Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on, we’re going to see Ms. Ellen,” Dean’s mom, Mary, says as she helps him hop down from the backseat. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, she gives me candy,” Dean exclaims, bouncing happily on his feet as he follows his mom and dad to meet Ms. Ellen inside. “And she has the coolest toys.”

Usually, the five year old’s parents smile at him when he gets excited like this, but today they frown at him. Maybe there’s something wrong. The thought makes his stomach hurt, almost like when he ate too much pie and ended up getting sick all over the kitchen table. His parents weren’t too happy with him then, either. But, Dean can’t remember throwing up anywhere today. 

The familiar white building gets bigger as they walk closer. Dean tries to sound out the sign like his mom’s been teaching him but the letters get all mixed up in his head. He doesn’t get the point of learning now if he isn’t starting school until next year, anyway. The tiny tot's attention is pulled away the moment they enter the sliding doors and he spots Ms. Ellen waiting for him by the front desk. 

“Hi!” He shouts, running towards the woman as she squats down, giving him space to barrel right into her open arms. “Can I play wif the action figures today, pleeeeeeeassseee?”

Ms. Ellen looks up at his parents and back down to him, explaining, “I have a few things I need to discuss with your parents then I’ll take you to play with some new friends. I’m sure they won’t mind sharing the action figures with you, okay?”

Dean’s never played with anyone else here before, it’s usually just him and Ms. Ellen in her office. She asks him questions while he plays, it’s fun even if he doesn’t understand the point. Sometimes he goes to a room where nurses take his blood but that hasn’t happened in the last few visits. Dean’s glad, he hates needles. 

The idea of meeting new people makes him nervous but Ms. Ellen’s smiling, so he nods yes, following the adults into the familiar blue and white office and taking a seat in the corner where the books are. Dean chooses a picture book from the stack, flipping through silently as the adults talk. He wishes they’d brought Sammy along so he could play with his brother instead but Mom said he’s too little and has to stay home with the babysitter. Bored out of his mind, Dean begins to wish they’d left him at home too. 

“…the monthly payments will come directly to us?” His dad, John, asks. 

Dean doesn’t understand a word but he listens anyway. Mom always says he’s nosy but it’s not his fault grownups keep secrets. Like Santa, he saw his parents putting presents under the tree last year but they swore Santa did it. Or that bottle of ‘grownup juice’ his daddy hides from mom under the couch cushions in the living room. Mom must know though because she hides her powdered sugar from him too, behind the toilet in the bathroom.

Secrets.

“…compensated for your participation. I wouldn’t work for this facility if they were charlatans, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester,” Ms. Ellen says, handing his parents a stack of papers. 

His parents share a look before they both begin signing page after page. 

Dean can’t tell what’s on them from here so he keeps his eyes on his book, ears trained on the conversation. 

“And we can visit?” His mom asks. Her voice sounds stuffy like when she has a cold, he hopes she isn’t getting sick like Sammy was a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t stop crying and Dean couldn’t sleep, it was annoying. If Mom’s sick and she keeps Dad up all night, he might miss one of his job interviews then she’d really be in trouble. 

Much worse than usual.

Maybe these visits will help keep his parents happy, stop them from yelling at each other at night. They think Dean’s asleep but he hears, they argue about money and how many mouths they have to feed, whatever that means. It makes him nervous. 

Ms. Ellen takes his mom’s hand, promising, “Anytime you want, Mrs. Winchester. My own daughter is here as well, believe me, I understand.”

The words seem to soothe his mother, bringing the smile he’d been waiting for to her face.

Once the last page has been signed, Ms. Ellen stands, holding out her hand for him to take. Dean grabs hold and allows himself to be lead out of her office, down a hall and outside a glass door with what looks like a playroom on the other side. A few children are already inside, as they approach a dark haired boy with bright blue eyes stares out curiously. 

Dean’s ready to go play but he’s stopped from going any further by his parents.

“Honey,” his mom begins speaking, crouching down so they’re face to face. “You’re gonna stay here for now, sort of like boarding school. Do you know what that is?”

Dean shakes his head no, so his mom explains, “It’s like summer camp, but you stay for much longer. Mommy and Daddy will be back to see you in a few days, alright?”

Huh?

“But…” Dean begins, looking to his dad for answers. The no nonsense glare he gets back makes him shut right up for fear of the consequences. What daddy says goes, no talking back. “O-okay, Mommy.”

Stiff upper lip.

“We’ll be back soon, son,” John says, scrubbing a hand through Dean’s short brown hair, leaving him with a squeeze to his shoulder. “Be a brave big boy for us.”

“We love you, Dean,” his mom whispers, digging in her purse for a few pieces of his favorite candy before she’s led away swiftly by her husband.

Ms. Ellen stares after them, shaking herself out of a daze as she turns to face Dean, “What do you say we go meet the others?”

Without any other option, Dean allows himself to be herded through the doorway to meet his new friends.

______________________________________________

Castiel sits on the floor in Ms. Harvelle’s office watching as his parents sign papers. The five year old has no idea what’s happening but they seem happy about it, so it must be a good thing. That makes Castiel’s mood lift just a tad but it plummets once again as soon as his parents stand to leave. The couple walks out, leaving him and his duffle bag behind without another word.

“Mother, father?” He scrambles to his feet, ready to follow, maybe they forgot he was there again. “Mo…”

Ms. Harvelle softly shushes him, coming to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders, assuring him, “It’s gonna be okay, Castiel. Let’s go to the playroom so you can meet your new friends.”

Castiel looks back one last time as the sliding doors close behind them, following after Ms. Harvelle once he realizes they aren’t coming back.

She explains what they didn’t as they walk down a hall and to a playroom filled with every toy imaginable. “Your parents want to keep you healthy and happy, so for now you’ll live here with a few other students. You’ll all attend school together, eat together, play together. It’ll be so much fun, I promise.”

What she says sounds appealing, but Castiel’s stomach still hurts and he can feel a frown coming on the longer they discuss it. He just wants to be left alone. Ms. Harvelle seems to work it out, pushing him further into the room with a warning to remember to share once the other kids show up. 

Castiel takes possession of a few colorful blocks, building and knocking them over in repetition as other children come in after him. There’s a little girl with red pigtails in purple overalls, she introduces herself as Charlie before setting up with Lego blocks next to him. They build in silence until a brown haired girl named Dorothy steals her attention away. Not long after, a brown haired freckle faced little boy with bright green eyes shows up, peering through the glass door. Castiel can hear part of the muffled conversation between him and his parents. 

It makes him wish his parents had bothered to say goodbye, to tell him to be brave or even why he’s being left here in the first place. 

Castiel has no clue if he’s here forever or just a few days, they packed his backpack and the duffle he brings when he visits Gabriel in the city so he doubts it’s less than a few days. The thought reminds him, he did hear Ms. Harvelle mention visits with his parents, but they said no. Does that mean no one can visit him? Castiel’s sure his big brother Gabriel would come, maybe even his older sister Anna, if she’s come back home yet. The boy knows Michael and Lucifer won’t bother, they hate him. 

He’s dragged away from his thoughts by the green eyed boy, now standing in front of him rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Hi, I’m Dean,” he introduces himself as he plops down on the car rug in front of the blocks. “Can I play blocks wif you?”

Castiel hesitates for a moment, finally answering, “Hello, Dean,” pushing half the blocks over in his new friends direction as his answer. “I’m Castiel.”

“My mom gave me candy. Want some, Cas?” Dean asks, opening his hand to show his bounty of Jolly Ranchers. 

Castiel nods enthusiastically, holding his hand out as Dean gives him a few pieces. “Thanks…”

“Mom always says it’s good to share wif friends,” Dean explains. “Ms. Ellen said we’re all friends now…”

The other boy shrugs, returning to the blocks as he and Castiel try to build the tallest tower possible without knocking it over. Dean has pretty green eyes and he knows lots about cars…and pie. By the end of the day, Castiel’s decided he’s definitely his new best friend.

______________________________________________

The alarm goes off at exactly 5:30 AM, waking the boys up in the expansive room they share. Rows of beds greet Dean’s tired eyes as he rolls over, confronted with his best friends bleary blues. 

“Up, Cas,” Dean grumbles, standing to start the day. After two years at the facility he’s got the routine down, and they’re all well aware of the consequences if they’re even a second late. 

The boy shudders at the thought, nudging his friend one more time with his foot as he walks past, headed towards the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. The action earns him a grunt as Cas finally pushes the covers back, popping up with a dark swirl of messy hair atop his head. Dean enters the bathroom to find Benny, Lee, and Garth already standing in front of the three available sinks so he starts a line behind Benny to wait his turn. Kevin walks in moments later with Cas, Victor and Cole following closely behind. It starts to get a little crowded once Ash and Aaron walk in but by then the first three finish up to make room for Dean, Cas, and Kevin. 

The boys use their allotted thirty minutes to brush, shower, and change into their uniforms. Pressed dark blue pants, light blue short sleeve shirts, and a blue knit sweater vest over top. 

Just as Dean’s smoothing his hair down, the chime rings for breakfast. The boys scramble to make it on time, in an orderly fashion of course, down the hall and to the kitchen where they meet up with the girls and Ms. Ellen for breakfast.

“Good morning,” she says tiredly, greeting them all as they line up with their plates.

Today’s breakfast seems less than appealing. Runny eggs, floppy bacon, dry toast, and orange juice. Dean hates orange juice. But, if he doesn’t eat, consequences.

Again, the boy shudders, forcing down each bite to avoid getting into trouble. He can’t afford it, especially today. 

The reminder of the date has him disturbingly close to licking his plate clean, proving he ate all his food. Ms. Ellen takes a peak before directing him to put the plate in the sink for housekeeping to take care of later. 

Today’s visitation day, his parents are supposed to come see him during the hour they get after they finish their homework. As he wanders out of the kitchen Dean’s lost in thought making a list of everything that’s happened since his parents last visit so he doesn’t miss a thing. Sure, he could call but with his parents schedules they can’t always pick up. The boy’s silently laughing to himself, remembering Benny accidentally shooting milk out of his nose last week at dinner. Dean’s so distracted, he doesn’t notice he has someone trailing behind him until she speaks.

“Can I see your science homework?” Patience asks, running up behind him as he leaves the kitchen to retrieve his books. 

Class doesn’t start for another thirty minutes but being on time means being prepared.

Dean considers the request, deciding, “Okay, but you have to let me see your math homework. I don’t think I did it right.”

Patience grins, holding her hand out to shake on it as she says, “Deal. Meet you in the library.”

“Deal,” Dean repeats, smiling back before he jogs off down the hall. 

When he walks into the shared room, Benny and Cole are on the floor playing Go Fish like they have all the time in the world to get to class.

“You’re gonna be late,” Dean warns, knowing his friends are prone to losing track of time. “And you know what that means…” he jokingly sing songs, watching twin grimaces sprout on their faces. 

“Consequences,” they respond in creepy unison, sounding almost exactly like the principal. The boys break out in laughter with Dean still struck by giggles, exiting the room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. 

He’s halfway down the hall when Ms. Ellen comes to find him, “Change of plans, Dean,” she announces. “Your parents are here early. They’re taking you out for the day.”

“Seriously?!” He asks, almost jumping up and down with excitement. With his dad working hard at his new job and his mom busy with Sammy, he hardly ever gets a day pass. “What about class? I have homework to hand in and…”

Dean stops short of admitting he and Patience were about to technically break the rules by copying each other. 

Nevermind.

Ms. Ellen pauses, eyebrow raised in suspicion of what exactly the rest of that sentence would have revealed. 

Moving on quickly, Dean asks, “Can I bring someone with me? Pleassseeeee?”

Dean’s not picky, he’d take any of his friends that don’t get visits. But, he does have a soft spot for his best friend of all, Cas. Cas’ parents never came back for him. He deserves a day off campus more than anyone. Unfortunately for them, Ms. Ellen’s already shaking her head no, as predicted. 

“Go change,” Ms. Ellen shoos him off back in the direction he just came from. “Don’t wanna keep them waiting, do you?”

“No, Ma’m,” he responds, more than wiling to take off this stupid uniform and put on his ‘street clothes’ his mom sends for him.

Throwing on a clean band tee and his nicest pair of jeans along with his boots, Dean shuffles back down the hall. He catches the tail end of Benny and Cole being reprimanded for being late to class as he passes the open door of the library. 

Here come those consequences…

Dean chooses to mind his own business, following Ms. Ellen down the hall and through the secured doors that lead to the main entrance of the facility. In the beginning, it bothered him being behind a locked door but, it’s for their own safety. At least that’s what Principal Roman says. 

“De!” Sammy shouts, wiggling to get down from his mothers arms. The toddler gets his way as he runs unsteadily to meet his older brother, stopping his train of thought in its tracks.

“Sammy!” Dean squeals, though he’d never admit it. The toddler greets him with a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. It’s gross but Dean loves it, he hardly gets to see Sam and he’s growing fast. “Missed you, buddy.”

Next he’s engulfed by the arms of his parents, in the center of a Winchester family group hug. 

The best place to be.

“We’re taking you out today. Did Ellen tell you?” His mom asks, pulling back as he nods yes. Dean’s pretty sure Ms. Ellen and his mom have become friends but when he asked she told him to stay out of ‘adult business’, whatever that means. She continues, sparkle in her eyes as she tells him, “We figured we’d have a ‘yes’ day like when you were younger. We’ll do whatever you want for the whole day, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like we’re having pie for second breakfast,” Dean says, trotting off towards the door with a giggling Sam still held tightly in his arms, a chorus of laughter erupting behind him from the adults. 

*****

Dean’s halfway through the meat lovers pizza his parents ordered for dinner when he hears hushed voices coming from the kitchen. His parents wanted to take him out but all he wanted was greasy pizza and movies at home. Dean didn’t realize how much he missed it until they walked through the door. But, everything’s the same, even his room, ready and waiting for the day he returns. Though, they still haven’t told him when that will be. 

Looking over, Dean sees Sammy’s completely captivated by Incredibles 2 but he can’t help but tune it out, choosing to listen to ‘adult business’ instead. 

“…bring him home, John. It’s been two years and they haven’t found a thing beyond what we already know. I don’t see the point anymore and I miss my baby,” his mom whispers, not as quietly as she thinks. 

His dad sighs, replying, “Roman said LeviaTech’s the only place that has the technology to find out what it means, Mary. What if….”

“Fine, if they want to monitor him so bad, they can do it outpatient. So what if there’s an unknown abnormality in his blood? It’s not hurting him. He’s just like any other kid, you see that clear as I do,” Mary says, sounding frustrated. 

Blood?  

Dean’s never heard anyone say there was something weird about his blood before. His parents are scaring him but he continues listening anyway.

Mary sobs through a whisper, “I…I know we didn’t make this decision lightly but…we were in a rough spot. Things are different now, John. We’re both doing well in recovery, you have a stable job, we’re caught back up with the mortgage…we don’t…both our boys should be home where they belong…”

John cuts her off, mid sentence, countering, “All that’s true but we still owe payments on the loan we took out to cover that last stint in rehab.” His voice changes like he found dog poop on the bottom of his shoe. Dean wonders what rehab is and who it was for. His dad doesn’t sound happy about it, that’s for sure. “Face it Mary, whether we like it or not we need the money. Just for a little while longer, then he can come home. You’re right, he belongs here with us but I can’t see any other way to make that kind of money otherwise.”

“Look, we can visit more often. Do more day passes if that helps. I can afford to take the time off now and today’s been amazing. Focus on that,” John says, sounds Dean associates with kissing follow. Gross. He speaks again, “Dean’s here today, that's what's important.”

Dean doesn’t hear another word from his mother. His father comes back out to the living room moments later with sodas for them both and a juice box for Sammy. The man makes no mention of the conversation, but why would he?

Grownups, and their secrets, strike once again. 

Once his mother does reappear she lets him know the best news, with red rimmed eyes and a suspiciously shaky voice, “I made an apple pie for you to bring back to the facility for your friends, honey.”

“Really?! You’re the best, Mom!” Dean shouts, almost bowling her over with a hug. He’s not sure why she’s squeezing so tight but he burrows into her warmth, not complaining one bit. 

