Dean stepped closer.

Jack reached for him. Dean hesitated. His hands shook.

Then he lifted Jack out, awkward and stiff, like he was holding something fragile and radioactive. Jack nestled into his chest instantly, small arms clinging, breath slowing. Dean sat down in the rocking chair, still holding him.

Jack sighed, a soft, contented sound, and tucked his head under Dean’s chin.

Dean didn’t know what to do with that.

He stared at the wall, heart thudding.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

Jack blinked up at him.

“You killed him,” Dean said. “You killed Cas.” Jack just looked at him, reaching for his face. Dean’s throat tightened.

“I hate you,” he said. The words felt like glass in his mouth.

But inside, something twisted. Something fragile and furious and false.

He really wished that were true.

But he couldn’t bring himself to hate this boy, not when he fit so perfectly in his arms, not when his scent calmed Dean’s nerves like a balm, not when he looked at Dean like he was something safe.

Dean closed his eyes.

“I hate you,” he whispered again. “I hate you.” He repeated.

Jack reached up and touched Dean’s jaw with a small, clumsy hand. Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He rocked slowly, the chair creaking beneath them. Jack’s eyes fluttered shut.

Dean stayed there, holding the boy who had broken his world and, somehow, was the only piece of it left.

Dean looked down at him.

He didn’t feel like a father.

He felt like a mistake waiting to happen.

The thought crept in slowly, bitter and familiar: I’m gonna screw this up.

He could already see it: him, drunk and angry, lashing out at the wrong things. At Jack. At himself. He’d seen it before. Lived it. His father, blinded by grief, drowning in whiskey and rage, taking it out on the only people left who loved him.

Dean had sworn he’d never be that man.

But now, sitting here with a baby in his arms and a bottle still waiting in the kitchen, he wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered.

Jack stirred but didn’t wake.

“I want to be better,” Dean said. “For you. I do.”

The words felt like a confession.

“But I don’t know how.”

He rocked slowly, the chair creaking beneath them, the room dim and quiet.

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head, gentle and trembling.

“I’m scared,” he said.

He didn’t expect an answer.

But Jack’s hand curled tighter into his shirt, anchoring him.

Dean held him closer.

He didn’t believe he’d be a good father.

But he didn’t let go.

It didn’t get much better after that.

Dean didn’t stop drinking. He didn’t stop mourning Cas. The ache was still there, sharp some days, dull others, but always present. But he could be in the same room as Jack now. That was something.

He didn’t hold him often. Didn’t feed him. Didn’t change diapers or rock him to sleep. Sam and Claire still handled most of that. Jack had grown used to it, he reached for them now, settled in their arms, stopped crying when they came near.

He didn’t reach for Dean as much as he did before.

And that was good. That was safe . Dean knew that.

But it still made something twist inside him.

He’d catch Jack giggling in Claire’s lap, or sleeping soundly against Sam’s chest, and feel a flash of heat in his gut. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Something more primal. Something territorial.

He growled at Sam once, low, involuntary, when Jack reached for him and not Dean. Sam had raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Dean had left the room.

One morning, Claire and Sam looked exhausted. Jack had been teething, and no one had slept. The fridge was nearly empty. Claire handed Dean a list, eyes bleary.

“Can you go?” she asked. “Just for groceries. We need formula. Diapers. Coffee. Please.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t protest. Being away from the bunker was a relief. It was the first time in months Sam had let him out of his sight.

He drove with the windows down, letting the wind clear his head. The grocery store was quiet, early morning, mostly old folks and tired parents. He moved through the aisles mechanically, tossing items into the cart: formula, wipes, baby food, coffee, aspirin.

He was reaching for a box of diapers when someone spoke behind him.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean turned slowly.

The man standing there looked ordinary. Jeans. Hoodie. Calm eyes. But something was off. Dean narrowed his eyes. 

“Do I know you?” The man smiled. 

“No. But I know you.” Dean’s hand went to his waistband, fingers curling around the grip of his gun.

“What are you?” he asked. The man tilted his head. 

“An angel,” the man said, unfazed. “I came for Jack.”

Dean’s whole body went taut. His scent shifted, sharp, defensive.

“You’re not touching him.”

“We don’t want to hurt him.”

“Bullshit.” The angel didn’t flinch. 

“We need him.” The angel said. Dean took a step forward, gun steady. 

“Need him for what?”

“To help rebuild Heaven.” Dean blinked, thrown for half a second. 

“Rebuild?” The angel nodded. 

“Heaven is fractured. There are so few of us left. Jack could be a guide. A helper. He will be more powerful than any angel. His strength is needed.” Dean’s grip tightened. 

“No. You want a soldier. A weapon.”

“He’s not just yours,” the angel said quietly. “He’s part of something bigger.” Dean’s voice dropped to a growl. 

“He’s mine . You want him, you go through me.”

“We wouldn’t twist him,” the angel said. “We’d raise him. Teach him what he is. What he could be.” Dean’s jaw clenched. 

“You mean brainwash him. Like you did with Cas.”

“Did you know Castiel is in Heaven right now?” the angel said suddenly, voice calm but deliberate. Dean froze. The words landed like a punch to the chest. His breath caught, and for a moment, the grocery store faded around him. The angel smiled faintly. “Oh yes. He’s there. Living his eternal happiness. Just like any human would.” Then his tone shifted, cool, almost mocking.

“A shame, really. Becoming human. Becoming an omega .” He nearly spat the word.

Dean’s jaw clenched. His grip on the gun tightened.

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “He was always an omega. Not just when he was human. You just never let him be.” The angel raised his hands, placating. 

“I’m not here to debate Castiel’s designation.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You insult him again, I swear-”

“Do you want to see Castiel’s Heaven?” the angel interrupted, voice low. 

Dean hesitated. His heart was pounding. He didn’t know if he wanted to see it, if he could bear it.

But before he could answer, the angel snapped his fingers.

The world shifted.

Dean blinked, disoriented. They were no longer in the store. No longer anywhere familiar. They stood in front of a small , modest house tucked into a clearing surrounded by soft trees and golden light. The air was warm, still. The kind of quiet that felt sacred.

Dean didn’t recognize it. Not a place from Earth. Not a memory.

But it was… comfortable. The porch was worn smooth, the windows open to let in the breeze. Inside, he could see soft blankets, books stacked in corners, and a kettle on the stove. It looked lived-in. Loved.

He stepped forward, drawn by something he couldn’t name.

And then he smelled it.

Cas.

Dean’s breath hitched. The scent hit him like a wave, warm, grounding, delicious . He hadn’t smelled it in months. Not since…

His eyes burned. He was about to cry just from the scent alone.

He didn’t think. He ran toward it, toward the humming and the smell, heart pounding.

He reached a door and flung it open.

And there he was.

Castiel.

Sitting in the center of the room, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets. A nest. A real nest, big, well-organized, beautiful. It was so Cas . Thoughtful. Precise. Like he’d finally had the time to let his omega instincts guide him, and he’d built something safe. Something sacred.

Dean’s breath stopped.

Cas was there.

Actually there .

He looked peaceful. Relaxed. Happier than Dean had ever seen him.

And in his arms; Jack.

Cas was humming low, cradling the baby close, pressing soft kisses to his head. His eyes were half-lidded, content. Protective. Radiating warmth.

Dean stepped forward, mouth open, ready to call out, but the angel behind him spoke.

“This is just a projection,” he said quietly. “We’re not really here.”

Dean froze.

His gaze stayed locked on Cas, on the nest, on the way Jack fit perfectly in his arms.

This was Cas’s Heaven.

The angel’s voice was soft. “This is what Castiel chose. Just him. Alone. With his child.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

“You’re not in his Heaven, Dean.”

The words landed like a blade.

Dean didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

He just stood there, watching the man he loved hold the child they’d raised together, in a world where Dean didn’t exist.

Dean couldn’t move.

He just stared at Cas, at the way he cradled Jack, at the way his voice softened when he whispered, “I love you.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. Just quiet and true, spoken like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean’s chest ached.