______________________________________________

Castiel doesn’t realize Dean’s missing until the teacher begins the lesson without waiting for him. The boy turns in search of his best friend, catching Patience’s eye in the process. He mouths’ ‘where’s Dean?’ To which she shrugs confusedly. Peering around with him they both come up empty. Castiel can see Rhonda in her usual seat next to Claire and Jo. Behind them sit Dorothy and Charlie whispering to each other covertly. His eyes land on Pam, Kevin, Ash, but no Dean. Ms. Ellen appears in his peripheral, seemingly catching on to his search mouthing ‘day pass’, the words soothe his nerves but send a stab through his heart with the reminder.

Dean has been saying for months if he ever got a day pass again he’d bring Cas with him. They must have said no, there’s no universe where Dean wouldn’t have asked. Resigning himself to a day without his best friend, Castiel faces front and tries to focus on learning multiplication. Not as thrilling without Dean at his side cracking jokes but there’s no use pouting all day about it. 

School flows by faster than he thought it would, leaving Castiel with a pile of homework to complete before visitation begins at 4PM on the dot. Not that he has anyone coming to see him, his parents abandoned him here and never looked back. But, Ellen takes him for the hour along with Jo so they won’t feel as left out while the others see their families. 

Castiel’s just finished the last problem on his math homework when Jo barges into the boy’s room, where she’s definitely not supposed to be. 

“You can’t be here, Joanna Beth,” Castiel intones dryly, putting his papers away in his backpack as he stands to leave the room. “What if Roman catches you?”

“Consequences,” Jo mocks, the only one brave enough to do so since her mom works here. She probably gets some special pass for being the kid of the in house therapist. 

Castiel’s worked out that’s what Ms. Ellen’s role is, their therapist. And occasional substitute mother, in his case. Someone here to observe, monitor, and measure them for…that part he’s not so clear on.

“Yes, consequences,” Castiel says, far less jokingly. He has a fairly clean record here at the facility and he’d like to keep it that way. “What are we doing today?”

“Mom’s got tons of paperwork so we have to ‘play quietly’ in her office. Like we’re babies or something,” Jo complains, skipping down the hall as she speaks. “We were supposed to go get ice cream from the employee cafeteria this time…”

Castiel can’t help the smile that pops up on his face, memories of the last time Ms. Ellen took them to the employee cafeteria assaulting his senses. He’s not sure if it was just because they technically aren’t allowed, but everything tasted so much better. And the ice cream was super creamy and sweet. 

Way better than what they get on Ice Cream Sundae Sunday’s. 

Mmmmmm.

“Great, now I’m sad too. Thanks a lot, Jo,” Castiel grumbles, stopping as they arrive at Ms. Ellen’s office. 

Just as he’d been warned, Ellen shuffles them inside the room, pointing to a stack of books and age appropriate toys she’d gathered just for today. Castiel sighs heavily, setting himself up with a sketchbook and markers while Jo grabs a friendship bracelet kit. 

“Make me one?” He asks, curious but not enough to try himself. 

Jo nods, getting started with hers first. 

Turning back to the sketchbook, Castiel tries to decide what to draw first. The boy begins absentmindedly drawing with the markers to see what happens, letting ideas free flow from his mind onto the paper. A tree, the sun, a rainbow, eventually the page becomes crowded so he has to flip to a new one. 

The scratch of Ms. Ellen’s pen stops with a knock on the door, peering over at the two of them she seems to decide to meet whoever it is out in the hall. She opens the door just enough to scoot out, concealing the identity of whoever came to see her. 

But, Castiel can still hear.

A man’s voice speaks, coming in and out through the door like a bad radio signal, “…he wants to test…see if the markers in their blood are related to…okay?”

Ellen sounds upset, replying, “…already did that, didn’t we? Besides, it’s been…”

“Look, I’m just the messenger.” The man sounds annoyed, finishing, “You have a problem with it? Take it up with him. Otherwise…”

Ms. Ellen sighs, response coming in bits and pieces, “No, it’s fine. I just think…remember they’re just kids at the end of the day.”

The voices lower to whispers, hardly loud enough for Castiel to continue eavesdropping so he turns his attention back to his drawing. By the end of their hour, Castiel has a brand new friendship bracelet made by Jo along with a matching bracelet for Dean. 

Castiel forgets to give it to him when he comes back, his friend is too excited between telling everyone about his day and sharing his mom’s delicious apple pie after dinner. It gets shoved down into his pocket only to be found three days later underneath his bed. Castiel crawls into bed with his friend, not expecting any response as he slides the bracelet over his hand and onto his wrist, making sure it’s secure. He moves to climb back out, intent on respecting his space when Dean’s hand shoots out to grab his, pulling him back into a half hug as he breaks down into tears. 

“Why, Cas?” He asks, moisture spilling over to wet his cheeks. “We were just…and now…” his friend stutters, words not coming easily.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, he’s never had a friend whose mom died before. It strikes him then that these are the only friends he’s ever had.

So instead of trying to answer with words, he does what always used to work for him when he was upset, before Gabriel moved away. His older brother would find him, wherever he was hiding, and give him a great big hug until he couldn’t cry another tear. He’d end up dried out and tired by the end, but lighter, and the world wouldn’t seem as scary. Castiel wants Dean to have that feeling too, so he squeezes him as tight as he can, shaking with him as the boy cries through his loss.

Chapter Text

Dean plants a kiss on his fingertips, tapping the photo of his mom he keeps over his bed with a sad smile before jogging into the bathroom to start the day bright and early. It’s been three years since she died, the details were vague at the time because of his age, but he knows now. 

With the extra freedom Ms. Ellen had to fight tooth and nail for to get them, came sources of media the children hadn’t had access to before. The therapist seemingly forgot not all PG movies avoid that tragic topic that broke his family apart. The boy knows exactly what rehab is, now. Why it would have upset his dad, and ultimately why his mom isn’t here to take him away from this place. 

It’s been two years since the last time John bothered to come visit. Two years since he’s seen Sammy. Dean’s beginning to wonder if he’ll ever see his little brother again. 

“Hey, you still in there?” Ash asks, lightly poking him in the back of the head so he’ll take his turn at the sink.

Dean shakes himself loose, quickly moving to brush his teeth so Ash can have his turn. It wouldn’t be fair to hold him up, possibly causing him to be late, just because Dean’s being a space cadet this morning. 

Once he’s neatly dressed, he tracks down Cas so they can walk to breakfast together. Dean finds his friend already dressed and ready to go sitting on his bed reading one of the comic books Ms. Ellen got for him. 

“Come on, Batman can wait. We have that quiz today, remember?” Dean says, giggling internally at his friends wide blue eyed shocked face. “You forgot didn’t you?”

Cas shakes his head no, frown chasing away the carefree grin he’d worn a minute ago. Kid really likes his comics. Dean prefers the scary stories Ms. Ellen’s been bringing him but he’ll never admit to reading a few of Rhonda’s pre-teen romance novels. That’s a secret he’ll gladly take to the grave. Rhonda knows to keep her mouth shut otherwise he’ll spill about her crush on Pam. If there’s one thing Dean’s learned here, it’s that best friends keep each others secrets.

That and according to Patience, girls can’t like other girls. Dean’s not so sure about that considering what he’s seen on tv, but what would he know?

Cas’ frown deepens, eyebrows scrunching up in annoyance as he defends himself, “I didn’t forget, there were just more interesting things for me to do instead of studying. Besides, math is easy.” His friend says, shrugging it off now that he’s cleared things up.

Dean rolls his eyes. Math is easy for Cas, he just assumes it’s easy for everyone else. He waits patiently as the other boy puts his comic away, marking his place so he can return to it during visitation. The boys make their way down the hall, mowing through breakfast while Dean studies quietly, occasionally having Cas check his answers. By the time the chime tones for class to begin, Dean’s more than ready to ace the quiz. 

The rest of the school day flies by, punctuated by an hour of homework before the ‘rejects’ meet up in the game room while Garth, Kevin, and Patience visit with their families. Jo leaves with Ms. Ellen but Cas stays put, more comfortable spending visitation days with everyone else now that he’s not the only one feeling a bit neglected. 

Sometimes Dean wonders if its selfish of him to be glad he’s not alone now that John’s made it clear he doesn’t care about him at all. Sure, he could be busy raising a toddler on his own, but Cas says that’s just an excuse. That’s what it means to have a best friend, after all. They know every single thing about you, even the most embarrassing parts. Like the last conversation Dean ever had with his dad, the angry words he spoke. He didn’t understand what it meant then, still doesn’t now, but it was enough for Ms. Ellen to ask him to leave. 

“You okay, Dean?” Rhonda asks, walking up behind him as they enter the room. She has one of those books clutched in her hands, pausing just long enough for him to nod before shooting over to the corner. She plops down onto one of the comfier bean bag chairs intent on ignoring them all for the next hour. 

Claire and Charlie rush to take possession of Connect 4 and most of the boys end up by the PS5, trying to agree on which game to play for the next hour. Ms. Ellen’s rules, if they can’t agree no one plays. None of these activities appeal to him or Cas. His friend brought his comic book but he doesn’t want Cas distracted while Dean’s bored with nothing to do. 

An idea strikes and he puts it into action before he can change his mind. Ms. Ellen may come to regret getting Roman’s permission to give them access to more television shows and movies. 

“Anybody wanna play truth or dare?” Dean asks, eyes bouncing from one confused face to another. 

Garth breaks the silence with a confused squint, asking “What’s that?”

“A game I saw in a movie last week,” he explains. “We go around the room asking each other truth or dare. If you choose truth, they get to ask a question and you have to tell the truth. If you choose dare, they dare you to do something.”

“What happens if you don’t answer or don’t do the dare?” Cole asks, it’s a good question Dean doesn't happen to know the answer to.

Everyone in the movie either answered or did the dare.

Huh.

Cas saves him, making up a new rule on the spot, “If you don’t want to do the dare, you have to answer a question. If you don’t want to answer, you have to do a dare. If you don’t do either, you have to stand in the corner like you’re invisible for the rest of visitation. We’ll pretend like you’re not even there.”

“Well…that’s kinda mean. But, works for me,” Dean agrees, motivated not to end up with that punishment. 

Being ignored is the worst.

“Who goes first,” Claire asks. She gave up on Connect 4 once it became obvious Charlie was going to win. The redhead stands next to her still beaming from her almost victory while Claire’s much less ecstatic about it. 

“Dean,” almost everyone responds in unison, with Kaia adding, “It’s his game.”

Good point.

Dean accepts his fate, griping, “Fine, but I’m choosing who asks the question.”

The boy decides to make it random rather than just asking his closest friend. Cas may dare him just to see him make a fool of himself, at least with the others he may have a decent chance at avoiding a dare. Dean closes his eyes, spinning in the center of the circle they’ve formed and stopping at random. When he opens them he’s pointing almost directly in the space between where Victor and Dorothy sit, but his finger is closer to Dorothy so he chooses her. 

Dorothy smiles at him, asking, “Truth or dare?”

He can’t say what comes over him but the word’s out before he can take it back. 

“Dare. Wait!” He shouts, trying to change it but his friends won’t have it.

“No, no take backs,” Charlie says, the same sentiment coming from the others as well.

Resigned to his fate, he turns back to Dorothy as she smiles wickedly, “I dare you to kiss Benny.”

A chorus of ‘ew’ ‘gross’ ‘no’ erupts around the room but Dorothy’s insistent, as long as Benny’s okay with it.

Dean looks over to his friend, about as red faced as he is. Pointing to his cheek he says, “Come on, make it quick.”

That’s all Dean needs to scoot over, smack the quickest kiss in history on his friend’s cheek before retreating back to his spot, face burning red with embarrassment. And maybe a little confusion as to why that made him so flustered in the first place. It’s just Benny, it’s not like he kissed him on the lips. 

Gross.

Dean doesn’t get long to wonder with the game moving on quickly now that everyone’s caught on to the rules.

Benny’s next, Dean asks, “Truth or Dare?”

He chooses truth so Dean makes up a random question, “What’s a joke that always makes you laugh?”

Benny smiles at his friend, clearly grateful for Dean taking it easy on him, answering after pausing to think, “My Ma told me this one once. ‘What do you call a dance party of giraffes in the middle of the street?’”

The boy waits to see if anyone’s heard it before, choppily revealing through a long bout of laughter, “A giraffic jam!”

Dean can’t help but laugh along with Benny. It wasn't the best joke but it’s silly enough to be funny, like most jokes parents tell their kids. Cole comes next with Benny asking him truth or dare.

“Truth,” Cole answers. 

Dean’s pretty sure after his experience no ones ever gonna choose dare again.

Benny thinks for a second, finally asking, “What’s the funniest movie you’ve ever seen?”

Cole responds but he seems a little unsure of his answer, “Wreck it Ralph was pretty funny I guess…”

Dean shrugs, “Works for me, who’s next?”

The game starts to pick up from there, most choosing truth but the questions and answers get sillier the longer they go on. 

It all goes downhill when Dean’s turn comes back around, this time Rhonda asks, “Truth or dare,” with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Dean’s smart enough to choose truth but he isn’t expecting the question she throws at him, eyes narrowed in anticipation as she asks, “What’s the one question you don’t want me to ask?”

The room erupts in laughter with more than one kid praising her for the tough question. It’s not like LeviaTech is ‘raising’ a bunch of idiots in here. They’re getting a ‘top of the line’ private school level education according to Ms. Ellen, subtle mind games like this are literally child’s play around here.

Dean knows the answer as soon as she asks, it flits around in his mind waiting for him to set the words free. Ms. Ellen’s created a monster, if this is what reading those books gets them. 

Dean’s never had a crush before, never considered the possibility until that show he watched last week, Degrassi. The ten year old’s pretty sure some of it wasn’t ‘age appropriate’ but he couldn’t turn it off. It was a revelation, one he's still trying to process and Rhonda’s nosiness isn’t helping. Finally, he blurts it out, face burning red hot once again, his only saving grace the fact she can’t follow up with any other questions to suss out who it is.

“I uh…I don’t want you to ask who I have a crush on…” Dean says, thanking the gods when the bell for dinner chimes saving him from everyones open mouthed, shocked stares. 

______________________________________________

“Not so fast, buddy,” Rhonda teases Dean, yanking the boy back into the room as he tries to make his escape. “Cas hasn’t had his last turn.”

Castiel watches Dean slow, agreeing to use a few minutes of their ten minute window to let him have one last turn before they have to get to dinner. 

Rhonda asks Castiel this time, “Truth or dare?”

Castiel doesn’t want to fall into the same trap as Dean, especially since he’s not ready to admit he even has a crush, let alone telling the whole entire room. So, he chooses dare even though it’s risky.

His friend smirks, daring him, “Kiss Pam, on the cheek.”

Tremendously grateful for the person she chose and Rhonda’s specific directions, Castiel slaps a quick peck on his friends cheek without complaint or question. She smiles back, pulling him into a side hug and ruffling his already messy hair as they begin making their way to the kitchen. Ms. Ellen’s been after him with clippers for days now. As they meander down the hall, Castiel can’t keep his mind from looping back to the same question.

Who does Dean have a crush on?

*****

Castiel’s the last one called in for his monthly check up the next day, right before dinner. He’s worried he may be late but his concerns get pushed to the back of his mind when he notices Nurse Ruby isn’t standing in the office waiting to start his appointment. Neither is Nurse Lilith. 

Hmmmm.

The mystery doesn’t last long as the brunette turns to face him, sporting a bright smile as she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Nurse Meg. Can you hop on this scale for me?”

Castiel does as she asks, the process being about as familiar to him now as the rest of their daily routine. 

Remembering his manners, the boy introduces himself in return, “I’m Castiel.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s on your chart,” She explains, tapping the clipboard in her hand.

Oh.

“No worries, Clarence,” She goes on, writing down the numbers from the scale as she gestures to the paper covered bed in the corner. “This’ll be quick and painless, promise.”

“Clarence? I thought you said you knew my name,” he grumbles, getting frustrated as she speaks in riddles.

Nurse Meg laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls in the small room, teasing, “You’ll understand one day.”

Castiel can feel a frown coming on, face dipping down to stare a hole into his uniform pants. Yet another person sent here to tease and make fun of him.

Great.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She asks, crouching in front of him to meet his sullen eyes. “Is it Cole? I saw what he did…”

He doesn’t answer right away, not wanting a spotlight on what happened and unsure of her intentions. 

“It’s okay, you can talk to me,” Nurse Meg insists, taking a seat on her stool and scooting right back to his side. 

Castiel sighs, the weight of not speaking becoming heavier than the fear of sharing. “It’s not all the time, but sometimes Cole’s an assbutt. To me and a few of the others. Ms. Ellen said she’d take care of it but he won’t listen…”

Nurse Meg giggles at his attempt at cursing, stifling the sound when he glares at her.

“Look, people like Cole will come and go. I’d like to say bullies disappear when you grow up, but they don’t they just get bigger and stupider. My advice? You need to start standing up for yourself, Castiel,” She says, patting his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “He does it because he thinks he can get away with it. Show him that he can’t.”

Castiel leaves a short while later with a pocket of ‘just between you and me’ candy and a Transformers bandage secured over where Nurse Meg took his blood. 

As he watched the vials fill up with crimson, Castiel wondered if the ‘lab coats’ are any closer to finding out about the ‘markers’ Dean told him about forever ago. Back then they both assumed it was of the Crayola variety, the boy chuckles to himself remembering the childish assumption. Not that they know much more now than they did then. Maybe if they get friendly enough with Nurse Meg she’ll tell them more, the one time he tried to ask Ms. Ellen she said not to worry and changed the subject. 

Last Dean overheard on one of his ‘missions’ to find out more, whatever’s in them is ‘dormant’ and LeviaTech is trying to…that’s all they’ve got so far, it’s frustrating to say the least.

Castiel reaches the table seconds before he would have been considered late. Dean gives him a weird look as he takes his seat next to the other boy but he can’t tell him now. They’ll have to talk before bed, maybe he’ll even share his candy if Dean promises to stop pranking him. It’s like living with Gabriel all over again.

*****

His plans to catch Dean before bed are dashed, finding the boy in a deep sleep when he returns to their room after his shower. 

Figures.

Castiel gets settled in his bed, intent on reading his comic but time isn’t on his side. Ketch comes in moments later yelling, “Lights out!” Before they’re plunged into semi darkness. The only glow emanating from a few nightlights scattered around the room. Not enough to read by, a fact he’s sure they’re counting on. 

Ughhh.

Frustrated, the boy rolls over, eyes landing on his snoring best friend. He’s barely able to make him out in the darkness, the closest night light on the other side of Garth and he’s two beds away from Castiel. 

The truth is, Castiel’s pretty sure he has a crush on Dean. It hadn’t occurred to him until today that it was possible the feeling ran both ways. He should never have let Dean convince him to watch that stupid show with him, now everything’s confusing and he doesn’t have a clue what to do about it. Dean blushed when Rhonda asked, but he’s pretty certain it isn’t her. Honestly, Castiel can’t see himself having a crush on any of the girls, they’re too much like sisters to him, it would be weird. But, things might feel differently for Dean. He’s not sure and that’s the problem. 

Castiel squints his eyes in the darkness, trying to deduce if Dean’s still asleep. His snores have grown softer but if he listens closely his friend is still counting sheep, just quieter. The freckle faced boy usually drools in his sleep, it’s gross but it makes Castiel smile a little. His thoughts loop back to his earlier question. No, it can’t be Rhonda. Dean treats her like Castiel treated Anna before she ran away. 

Like a sister. 

The best big sister he could’ve ever asked for.

Castiel wonders where Anna could be now, wonders if she ever went home. He doubts she would’ve let his parents abandon him here if she knew, her or Gabriel. The boy wishes he had a way to contact either of them, just to talk. Sighing, Castiel realizes he won’t be coming to any firm conclusions on his siblings or Dean tonight. He should be sleeping, not watching his friend like a creep. Dean’s snoring reaches an obnoxious crescendo causing Castiel to kick his leg out across the minuscule space between the beds, reaching just far enough to nudge him in the rear. Dean whines in his sleep before settling back down, this time silently. In the renewed silence, Castiel slips easily into peaceful dreams.

______________________________________________

“Of course it needs a code,” Dean grumbles, staring down the locked steel doors in front of him. 

The boy wishes he had x-ray vision or something so he could know for sure if this is all a waste of time. If he’s risking getting in trouble for nothing. But, they wouldn’t lock an entire wing of the building if whatever’s in there wasn’t important. He’s beginning to think the answers to why they’ve been left here are behind these double doors. The only thing standing in his way? A series of numbers he doesn’t have possession of at the moment.

Not yet, at least.

The boy’s just about to wander down the hall where all the LeviaTech employee offices are, in hopes someone may have it written down, when Ketch catches up to him. 

“Winchester, not again,” the man groans, pulling him away from his destination, pivoting towards the boys room. “Back to bed, now. You know the rules, you’ll have to go see Roman first thing after breakfast.”

Ketch follows him as he sulks, watching to make sure he climbs back into bed and stays there this time. Dean knew it was risky but he’ll take whatever punishment ‘Principal’ Roman deals out. 

It can’t be that bad, can it?

*****

“Want me to wait for you?” Cas asks, putting his plate in the sink after breakfast the next morning. His sky blue eyes grow concerned, edging closer to Dean, whispering, “I can stay right outside in the hall if you want…”

Dean shakes his head no, not wanting Cas to get in trouble if he’s late to class. Besides, it was his idea in the first place, Cas was just smart enough to decline the invitation to join.

“No, you told me not to go. Whatever happens next is on me,” Dean says, preparing to walk off towards certain doom. 

Cas chuckles lightly, reminding him, “As your best friend I’m obligated to tell you not to do dumb things.” Pausing, he adds, “Being right doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would in this scenario…”

Dean reaches over, landing a hand on Cas’ shoulder and bending slightly to catch his eye. Ms. Ellen was right, he’s mid growth spurt and Cas is quickly falling behind. 

Perks of being just a few months shy of his thirteenth birthday.

Once blue meets green, Dean reassures his friend, “I’ll be fine, Cas. You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough, Dean. You’re unnecessarily reckless,” Cas grumbles, poking his friend in the side as he sticks out his tongue childishly. Darting his eyes up to the clock, his friend announces, “If I don’t go now, I’ll be late. See you in class.”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t have the same questions I do, Cas,” Dean says, apparently to the empty air as his friend continues to walk away from him shaking his head. The boy mutters mostly to himself, “When I uncover whatever they’re hiding from us…”

“Winchester, follow me,” Ketch appears behind him, cutting his mini tantrum short as they march down the hall, into the elevator and up to the top floor where Roman’s office resides. Ketch doesn’t stall, pointing to the man’s door and urging Dean inside, “He’s waiting.”

Dean saunters through the door, head held high as his eyes meet the cold calculating stare of Dick Roman, CEO of Roman Enterprises and all its subsidiaries, including his current prison, Leviatech. Dean could probably recite the little spiel on command by now. He’s always wondered why the CEO would want to play ‘principal’ everyday to a bunch of kids, but he’s sure Roman has his reasons. Nothing good, judging by the man’s ever-present plastic grin. 

“Dean,” Roman addresses him, tone nothing short of exasperation. “We’ve discussed this at length. You’re not to be found trying to enter, or go anywhere near, that side of the building. It’s off limits for a reason, but you already know that. Thanks to your stubborn nature, I think we’ve reached the need for further…consequences.”

Surprise, surprise.

Dean can almost hear Jo’s Roman impersonation now, nearly causing him to giggle out loud. That would only bring him more trouble so he bites the inside of his cheek, stifling the laugh before it can burst its way free. 

Roman goes on, oblivious to his struggle, handing out his sentence with glee, “You’re on bathroom duty for the next week, alone…”

Dean groans, already wishing he’d listened to Cas and kept his ass in bed. Nothing’s worth having to clean a bathroom he shares with eight other boys all by himself. 

Mentally, he counts off five things he noticed this morning alone that grossed him out. Garth’s toenail clippings he just left on the floor by the trash, clumps of hair in the shower drain from who knows where, soap scum and mold buildup on the shower walls, an unflushed toilet or two, and Cole left toothpaste smeared all over the sink again. Housekeeping does their best but that’s a lot of showering and teeth brushing, among other things, that happens every day. Usually, the grownups double them up on assignments to tidy up after themselves, but Roman’s an evil little man. 

It’s the perfect payback for not following his stupid rules. 

The horror continues, “…and I’ll be expecting a 5 page essay on why we shouldn’t break rules, on my desk by Wednesday morning at the latest. Dismissed.” 

Roman doesn’t spare him a second glance, eyes returning to his computer screen as Dean stands and makes his way back out into the hall.

Ketch is there waiting to escort him back downstairs, behind locked doors he desperately wishes he could escape. They’re all turning thirteen this year, moved under the facility like a dirty secret while the lies of the adults around them threaten to bury them alive. With renewed fervor, Dean decides to go along with Roman’s little power play for now, but it won’t make him give up his search. 

Cas hasn’t seen the outside world in almost 8 years, his friend deserves better than this.

They all do.

Chapter Text

Dean’s scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn glob of toothpaste in the sink, cursing whoever left it, when Nurse Meg comes to find him. The boy squints suspiciously, wondering what she could possibly want. 

“Don’t give me that look, Deano,” the nurse says, waving away his animosity with a teasing smirk. “Come on, you know the drill.”

Not again.

Without another word from the nurse, he knows. It’s time to be poked and prodded by the lab coats once again.

The blue scrub clad brunette gestures for him to come with her, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on the doorframe as she waits. Dutifully, yet with all the sass he can muster, the boy puts away his cleaning supplies. Dean washes his hands so he can follow behind Nurse Meg with a distinct frown gracing his features.

As they enter the hall, he passes Cas walking in the opposite direction with Garth and Patience. 

“Where are you going? We were just about to come get you for dinner,” Cas says, stopping in his tracks as Dean walks past. 

Sky blue eyes swim with concern as the other boy looks to Meg then back to his friend. 

Dean shrugs his shoulders, explaining, “Ask Nurse Meg, they probably wanna check out the merchandise. See how their investments paying off…”

Meg snorts a laugh, chuckling, “Investment? That’s a new one…”

“Why else would our parents practically sell us off to some medical lab? You could always correct me if I’m wrong…” he tries, knowing the answer will remain the same.

“Sorry, Dean. That’s wayyyy above my pay grade,” she mutters, pushing him gently away from the others and closer to the medical wing. Softening, she adds, “I mean it, Dean. I am sorry, this must be…”

Dean pulls away, leaving the woman’s hand hanging in mid air as she tries to pat his shoulder. If she really cared, she’d tell him something, anything. 

“You’re just as bad as Roman. You know that, right?” Dean sneers, reaching the door to the exam room before the nurse. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the flinch his words cause.

Good.  

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. 

The twelve year old takes his seat in the usual chair, waiting with his arm held out as one of the lab coats hovering nearby instructs Meg to take his blood. Better to make it seem like he’s being compliant, at least if he’s quiet they might start to talk. Nurse Meg gently preps him, taking two vials of blood and handing them over to one of the lab coats. The man walks over to the other side of the room where another lab coat waits with a microscope and some other equipment he’s never seen before. 

Huh.

Dean’s distracted for a few minutes as Meg checks his weight, height, blood pressure, and the list goes on. After having him walk in a straight line and touch his finger to the tip of his nose, Dean’s about ready to make a run for it. 

“Are we almost done?” He asks, breaking his own protocol by speaking. 

Meg nods, making notations as she answers, “Just let me finish this then I’ll walk you back.”

Dean reluctantly agrees, still feeling impatient as he taps his foot waiting for Meg. Seconds later he’s praising the woman’s slow writing as the lab coats’ excited chattering breaks up the silence across the room.

“Come look at this,” Lab coat one stage whispers to his buddy. He waits, allowing the other man a moment to take a peek into the microscope, eventually asking, “Are we seeing the same thing?”

Lab coat two steps back, mouth fallen open in an ‘o’ of surprise, peaking Dean’s interest. 

The man mumbles, “We have to show Roman, something’s changed…”

Lab coat one responds, “He’s gonna want a CT scan of…”

All conversation halts as both men realize he’s still in the room, sitting quietly in the corner with Meg. Dean can’t help but roll his eyes, sighing as he slouches lower in his seat, fingers picking at the friendship bracelet Cas gave him forever ago. 

Ugghhhh.

“Hey, Masters,” Lab coat one calls over to the nurse, grabbing her attention as he beckons for her. She gets up, walking over to the men and leaving Dean to try and decipher their hushed whispers. All he can manage to pick up is a barely audible, half formed sentence, “…continue monitoring…the situation seems to be rapidly evolving…” before they’re pushing Meg back in his direction and she tells him it’s time to leave. 

Dean’s confused and more than a little scared as the nurse takes him back to the boys hall in silence.  

What’s happening to him?

No immediate answers in sight, the boy settles back into cleaning on autopilot with shaky hands, thoughts swirling around all of the terrifying possibilities. 

*****

A few weeks later, Ms. Ellen comes by during lunch to let them know they’ll be having a special session of gym today, health class. Dean groans, they’ve had these classes before on hygiene and things like that. It’s always boring and, to him, pure common sense. Ms. Ellen asks for all the boys to report to the game room with her while all the girls will be in the library with Nurse Meg. 

Immediately his suspicions are aroused. 

“Why are they separating us?” He whispers to Cas, finishing up the last of his fries.

When they met up before to talk about brushing their teeth and making sure they shower well every day, it was as a group. 

Cas shrugs, watching as their friends pile their dirty dishes in the sink. “No better time to find out, let’s go.”

Dean disagrees, but he follows his ever trusting friend down the hall and into the game room. Ms. Ellen’s set up with a stack of papers and a television. 

Hmmmm.

Maybe they’re just going to watch a movie.

Dean sits down right in between his two best friends, Benny and Cas, praying for whatever this is to end quickly. He’d rather eat glass than sit through another hour long talk about ‘minimizing unpleasant body odor’, courtesy of head lab coat himself. Now that Dean thinks about it, the man’s conspicuously absent from the room today. It’s just Ms. Ellen and her papers, no forced smile and nasally voice to be seen. 

Dean damn near does a happy dance in his seat, maybe this won’t suck after all. 

“Alright boys, settle down,” Ms. Ellen speaks as the last of them take their seats, roughhousing being brought to a minimum at her request. “It’s been brought to our attention that some of you may be experiencing some new feelings. Ones you may not fully understand, so Mr. Roman and Dr. Heyerdahl have decided it’s time for us to have a talk. A very important one,” she emphasizes, scanning the room to make sure they’re paying attention. Smiling awkwardly she adds, “I’ll apologize in advance for anything that may feel embarrassing to hear from me, guys.”

Dean’s not the only one left in a state of confusion with no clue what Ms. Ellen’s going on about. Murmurs and mumbles ripple through the small group before she shushes them again. 

“I promise I’ll answer all your questions, I’m sure you’ll have plenty after this,” She says, mumbling the last to herself but Dean hears her. “Let’s begin, everyone take a paper and pass the stack to your neighbor.”

Ash gets the stack first, scrunching his face up as he asks, “Uhhh, why’re you giving us a picture of someone’s junk, Ms. Ellen.”

Attempting to hold back her own laughter as the boys break into giggles around them, she groans, “Really, Ash?” Adding as an afterthought, “It’s an educational diagram. Copied out of a medical textbook.”

“Doesn't make it any less weird,” the kid mumbles, still giggling to himself as he passes the papers on.

Once the stack comes around to Benny he takes one passing it on to Dean with a flush on his face. Dean looks down, noting it’s definitely an anatomically correct drawing of a dick before passing the stack on to a wide eyed Cas. 

“You okay, buddy?” He asks, amused by his friends locked on baby blues. 

Cas stutters, flushing red in response, “Y-yes. I’m fine, Dean. Thanks.”

“Oooookay, weirdo,” Dean chuckles, facing front as Ms. Ellen explains the purpose of the handout. 

“Most of you are quickly approaching your thirteenth birthday so this talk is sort of late, but better late than never. It’s time for you to learn about your bodies now that you’re entering what’s called puberty.” She explains, writing the word down on a whiteboard she pulled from behind the tv.

What follows is the most embarrassing thirty minutes he’s ever experienced, and with his best friends no less. By the end, Dean’s as red in the face as Cas and Benny were earlier, with more information than he wants to have stuffed into his brain on how his body’s gearing up to betray him. And he thought drooling in his sleep was bad, according to Ms. Ellen that’s the least of his concerns. 

“That was…a lot,” Benny mumbles, standing to leave after Ms. Ellen dismisses them. “I gotta go…do something that’s not this.”