He wanted to step forward. To say something. To be seen.

But Cas didn’t look up. He didn’t know Dean was there.

Behind him, the angel spoke again.

“If you give us Jack,” he said softly, “Castiel could have the real thing.”

Dean didn’t turn.

“He was an angel once,” the voice continued. “He knows Heaven’s ways. The Nephilim would respond better to him. Castiel could raise his child, not a made-up version, not a dream. The real Jack. They could be together. They could be truly happy.”

Dean’s breath caught.

He looked at Cas again, at the nest, the warmth, the peace.

It was everything Cas had never had. Everything Dean had never given him.

He hesitated.

“I need to think about it,” he said, voice rough.

The angel didn’t respond, he just snapped his fingers as the world shifted once again.

Dean was back in the store. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The cart was still half-full. The box of diapers sat in his hand.

But his heart was somewhere else.

Dean drove back in silence.

The road blurred past him, but his mind was still in that house, in that nest. In the soft hum of Cas’s voice and the way he held Jack like he was something sacred.

He died for him.

Cas had loved Jack so deeply, so instinctively, that he’d given everything. No hesitation. No regret. Dean didn’t think he could do the same.

He’d tried. God, he’d tried. But all he’d done was drink and disappear and growl at the people who loved his son. He was a mess. A wreck. A shadow of the man Cas had trusted.

Jack deserved better. He deserved peace. Safety. A father who could love him without flinching.

Cas could give him that.

Dean pulled into the bunker garage, hands trembling on the wheel. He sat there for a long time before going inside. The bunker was quiet. Claire was asleep on the couch, a book half-open on her chest. Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean walked to the nursery.

Jack was awake, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers curled around the edge of his blanket. When he saw Dean, his face lit up.

He smiled.

Dean’s heart broke.

He stepped forward and lifted Jack into his arms. The boy nestled against him instantly, warm and trusting. Dean held him close.

And then he cried.

Not the silent, bitter tears he’d shed in the dark. Not the drunken sobs that came with whiskey and regret. Real tears. He cried like he hadn’t in months. Like something inside him had finally cracked open.

He buried his face in Jack’s hair, breathing in his scent, letting the guilt and grief wash over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack reached up and touched Dean’s cheek with a small, clumsy hand.

Dean kissed his forehead.

“You deserve better than me,” he said. “You deserve peace. You deserve your father.”

His voice shook.

“I won't keep you here. Heaven will take care of you. With Cas. Away from me.”

Jack blinked up at him.

“I won’t fuck you up,” Dean promised. “I won’t ruin you. I won’t be like my dad. I won’t let my grief turn you into collateral.” Dean took a breath “You’ll be safe. You’ll be loved. You’ll be in Heaven, with all the angels. And maybe… maybe that’s the one good thing I can do.”

He wiped away his tears.

“I can’t do this without him. I can’t do this without Castiel. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry”

Without any warning, Jack’s eyes shimmered.

Gold.

Dean froze.

The room shifted, air thickening, light bending.

Jack’s body glowed, soft at first, then blinding. The crib rattled. The walls trembled. Dean held him tighter, instinctively protective. Light engulfed them completely. Brith, gold light, just like the one shining in Castiel’s eyes the night he died.

Then came the sound.

A clear, unmistakable flap of wings.

Dean shut his eyes against the brightness, arms wrapped around Jack-

And then he was gone.

Dean opened his eyes.

His arms were empty.

The nursery was still.

And Jack was nowhere to be seen.

—---------------------------------------

Castiel remembered Heaven.

It was strange at first. Not the place itself; Heaven was quiet, gentle, almost shy in its perfection. But the knowing . Knowing he was dead. Knowing this wasn’t real, not in the way Earth had been. And yet, experiencing it as a human, feeling the grass under his feet, the warmth of sunlight on his skin, and the ache of joy in his chest, changed everything.

Heaven didn’t demand belief. It simply was .

It wasn't hard to get used to. He fell into a rhythm quickly: morning walks through the orchard that never spoiled, books that opened to the exact page he needed, a mug of coffee that never cooled, always just right, and Jack’s laughter echoing through the house.

He remembered it all.

The hush of it. The way time folded in on itself like silk. Jack’s laughter echoing through the garden, soft and unburdened. Castiel had been watching him, his boy, his miracle, tending to the roses that bloomed without thorns. There had been peace. Not the absence of pain, but the presence of something whole.

And then-

Wind.

Cold.

The sharp bite of air against skin that shouldn’t feel anymore.

Castiel gasped, lungs pulling in oxygen like it was his first breath. He was on his knees in a clearing, damp earth beneath him, the sky overhead streaked with gold and violet like a bruise healing. Trees swayed gently around him.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

He was on earth once again.

“I was…” His voice cracked. “Jack?”

No answer.

He staggered to his feet, boots sinking into moss. “Jack!” he called again, louder this time, panic threading through the syllables. “Jack!”

The silence pressed in.

Then, a sound. Small. Fragile. 

A cry.

Castiel turned so fast he nearly fell. There, just behind him, curled on the forest floor, was a baby. Pale hair. Familiar eyes.

“Jack,” he breathed, and the world narrowed to that single point.

He dropped to his knees, crawling the last few feet, fingers trembling as he reached out. Jack’s tiny hand curled instinctively around his thumb.

“You’re here,” Castiel whispered, voice breaking. “You’re really here.”

He gathered the child into his arms, holding him close, forehead pressed to soft hair. The forest blurred around them. The ache of resurrection, the confusion, the fear, it all fell away.

Castiel cradled the baby against his chest, breath hitching as Jack’s tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. The warmth of him. The weight. The grace.

But it was the scent that undid him.

He inhaled instinctively, nose brushing soft curls, and the world tilted.

That scent, it hit like a thunderclap. The exact blend that had haunted his dreams in Heaven. The one he’d memorized without meaning to. The one that said mine .

Castiel’s arms tightened around the child, a tremor running through him. His pup. His real pup. Not a memory, not a construct, not Heaven’s mercy.

This was Jack. His Jack. Alive. Warm. Laughing now, a soft gurgle that bubbled up from his chest like music.

“Oh, Jack,” Castiel whispered, voice wrecked. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

He pressed kiss after kiss to Jack’s head, to his cheeks, to the tiny curve of his nose. Desperate. Reverent. Like he could anchor himself to this moment through sheer contact.

Jack squealed with delight, the sound high and bright, and Castiel laughed, actually laughed, as he nuzzled into the baby’s neck and tickled his sides with trembling fingers.

Jack kicked and giggled harder, his laughter ringing through the clearing like sunlight.

Castiel’s smile broke open, wide and wet and radiant. Tears streaked down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He was holding his child. His pup. His miracle.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice thick. “I’ve finally got you.”

And for the first time in what felt like centuries, Castiel felt alive. Not just resurrected. Not just breathing. But alive .

He held Jack close for another long moment, then slowly shifted his weight and managed to stand, knees shaky, arms still wrapped protectively around the baby.

He looked around, the forest stretched in every direction. No roads. No signs. No clue where he was.

“I have no idea where we are.” he muttered, checking his coat pockets out of habit. Empty.
No phone. No wallet. Not even a pen. At least he had a couple of coins and one old receipt. Castiel sighed. “I need to find a payphone. Somehow.”

Jack blinked up at him, and then, his eyes shimmered gold. Before Castiel could react, the world snapped .

One second they were in the forest. The next, crack , they were standing in front of a dusty old gas station, the sudden shift making Castiel stumble slightly. The air smelled like motor oil and sunbaked pavement. A payphone hung crookedly on the wall nearby.

Castiel blinked, trying to steady his breath. And then he felt it. Not just the dizziness from teleportation, not just the weight of Jack in his arms, but everything ; the ache in his muscles, the chill in the air, biting at the back of his neck, the rough texture of his coat against his skin.

He was human.

Fully, completely, irreversibly human.