Without another word, their friend disappears like he was never there. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dean calls after him, not even believing his own words. “Okay, yeah…that was awkward as hell. Like hearing my mom talk about my bits for an hour in front of my whole family.”

He ignores the stab of pain the comparison causes, it doesn’t take away the fact Ellen’s been like a mom to all of them since they arrived. 

Cas shudders from the thought, whispering, “I think my voice is starting to change…has it been squeaky, Dean? And I thought this was a mole but it could be a pimple…”

Dean can tell his friend is spiraling, holding back his laughter, he reassures him, “I promise if you start to turn into a pimple covered squeaky voiced mutant or somethin’ I’ll tell you.”

Cas barks a laugh, rare gummy grin shining, “We’re not turning into mutants, Dean. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Well…

Just as he opens his mouth, he’s shut down, “No. Absolutely not. I’d rather sit through that talk again than hear another one of your half baked ‘theories’. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Hopes dashed, Dean trails after his friend, trying to keep up as he speed walks down the hall. That talk may have been embarrassing but it did clear up a few questions Dean’s been wrestling with for months. 

You can only learn so much from Degrassi, after all.  

The thought makes him chuckle, ignoring Cas’ questioning side eye as they make their way down the hall. Dean understands now, thanks to Ms. Ellen. Those moments, like this one, when they’re alone and he kind of wants to reach out and hold Cas’ hand. The times when his friends sapphire eyes make his heart beat a little out of sync. That’s because his crazy puberty hormones are making him nuts for Cas. As they walk and the boy rambles on about the latest Batman comic Ellen snuck him, he’s fairly certain the last thing on his friends mind is holding hands with Dean. 

Rounding the corner into the common area, Benny catches his eye from over by the bean bag chairs. The other boy is looking at him kinda weird, glancing away as soon as he notices Dean’s caught him, blushing furiously once again. 

Leaning over, attempting to be discreet, Dean whispers to Cas, “Dude, what the hell’s wrong with Benny?”

Cas lays it out, barely hiding his ‘duh’ tone, “Benny likes you, Dean.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, looking down to the floor in confusion before Cas’ words really hit him. “Ohhhhh…”

But, Dean doesn’t like Benny. At least not like that, yet Cas doesn’t seem to care that someone else likes Dean. It’s pretty much all the answer he needs. Deciding to save himself the trouble, Dean keeps his mouth shut about his stupid crush. Why admit to it when Cas could care less, especially knowing it would hurt Benny’s feelings in the end.

Dean shrugs, attempting to play it off as he whispers back, “Don’t you think we’re all a little young to be dating…”

Cas hesitates, turning to look at Dean, analyzing him in his peculiar way before answering, “Yeah, you’re right.”

____________________________________

“Benny likes you, Dean,” he says, practically holding his breath, waiting for Dean’s reaction to the ‘news’. 

If he shows any interest in Benny, that could be proof he’d like Castiel, if he knew the truth.

Today’s talk solidified some things for the boy, one of those being he definitely has a crush on Dean, the other being he should probably tell him. Not doing so feels like a lie, and Castiel knows Dean hates when people keep secrets. But it seems he and Benny have come to the same realization regarding Dean.

Ughhhh.

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, turning forest green eyes to the floor as his brow furrows. His head pops up suddenly, finally getting it, “Ohhhhh…”

Castiel watches those same green eyes glaze over, staring in Benny’s direction for moments that feel like hours. Maybe he should have said something earlier, right after Ms. Ellen dismissed them. His chance seems to be slipping away right in front of him. 

Finally, Dean shrugs, whispering back, “Don’t you think we’re all a little young to be dating…”

Castiel peers deeply into his friends brilliant green eyes, memories of the first time he saw them flitting around in his mind. 

Dean’s ‘pretty’ green eyes… 

Dean didn’t say he wasn’t into the idea of dating a guy, just that its too soon to be dating in the first place. It’s also not proof he doesn’t like Benny and where does that leave Castiel? If this is how Dean truly feels, he will have to respect it. 

Hesitating for a second longer, he finally answers, “Yeah, you’re right.”

*****

A few hours later, Castiel’s absentmindedly sketching near the end of free time. The boy’s huddled over his paper, shielding it from prying eyes due to the subject matter. 

Dean.  

Now that he’s admitted his feelings, it’s like his attention refuses to shift far from his friend. He intended to sketch a wolf, like on the cover of the book he grabbed from the library for reference. Instead, he has a fairly mediocre drawing of his best friend laying on the table in front of him.

Castiel’s thinking of scrapping the whole thing when the paper goes missing abruptly from view. Snatched by none other than Dean Winchester.

Oh no.

“Hey, what’s th…” his friend begins to speak, words cut off as his grass green eyes scan the page in front of him. 

Castiel braces himself for ridicule and teasing, but what he gets instead confuses him even more.

“Whoa, this is awesome! Can I keep it?” Dean asks, practically pleading with those glowing green eyes. 

Caught off guard, it takes him a moment to answer, finally mumbling an astonished, “Sure?”

Castiel knows he’s getting better but the sketch is far from his best work, making Dean’s reaction all the more curious. Still, it’s the silver lining to an otherwise shitty day. His mood follows him through dinner, unyielding up until lights out when he pretends to go to sleep. Castiel considers actually turning in, avoiding their nightly ritual, but Dean won’t have it. Kicking him lightly in the butt as everyone else files out of the room and down the hall to the game room. 

They’ve been meeting up like this as a group for a few months now. At first, Castiel was worried they’d get caught and dragged to Roman’s office. Something he’s been able to avoid thus far. But, it turns out unless they try to get past forbidden locked doors like Dean, Ketch and Nurse Meg don’t seem to care what they do after hours. The boy is sure that would change if anyone else had night duty, but that’s a moot point since it’s always Ketch and Nurse Meg. 

Castiel wanders into the game room behind his friends, choosing to hide away on a beanbag chair in the corner with his sketchbook while everyone else gathers in a circle in the center of the room. 

Dean gives him a weird look but before he can come investigate, Benny grabs his wrist pulling him down next to him. Dean glances over one last time before his attention is stolen by something funny the other boy says. Castiel’s too far to hear but close enough to watch as his friend gets caught up in the conversation, forgetting all about him in the process.

Well, that happened fast. 

Trying to ignore the stab of hurt in his chest for what feels like Dean choosing Benny over him, he dives back into his sketch book, this time actually sketching what he intended to earlier in the day. It turns out to be a good thing, now that he hears the topic of conversation for the night. 

“What did Nurse Meg tell you guys?” Ash asks the girls curiously, fiddling with his Rubik’s cube while he waits for someone to spill the details.

Pam snorts a laugh, giggling her way through a response, “Don’t ask…”

Charlie chimes in, chuckling along with her, “She played some ridiculous clip from one of those shows Roman banned us from watching. It was like less than thirty seconds, she used it as an intro but it was some weird ass hairy creature she said was the ‘puberty monster’ and we each have one. Apparently they’re about to make our lives a living hell so, there’s that.”

Puberty monster? 

Maybe having Ms. Ellen give them the talk was a blessing in disguise. 

“Anyway,” Kaia pipes up, taking over for the other two girls who’ve dissolved into laughter. “We sort of got off topic once she started the refresher on having pride and loving yourself exactly as you are,” she explains, eyes darting over to someone he can’t see from the corner.

Castiel has an inkling of an idea about what she means, though. They’d had the same talk with the nurse last year when Patience told Kaia she wasn’t allowed to think Dorothy was pretty because ‘girls can’t like girls’. Some nonsense she’d heard her father say on one of his visits. That health class was as eye opening as the short refresher they had today during the rest of the talk. Focus stolen at this point, Castiel gets up to join the group, plopping down in an empty space between Garth and Kevin. 

It isn’t until he takes his seat that he notices how on edge Garth is, hands clenched tightly in his lap as he rocks back and forth slightly. 

Attempting unsuccessfully to meet the other boys eyes, Castiel whispers, “Are you okay?”

Garth doesn’t answer him as much as he blurts it out for the whole room to hear, revealing, “I think I’m gay…”

Ohhhh.

Nervous energy rolls off of his friend in waves as he awaits the groups reaction, eyes clinched shut, body gone rigid as a steel beam. 

Castiel feels for him as the silence in the room draws longer, everyones wide eyed stares pinned to Garth while he awaits their judgement. 

Without thinking, Castiel responds to take some of the heat off of his struggling friend, “Me too, I think I’ve known for awhile.”

It takes a moment, but Garth’s body eases as Castiel’s words seep in, relaxing him now that he knows he isn’t the odd one out. In fact, the boy hears a few more ‘confessions’ going on behind him amidst overwhelming support from the others as he maintains his focus on Garth.  

“Thank you,” Garth murmurs, tentative smile turned Castiel’s way. “I’d been going around my head with that ever since Ms. Ellen dismissed us. It’s nice to know it isn’t just me…”

Castiel waves him off, promising, “Even if it was, I’d still have your back. That’s what friends are for, Garth.”

His words only cause Garth’s smile to widen, eyes crinkling with happiness. The boys get pulled into a conversation with Kevin but it doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice when a set of slightly clammy fingers creep over his own, clasping his hand gently. He doesn’t bring attention to it, finding that he likes the closeness, even if it’s coming from an unexpected source. Garth holds his hand for the rest of their unscheduled hangout, right up until they return to the room. 

Hesitating just past the door so the others can get by, Garth timidly asks, “Wanna sit together at breakfast?”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, usually he sits between Dean and Benny for breakfast. But, they may not want him in between them now that they’re…getting closer. Which confuses him since Dean said they’re too young to date. Castiel’s mind wanders off, wondering if holding hands and eating breakfast with Garth counts as dating. Then again, outside of holding hands, he and Dean always have breakfast together and they’re definitely not dating.

This is stupid.

Shaking loose from his swirl of confounding thoughts, he answers for himself, “Sure.”

His mind may still be a mess of confusion but the smile Garth pins him with in return makes Castiel feel warm and fuzzy inside. The peck the other boy leaves on his cheek before rushing off to his own bed makes his face flame up like a tomato. Castiel’s distracted, holding his hand over the spot as he walks over to his own empty bed. The cold glare he’s met with from his best friend catches him completely off guard, making him second guess everything.  

Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean would care, he and Garth aren’t dating, so what’s the problem?

Deciding to leave the rest of his worries to be dealt with in the morning, Castiel huffs a sigh, rolling over after a quick goodnight to his friend. Dean’s terse ‘good night’ doesn’t ease his concerns one bit. Castiel shakes it off for now, shutting his eyes, intent on falling into a deep slumber free from unearned glares and double standards. 

Chapter Text

The alarm goes off at exactly 5:30 AM, waking the grumpy group of preteens up bright and early. Sounds of shuffling feet and muffled yawns greet Dean as he rolls over, confronted not with his best friends baby blues as usual, but with his back as he rushes off without Dean. Cas usually needs at least two warnings and a literal kick in the ass to get out of bed most mornings, the change in behavior peaks Dean’s interest. 

“Come on, Dean,” Benny urges, walking past him on the way to the bathroom. 

Shaken from his confusion, the boy follows his friend to the bathroom line, still turning over in his mind what could have Cas acting like such a pod person lately. It doesn’t take long to get to the front of the line, unfortunately right in the middle of Cas and his new ‘boyfriend’. Dean keeps his eyes front as he goes through the motions of brushing his teeth while seething internally. 

Cas let Garth kiss him and he held his hand for almost an hour, after he and Dean both agreed they’re too young to date. Now, Dean watches the pair meander down the hall, attached at the hands once again as they walk to breakfast together. He can’t help but wanna kick his own ass for not telling Cas the truth, unrequited feelings or not it’d be better than watching his friend go all goo-goo eyed over Garth. 

“…and last night I thought…” Benny pauses, poking Dean in the ribs making him gasp and glare at his friend. “Are you listenin’?” He asks, frown forming quickly. 

No, he wasn’t. 

But he can’t tell Benny that so he nods, attempting a smile. Luckily it lands as his friend continues speaking, oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil. 

Cas must feel eyes on him, his own popping up to meet Dean’s startled gaze from a few seats down. A tentative smile curls the corners of his friends hopelessly chapped lips, warming his sky blues, and it makes Dean feel brave just for a moment. 

Maybe he could tell him, maybe it isn’t too late. 

But, Cas’ attention is stolen away by something Garth says before Dean can act. It must be funny, it pulls out Cas’ crazy grin that’s half gums but adorable as hell. Apparently, Garth thinks so too, having gone all gooey and heart eyed at the sight. 

Ughhhh.

Dean forces himself to at least half pay attention to Benny as he finishes what’s left of his food. Today the bacon tastes like dirt and the pancakes sit heavy in his stomach making him queasy. He chokes down his dreaded glass of orange juice seconds before catching Cas approaching in his peripheral vision. 

Uh oh.

“Dean, can we talk?” His friend asks hesitantly. Bright blue eyes shooting over to Benny, pointedly adding, “Alone?”

Dean doesn’t get the chance to consider the request or try to interpret the hurt look on Benny’s face before Nurse Lilith comes in to rain on everyones parade. 

“Winchester!” She shouts, gliding silently into the room in her blood red crocs. “Dr. Heyerdahl needs to see you, immediately.” The blonde crooks one finger, gesturing for him to come to her side. 

Dean groans audibly, rolling his eyes as he gets up, “I’ll find you later, Cas. Apparently I have an appointment to be Dr. Creep’s personal pincushion again.”

Ms. Ellen snorts, attempts to stifle the sound in her cup of coffee prove completely pointless as the others join in her giggles. The giggles quickly shift into raucous laughter bouncing around the room making Nurse Lilith livid.

“Don’t encourage them, Harvelle,” Lilith snipes, forcefully yanking Dean out of the kitchen and down the hall to his less than amused surprise. 

“Hey!” He shouts, yanking his arm from her too tight grip. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

Lilith stops, barely looming over him with his growth spurt, but it’s enough with her menacing dead eyed stare laser focused on his every move. 

“What we’re not supposed to do is kill you, Winchester,” she states as though reciting the weather for the day. A slow smile spreads as her tone drops dangerously deadly, “There’s a lot I can do that’ll hurt like hell, but I promise it won’t kill you. Meg lets you runts get away with murder, treats you like people and not the little guinea pigs you are…”

Without another word, she shoves him forward down the hall to the last door on the right, Dr. Creep’s office and exam room. Nurse Lilith pushes the door open after a courtesy knock to announce their arrival. 

“Here he is, doctor,” she purrs, smile sickeningly sweet in a way that doesn’t quite fit her face. “Do you need anything else?”

“No you can go,” Dr. Heyerdahl says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand, nasal voice already grating on Dean's nerves. 

The old man turns his beady eyes on him, looking Dean up and down curiously as the silence stretches longer and longer. 

“Hello, my boy,” he finally says, folding his arms across the top of his desk as he leans forward. “I know we see each other less than the nurses and other staff, let’s catch up. Take a seat and we’ll talk for a bit.”

“No offense dude, but I’ve got other shit I’d rather be doing. Can we get the testing or blood draw, or whatever the hell it is you want today over with? I’m good, everything’s good,” he insists, ready to say anything to avoid having to actually sit down and talk with the man. 

“Language, Mr. Winchester,” Heyerdahl scolds, a hint of authority creeping into his tone but still aiming for ‘safe adult’ territory. “If you’re sure, we’ll need to walk across the hall to the lab.”

Dean stands, waiting for Alistair to lead the way and wondering why they couldn’t have just started in there to begin with. There’s nothing he could tell Dr. Creep that he couldn’t find out from Ms. Ellen, Nurse Meg, Ketch, or anyone else who spends enough time around him and the other kids. The lab coats don’t really care, Dr. Creep included, its all about what they want. So, no, Dean doesn’t quite feel like sharing today, better to keep this interaction as brief as possible. 

“Today, I need a special scan of your body which requires the use of this machine,” He says, pointing to the large sheet covered shape behind him. The man pulls the sheet off, explaining further, “Part of the procedure requires you to be partially inside this hole, right here. But I promise it isn’t scary and I’ll be here with you the entire time,” Creep swears, oblivious to the fact that does shit all to soothe Dean’s fears.

The doctor is standing in front of an off white, rectangular machine with a round hole in the center. There’s a flat area, probably for a person to lay on, with straps on either side in front of the machine. 