He could feel the thrum of blood in his veins. The flutter of his heartbeat, uneven and real. The way his body responded to the cold, to the weight, to the scent, instincts flaring in ways he hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever.

And beneath it all, humming low and constant: Omega . He could feel it now, his instincts humming just beneath the surface, protective and raw and sharp. He smiled, breathless.

“Okay.” and murmured to himself,  “I get why Dean hated flying.”

Jack giggled again, golden eyes sparkling. Castiel chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“Let’s not do that again unless absolutely necessary.” Jack just looked at him, content in his arms, as if he’d already forgotten the teleportation entirely.

Castiel shifted his grip, walked slowly to the payphone, and stared at it for a moment. He took some of the coins he found earlier and fed them into the slot, one by one, the clink of metal loud in the quiet.

He didn’t need to think about the number, he had Dean’s number memorized.

The dial tone buzzed. One ring. Two. Three. Then click.

“What?” Dean barked. His voice was raw, sharp, like he hadn’t slept in days. “Who the hell is this?” Castiel hesitated. 

“It’s me,” he said quietly. “It’s Castiel.”

Silence.

“No.” Dean’s voice cracked. “No. No, this isn’t, this isn’t funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” Castiel said. “I’m… Dean, I’m here.”

“You died,” Dean said, and it wasn’t anger now. It was disbelief, barely held together. “You died , Cas. I watched it. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “I woke up in a forest. Jack was with me.”

“Jack?” Dean’s voice dropped, stunned. “Jack’s… Jack’s with you ?”

“Yes. He is right here. You must be worried sick. I’m sorry.” He smiled at Jack and accommodated him in his arms, pulling the phone closer to the baby. “Say hi to your dad, Jack.” The baby, of course, didn't say anything. “I don’t know what I was expecting.” Dean didn’t speak for a moment. Then, low and hoarse:

“Where are you?” Dean asked. Castiel looked around. 

“A gas station. Not sure where…” Castiel looked around, adjusting Jack in his arms. The wind tugged at his coat, carrying the scent of diesel and dust. Then he saw it, a faded green road sign just beyond the edge of the lot, half-obscured by a leaning fence and a rusted soda machine.

He read it aloud, quietly. 

“Huron,” he repeated to the receiver. “South Dakota. Off Route 14.” There was a pause on the other end. “I think I can get a ride and-”

“No,” Dean cut in, sharp and immediate. “No, stay right there. There’s gotta be a decent motel nearby. Find one. I’ll cover it when I get there. Just call me again once you’re checked in and tell me where you are. I’ll be there, okay?” Castiel nodded instinctively, even though Dean couldn’t see it. 

“Okay, Dean. I will.” The line went quiet for a moment. Then, softer, barely audible:

“I missed you so much.” Dean said. Castiel smiled, the warmth of it blooming slow and steady. 

“I know.” Cas said. Dean let out a short, incredulous laugh. 

“Don’t Han Solo me. Where did you even learn that?”

“Had a lot of free time at Jody’s place.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Another pause. This one felt heavier. Full of things neither of them knew how to say yet.

“See you s-” The line cut out. Castiel stared at the receiver for a moment, then gently hung it up.

He turned toward the gas station, Jack nestled against his chest. Inside, he asked the clerk for directions to the nearest motel. The man pointed down the road, gave him a name, and made a vague gesture.

Castiel thanked him and stepped back out into the sun.

He wanted to buy something for Jack, a blanket, formula, anything, but his pockets were empty. No money. No ID. Just the child in his arms.

He frowned but didn’t hesitate. He walked.

The motel was small, worn, but clean. He reserved a room with quiet politeness, using the desk phone to call Dean again and give him the name and address.

Then he carried Jack upstairs, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old carpet. The bed creaked when he sat down. He laid back slowly, Jack curled against his chest, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt.

Castiel closed his eyes.

He was tired. He was human. He was an omega.

And he was happy.

—-------------------------------

Dean was going insane.

One moment, Jack had been nestled in his arms. The next, he was gone . It was one thing to give Jack up to Heaven, to entrust him to something bigger, something that could care for him when Dean couldn’t.

But this was different. This was wrong .

“Jack!” Dean shouted, his voice cracking as he stormed through the bunker, wild-eyed and frantic. He tore through rooms, checked corners, and opened closets like Jack might be hiding behind a  coatrack.

His panic woke Sam and Claire.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, groggy and confused, stepping into the hallway.

“Jack flew away,” Dean snapped, barely able to form the words.

He didn’t explain. Didn't have the time or the guts to say he’d been about to give his kid up to Heaven. Didn’t have time to admit he’d failed again.

“What?” Claire blinked, already alert.

“I don’t know!” Dean barked. “I was… I was holding him, and then the room started shaking, and he just…he just disappeared !”

His breath hitched. His chest tightened. 

His mate was dead.

His pup was gone.

 His fucking pup…

“Son of a bitch!” he roared, grabbing the whiskey bottle from the counter and hurling it at the wall. It shattered instantly, glass and amber liquid spraying across the floor.

“Dean!” Sam stepped forward, hands raised, but Dean was already spiraling.

His breath came in ragged bursts, and his vision blurred. The only thing he could feel was the burn of loss and the fury that followed. He lunged, grabbed Sam by the collar, and slammed him against the wall. Sam grunted, struggling to break free. 

“Dean, stop!” Sam yelled. Claire moved behind them, voice sharp.

”You need to calm down ! You’re not helping!”

“My pup,” Dean growled, voice low and broken. “My mate.”

The room reeked of alpha rage, sharp, bitter, suffocating.

Claire stepped closer, steady but firm. 

“We’ll find him. But not like this. You’re making it worse.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. She was right. Lately, all he seemed capable of was making things worse.

He released Sam abruptly, stepped back, and drove his fist into the wall beside him. The drywall cracked under the force. Sam straightened, rubbing his shoulder, but his voice was calm now. 

“We’ll find him, Dean. I promise.” Dean didn’t answer. He just stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, the scent of grief and fury thick around him.

Dean didn’t move.

Sam and Claire exchanged a glance, then sprang into action. They split up, checking every room, every hallway, every vent shaft Jack might’ve squeezed into. Claire even climbed into the crawlspace above the library, flashlight in hand, calling his name.

“Jack!”

“Kiddo, it’s okay, you can come out!”

“Jack, please!”

Dean followed behind them like a ghost, silent now, eyes scanning every shadow. His hands shook. His scent was still sharp with panic, but beneath it was something hollow. Something breaking.

They checked the garage. The armory. The old storage rooms no one had touched in years. Nothing.

Dean ended up back in the war room, standing beneath the map table like it could give him answers. His knuckles were bleeding. His breath came in shallow bursts.

“He’s not here,” Claire said quietly, stepping down the stairs. “He’s just…gone.”

Dean didn’t respond.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, maybe to apologize, maybe to offer another plan, but then Dean’s phone buzzed.

The voice on the other end wasn’t supposed to exist.

Dean’s grip on the receiver tightened, knuckles white. His breath caught halfway up his throat, stuck between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

It was Cas .

Not a dream. Not a hallucination. Not some cruel trick from Heaven or Hell. Just Cas. Quiet. Steady. Alive .

Dean staggered back a step, his knees nearly buckled. The scent of adrenaline spiked sharp and bitter around him, mingling with the cold metal and dust of the bunker hallway.

Dean’s chest cracked open.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Couldn’t. His throat was raw, his heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched, trying to hold himself together while the impossible unfolded in his ear.

Cas was alive.

Jack was safe.

They were together .

Dean’s hand trembled against the receiver. His other hand curled into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm. He wanted to scream. Laugh. Collapse. Instead, he just stood there, breathing like he’d been underwater for days.

He asked where they were. Cas told him. And that was it.

Dean snapped into motion. He ran directly to the bunker’s garage. Sam caught up to him at the door. 

“Dean, what happened? Who was it?” Dean didn’t answer right away. He stared at the Impala before entering it.

“It was Cas,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “He called from a payphone. He’s alive. Jack’s with him.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? How…?”

“I don’t know,” Dean cut in. “I don’t care. He’s in Huron. South Dakota. I’m going.” Claire appeared behind them, still pale from the search. 

“You sure it was him?” Dean turned, and for a moment, his expression was something close to reverent. 

“I’d know his voice anywhere.” He didn’t wait for more questions. He threw open the driver’s door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. The Impala roared to life, headlights slicing through the early morning dark.

Sam nodded, stepping back. “Drive safe.”

Dean didn’t reply, he just gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white against the leather. Then he started the car and drove directly to Huron South Dakota.

His mate was alive. Castiel was alive. And he had their kid.

Dean barely remembered the first stretch of highway. His body moved on instinct, foot heavy on the gas, eyes locked on the road. After some time, his phone buzzed again, another call from Cas, calm and steady, giving him the name of the motel.

Dean didn’t waste a second.

The drive should’ve taken seven hours. He made it in less than four, pushing the Impala harder than he ever had, the engine growling beneath him like it understood the urgency.

The silence in the car was deafening. It left him alone with his thoughts.

He had been seconds away from giving Jack up. Letting go of his own flesh and blood, his own pup, after he had already promised Cas he would stay by his side.

And God, the guilt of that sat like a burn in his chest. He gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, breath shallow. Because he knew if Cas hadn’t come back, he would’ve tried again. Would’ve found another way to give Jack up. To escape the weight of fatherhood he never asked for and didn’t know how to carry.

He hated himself for it.

The thought of Jack’s tiny hands reaching for him, of his laughter, of the way he’d curled into Dean’s chest without hesitation. It made him sick.

Could he even look Jack in the eye now? Could he hold him without flinching? Without feeling that gnawing despair, that resentment he’d never wanted but couldn’t shake?

He didn’t know.

He wanted to be a father. He wanted to be better . But wanting didn’t erase the damage. Didn’t undo the nights he’d stared at Jack and felt nothing but panic. Didn’t erase the moment he’d nearly let go. Didn’t erase the resentment.

And now Cas was here. Cas, who had always seen the best in him. Cas, who trusted Dean with their kid.

Maybe Cas should have followed to the end his first instinct: running away from Dean. 

He swallowed hard, eyes burning. The road stretched ahead, endless and gray. But somewhere at the end of it, there was a motel. There was a room. There was hope .

And maybe, if he didn’t fall apart before he got there, there was still a chance to put the pieces back together.

Dean pulled into the motel lot fast, tires crunching over gravel. His hands were shaking as he killed the engine. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off; it had just settled deeper, humming beneath his skin like static. He climbed out, slammed the door, and crossed the lot in long, purposeful strides. But when he reached the room Cas had named, he hesitated.

His fingers hovered over the handle. Then he pushed the door open.

The scent hit him first: clean linen, motel soap, and them . Castiel. Jack.

Dean stepped inside, heart thudding.

Cas was sitting in the middle of the bed, legs folded beneath him, Jack nestled in his arms. The baby blinked sleepily, half-curled into Cas’s chest, small fingers tangled in the fabric of his coat.

Dean froze.

It was almost exactly like the glimpse he’d seen in Heaven, the one that angel had shown him. Cas in soft light, holding Jack like he’d been born to do it. Peaceful. Whole.

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Cas looked up, and his face lit up instantly, radiant, open, real . Dean's breath caught.

Jack stirred, then tucked himself deeper into Cas’s chest, hiding his face like he wasn’t sure yet what to make of the man in the doorway.

Dean’s hand trembled on the knob. He stepped forward, slowly, like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. Cas smiled. 

“You made it.” Cas said as Dean swallowed hard. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I did.”

He took another step, then another, boots scuffing softly against the worn carpet. His throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, grief, maybe. Relief. The kind of ache that didn’t know what shape to take.

Cas shifted slightly, adjusting Jack in his arms, and the movement was so gentle it made Dean’s chest ache. He reached the edge of the bed and stopped, unsure of what to do with his hands, unsure if he was allowed to touch this, them , without breaking it. Cas tilted his head. 

“You can sit.”

Dean nodded, moving slowly to sit by his omega’s side.

His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, fingers twitching like they didn’t know what to reach for. His heart was pounding. His throat felt tight. The air in the room was warm, but he was cold all over.

He was nervous. Not just anxious, scared . Scared that if he touched this moment, it might vanish. Scared that he didn’t deserve it.

Cas didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward, slow and steady, and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. It was brief. Barely a breath. But it shattered something in Dean. He melted instantly, shoulders sagging, breath catching. His eyes welled up before he could stop it, tears slipping down his cheeks in quiet surrender.

Cas pulled back just enough to see him, eyes full of concern.

“Oh, Dean…” he murmured.

He couldn’t cradle Dean’s face, Jack was still nestled in his arms, watching quietly, but he leaned in and kissed Dean’s cheek, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth. Gentle. Reassuring. Present.

“I missed you. So much.” Dean let out a shaky breath, voice cracking. Cas smiled softly, forehead brushing Dean’s. 

“My alpha.” He kissed the corner of his mouth once again. “I’m here, my alpha.”

Dean closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Cas’s presence settle into him like sunlight. He didn’t know how to hold all of it, grief, relief, guilt, love, but Cas was here. Jack was safe. 

Cas shifted slightly, his hand still resting lightly on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Jack’s here,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, it must have been scary to see him fly away.”

“It was.” Dean replied, nervous. “Do you think he…?”

“Yes.” Castiel replied without hearing the complete question. “I’m sure he must have been the one to revive me. I'm not sure how, but I'm happy he did.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Cas turned, cradling the small bundle in his arms. Jack blinked up at them, wide-eyed and quiet, his tiny fingers curled against the edge of the blanket. Cas knelt beside Dean and gently tried to pass Jack into his arms.

But Jack turned his head away, a soft whimper escaping him. His little body twisted, pressing back against Cas’s chest. Dean flinched. 

“He’s just… tired.” Cas answered. Dean shook his head. 

“No. He knows. Somehow, he knows. He is a weird baby, Cas. Half the time I feel he can understand me.” Cas frowned at the word “weird” but didn’t say anything.

“He is no human baby. I would be surprised.” Cas’s voice was quiet. “Knows what?”

Dean hesitated, then let the words fall. 

“I almost gave him away. To Heaven.” Cas’s arms tightened around Jack. His jaw shifted, just slightly. 

“You were going to let them take him.” It wasn’t a question. Dean looked down, shame burning through him. 

“I didn’t want to. I just… I didn’t see another way.”

Cas was silent for a long moment. Jack stirred in his arms, a soft sound escaping him. Cas soothed him absently, but his eyes never left Dean.

“Why?” Castiel simply asked

“I was a mess without you, omega,” Dean said, his voice cracking. “I wasn’t fit to be a father. I-I drank too much. I was angry all the time. Sam and Claire… They were the ones who stepped in for Jack. I barely held it together. I was far from a father to him.”

Castiel didn’t speak. He stood quietly, one hand cradling Jack’s head, fingers moving in slow, protective circles. Jack nestled against him, calm and drowsy. Dean swallowed hard.

“And then this angel came. Said Heaven needed Jack’s power to rebuild. Said you were there. That you could take care of him. The real Jack.”

Cas’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. Dean pressed on. 

“He showed me your Heaven. Said you were raising Jack there. Alone. That you’d built a nest for him. That you loved him. I owed you that, owed Jack that. To be raised by love, not by some broken, drunk mess of a man.” Cas’s grip on Jack tightened slightly. 

“He showed you my Heaven?” Dean nodded. 

“Yeah. You were there. But I wasn’t. You were alone. Just you and Jack.” Cas looked genuinely confused. 

“Dean… you were in my Heaven.” Cas said. Dean blinked. 

“What?”

Cas’s voice was quiet, almost shy. 

“You were there. We were raising Jack together. Everyone was. Sam lived across the street, he was always over. Claire went to college nearby, so we’d go out to eat every Sunday. Jody and Donna spoiled Jack rotten. It was… it was home.” Dean stared at him, stunned. 