Creep gestures to the slab, confirming his assumption as he explains, “You’ll be strapped down here. Once I turn it on from the control room over there, the machine will pull you in through that hole so I can get a full scan of your body. Nothing scary, no needles, no drugs, simple.”

Dean’s eyes bounce warily from the machine back to Creep. He can’t seriously think that sounded simple and ‘not scary’. 

Dean begins to protest, “I’m not getting…”

Alistair interrupts, “I’ll be honest, Dean. You’re changing…in unexpected ways. Unplanned ways. Don’t you want to know what that means? If…” the man hesitates, eyes dropping to the floor then peering back at Dean, intensely. “If you do what’s asked of you now, no complaints, then I may be able to get you some more privileges around here.”

The offer grabs his attention, though he’s still not completely on board with climbing into that machine willingly. 

“Like what?” He asks, curious. Roman always says he doesn’t reward bad behavior so he’s pretty sure Alistair has to be bullshitting him. “And it better be good if you expect me to just hop into something that could probably rip my skin off or who knows what.”

Creep chuckles darkly, “It’s a surprise, my boy. For now, please lie down on the slab so I can get you strapped in. This machine doesn’t have a flaying feature, unfortunately. I’ll have to settle for a nice clear image of your insides, instead.”

The glee laced in his tone sends an uncomfortable shiver down Dean’s spine, but he knows not complying means a visit to Roman so he shuffles his butt onto the slab, lying down and getting situated as Creep straps him in. 

The procedure itself is short, lots of loud noises from the machine after he’s inside the center and the scan begins followed by waiting for Creep to come back and unstrap him a few minutes later. 

“See anything good?” Dean asks rhetorically, smoothing his hands down his clothes as he stands. “I mean, if my body’s doing all this interesting shi-stuff, shouldn’t I get to know all about it?”

There it is, that razor toothed smile that inspired his nickname, Dr. Creep grins wildly, murmuring, “All in good time, my boy. All in good time.”

Dean barely restrains himself from running from the lab once Dr. Creep tells him he can go, after informing him this will be a weekly occurrence going forward.

Nonononono

He’s barely gotten used to the possibility of being in this place for the rest of his life, just Dean and his weird little group of friends to help shield him from reality. Fellow guinea pigs if you take Lilith’s word for it. But now, Creep and Roman are dead set on making it so Dean can’t ever forget where he really is and who has final say on all facets of his existence. Even with Alistair’s offer, the idea of undergoing even more testing chips away at something inside of him. 

Dean wonders if there will come a day he accepts some silly trinket from the man only for Creep to ask for a kidney in return. 

Dean’s so lost in his own panic he almost falls in a tangle of limbs when he walks right into Benny. 

“Ooof,” Dean gasps, leaping back a step to right himself as his friend sways in place. “Sorry, man. Shoulda been looking where I was going.”

Benny takes him in, assessing eyes running over his shaking frame, asking, “What’s wrong? Did Dr. Creep do somethin’ to you?”

The other boys fists clench, jaw tightening in instant anger ready to defend Dean to the death. Well, maybe not as dramatic as all that…but then again, there’s something behind his ice blue eyes that says otherwise. 

Good to know.

Still, Dean sets him straight, explaining, “He didn’t hurt me or anything if that’s what you’re asking. I had to…”

Dean hesitates, ready to debrief Benny on what happened when he realizes this is usually something he’d run to tell Cas. But Cas isn’t anywhere he can see, and Benny’s eager to listen. So, Dean starts walking side by side with his friend as he continues to tell the tale. 

“…after he was done, I asked what he saw on the scan and,” Dean rambles, nearing the end of the story as his heart rate picks back up from the memory. “With the creepiest look in his eyes, he says, ‘all in good time, my boy. All in good time.’ Like what the fuck does that even mean? I already told Cas, my bet is we’re mutants. That or I’ve got an itty bitty xenomorph growin’ in there and they’re waiting to see how long I last…” he cracks up laughing, unable to finish his sentence once he hears it out loud.

Benny scrubs a hand down his face with a sigh and a chuckle, “Ms. Ellen never shoulda let us…no you, watch Alien. We’re not mutants and you don’t have a lil baby xenomorph in you, sorry to break it to you.”

Dean looks to his friend, unshed tears welling in his eyes, admitting, “Alien or not, something’s different about me and the lab rats seem to like it a little too much. It’s freaking me the fuck out, B.”

“I’ll do my best to protect you, even though it’s more than likely we’re both just as fucked.” They both chuckle softly, agreeing he’s probably right. Benny pledges, clapping one hand over his shoulder in support, "I won’t ever abandon you. We’ll get out one day, Dean. They can’t keep us here forever.”

Dean’s soft laughter quickly turns humorless, muttering, “I appreciate your optimism, but I’m pretty sure we’re stuck here until they’re done with us.”

The admission is an inner fear he’s never spoken out loud. 

That LeviaTech owns them body and soul until the day they die. That he’ll never see Sammy or his dad ever again. The thought makes him stumble, slowing his steps as Benny’s brow furrows in concern. 

“We may not be strong enough yet, but there’ll come a day when it’ll be a lot harder for them to control all of us, Dean.” Benny insists, fire lit behind his eyes in a way Dean’s never seen. “Don’t give up, okay?”

The hand on his shoulder slowly slides down, entangling Dean’s sweaty fingers with Benny’s warm, dry ones. The action startles him for a moment but Benny’s looking at him the same way he was the other day, when Cas set Dean straight about his crush. 

Hah! Straight…

Without his ‘Cas’ filtered glasses on, Dean’s able to see Benny from a whole new perspective. One he likes, more than he was ready to admit before. 

If Cas is old enough, then maybe Dean is too.

“Okay,” he responds, broad smile spreading on his face as an unfamiliar warmth grows in his chest.

* * * * *

Dean walks softly but swiftly on tip toe down the darkened hall, trying locked door after locked door. He’s still too short to look into any of the windows at the tops of each door but Dean’s hoping at least one will hold the answers. 

Today is Wednesday, otherwise known as Creep Day. In the beginning, Dean wondered if there was some significance to that particular day of the week for Alistair, now he doesn’t really care. By his count, Dean’s had about eight of these appointments since they started a few months ago. The latest was marked by yet another CT scan he’s not allowed to see, along with all the other testing results they get from him each week. None of this has been worth the few ‘privileges’ Creep’s been able to receive approval for.

A couple of mediocre store bought pies and an iPhone he can’t even use as a phone don’t account for much. Not that he has very many people to call other than his dad and Sammy. Dean guesstimates, If he just turned thirteen a few weeks ago, that would mean Sam’s around nine now. The boy gets distracted wondering if his brother would even remember him considering the last time Dean saw him, Sammy could barely talk. This internal tangent is why Dean doesn’t sense Ketch stalking up behind him until he’s got both hands planted on the boy’s shoulders, spinning him around to face the exasperated security guard. 

“I see you made it past the door this time,” Ketch notes, a hint of pride suffuses his tone. “While that may be admirable in regards to your intellect, it’s wholly against the rules and you know it, Winchester.”

“So close, man,” Dean groans, fingers trailing across each door as Ketch marches him back in the other direction. “Can’t you just look the other way for like five or ten minutes, give or take?”

Ketch laughs, loudly. 

The lack of further response, is a response.

“Fine,” the teen grumbles, crossing his arms defiantly. “If what I’ve got is deadly I hope it takes you out first.”

“Hey!” Ketch yelps, stopping mid stride, hand over heart in astonishment. “Take that back.”

“Ha!” Dean shouts with unmasked glee. “So I do have something, what is it?!”

“Nice try, real or imagined you never wish ill on another innocent human being, Dean. I’m sure you’ve been taught better than that, young man. Ms. Ellen wouldn’t be pleased if…”

Dean cuts him off, fear of disappointing the only mother he has left feeling present and real in the moment. “Sorry, Ketch.”

“Come along, problem child,” Ketch mutters, small smile indicating all is forgiven. 

Once Ketch walks him all the way back to the room, he stops him before he can go in, “Look, Dean. This is the third time this month alone.” The man sighs heavily, putting his foot down, “I can’t keep another incident from Roman, especially if you’ve leveled up to hacking locked doors you little hellion. Just know, if you continue like this you’re on your own, got it?”

Dean nods stoically, all camaraderie between them having fled in light of the reminder the two are on opposite sides of the battlefield. Ketch spends his time behind enemy lines, probably gathering intel for Roman. 

Without another word, the teen shuffles back to his empty bed. 

Hearing his approach, Cas rolls over briefly before silently rolling right back over. Figures, he’d told Dean he’d get caught. The ‘I told you so’ hangs in the air between them as Dean gets back into his bed. Things’ve been awkward with Cas ever since Garth, even though that ill advised fiasco only lasted a week. Dean misses the closeness they had now that it’s faltered and gone a bit wobbly. He knows it’s just gotten worse with all the time he’s been spending with Benny. 

Dean sits up to see if his boyfriend heard the commotion but the asshole is in a deep sleep. He was supposed to play lookout but B ended up knocked out before they could even sneak out. 

Hah, that rhymed.  

Dean falls asleep planning his next attempt despite Ketch’s warning, he has to know what this place is really doing to them.

*****

Sleeping does nothing to clear his mind. He wakes feeling just as restless and exhausted as he was the night before. Benny’s upbeat mood doesn’t exactly help.

“Come on, nobody’ll see,” Benny tries to persuade Dean, lightly tugging on his hand to prod him into getting up. 

Clearly the boy thinks flashing that smile at Dean will work, but not today.

After last night, Dean can’t take any chances, at least not for a little while. So he declines his boyfriend’s offer, “Maybe later, we’re supposed to be doing our homework.”

“And? You sneak off all the time trying to get past that stupid fucking door,” Benny gripes, brow deeply furrowed with annoyance written across his features. “Nice to know I rank lower than your idiotic conspiracy theories…”

“‘Idiotic conspiracy theories’?” Dean parrots back, seething at the implication. 

The other boy storms off, not allowing Dean the chance to fully rebut his statement. Watching his back as he walks away, Dean wonders if this is the beginning of his first breakup.

Shit.

Charlie bounces into the library past Benny, none the wiser, eyes going bright with a boost of excitement when she spots Dean. Snapping his math book shut, he shakes his head with the bitter realization whether he went with Benny or not their little argument still interfered with his concentration. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Charlie asks, plopping down on the floor next to him. “Why do you look like someone stole your last slice of pie?”

“Shut it,” Dean says, laughing against his will and rolling his eyes at her teasing. Sobering slightly, he shares, “Pretty sure Benny and I just broke up.”

“Seriously?! But…why?” Charlie asks, green eyes blown wide with shock. “I mean, me and Claire fight but you guys never do.”

“You and Claire don’t ‘fight’, you wait each other out with the silent treatment until one of you caves and kisses the other, then we all have to ‘give you space’ to make up,” Dean declares, reciting the basic formula of his friends months old relationship. He rethinks the ribbing as he hears himself, “Maybe you’re onto something…”

“Did Benny actually say you’re breaking up?” Charlie asks, a suspicious squint building. 

Dean pauses, replaying the conversation and checking for the undertones he could have sworn had been in the other boys words, finding none now.

Reluctantly he shakes his head in the negative, answering, “No, not exactly. But, why would I wait for him to do it when it’s inevitable. You didn’t hear him…”

“Benny adores you, Dean,” Charlie soothes, rubbing a hand over his arm a few times to calm him down. It helps tremendously, probably more than she knows. “What exactly happened?”

Dean sighs, laying out the entire argument to his friend, waiting for her judgement once he’s finished. 

Charlie tilts her head Cas style, face squished into a mask of confusion as she asks, “B got pissed at you because you wanted to finish your homework instead of running off to make out?  That’s not a breakupable offense, bestie. You need to apologize to each other instead of plotting on how to make things worse.”

With her last words she turns a concentrated glare on him, sharp eyes practically boring into his soul until he gives.

“Fine, you’re right. B shouldn’t have tried to pressure me but…he’s not exactly wrong either. I do spend time we could be together plotting on how to get past that door. The only reason I jumped to ending things with him was because of what he said. Knee-jerk reaction?” He finishes with a helpless shrug. 

More like hopeless.  

Charlie shakes her head, exasperated glare fixed on him, “That’s not how relationships work, Dean. Even at thirteen. Go find your boyfriend and work this out before I smack you both for being idiots.”

“Idjits,” Dean softly corrects, suddenly reminded of his Uncle Bobby. 

He hasn’t seen the man since he was five, but he remembers. Bobby never said idiots, always idjits. He’s a gruff old man, his dad’s older brother, and Dean always loved going over to see him. Dean wonders how he’s doing, if he’ll ever get to see his grumpy uncle again. 

Charlie snorts a laugh, agreeing to the swap, “Idjits, right. Just quit being stupid, the both of you.”

“Snags herself a girlfriend and now she knows everything,” Dean mutters teasingly, stacking his books in anticipation of having to track Benny down. 

Charlie looks around quickly, ignoring his statement completely, whispering, “While you’re at it, quit being such an ‘idjit’ around Cas, too.”

Dean stops short, turning to his friend as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

This time the glare is for a completely different reason, one he has yet to fully decipher.

“Maybe B’s upset about more than just being blown off for homework…” she answers cryptically, not responding further no matter what underhanded tactics he employs.

Even tickling doesn’t work.

“Come on, why would Cas and I’s half dead friendship bother B?” He asks, damn near whining at this point as he begs her to answer. “Aaron and Cole practically drool over me on a daily basis and he barely notices so…”

His efforts to make her talk are interrupted by Benny’s return. The other boy hovers uncertainly in the door, waiting for Dean to notice him before beckoning him out to the hall. 

“Time to face the music, Winchester,” Charlie says, nudging him lightly in the shoulder until he stands, taking his time to get over to the doorway. 

Ughhh.

Dean walks slowly over to Benny, still unsure of whether the boy intends to smooth things over or end them for good.

“Look,” Benny sighs, blue eyed stare landing everywhere but on Dean. “I really like you, Dean. And this isn’t because of the kissing thing, I’d never break up with someone over that…”

Dean gasps, feeling both vindicated and devastated in the same moment. 

He was right, but…he was right, and it hurts. 

More than his family abandoning him, more than being abused ‘for science’. He notes it doesn’t hurt more than Cas giving him the silent treatment, not more than losing his mom. Dean will get over this initial heartbreak, he can feel it. Though in the moment, he can’t stop tears from falling, wetting his cheeks embarrassingly. 

Benny drones on nervously through broken sentences as he tries to get back on track, “…you’re awesome, it’s just…you’re obsessed. And I kinda get it, I wanna get outta here too. Of course I do. I wanna keep my promise…but not like this. I don’t wanna lose you, even if that means we need to go back to just being friends.”

Just friends.

Right back where they started.

Chapter Text

Castiel stands in the dark, ground beneath him pulsing faintly. Warm like breath, soft like fur. A wind moves through the nothingness, carrying a scent that makes his stomach clench. 

Familiar. Ancient. Wrong.

There’s no sky, but something above him shifts. Castiel can feel it, not see it. 

Watching. Waiting.

Castiel takes a step, ground rippling under his feet like water. He hears footsteps behind him, but when he turns, there’s no one there. Only the impression of movement.

A sound builds in the distance, low and rhythmic. It might be a heartbeat. It might be drums. It might be something running.

Castiel moves faster, though he doesn’t remember choosing to.

Shadows stretch around him, long-limbed and agile, crawling up tree trunks that weren’t there a moment ago. 

One of the trees blinks.

The scent hits him again. Stronger now, like blood and pine needles. Like smoke. Like lightning about to strike.

The boy stumbles forward, finding a clearing. The moon above is the color of bone.

In the center, something waits.

Castiel can’t look at it directly, gaze skittering off the edges. It crouches low, breath fogging the air, curious eyes burning into him with focused intensity. 

He hears a voice, not spoken aloud, but in him.

“You will run.”

Hands burning, back arching, mouth too full of teeth.

Far off, something howls.  

Just once.

Then light…heat…motion.

Castiel wakes up panting, sheets tangled around him like bindings. His hands ache like he’s been clenching them too tight. He touches his face and swears he can still feel an unfamiliar sharpness behind his lips.

But when he checks, nothing. 

Just breath. 

Just silence.