“But I saw you alone. In your nest. Just you and Jack.” Dean said. Cas looked away, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. 

“I… I like the idea of staying home. Of you coming back to me.” Dean’s breath caught. Cas rushed to explain. “I still hunted. That part didn’t go away, not even in Heaven. But sometimes I’d imagine you coming home late. Tired. Dropping your gear by the door. Jack running to you. You kissing me before you even took off your boots.”

“You wanted that.” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper. Cas met his eyes. 

“I still do.” Dean stepped closer, his hand brushing Jack’s tiny foot. 

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Cas’s expression turned solemn. 

“You should know by now how angels can twist things. They show you what they want you to see. What they think will make you bend.” Cas said. Dean nodded slowly, the weight of it settling in his chest. 

“They showed me you were better off without me.”

Cas’s voice was firm now. “They were wrong.” Jack let out a soft, restless whimper, his tiny body squirming in Cas’s arms. Cas adjusted his hold, murmuring something low and soothing, but Jack’s face scrunched up, and the whimper turned into a cry.

Dean reached out instinctively. 

“Let me…maybe if I hold him…” Cas hesitated, then gently passed Jack into Dean’s arms.

The moment Jack touched Dean’s chest, he stiffened. His cries grew louder, sharper, his little fists flailing as he twisted away. Dean froze, heart sinking. 

“No, no, it’s okay, buddy. I’m here.” He tried to bounce him gently, but Jack only wailed harder. Cas stepped forward, calm but alert. 

“Dean…”

“I can’t even hold him,” Dean said, his voice tight. 

Cas reached out, carefully taking Jack back into his arms. The baby quieted almost instantly, hiccuping softly as he nestled against Cas’s chest. Dean turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“You made a mistake. A terrible one.” Cas’s voice was gentle but unwavering. “But you are here now. He’s a baby, Dean. He doesn’t understand betrayal or forgiveness. He understands warmth. Safety. Familiarity. Give him time.” Dean looked at Jack, then at Cas. 

“I don’t know how to be what he needs.” Dean said, and Cas’s gaze softened. 

“You learn. You show up. You hold him when he cries, even if he doesn’t want you yet. You stay.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Cas said. “So am I.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them, filled with the soft sounds of Jack’s breathing.

“Let’s go home,” Cas said finally.

They stepped out of the room into the cool night air, the quiet hum of crickets and distant traffic settling around them. Dean walked ahead, unlocking the Impala, and Cas followed, cradling Jack close to his chest. The baby was quiet for now, his tiny face pressed against Cas’s shoulder.

Dean slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low rumble. This time, he didn’t peel out or push the speedometer. He drove slow, careful.  

At one point, Jack started to fuss again, soft whimpers at first, then louder, more insistent cries. Cas rocked him gently, murmuring low reassurances, his hand stroking Jack’s back in slow circles. But the cries didn’t stop. Cas shifted him, tried a different hold, and bounced him slightly. Still, Jack wailed.

“He’s probably hungry,” Dean said after a moment, keeping his voice calm.

“Hungry?” Cas blinked, startled. 

“Yeah.” Dean said, eyes on the road. 

“I did not think he would need to eat.”

“Well, he is part human. He sure loves eating.” He smiled a bit. Jack got his appetite. “That’s his uh… hungry cry. You can tell after a while.” Dean shrugged. Cas looked down at Jack, visibly flustered. 

“I didn’t think of that. Should we stop and buy him something?” the omega asked. Dean hesitated, fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. 

“Can’t you uh… feed him?”

Cas looked up, confused. 

“Feed him?”

“Like… you know. Breastfeed.” Dean cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. Cas's eyes widened slightly. 

“I hadn’t considered that.”

Dean risked a glance at him. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume. It’s just, you’re a full omega now, right?” Cas nodded slowly in response. 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He stopped for a bit. “In my angelic form, I couldn’t do that. There was no need.”

They fell into silence for a few miles, the only sound Jack’s soft, hiccuping cries and the steady hum of the engine. Then Cas spoke, voice quiet. 

“Could we stop somewhere? You could buy food for the two of us. I’ll stay in the car and feed Jack.” Cas said. Dean glanced at him, surprised. 

“You sure?”

Cas nodded, eyes still on Jack. 

“I’m… a little embarrassed. I don’t want to do it in front of you. Not yet.”

Dean didn’t push. “Okay.”

He pulled into a quiet gas station a few minutes later, the neon lights buzzing overhead. Cas stayed in his seat, adjusting his shirt and settling Jack against him with careful hands. Dean stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, and headed inside to grab food for the both of them.

He didn’t rush. He wanted to give Cas his own space.

Dean returned to the car with a bag of food and a stack of diapers just in case but paused when he saw Cas through the window. Cas sat in his seat, shirt slightly unbuttoned, and Jack nestled against him, nursing quietly. His posture was tense, but the way he held Jack, gentle and protective, made something twist in Dean’s chest.

He climbed in without a word, placing the bag between them. The silence was soft, not awkward.

“I got you a turkey sandwich,” Dean said. “And coffee.” Cas nodded. 

“Thank you.”

Dean glanced at Jack, now asleep. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. You’re taking care of him.”

Cas looked at him, eyes tired but warm. 

“It’s new. All of it. But… it feels right.” 

Dean handed him the sandwich.

“You’re doing good.”

“So are you.” Cas met his gaze. Dean huffed a bitter laugh, and the omega frowned. “You were the one to tell me he was hungry, Dean. You know him better than I do.”

The alpha didn’t say anything. He started the car again, driving toward the bunker. 

This time, the road felt quieter. Safer.

Like maybe they were heading home.

They drove through the night, stopping only once at a gas station so Cas could change Jack’s diaper in the backseat. Dean stood nearby, sipping coffee and keeping watch, the quiet stretch of highway behind them bathed in pale moonlight.

By the time they reached the bunker, the sky was just beginning to lighten. It was barely five a.m., but as soon as they parked in the garage, footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Claire reached them first, barefoot and wild-eyed, her hoodie half-zipped. She didn’t hesitate, just threw her arms around Cas, squeezing tight. Cas tried to return the hug, but Jack was still cradled in his arms, his tiny body warm and asleep against Cas’s chest.

“Don’t do that again,” Claire whispered, her voice thick. Cas laughed and kissed the top of her head. 

“Thank you. For everything.” She nodded, eyes shining, and gently took Jack from him, murmuring how he should never fly away without permission, even though the child was asleep.

Sam was next, pulling Cas into a full bear hug, arms wrapped around him like he could shield him from everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured. “I should’ve been there.” Cas shook his head, smiling softly.

“It's okay. We are okay now.”

Dean lingered near the door, watching. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stood there, letting the moment unfold.

Eventually, they settled into the bunker’s quiet rhythm. Claire stayed for a while, never straying far from Cas or Jack. She hovered protectively, always within reach, as if afraid that if she blinked, Cas might vanish again. But slowly, as the reality of his return sank in, she began to breathe easier. One morning, she packed her duffel and said she was heading back out on a hunt.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, kissing Jack’s head “And I’m bringing gifts every time, so don’t get used to peace and quiet.”

She kept her word. Every visit came with something: tiny jackets, stuffed animals or books with bright covers. Jack lit up at the sound of her voice, and Cas always smiled when she walked through the door.

Cas, for his part, was learning. Being fully human. Being an omega. Being a parent. It wasn’t seamless. There were days he seemed overwhelmed, unsure of his own body, unsure of how to soothe Jack’s cries or manage the exhaustion that came with sleepless nights. Sometimes, late at night, he’d sit beside Dean and whisper.

“It’s difficult to not feel ashamed sometimes.” The omega said, head resting into his alpha’s chest. “I spent all my long existence ashamed of this side of me. My omega seems content like this, but I’m always on edge.” Dean would take his hand, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. 