*****

By the time the morning alarm chimes, waking them all for the day, Castiel’s let the strange dream drift away into nothingness. A task that’s easy to accomplish considering what today is. 

“Ready?” Vic asks, sidling up to the other teen as he steps out of the bathroom and into the hall. 

Sighing sharply, Castiel rolls his eyes heavenwards as he nods, following after his friend for the short walk down the hall to the ‘gym’. Really, it's more of a large room with standard fitness equipment on one side and the reason they’re here today on the other. 

Mandatory fitness testing. 

Castiel doesn’t understand why he’s here in the first place. Of all the kids at the facility, he would never claim to be the most athletically inclined of the bunch. Well, he can fun faster than most, which comes in handy on the days they’re forced to come here, but that’s pretty much it. He’d much rather be sketching in the library than participating in yet another endless treadmill session in ‘robot mode’, with wires all over his body. He tried asking the lab coats what they were for during his first session but the question went unacknowledged, not an uncommon occurrence these days. 

Secrets, secrets.

“All set, Clarence,” Nurse Meg murmurs, patting him on the back as she takes her usual seat over in the corner. 

A second unidentified lab coat approaches, turning on the treadmill and watching as he takes off ‘like a shot’. In seconds, the man has the machine set to top speeds grinning wildly for reasons still lost to the boy.

“Astonishing,” he mumbles, making notations on a clipboard as he wanders over to a set of monitors next to Nurse Meg. 

Castiel’s attention is drawn away as he zones out watching Vic try to beat his best time on the other treadmill at his side. Benny and Dorothy compete over who can lift more at the weight bench while Rhonda makes her third trip up the rock climbing wall with an elegant ease that has the lab coat assigned to her enthralled by her speed.

There’s something about it all that feels significant, though the boy can’t put his finger on it.

Not with so many missing puzzle pieces still in play. 

Castiel’s loathe to admit it to his friend, but he’s beginning to wonder if Dean’s been on to something this entire time. Similar questions slither at the back of his mind now, echoing Dean’s own. As he continues running, arms swinging and legs pumping though he hasn’t even begun to break a sweat, he considers his newest concern. 

They’ve been here, in this facility, for over 8 years with no sign of advancements on whatever the lab coats want them for, at least from his perspective. Blood is still drawn once a week, vitamin shots administered every other day, testing like this is done in groups as well, but nothing more. No exciting discoveries conveyed to soothe the fact his entire family abandoned him here. Not a single sign his presence in this facility is helping anyone at all, especially himself and his friends. 

“…right on schedule,” the man whispers to his colleague, continuing to jot down notes as his grin widens. 

Remembering he has an audience as he catches Castiel’s burning gaze, the man returns his attention to his clipboard, leaving Castiel completely befuddled regarding what could possibly be so fascinating.

*****

It isn’t until after dinner that Castiel hears the news, unsurprising now that he reexamines Dean’s behavior during the meal. It spurs him to make a decision he’s been rolling around in his mind for weeks. Castiel misses the closeness he and Dean used to enjoy, he misses his best friend. 

Maybe this is a sign to do something about it. 

Castiel’s not an idiot, he’s aware whatever went wrong between them started after that confusing few weeks he dated Garth. After he and Dean broke their unofficial agreement. Something that seemed so stupid days later, when Dean was in fact proven correct as his first, and only, relationship fizzled out before it really began. By then, Benny had solidified his new position in Dean's life, a space Castiel wasn’t used to sharing. 

As he wanders the facility in search of his friend, intent on fixing this once and for all, the boy finds himself in deep contemplation. Castiel can’t pinpoint when it began in earnest, but eventually the seat next to Dean at mealtimes became Benny’s entirely, the gulf between he and his friend widening with time. 

Until they slowly became trapped in a web of awkwardness and cordial conversation.

If he had to put a word to it, that would be the one. He and Dean have become cordial, a word he learned from Ms. Ellen during one of his many talks with the woman on the subject. One of the few people he's been honest with about his true feelings for the other teen. 

Cordial.  

Castiel wants so much more than that. 

A phrase comes to mind, this one courtesy of his recent Latin studies.

Amor immortali  

Loosely translated, undying or immortal love.

Dean Winchester deserves nothing less than every ounce of devout adoration Castiel has to give. 

The thought makes the teen snort a laugh, conceding he may have been devouring Rhonda’s romance novels at a rapid speed lately and it shows. The perfect cure for his unwavering pining. 

Cure, or distraction?

The question jars him out of his internal thoughts, thankfully just as he reaches the game room, avoiding having to face the answer. Dean’s not hard to find, huddled with Charlie over in the corner deep in conversation. From Castiel’s position by the door, his friend doesn’t appear to be in shambles over the breakup, a good thing in the teen’s mind. Charlie spots him first, beckoning him over to join them, Dean's eyes follow her line of sight, leaf greens widening briefly before waving him over as well. 

Odd.

Still he’s on a mission, so he walks determinedly over to the bean bags they’ve taken possession of, claiming one for himself once he reaches his friends. 

“‘Sup, Cas,” Charlie greets enthusiastically, slapping his back and pulling him into a side hug. 

Castiel shrugs, clamming up now that he’s located Dean, unsure of how things will pan out. It’s hard to get a read on him, emeralds shifting nervously around the room looking everywhere but in his direction. Charlie’s eyes glitter with a mixture of amusement and…something else he can’t place.

Before he can fight through his impending panic and reveal his intentions, Charlie makes good on the mischief practically vibrating through her small frame. 

“So, who’s kissing who?” She asks, teasing lilt in her chipper tone. 

Castiel feels as though he’s missing key information, Charlie bursting out in boisterous laughter as the words fade into the open air leaving him in utter confusion.

“Exsqueeze me?" Dean sputters, flush spreading across his cheeks, highlighting the freckles Castiel secretly loves to try and count. 

Only when Dean isn’t looking, of course.

The nervous fiddle of his friends fingers is a tell, Dean knows exactly what she means though Castiel’s still left firmly in the dark.

Following up with his own denial, the teen blurts, “I’ve never kissed anyone…”

That stops them both in their tracks.

Charlie tilts her head much in the way he’s always accused of, brow furrowed in contemplation as she asks, “But…you and Garth?”

“Dated for two weeks when we were twelve,” Castiel reminds her with a soft laugh. Shrugging, he adds, “Garth’s awesome but I wasn’t comfortable with it…so we didn’t.”

In truth, Castiel’s sure part of him was still holding out for Dean even then. Without a hint of there being a possibility of his wish ever being fulfilled.

Meanwhile, “Don't worry, Cas. It’s no big deal, promise.”

Figures, Dean would choose now to chime in, confirming his thoughts as they ramble through his mind. While Castiel’s been pining, Dean’s been busy marking milestones off of his list, with Benny. The very thought makes him shudder, suppressing the feeling as much as he can. For her part, Charlie tosses their friend an odd look, squinted eyes and pinched face. 

“It is a big deal, Dean. You can’t just take back a first like that,” she reprimands, glare softening as Dean puts his hands up in his own defense. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, once again avoiding Castiel’s direct stare. “’S not what I meant…”

Huh.

The two share a loaded stare, ripe with information Castiel isn’t privy to. 

Finally, Charlie breaks the silence, “I’m gonna go find Claire.”

Without another word, she flits off in search of her girlfriend leaving them marinating in a soup of awkward. 

“We uh…” Dean begins, losing speed just as he pipes up. 

“Would you like to…” Castiel says, cutting himself off when his words merge with Dean’s.

They laugh together for the first time in months, releasing some of the tension built up in the moment. 

“Wanna walk with me?” Dean asks, gesturing to the door. 

Castiel nods easily, standing and following the other teen out to the hall as they start an even pace through the maze of hallways in the facility. 

Eventually, Castiel speaks, “I heard about you and Benny…”

Dean’s steps falter briefly, barely noticeable but he catches it.

“…yeah…” he mumbles, not offering up anything further.

Subject off limits, got it.  

Silence wraps around them tightly like an invisible rope, binding them close. Close enough for hands to brush as they walk in silence, a familiar feeling he missed more than he could ever put into words. It stokes the fires inside him, unrequited on Dean’s part but growing steadily in Castiel’s heart. 

In the space he reserves for Dean. 

“Listen, Cas,” Dean finally speaks, pulling his attention back to their walk. “I uh…I wanna apologize. I know I haven’t been a very good friend lately,” he admits, sheepish glance landing on Castiel as he slows to a standstill. 

They’ve looped back around to the empty library so Castiel leads them over to one of the tables to sit. This doesn’t sound like the beginnings of a conversation they should have in the hall.

Once seated, he responds, “I accept your apology, Dean. But, it’s unnecessary, I’m just as guilty.”

Guilty of hiding the swell of love growing inside him for his best friend. Guilty of pulling away in a fit of jealousy which was wholly unfair taking all things into consideration.

But, nothings broken beyond repair.

“Maybe I was right the first time,” Dean snorts a humorless laugh, finally ready to discuss the purple elephant in the room. "Too soon, man..."

Castiel joins him in his laughter, even though he disagrees, “At the time yes, but like Ms. Ellen says we’re all growing up. Breakups suck but they’re also an opportunity to learn. Or at least that's what she told me last year.”

Dean shakes his head, rolling his grass greens, “’S not like I was in love with the guy or anything, Cas. We’re thirteen, what’s there to learn?”

Castiel considers his point, finally offering, “Every relationship isn't meant to last, take the good memories and leave the bad.”

Dean squints at him searchingly, lips twisting up into a faint grin, responding, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel smiles, well aware his gummy grin’s on display but he can’t help it. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the patterns in the wood of the table. 

Castiel and Dean get lost in conversation, catching up on small details they missed while he and Dean weren’t speaking on a daily basis. From his friends fears regarding the escalating testing they are all enduring to his new theories about Roman’s intentions. 

“Sometimes…” Castiel begins to speak during a lull, faltering as the words leave his mouth. His courage builds back up enough to continue his silly thought, “Sometimes…I wonder if the sky looks the same outside. If it’s still cotton candy blue during the day, the same inky blue black once night falls, stars sparkling in the sky.”

Constellations, like the freckles scattered across Dean’s face. 

Dean gets quiet, chin resting on his hand, propped up by his elbow on the table. The other teen has a far off look in his peridot eyes, one that’s met with heart wrenching understanding from Castiel once his friend breaks his silence.

“…I used to go stargazing all the time with my parents. There was this field close to the house, Dad would drive out there and we’d lay on the hood of the Impala.” He explains, moisture gathering as the words pour forth, unabated even with deep emotion tinging his tone. “Sometimes I’d bring a little jar and try to catch fireflies with Mom or Dad would bring sparklers and…”

Castiel barely has time to prepare for impact as his friend completely falls into his side, burying his face into his neck as the barriers break. Tears flow freely, Dean continues speaking through muffled sobs, “I miss her, Cas…”

In this moment, the teen feels helpless in the face of Dean’s unexpected bout of grief. All Castiel can do is wrap his arms around Dean that much tighter, holding him together as best he can while his best friend breaks apart in his arms.

Chapter Text

Three Years Later

Dean wakes with the same pit in his stomach he gets every year around this time. His birthday is tomorrow. Sixteen. It should mean something, maybe freedom, maybe something new. But here, in this facility that still smells like bleach and stale air, it just means more tests. More questions with no answers. Another year passed without a peep from John, a glimpse of Sammy. He drags a hand through his hair, already a mess from sleep, and stares blankly at the cracked ceiling above his bed. There’s a spiderweb fracture near the vent that he’s traced a thousand times with his eyes, but it never changes. 

Nothing ever does.

His bones ache from a restless night. The mattress beneath him is too thin, the springs digging into his spine like an accusation. There’s a faint, mechanical whir coming from somewhere behind the walls—a vent maybe, or one of the never-ending machines humming away in the background. It’s like living inside the belly of something alive and indifferent.

The soft hiss of the intercom kicks on, followed by the falsely cheerful voice of Nurse Meg announcing the morning lineup. Dean’s name is, of course, first.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The chill in the room clings to his bare arms. He pulls his sweatshirt off of the bedpost and shrugs into it with numb fingers. The bed across from him is empty—Cas must’ve gotten up early again. Probably stress. They’re all feeling it, like a storm rolling in that no one can see, but everyone can feel.

Dean makes quick work of getting himself together in the bathroom before booking it to meet the others in the hallway. 

They walk towards the testing room together, a semblance of safety in numbers. Ash, Garth, Charlie, Aaron, and Kaia follow behind as they get closer and closer. The white tile reflects the overhead lights, too perfectly, too brightly, casting their shadows in sharp relief. The air is cool and too still, like the place is holding its breath. No one talks much anymore before these sessions. Not since the lab coats stopped talking to them. The silence feels heavier than it used to, like even their footsteps are too loud.

Ash nudges Dean’s shoulder lightly. "If I pass out during the blood draw again, just leave me. Tell Patience I went down swinging."

"Sure," Dean mutters. “She’ll play the part of a grieving girlfriend and we’ll plant a flag in your honor. Maybe put up a plaque."

Charlie snorts behind them, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s paler than usual, jaw tight. Kaia’s got her arms crossed, her thumb rubbing nervously against the edge of her sleeve like she doesn't even realize she’s doing it. They’re all wound up. No one wants to admit it, but they know something's off.

The lab door opens with a mechanical click. Dean goes first.

Inside, the chill sinks into his bones. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too harsh, casting an artificial glow on everything. The air smells of antiseptic and metal. There’s an old stain on the corner of the floor—too small to notice unless you’re looking. Dean always looks.

He doesn’t meet the eyes of the tech who gestures toward the chair. He knows better by now. The vinyl sticks to the backs of his legs. He hears the soft click of gloves snapping on, the beep of machines warming up. It’s all routine, but it feels like ritual—a performance with high stakes and no applause.

The routine’s the same. Vitals. Bloodwork. Scans. But the air feels heavier today. The silence between the technicians isn't passive—it’s calculated. Dean watches one of them type something on a tablet, their lips moving in murmured words to a colleague. He catches a fragment:

"...Roman’s orders."

The words land like a stone in Dean’s gut. He clenches his fists, jaw tight. Whatever Roman wants, it never ends well.

As usual, the teen follows directions just enough to avoid any trouble but he’s still walking out on shaky limbs once the lab coats are through with him.

In the hallway, Charlie looks just as unnerved. Her hands won’t stop fidgeting, and she won’t meet anyone’s gaze. Claire’s trying to comfort her, murmuring softly, “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” but Charlie won’t say much—

In a hushed whisper, the redhead struggles to reveal, “They…they strapped me down and used this…plastic stick thing in…there….it was super fucked up and uncomfortable….”

Her voice cracks when she says it. Her eyes look raw.

Dean’s the first to envelop the girl in a hug, Ash and Kaia following immediately behind, wrapping their arms around their friend protectively. Realistically there isn’t much they can do about what she just went through, but they can band together now in comfort. 

As they pull away after a few moments, Kaia explains her experience. 

“Made me run on this treadmill which we’ve done before but this time they strapped this…it looked like an oxygen mask but I don’t think it was. Whatever they were pumping through the tube didn’t look or smell like oxygen,” she explains, grimacing at the recent memory. “Anyway, I heard them whispering again, this time they mentioned something about ‘absolute mayhem’.”

Well, that can’t be good.

“Once they realized I heard they clammed up pretty quick,” she says. 

Her voice shakes a little, like she’s still tasting whatever chemical they pumped into her lungs.

Ash leans in, voice low and tight. "Something’s coming. They’re prepping for something big. I heard them talking about some ‘event.’ And ‘not getting caught with their pants down.’ Whatever that means, it doesn’t sound like a birthday party."

Dean’s stomach churns. It feels like something’s ticking, counting down. Like he’s a spark waiting to hit the fuse.

*****

That afternoon, Dean and Cas play cards in the game room. It’s quiet except for the soft clatter of plastic chips and the hum of the vending machine’s fridge down the hall. The smell of old popcorn lingers faintly, like a memory that won’t fade. A buzzing overhead light flickers now and then, casting the room into momentary shadow.

"You’re cheating," Cas says flatly, eyes narrowing.

"You just suck at poker," Dean fires back, lips twisting into a crooked grin as he tosses a card onto the table.

Cas lifts a brow. "And you think that means you’re not cheating?