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed Cas’s hand. “But take your time, Cas. Don’t force yourself into anything. Just do what feels good, okay? I’ll be with you always.”

“I don’t want to fail Jack.”

“You are not. You are doing great, omega mine.”

Little by little, Cas began to trust that. He started breastfeeding Jack without hesitation, even in front of Dean. He stopped flinching when Dean entered the room while he was calming Jack with soft, scenting touches or humming lullabies. He let himself be seen.

Then one evening, Dean came back from a grocery run, arms full of bags, and found the lights dimmed and the bunker unusually quiet. He stepped into the main room and stopped short.

Cas had built a nest.

It was sprawling and soft, layered with blankets and pillows and bits of fabric that smelled like home. There were plush toys tucked into corners and a few of Jack’s things scattered gently around. It was warm. Inviting. Perfect. Dean dropped the bags and stared. 

“Cas…” Dean said, barely audible. Cas turned, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. 

“Do you like it?” The omega asked as Dean stepped closer, boots thudding softly against the floor. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Cas beamed, his scent blooming warm and safe, a happy omega in a way that made Dean’s chest ache. Dean kicked off his boots and climbed into the nest, pulling Cas close. They kissed, slow and smiling, and curled up together like teenagers sneaking away from the world.

But not everything was easy.

Jack still refused Dean’s touch. Every time Dean tried to feed him, change his diaper, or even just hold him, Jack cried, loud, frantic, heart-wrenching sobs that made Dean flinch like he’d been struck.

He tried everything. Soft voices. Gentle hands. Patience. But Jack would twist away, reaching for Cas, Sam, or Claire. Anyone but him.

Dean started avoiding the nursery. He’d linger in the hallway, listening to Jack laugh with Cas, and feel like a stranger in his own home.

One night, after Jack had finally fallen asleep, Dean sat at the edge of the nest, head in his hands. 

“He hates me.”

Cas, curled beside him, reached out. 

“He doesn’t. He’s just scared.”

“I scare him,” Dean said, his voice raw. “I look at him, and he cries. I try to help, and he screams. I failed him before he even knew me.” Cas shifted closer, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. 

“You didn’t fail.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, guilt pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake. Cas took his hand. 

“He’ll learn. He’ll feel your love. Just give him time.” Dean nodded, but the ache didn’t ease. He didn’t know if time would be enough. But he stayed. He kept trying.

And that, Cas reminded him, was what made him a father.

One night, the bunker was quiet. Cas lay curled in the nest, his breathing uneven, exhaustion etched into every line of his body. He’d been worn thin lately, his omega instincts in overdrive. Even Jack’s usual fussing had taken more out of him than usual. He smelled like he was about to go into heat, but it’s been like this the whole week, and it never really actually started. Cas said his body was still adapting to being fully human and an Omega, and everything would be all right. Dean was worried, but trusted his omega. 

Dean lay beside him, arm draped around his waist, their foreheads touching. When Jack’s cry pierced the silence, both of them stirred. Cas groaned softly, already trying to sit up. 

“I’ll go…” The omega murmured. Dean caught his wrist gently. 

“No. Let me check on him.” Cas blinked, bleary-eyed. 

“Are you sure?”

Dean nodded, brushing a kiss to his temple. 

“You need your beauty sleep, sweetheart.”

Cas gave a tired smile and sank back into the nest, already halfway asleep again. Dean watched him for a moment, heart full, then stood and padded quietly down the hall to Jack’s nursery.

As always, the moment he stepped inside, Jack’s cries intensified. Dean winced but didn’t retreat. He moved slowly, whispering soft reassurances as he changed Jack’s diaper, fumbling through the fussing and flailing limbs. He tossed the diaper aside and gently laid Jack back in the crib, his heart sinking as the baby kept crying, little fists clenched, face red and scrunched.

Dean stepped closer, resting his hands on the crib’s edge. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Jack’s cries softened, just slightly.

“I wasn’t there when you needed me. I resented you. I hated you for things that weren’t your fault. I almost gave you away. I thought… I thought you’d be better off without me.”

Jack hiccuped, his sobs slowing. Dean leaned in, voice trembling. 

“But you’re my son. And I love you. I do. I can’t promise I won’t screw up again, but I swear I’ll try. I’ll try to be good for you. Just… let me be your dad. Please. Let me complete our family. You, your dad, and me.”

The room was quiet now. Jack blinked up at him, eyes wide and wet. Then, slowly, he reached out.

Dean froze.

Tiny fingers brushed his wrist.

Dean’s breath caught, and he reached down, lifting Jack into his arms. Jack didn’t cry. He didn’t twist away. He nestled against Dean’s chest, warm and small and trusting. Dean stood there, cradling him gently, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Jack’s breathing evened out, his little body relaxing completely. He fell asleep in Dean’s arms, safe and quiet.

Dean didn’t notice Cas at first, standing in the doorway, watching with soft eyes. Then Cas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“I take it everything is alright." Cas murmured. Dean nodded, voice thick. 

“Yeah. It is.”

Cas kissed his cheek. He rested his cheek in Dean’s shoulder and closed his eyes, almost falling asleep like Jack was in Dean’s arms. Dean closed his eyes, holding Jack close, letting Cas’s warmth wrap around him like a second heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, the ache in his chest quieted. The guilt, the fear, the hollow places, none of it mattered. Not here. Not with Cas’s arms around him and Jack asleep against his heart.

He didn’t feel alone anymore.

Chapter Text

Life had shifted after that night, subtly, steadily, like the bunker itself had exhaled. They were building something now. A family.

It wasn’t perfect; there were cracks in the walls, in their hearts, and in the way they sometimes spoke too sharply or held back too long. But they loved each other. That love was the pillar holding everything together.

Dean was better. Not fixed, but better . He’d been trying to quit drinking, his own personal hell, if he was honest. There was always a reason to fall back in. A celebration. A visit. A lazy night when the silence got too loud. Sobriety felt like walking a tightrope with no net.

Some days were steady. Some days were brutal. But he had Sam. He had Cas. And he had Jack. Doing this for Jack gave him something solid to hold onto. Something that didn’t vanish when the bottle called.

Jack was his reason. His anchor. The thing that made trying feel worth it.

His new record was five months of sobriety. He hadn’t broken them so far.

Jack was nearly four now, all wild hair and boundless energy. He’d started talking in full sentences, though sometimes they came out tangled with bursts of power that made the lights flicker or the air hum. Half of their monthly expenses were directed to new light bulbs.

They couldn’t send him to a regular school. Not with what he could do, so Sam had stepped in without hesitation. He’d taken on the role of tutor without realizing it, teaching Jack as he grew. Jack adored him, and Dean loved watching his baby brother with his kid. It made his heart feel full in a way he hadn’t known he was missing.

Sam was thriving too. Happier than Dean had seen him in years. He’d found purpose in teaching Jack, in helping build something stable and safe.

And he never let Dean forget how proud he was of him.

Dean still had an edge in him, a restlessness that didn’t quite fade. But he tried to channel it into fixing things around the bunker or long hours at the shooting range.

He tried to not take it out on his family anymore. That mattered.

One day, Jack came skidding into the kitchen, socks sliding on the tile, arms flailing for balance. He was clutching a spoon in one hand and grinning like he’d just discovered fire.

“Daddy! Papa! Look what I did!” he shouted, breathless.

Dean turned from the stove, spatula still in hand. Cas looked up from the table, where he’d been sorting through a stack of Jack’s scribbled drawings.

“What’d you do, kiddo?” Dean asked, already smiling. Jack held up the spoon like it was a trophy. 

“I made it fly !” He flung his free hand dramatically, and the spoon wobbled in the air, lifted a few inches, then clattered to the floor. Dean blinked. 

“Well, damn. You really did.” Dean said. Cas frowned at his direction at the use of the word “damn”. He stood and walked over, crouching beside Jack. 

“You remembered to breathe first?” he asked gently. Jack nodded, curls bouncing. 

“I did the slow breath. Like you said.” Jack said. Dean snorted. 

“Breathin’. That’s the trick, huh?” Jack giggled and threw his arms around Cas’s neck. 

“I did good, right?” Jack asked. Cas hugged him back, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“You did very good.”

Dean leaned against the counter, watching them with something tight and warm in his chest. Jack’s joy was so big it filled the room. And Cas, his omega, his mate, looked at their kid like he hung the stars.

Dean didn’t say anything. Just let himself feel it.

Five months sober. A spoon that flew. A kid who laughed like he’d never been hurt.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was theirs.

They all started hunting again. With Cas returned and Dean finally healing, they found themselves back on the road, back in the rhythm of salt and iron and blood. They worked in pairs now, rotating who stayed behind at the bunker to look after Jack. Sometimes, when Claire dropped by to lend a hand, the three of them would go out together but it wasn’t like before. Not really.

Dean didn’t hunt as much these days. He let Sam take the lead more often, letting Claire know of the majority of cases he found around. He was pulling back, quietly, without saying a word. Not to Sam. Not to Cas. Not even to himself, not fully. But the thought was there, persistent and aching. 

Retirement . 

A life beyond the hunt. Maybe he could be the next Bobby, holed up in the bunker with lore books, guiding younger hunters from a safe distance. Maybe he could finally stop.

He was still trying to believe it himself, trying to imagine a version of his life that didn’t end in blood and fire. But the monsters kept coming. Not as many as before, but enough. Enough to keep him tethered to the road, to the fight, to the part of himself that didn’t know how to let go.

Still, one thing was non-negotiable.

He never brought Jack on a hunt. Not once. Not even close. The idea of it made his stomach twist. Jack was too young, too precious, and too good. Dean knew what the world did to kids like him, what it did to him and Sam, and how fast innocence turned to grief. He’d seen it too many times. He’d lived it. And if anything ever happened to Jack out there, Dean knew he’d never forgive himself.

So he stayed behind more often. Read bedtime stories. Cooked breakfast. Staying with Jack whenever he had nightmares. Learning boring recipes so his kid could eat healthy. He was trying to build something softer. Something safer. Even if the world kept pulling him back into the dark.

Cas, since the day he came back to earth, was his anchor. His omega. His home.

But his mate was struggling with his omega. Since coming back to life, Cas had adjusted with time to the flood of instincts that came with being an omega in a human body. He even welcomed them, letting go of the self-loathing and doubt that had once made him resist. He allowed himself to feel, to want, and to be. That part was easy.

But his heat cycles were another story.

They were wrong. Off. Broken in ways neither of them could quite name. Since his resurrection, Cas hadn’t experienced a full heat, not the kind that came with slick and scent and aching need. Instead, his body gave him only the worst part: the nausea, the fever, and the bone-deep exhaustion. He spent those weeks curled up in bed, shivering and disoriented, his scent sour with pain rather than sweet with want. No arousal. No release. Just a slow, grinding misery that lasted the usual week and then vanished. 

Dean was worried sick.

Cas tried to reassure him, his voice steady even when his body wasn’t. “It’s just adaptation,” he said, again and again. “My omega is adjusting to being housed in a human. I was an angel for millennia; this form is new. It needs time.”

But Dean didn’t buy it. Not entirely. He watched Cas suffer through each cycle with clenched fists and sleepless nights, helpless to ease the pain. 

Until, almost three years in, something changed.

One morning, Dean was making breakfast for them all. Sam sat at the kitchen table, Jack nestled comfortably in his lap. Jack was fixated on Sam’s coffee mug, his brow furrowed in concentration as it wobbled gently into the air, levitating a few inches before tilting dangerously. Sam caught it with practiced ease, steadying the cup and setting it back down with a quiet chuckle.

Cas was still in their nest, as he was having a bad morning. Dean was setting up a tray to take his mate’s breakfast to bed when he suddenly burst into the kitchen.

“Morning.” He mumbled, barely audible. And that's when Cas’s scent hit Dean's nose.

Honeypie. But sweeter. Stronger, even, covering the entire room as no normal scent could do.

Omega in heat.

“Cas?” he asked, voice low, already going a little dumb from the scent. His mate just blinked at him, head tilted slightly, expression soft but confused.

“What?” Cas murmured, rubbing at his eyes. Dean stepped closer, nostrils flaring, trying to stay grounded. 

“You smell like uh…full heat, Cas,” he said, gently but firmly. “You don’t feel it?” Cas frowned, glancing down at himself as if the answer might be written on his skin. 

“I… I don’t know. Maybe? I just feel warm. And floaty.” Dean swallowed hard. His instincts were already clawing at him, telling him to touch, to soothe, to scent-mark, to-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. He was still at the table, Jack in his lap, but now he was holding the boy at arm’s length and covering his nose with his sleeve.

“Okay,” Sam said, voice tight with embarrassment. “We’re gonna go. Like, right now.”

Dean blinked, barely registering the words.

“Jack and I are taking a tiny vacation,” Sam added, already heading for the hallway. “Couple days. You two… figure things out. Call me when you are done” Jack squealed with delight, clapping his hands. 

“Vacation! Can we eat pancakes every day?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said, grabbing their overnight bag from the coatrack. “Pancakes, swimming, no weird smells. Let’s go.”

Dean barely heard the door close behind them. His focus was entirely on Cas, flushed, blinking slowly, scent curling around him like a second skin.

“C’mere,” Dean said softly, setting the tray aside. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

They staggered down the hallway to his nest, Castiel's scent hitting Dean like a physical blow with each step. His fingers trembled with the effort of keeping them off Cas, not wanting to find his brother in the hallway and traumatize him for life.

When they finally reached their room, Dean closed the door behind them, his breath already coming in ragged pants as he fought the urge to devour his Omega whole. The plan to go slow shattered instantly as Castiel growled, actually growled, and pinned Dean against the door with bruising force, his body a hot, unyielding line against Dean's.

"Alpha," Cas snarled against his throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he inhaled Dean's scent like he was drowning and Dean was oxygen. The omega's grip was relentless, possessive.

Castiel's hands burned trails across Dean's chest, fingernails scraping through the thin fabric as he claimed every inch. When those fingers dipped lower, Dean's head slammed back against the door, a desperate whimper escaping his clenched teeth as he tried to let the omega have the control of the situation. His alpha instincts howled beneath his skin, demanding he take, claim, possess, but this was Cas's show. First heat since purgatory. 

His omega palmed Dean's straining erection with merciless pressure, and Dean's groan echoed through the room.

"Take me to bed." Each word from the omega was a command that brooked no argument.

Dean did not hesitate. He seized Cas by the hips and hoisted him up in one fluid motion, the omega's startled cry cutting through the air as Dean carried him to their nest, his fingers digging possessively into soft flesh.

He slammed Cas down onto the mattress, knowing his mate liked it rough. The omega’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he bit his lower . Dean took his shirt off before crushing Cas beneath his weight, a primal growl escaping his throat as the intoxicating scent of omega slick flooded his senses.

Dean claimed Castiel's mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth clashing, all hunger and desperation as he pinned the omega's wrists above his head. Cas locked his legs around Dean's waist, grinding up in him. When Dean wrenched away to bury his face in the omega's neck, the concentrated pheromones hit his bloodstream like lightning, triggering something in him.

His rut snapped awake.

It was instant. No slow build, no warning. Just fire in his blood, pressure in his spine, instincts roaring to the surface. His breath hitched. His body locked. Every cell screamed mine .

He stood frozen, jaw tight, heart pounding like it was trying to break free. The scent was everywhere now, on his tongue, in his lungs, and under his skin. It rewrote him.

Cas hadn’t moved.

Dean didn’t need him to.

The rut had already taken hold.

Cas smelled the air, and as the scent of Alpha rut hit his nose, he moaned .

But Dean was beyond control now. He tore the omega's shirt clean off, buttons scattering across the floor as he devoured Castiel's chest with desperate, hungry kisses that left crimson marks blooming across pale skin. When his teeth closed around one sensitive nipple, the omega's back arched violently, a broken cry escaping his lips. Castiel surrendered completely, his body trembling with need as his alpha claimed every inch of him. The heat consumed them both like wildfire.