Dean shrugs, trying to play it cool, but his gaze lingers too long on the way Cas leans forward, the curve of his mouth as he smirks back. The laugh that slips out of Cas is soft and real—and it hits Dean like a sucker punch. It makes Dean feel like everything in the world is still, just for a second. He looks away, heart thudding.

"You always make that face when you're bluffing," Cas adds, voice a little softer now. "The nose thing."

Dean frowns. "What nose thing?"

"You crinkle it. Slightly. Every time."

Dean groans, flopping back against his chair. "Great. So you’ve been keeping a running log of my tells now?"

"Only yours," Cas says, and it’s too quiet to be a joke.

Dean swallows hard, heat creeping up his neck. The room feels smaller suddenly, too full of all the things he’s never said. He watches Cas reach for a chip, fingers long and steady, and wonders how the hell he ever thought he could keep pretending.

They keep talking. Trash TV they wish Roman would let them watch. Stupid dreams. Food they wished Roman would allow them to eat. But it’s like background noise now. Dean can’t focus—not really. Not when Cas is leaning back in his chair, long fingers tapping the edge of the table, his voice low and familiar and safe. Not when Dean can’t stop thinking about how close they always are, and how far apart he still feels.

He wants to say something. Wants to tell Cas that he’s tired of waiting. That he’s tried dating other people—Benny, Rhonda, even crushing on Cole for a minute—but none of them ever measured up. Cas is in his bones now, under his skin, in every breath. He dreams about him sometimes. Stupid things. Sitting close, arm round Cas’ shoulders while they watch a movie. Laughing in the sunlight. Hands brushing on purpose.

He knows Cas isn’t with anyone. Has only ever been with Garth, and Dean has no idea what that even means. He wonders all the time if Cas feels anything close to what he feels, if there’s a version of this story where Dean tells his truth—and Cas doesn’t walk away.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

________________________________________

After dinner, Castiel wanders the halls in an attempt to clear his restless mind. It became clear this ill advised crush on Dean isn’t going away, if anything it grows deeper day by day. The tension’s been crawling under his skin today, worse than usual. Like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap. He presses a hand to his chest like that might calm the thudding behind his ribs. His mind is still back in that dim room, with Dean’s laughter echoing between the walls like something fragile and holy.

He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t be this drawn to someone who’s been his constant for years, who knows him better than anyone—and still manages to surprise him every damn day. But lately, every smile from Dean has felt weighted. Every touch, every glance, like it carries something unsaid. And Castiel is terrified he knows exactly what it is.

The thought of Dean’s sixteenth birthday tightens something in his chest. It should be a celebration, but it feels like a countdown. Dean’s been acting braver lately, more reckless. Castiel sees it in the way he watches the staff, in the way he leans closer when they talk alone. Like he’s waiting for something to change—and Castiel can’t help but want it too, even if the idea of it terrifies him.

He’s never told Dean, his true feelings for him. 

Not really. 

He’s never been sure if what he feels even has a name that fits. 

Love? Maybe…

But the ache is there all the same—burning low and quiet. Dean’s voice. Dean’s hands. The way he crinkles his nose when he’s bluffing, pops the tip of his tongue between his lips when he’s thinking. All of it lives in Castiel like a secret he doesn’t know how to hold much longer.

Maybe tomorrow, Castiel thinks. Maybe tomorrow he’ll finally find the words.

Or, maybe never…

Castiel isn’t sure he’s ready to take the risk.

The lights in the corridor flicker slightly, a stuttering pulse. As he passes the infirmary, he hears voices. Familiar ones. Nurse Meg. Ketch. Ms. Ellen. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the stress in their voices cuts through the wall like a blade.

"...denied the request," Nurse Meg says, frustration clear. "They’re old enough. They deserve to leave this place, even if it's just to go see a goddamn movie for an afternoon.”

"You know Roman won’t allow it," Ketch replies.

"We’re complicit," Ms. Ellen murmurs. "I know they need us but...at what point are we harming more than helping? This isn't right. I’m starting to wonder if I should walk.”

Footsteps echo. Castiel stiffens, heart pounding like a drum. A lab tech passes close—too close—and he flattens himself against the wall, shadows swallowing him whole. He holds his breath. One second. Two. The footsteps fade.

He slips away like a ghost, each step fast but careful, as though the walls themselves are listening.

By the time he makes it back, the others are already asleep. The dorm is dark except for the faint glow of the emergency light near the door. His throat is tight with everything he didn’t get to say. He sits on the edge of his bed for a long time, hands clasped in his lap.

Tomorrow, he thinks. He’ll tell them tomorrow.

__________________________________

Rhonda finds Dean in the library sitting on the couch, legs kicked out, chewing on a protein bar like it’s a punishment. The sun isn’t up yet, but the stale lights above them buzz softly. The air tastes like dust and metal. He’s been sitting there a while, doing nothing but thinking. About the way Cas laughed the night before. About the way his chest clenched like something irreversible was about to happen.

Rhonda plops down beside him, the bench creaking slightly beneath them.

"Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?" she says, nudging him with her shoulder.

Dean groans, his voice low and rough. "Don’t remind me."

She watches him for a second, pulling her knees up. "You gonna tell Cas?"

Dean blinks. "Tell him what? That I’m a disaster?"

Rhonda smirks, rolling her eyes. "That you’re into him, dumbass."

He flushes instantly, looking away. "It’s complicated."

"It’s really not. I dumped you because of it, remember?" she says, tone teasing but kind. "You’ve been stuck on him since before we even started whatever that was."

Dean gives a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "And you’re just cool with that?"

"Hell yeah. I ship it. You’re both hot and emotionally repressed—it’s practically destiny."

Dean snorts, but it fades into silence. He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes, breathing through the tightness in his chest.

"Seriously," Rhonda says after a beat, her voice softening. "Tell him…you’re tired. I can see it. You deserve something good, Dean. And so does he. I mean we’re practically trapped here, might as well make the best of it instead of wasting your time pining…”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. He stares across the hallway, where the lights hit the chipped floor tile, where the air feels thick with unsaid things. He thinks of the way Cas watches him when he thinks Dean won’t notice. The way their conversations always last longer than they mean to. The way it feels like something inside him is always straining toward Cas, like gravity doesn’t quite work right around him.

For once, the words don’t feel impossible. They feel overdue. His chest tightens, but it’s not fear—it’s hope. Raw and sharp.

He’s made up his mind.

*****

Dean’s halfway through making his bed and thinking about the ‘surprise’ party that Cas, according to Rhonda, helped organize for him when one of the lab coats comes for him.

“Just a quick blood draw, then you can be on your way,” He explains, not giving the teen much of a choice as he nudges him down the hall. 

When he enters the room Nurse Meg’s nowhere to be found, instead the lab coat starts the blood draw himself.

Weird.

Other than that, the ‘checkup' is routine. Same room. Same chill. But after his blood’s been taken and he’s waiting to be dismissed it becomes painfully clear that something’s wrong. The air tastes metallic. The walls feel like they’re closing in. Every sound is amplified—the beep of a monitor, the rustle of paper, the click of a pen.

His stomach twists. Pain blooms low in his gut, sharp and sudden. It spreads like fire under his skin. He doubles over with a gasp, knees curling instinctively. The shock of it steals his breath. His vision tunnels.

"Right on time," the mystery lab coat mutters. "You owe me twenty bucks.”

Lab coat number two, who had been quiet up to this point, scowls at lab coat number one as they watch the teen writhe in pain.

They strap him down. The leather bites into his wrists. He can’t move. His body spasms, twisting against the restraints. The pain’s too much. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

“Please, help me,” he pleads, only to be ignored as he’s wheeled out of the room. 

He hears a voice say, "Better call Roman. It’s started."

Before he blacks out, he sees Garth and Aaron being wheeled down the hall ahead of him. He only catches a glimpse of pale faces, eyes wide with the same fear he feels.

Then nothing.

____________________________________

The atmosphere in the lab is thick with anticipation. It’s been a long time coming, this moment. Dean Winchester's pain is the sweetest relief. Every muscle, every nerve in the boys body is signaling the start of something they’ve been watching closely for years, closer more recently. He’s been a ticking time bomb, and now, they’re steadily approaching the next stage.

Alistair watches with cold detachment as Dean writhes on the table, his body going into overdrive. The changes are taking hold beautifully though much faster than anticipated. He glances over briefly, ensuring the others are still in the observation room with their eyes glued to the screens. This is it, the breakthrough Roman demanded and Alistair gladly fulfilled. 

“It's begun,” Dr. Heyerdahl mutters under his breath, but it’s more a statement of fact than surprise.

Rollins starts making calculations beside him, checking the readouts on the monitors. There’s a murmur of agreement, everything’s lining up. Dean’s heart rate’s spiking, just as they thought. They’ll have to move quickly, but this is the part where it gets…interesting. 

Still, something doesn’t feel quite right. There’s a crackle of unease in the air. The subject’s body is fighting against the changes, twitching, like it can’t decide what it’s becoming. The pain is overwhelming, but it's not just physical. 

It’s deeper.

Primal.  

“Is this what we expected?” Rollins asks, voice tight with a hint of concern.

“Almost,” Alistair answers, barely noticing the slight tremor in his own voice. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t slip out of control.”

But as the words leave his mouth, something shifts. Dean’s eyes snap open with a flash, an awareness…a recognition, before his body goes limp again. Alistair finds it surprisingly unsettling, the way his expression changes so quickly, but it's just a flicker.

Looking to the others in the room, Heyerdahl watches the weight of the situation settling on them all. It’s happening faster than they planned, and they don’t have time to adjust the protocols.

“Get Roman on the line,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s starting, he needs to know. Now.”

But as Rollins reaches for the phone, the lights flicker overhead, and a deep, low rumble shakes the walls of the facility. The monitors begin to glitch, static flashing across the screens. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

Before anyone can react, the emergency alarms begin to blare.

The room goes silent. 

Something is wrong.

Chapter Text

Castiel wakes before the lights come on.

It’s instinct at this point. Habit layered on top of anxiety. Something deep inside him had been clawing at the walls of his chest all night, something he couldn’t name but couldn’t sleep through either. The silence of the dorm is almost too loud in contrast, heavy and waiting. He shifts beneath the blanket, heart thudding in time with the quiet drip of water leaking somewhere in the corner.

Castiel has two reasons for his nervous energy this morning, Dean’s surprise sixteenth birthday party and ‘the talk’ with the others. He was supposed to tell everyone what he’d overheard the day before. He’d promised himself that. No time like the present. Castiel goes through a rushed morning routine, intent on his goal as the others stir. 

All except Dean, who remains missing. 

His bed is neatly made, just like he left it yesterday morning. Dean didn’t sleep here last night. The revelation spurs Castiel to hasten his movements, intent on discovering why his best friend’s bed is still empty this morning. He’s more than a little concerned the boy may have tried getting past those doors again, this time with disastrous results.

Rhonda finds him in the hallway first.

"You’ve got that look," she says, sidling up beside him, arms crossed.

Castiel frowns. "What look?”

"Like you’re about to do something stupid. Or brave. Sometimes they look the same.”

He opens his mouth to deflect, maybe lie, but Rhonda just smirks like she already knows. "You gonna confess?" she asks.

His face warms. "I wasn’t—”

"Sure, you weren’t.” She bumps her shoulder into his. "You’re real subtle, Novak. Practically Shakespearean with your pining… and something else… what’s wrong?”

It’s eerie how both wrong and right she is. He’s been considering it more and more lately, but first, he needs to tell everyone what he heard. And find Dean.

Castiel lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, deflecting and glancing down at the floor. "It doesn’t matter now.”

"Why not? You get cold feet?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think Dean slept in his bed last night. He’s not here.”

Rhonda stills. "What do you mean he’s not here? We’re locked underground in a high-security facility. There's no way he just went missing. We talked yesterday and he was fine.”

Castiel’s fears begin to deepen, setting his gut roiling with concern. “Did you see him after they took him for testing?”

He saw Dean going with one of the nurses yesterday morning but he can’t remember seeing him after that.

Slow panic grows in her brown eyes. "I thought I did… when did you last see him?”

Castiel looks at her, the weight in his stomach dropping lower. “Breakfast. It looks like he never came back last night… his bed’s made and you know how Dean sleeps.”

She’s quiet for a second too long. Then: “What about Garth or Aaron? They were with him.”

The silence stretches like a fault line.

*****

The party never happens. Dean doesn’t show up. Neither do Garth or Aaron. As the hours drag on, the building’s strange quietness begins to settle, and with no sign of their friends, their panic grows.

No one goes to breakfast, instead they gather in the game room with the others. It’s time to fill them in on what he knows, no matter how little that is.

Castiel tells them what he heard in the hallway two nights ago—about Nurse Meg, about Roman, about the word event, about the fear in their voices. About the kind of fear that doesn’t get said out loud unless something bad is coming and you’re powerless to stop it. And those hushed words—“not getting caught with our pants down.”

“Roman again,” Kevin says, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips followed by a downturned frown.

Nobody speaks for a long time after that.

They all just sit with it—this terrible thing wrapped in silence and sealed behind locked doors. Rhonda starts pacing. Claire keeps watching the hallway like she expects someone to come charging in.

“Okay,” Claire finally says, breaking the silence. “So what does that mean? They’re planning something, or already did it?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Charlie says, biting at a hangnail. “But I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“I thought it was weird,” Kaia says quietly. “The way they’ve been watching us lately, the extra testing…they’ve stopped smiling. They don’t even fake it anymore. Well, outside of Nurse Meg, Ketch, and Ms. Ellen.”

“What if it’s not just Dean, Garth, and Aaron?” Victor mutters. “What if we’re next?”

"They wouldn’t just take them without telling us," Dorothy says, but her voice is paper thin.

"They already have," Victor snaps. "You think it’s normal for three kids to vanish overnight?”

”Dean wouldn’t just leave," Castiel mutters, voice tight. "Not without saying something."

“So what do we do?” Charlie asks, folding her arms over her chest in defiance. “I won’t just sit here.”

“No, we have to do something,” Castiel agrees. “But whatever we do, we need to stay together. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Until they come for us too,” Rhonda mutters. “Because they will.”

Castiel tries to calm them down, but deep down, he’s panicking. Dean’s missing. Something is terribly wrong, and he knows it. The silence is only broken by the occasional footstep in the distance or the buzz of flickering lights.

His mind races through possible escape routes, all of them leading to the locked wing. The doors Dean was obsessed with. Castiel’s stomach twists with guilt—he should have listened. Should have tried harder.

Going against everything he just told the others, he makes a break for it. Castiel has to get to Dean, he can feel it. He needs him. He waits until the hallway is clear, while everyone else is distracted. Then he moves.

But just as he reaches the end of the corridor, Azazel is already there, leaning against the wall like he’s been expecting him the whole time. Figures they’d have the creepiest guard on them today of all days. Briefly, he wonders where Ketch is, if he’s okay.

“Game room’s the other way, Novak,” Azazel says, voice flat.

Castiel freezes.

Azazel doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his voice. He just tilts his head slightly. “Don’t make me walk you back.”

There’s no choice. Castiel turns around, fists clenched. He knows he’s being watched. Every step echoes too loud in his ears. The feeling is suffocating.

By the time he returns, the overhead lights have dimmed. The others are still huddled, whispering. No one has any answers. No one knows what tomorrow will look like.

But Castiel has this feeling, a feeling he can’t shake. It won’t get better from here, whatever’s happening has already started. They’re at the mercy of these people and have no way of predicting what will happen next.

*****

The following morning comes heavy.

No one has come back, not Dean, Aaron, or Garth. Their neatly made and tragically empty beds taunt the teen as he rises to face what’s shaping up to be another bleak day with few answers.

Breakfast never arrives. No buffet laid out waiting for them in the kitchen. No clatter of cutlery as they’re served and sit down to eat. Just silence and dread. The kind of silence that settles under your skin and makes your hands shake even when you try to hide it. They wait, but no one comes. Not for food. Not to herd them to class. Nothing.

Then the disappearances start anew.

Kevin is called first. They hear his name over the intercom like it’s any other day, but he doesn’t come back. Next, it’s Dorothy. Then Charlie. Each one goes quietly. Each one doesn’t return.

“Charlie’s gone,” Claire says, voice cracking as she stares at the doorway. “She didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“This isn’t right,” Benny snaps. “This isn’t just extra tests or checkups. They’re…they’re disappearing people.”

Vic comes running in from the hall, breathless.