Dean growled as he yanked Castiel's pants and underwear down in one savage motion, his pupils blown wide as the intoxicating scent of slick hit him like a physical blow. He forced the angel's legs apart, his grip bruising, and stared up at his mate with predatory intensity.

"Remember what I promised? In purgatory?" Dean's voice was barely human, rough with lust as he dragged his tongue across Castiel's entrance, making the omega writhe and whimper desperately.

"You…you promised…" Castiel could barely speak, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

"Say it," Dean commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

"You said you would eat me out properly," Castiel gasped out, "not leaving any slick behind."

"I am a man of my word." Dean's smile was dangerous before he buried his face between Castiel's thighs, his tongue relentless as it pushed inside Cas’s hole, tasting every drop of slick that flowed from his mate. The omega's cries echoed off the walls as Dean held him down with bruising force, making sure to stay in place as he pleasured his omega. 

Dean moved his tongue inside Castiel, enjoying the taste of every drop of slick that was coming out of him. Dean only took his tongue out to talk

“You taste so good.” Dean said, tasting another drop of slick. “I could get addicted to your slick, baby.” He returned to his task, licking the surroundings of his omega's hole before sticking his tongue in once again, adding a finger alongside his tongue and working Castiel open with merciless precision, marking his inner thighs with possessive bites that would hopefully last for days.

“So good for me, baby.” The alpha said as he added a second finger, licking the slick that came out of him as he opened Cas’s hole. He stretched his fingers inside the omega, trying to prepare him. “You are so beautiful like this, omega. Open for me.”

“Dean…” The omega moaned as Dean entered a third finger. Cas yelled in pleasure when Dean started touching his sweet spot. “Yes!” He reached his alpha’s head and pulled his hair a bit, making him grunt. “Right there!”

The alpha kept hitting that spot with his fingers, mesmerized by how Castiel looked, completely lost in the pleasure Dean was giving him. And damn, how that made his alpha proud. 

“You like my fingers, baby?”

“Yes! I love them, Alpha.”

“Good.” He took his fingers out of the angel’s hole and ignoring his protest, brought them up to the omega’s lips, without touching them yet. “Then clean them, omega.” He demanded. 

Cas opened his eyes in surprise and he licked Dean’s fingers carefully, tasting his own slick in them. He sucked on them while Dean looked, as he began to take his pants and underwear off with his free hand.

“So perfect.” Dean mumbled, touching himself as he watched his mate. He was sure he could come from just this sight, so he forced himself to tear his gaze away and take his fingers out of Cas’s mouth. He brought them to his hole once again and slicked his erection with the omega’s slick, shivering tearing through him as he did so.

“Alpha…alpha, please. I need it. Please.” Came Cas’s mumbling, completely intoxicated by his own heat and the desire that came from it. He could never deny his omega anything.

“Get on your hands and knees. I want you to present to me.” The angel nodded frantically, turning around and placing his hands and legs on the bed to get on all fours, leaving his ass on full display for his alpha, presenting like a good omega.

Dean grabbed his mate’s ass and stretched his cheeks for a moment, biting his own lips at the sight in front of him.

“What are you waiting for?” Asked his mate. Dean laughed a little, pulling himself close again.

“Sorry, omega. You are just so gorgeous like this.” He said and before the omega could protest once again, he entered his mate slowly, grabbing his hips in the process.

When he was able to get in completely, he stayed still, breathing deeply and trying to control his instincts that screamed at him to be rough, fast, and fierce with the omega beneath him.

This omega is mine. Only mine. He can only think of me, no one else. I have to make sure he only remembers my name after this.

A shiver ran through his body, and, contrary to what his alpha was screaming at him, he began to move slowly, bottoming in and out of Cas. His rut’s instincts were driving him insane, making it more and more difficult to suppress them.

“Dean.” The omega turned his head, just enough to see him from his position. “I can smell you. I don't want you to get frustrated. I hate that smell.” He moved his hips, making Dean moan low. “I won't break. Do what your rut is telling you.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, suddenly serious. 

“Yes. Just fuck me, Alpha. I can't keep waiting any longer. Make me yours.”

And that was all the Alpha needed to hear.

He began to increase his speed little by little, until his omega began to demand that he move faster, and all the control he'd managed to maintain until that moment was completely lost. He moved his hips swiftly against the omega's ass, in quick but precise movements, searching for Cas's sweet spot again. When the angel let out a moan much louder than the previous ones, Dean smiled victoriously and made sure to keep pounding against that specific spot, giving Cas no mercy, who had become a mess of murmurs and nonsensical phrases as Dean didn't spare him for even a second.

He reached down, stroking his mate's cock as he moved his hips, maintaining a steady rhythm.

“Alpha! I’m…” A loud moan interrupted him. “I’m not lasting any longer.”

“Me neither.” The alpha admitted in a hushed tone, too concentrated to even talk.

“Knot me.” The omega suddenly begged “Make me yours. Mark me again, my alpha. I want everyone to know I'm yours. Please, mark me.”

Dean’s gaze locked onto the bare curve of Castiel’s neck, the place where his mating mark should have been. The absence of it was jarring. They still smelled of each other, still carried the bond in their bones, but ever since Naomi had dragged Castiel out of Purgatory, the omega’s mark had vanished without a trace. Erased. Like it had never been there.

But now, with Castiel flushed and trembling in the grip of heat, the moment was undeniable. Urgent. Sacred. The only moment that mattered.

As his knot began to swell inside the omega’s hole, Dean leaned in, breath hot against Castiel’s skin, and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck, hard. Possessive. The bite wasn’t gentle; it was a claim. Castiel gasped, body arching, as he came in his mate’s hand. Dean moved his hips a couple of more times before locking them together with his knot and coming inside the omega.

He finally let go of the angel’s neck, looking at the mark he had left on him. It was now a signal to anyone who dared look too long: this omega was already spoken for. Already his. Dean slumped forward, his forehead resting between Castiel’s shoulder blades. His entire body felt wrung out, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his soul and then wrapped it in velvet. Castiel was trembling beneath him, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, voice muffled against Cas’s back. “I think I saw God. Twice.”

“Can you please restrain yourself from mentioning my father after sex?” Castiel replied, his voice hoarse but dry. 

Dean snorted, then groaned as he rolled off Cas and flopped onto the mattress beside him. He tugged his mate close, as his knot was still keeping them together. He curled his body around him like instinct had taken over, which, honestly, it had. 

Cas let out a soft, contented sound and tucked his head under Dean’s chin, the bond between them humming like a live wire finally grounded. Cas touched his mark and hissed in pain before smiling.

“Feeling possessive, Alpha?” Cas smiled. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, just above the fresh mark, “you keep disappearing on me. I gotta make sure the universe knows you’re off-limits.”

“I think the universe got the memo,” Cas said. Dean huffed a soft laugh and rested his forehead against Cas’s shoulder. 

“Good. Took it long enough.” Dean said as his mate grabbed his hand, directing it to his mouth and leaving sweet kisses along it.

“I never stopped being yours,” Cas said. “Even when the mark was gone. Even when everything felt broken.”

“I know. I could smell it on you.”

“Good.” Cas smiled. “You smell like stubbornness and motor oil.” Dean cracked a grin. 

“Romantic.”

“Very.”

They laughed quietly, the kind of laughter that came from relief and love and the simple joy of being together again. Then Dean pulled Cas close, arms wrapping around him fully, and Cas tucked his head under Dean’s chin like he belonged there, because he did.

They were finally at peace. The ache of separation had faded, replaced by something steady and sure. They had fought for this, bled for it, and waited for it. Now, wrapped in each other’s arms, they weren’t just lovers. They were the result of every choice that led them back. A bond rebuilt, stronger than before. The place where loneliness ended.

And for the first time in a long time, they belonged, not to fate, not to duty, but to each other.