“They took Pam,” Vic says, eyes wide with fear. “I was talking to her out in the hall, and then—gone. Didn’t even get a warning.”

“What if they’re not coming back because they can’t?” Rhonda says. “Like, what if something’s happening to them in there?”

“Stop,” Claire says sharply. “Don’t say that.”

Worry for her girlfriend clouds her sky-blue eyes, Castiel knows the feeling all too well. Something rips and tears inside him demanding to rescue Dean from any harm that may be done to him. To rip the hearts out of anyone who may have committed the crime of touching his…

Huh?

Castiel shakes himself, tuning in to the conversation happening around him.

“We’re just supposed to sit here and wait for our turn?” Benny asks, his voice rising. “Seriously?”

“I tried to get to the doors,” Castiel admits, finally speaking. “Azazel was waiting. No sign of Ketch, Ms. Ellen, or Nurse Meg. I think they’re gone too. They knew we’d try. They always know.”

“They’ve been planning this,” Kaia whispers. “Haven’t they?”

“Yeah,” Rhonda says grimly. “Feels like they’ve just been waiting for the right time to pull the plug.”

They sit for hours until Castiel gets antsy, needing to know where their friends are and where Dean is.

He wanders back down the hall and tries to ask questions of anyone he can find—polite ones at first, then not so polite.

“Excuse me,” Castiel tries with one of the lab coats passing by. “Have you seen Kevin? Or anyone else for that matter? Several people haven’t come back from their appointments.”

She doesn’t even slow down. “That’s not my department.”

He moves down the hall, catches sight of another staff member—Creep, clipboard in hand.

The doctor is rushing towards the metal doors in a hurry with a clear look of glee on his face.

Huh.

Castiel can’t remember his real name and doesn’t want to shout Creep! so he keeps it simple, “Doctor,” he says, stepping into his path. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Kids are disappearing and I know you know something about it.”

Creep barely spares him a glance. “That’s classified.”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “They’re my friends.”

“Noted,” Creep says, and walks off.

He tries again with one of the guards outside the med wing. “Please,” Castiel begs, lowering his voice. “Just tell me if they’re okay.”

The guard doesn’t look at him. “Back to the game room, Novak.”

“They’re not even coming back for their things,” Castiel says, more forcefully now. “You think that’s normal? You think we’re not going to notice?”

“Game room,” the guard says again, hand on his holster this time.

Castiel notices the gun for the first time, he’s never seen a guard with a weapon before.

What’s going on?

Castiel scoffs and backs off, pulse pounding, heart climbing into his throat. He’s barely taken three steps before Azazel appears again at the hall’s edge and motions for him to turn around.

“You’ve made your rounds,” the man says with a hollow smile. “Let’s not make this difficult.”

Castiel’s jaw tightens. “Too late for that.”

Returning to that room feels like accepting his fate without putting up a fight. What used to be a place of refuge is now a prison. The walls feel closer than usual. The lights buzz louder. Everything feels off.

Claire paces like a caged animal. Victor won’t stop tapping his foot. Kaia keeps staring at the now locked door like she can will it to open. Castiel keeps counting in his head—who’s left, who’s gone, who might be next.

Benny’s name gets called. Then Victor. Then Rhonda.

Each one leaves a space behind. A jacket draped over a chair. A half-played hand of cards. A scuffed shoe no one bothers to pick up.

"This is it, isn’t it?" Kaia whispers. "Whatever they were waiting for, it’s here."

"I’m not gonna let them take me next," Claire growls, her knuckles white where she grips the edge of the table.

"What are we supposed to do?" Kevin asks. "Barricade ourselves in here with foosball paddles?"

"We don’t even know what’s going on," Kaia says. "No one will tell us anything."

"Because they don’t want us to know," Castiel mutters, mostly to himself.

Castiel feels his breath shortening. The walls feel like they’re pressing in. Everyone’s whispering now. ‘What’s happening?’ ‘Where are they taking them?’ ‘Why isn’t anyone telling us anything?’

There are no answers. Just the buzz of lights and the ache of silence.

Castiel leans his head against the cool wall and closes his eyes.

He thinks about Dean. About what Dean would say right now. Probably something snarky and ridiculous, just to make them laugh. Just to cut through the fear. Castiel aches for that voice. That steadiness. That stupid, comforting grin.

He doesn’t know how long it is before they come for him.

But when the door finally opens and the lab coats call his name, everything inside him goes still.

He gets up slowly, on unsteady legs. The others watch him like they already know it’s goodbye.

“Cas—” Patience starts, stepping forward.

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“Bullshit,” she says, voice cracking.

He doesn’t say anything else. There’s nothing left to say.

They lead him into a hallway that feels colder than it did this morning. His stomach turns.

He’s clammy now. Light-headed. Something’s off. He can feel it.

The hallway tilts.

“Keep walking,” one of the lab coats barks.

A sharp sting to the back of his neck, before he reaches the room. Cold fire spreads through his veins. He stumbles, catches himself, and stumbles again.

They move quickly. The walls blur. A stretcher appears. He’s on it before he realizes it.

As they wheel him forward, the hall widens—and for a moment, Castiel sees them.

The locked doors. Dean’s not-so-quiet obsession.

His heart lurches. He tries to lift his head and tries to see past the swinging light fixtures, but he’s already fading.

There’s shouting now. The lights flicker. Somewhere, alarms begin to scream.

Then darkness swallows everything.

Chapter Text

Dean’s been stuck in this room for what feels like days.

His body’s on fire, every inch of him aching. The pain is unbearable, coursing through him in waves he doesn’t know how to explain. He’s sweaty, his stomach cramping in a way that feels both familiar and completely foreign at the same time. Something is leaking from him—clear and sticky, unlike anything he’s experienced before. He’s seen it in girls—the few he’s experimented with here. But it’s never come from him. Ms. Ellen didn’t warn them about any of this in health class.

What in the actual fuck is going on?

His body’s on fire, every inch of him aching. He can’t stop whining, can’t stop writhing in pain, like his skin’s too tight like his very bones are trying to break free. The urge—God, the urge—is almost unbearable. He needs to...fill himself. He doesn’t even know what that means, but it’s there, clawing at his insides.

He’s never had thoughts like this, never been this desperate. The need to be stuffed is a whole new thing, something Benny had once joked about, but Dean’s never gotten that far with anyone—hell, he hasn’t even kissed anyone in months. Being watched like a hawk doesn’t lend itself to much beyond a quick peck on the cheek or lips. They never really let him explore those feelings fully. This need is terrifying. Consuming. Like it’s rewriting everything he thought he knew about his body and mind.

Something’s wrong. Everything’s wrong.

The lab coats have been avoiding him. No answers. No comfort. No one knows his name other than Creep and he hasn’t seen the Doc in hours. Just cold hands and muttered notes. He’s locked in this sterile, suffocating room—white walls, one cot, a bolted-down toilet, cameras tucked in the corners—and it’s not the first time he’s been stuck in a place like this but never for this long. Not without at least one familiar face to keep him company. No, this time feels different. Bigger.

His head is a fog of confusion, his body’s out of control, and his mind’s swirling with questions. He’d been out when they brought him in here, but he’s pretty sure this is the forbidden wing. The one place they never let anyone wander, the one place they keep secret. Finally made it. The celebration isn’t as grand as he’d hoped it would be, under current circumstances. Still, maybe this is what he’s been wanting all along: answers.

But there's no one here to give them to him. No Ms. Ellen, no Nurse Meg. Hell, even Ketch is missing. Just him, and these faceless, nameless lab coats that only seem to exist to torment him. The silence is stifling.

Time loses shape. Dean doesn’t know if it’s been hours or days. He shouts sometimes, just to make sure he still can. He begs—once—when the pain gets so bad he thinks he’s going to pass out. But no one comes.

“Let me out,” he says to the camera. “I don’t care what you did to me. Just let me out.”

Silence.

He curls into himself and dreams of cold hands, of people watching, of Cas.

His eyes have barely drooped shut when it hits him—the scent.

It’s faint at first, but it grows stronger, a powerful, intoxicating pull. Dean doesn’t know what it is at first, but his instincts are screaming at him. The smell is him. Castiel. It’s so familiar, but it also feels like it’s ripping through him. His heart races, and suddenly he wants—needs—to get to him. His breath quickens, his body reacting in ways he doesn’t understand, feeling like he might go insane if he doesn’t get closer.

It’s like the very air in the room is charged with electricity. Every part of him is suddenly alive in a way he can’t explain. The pain in his stomach intensifies, his body demanding something he can’t name. He tries to sit up, but the pain’s too much. The room spins.

The lab coats, realizing the shift in his body, glance at each other, seemingly indifferent to his suffering. But when they see him struggling, hear his muffled cries, their eyes narrow with sudden, cold interest. It’s like they know. And it seems to confirm something they’ve been waiting for.

Dean grunts in pain, wishing he’d be let in on what the fuck’s going on. Of course, they remain tight-lipped and silent as they enter the room. They drag him, still writhing in pain, toward the adjacent room. Dean can barely focus, his head too clouded, but he’s sure of one thing: they’re putting him in the same room with Cas.

The moment they open the door, the scent of his friend hits him harder, sharper. He can barely breathe, the raw need flooding him, drowning out everything else. His heart pounds, his instincts roaring to life as he’s shoved roughly onto a cot. Cas’ eyes flick to him in confusion and fear.

Cas.

The lab coats stand at the doorway, watching them like they’re waiting for something, but Dean can’t focus on them. He can only focus on the overwhelming, burning need to be close to Cas. To feel him, touch him, be with him in a way he doesn’t understand.

___________________________________

Down the hall, Castiel is in just as much agony.

He can’t remember the last time he’s been this sweaty. His body aches like he’s been run over by a truck, but it’s not just the pain—it’s this need gnawing at him, clawing inside. His muscles twitch with an unfamiliar, frantic energy, and every nerve in his body feels like it's on fire. It's a sensation he’s never experienced before, and it's terrifying. 

And the odd possessive feelings he’s trying to ignore, about Dean. He’s never been like this—not even with how strongly he’s come to realize he feels for his friend. He’s always been the laid-back one, the quiet one who kept to himself. But now?

Now, he wants to tear into anything that moves.

And that thing? Dean.

He paces in tight, feverish circles around his room. He’s hot—boiling. Sweating through his shirt. Every breath feels like it scratches his lungs. The pain in his gut is worse than anything he’s felt before, like something inside is shifting, demanding, starving.

And the scent…it’s everywhere. Rich, warm, sharp. Dean.

Castiel slams his hand against the wall and groans, trying to anchor himself.

“Get a grip,” he mutters. “Get it together.”

But it’s not working.

His skin itches. His teeth feel like they might rattle loose in his jaw. What he’s feeling, it’s not lust. Not quite. It’s instinct. Deep, primal, alien. And it terrifies him.

He thinks of all the years he’s spent avoiding how he feels about Dean. All the times he nearly said something—on his fifteenth birthday, after their last sparring match, the time Dean fell asleep on his shoulder watching TV.

He should’ve said something.

When the door to his prison finally opens, he expects a syringe, a demand, maybe another test. But what he doesn’t expect—what he dreads—is Dean.

Dean, staggering. Shaking. Reeking of sweat and fear and want.

Castiel’s stomach clenches so hard he nearly folds.

“Don’t,” Castiel snaps before anyone speaks. “Don’t put him in here.”

But the lab coats ignore him.

They deposit Dean onto the second cot like he’s an experiment—not a person—and file out with unreadable faces. One pauses just long enough to mutter to the others:

“Let’s see what they do when left alone.”

Dean smells—no, Dean feels different. Castiel can hardly concentrate, his thoughts scattered and disoriented as his body seems to respond to Dean in ways he can’t control. Dean’s scent is intoxicating, filling the air between them like an overwhelming, suffocating fog. It’s not just a scent; it’s a pull—a bond that Castiel doesn’t understand but is powerless to resist. Dean’s here, and he’s there—right within his reach. And it’s all Castiel can do not to cross the space between them and…

What?

Before he can finish the thought the door is shutting with a hiss, taking he and Dean’s choice away with a finality he can’t handle. Locks click into place as the lab coats leave.

Dean groans from the bed, curling in on himself.

Castiel backs away like he’s afraid of catching fire.

“Dean?”

“Hurts,” Dean whispers. “Jesus, Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel rasps, arms clutched tightly around himself. “But don’t come near me. I—” He stops. Shakes his head. “I can’t control it.”

Dean rolls onto his side, eyes glazed. “You smell so good.”

Castiel swears under his breath, struggling not to return the sentiment. Dean suddenly has this scent…honey…clove…and maybe citrus. It’s embedded in him, new but fitting him like a glove and it’s driving him mad. 

He doubles down, “We need to fight it. We don’t know what they’ve done to us. This is exactly what they want.”

Castiel knows this is wrong. He knows it deep in his gut. This is his friend. The one person who’s been with him through all this madness. And he can’t—he can’t—do this to Dean.

Dean lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “You think I want this?”

“No,” Castiel says quickly, pretending the words don’t stab him in the heart. “I just...I don’t want to hurt you.”

Of course, Dean doesn’t want this. Or him. 

It would ruin everything. Castiel is still trying to process all of this only to find out in the worst possible way that Dean doesn’t feel the same for him. Still, the thought of doing anything to harm their bond is too much to handle.

They try to stay apart. They talk—anything to distract themselves. Stupid things. Favorite snacks. The time Dean managed to hack his way past the very door they’re now securely locked behind. The way Charlie sings under her breath when she’s bored. Trips they’ll never take, lives they’ll never lead. 

Castiel tries to focus on anything—anything—to keep his mind off the hunger growing inside him. But the more he fights it, the harder it becomes to think clearly. He can hear the others giving in, their muffled cries of distress leaking through the walls, and it makes his pulse spike. Castiel tries to hold onto some semblance of control. He continues talking to Dean, tries to talk through the pain, through the burning need.

Dean grimaces, muttering through clenched teeth, “This is hell.”

Castiel tries to joke. “No, hell would have worse lighting.”

Dean laughs weakly. “Didn’t think we’d be spending the week of my birthday like this.”

“You mean tangled in hormones we don’t understand while lab coats take notes from behind glass?”

The more they talk, the more the urge surges. The more his body betrays him. His skin is on fire, his thoughts are jumbled, and his vision blurs. Still, Dean’s next words pique his interest enough to stay his actions.

Dean snorts. “Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured confessing.”

Castiel blinks. “Confessing?”

Dean shrugs a little, heat rising to his face. “I was gonna tell you. After my birthday. But, now’s as good a time as any…I like you Cas. Thought maybe we could…”

His friend trails off, flush deepening as his evergreen eyes look everywhere but at him. 

Castiel stares, eyes gone wide. “You do?”

Maybe he was wrong after all…

Dean nods. “I’ve known for a while now just…too scared to say it. Didn’t want to risk you not feeling the same and ruining our friendship. But, we could die here for all I know, Cas. I need you to know, just in case.”

He pins him now, with glittering golden greens, begging him to give him some semblance of hope.

Castiel closes his eyes, relieved to know he isn’t alone in his feelings. “It’s not just you, Dean. Promise. And we’re going to make it out of here.”

One promise to keep until his dying breath, one he should never have made. 

Crush confessions aside, they’re still in this terrifying predicament. The pull between them is growing unbearable. Just when Castiel thinks he might lose control, the lab coats do something else.

Then—hissss.

A mist sprays from the vents and fills the room, seeping into his lungs and dulling the sharp edges of his thoughts and his desires. He doesn’t know what it is, but it smells like chemicals, and within seconds, the air is thick and heavy.

“What the hell—” Dean manages.

“I think they drugged us,” Castiel mutters, dazed. “To see what happens.”

For a brief moment, the world becomes fuzzy, like he’s slipping into a dream. He doesn’t have time to wonder if it’s a sedative or some other manipulation. All he knows is that it’s enough to push him right where they want him.

Fuck, no!

It happens before he can stop it. His body surges toward Dean, and in that moment, it’s like everything else fades away. It’s not the sweet, gentle connection he thought they might share at some point in the distant future. It’s animalistic, raw, and urgent. Dean’s not the same to him anymore. He’s a part of Castiel now, and the pull to make him his is too strong to fight.

He registers a brief, sharp pain in his neck, the satisfying sensation of a deeper connection flooding his body. But the next thing Cas knows, it’s over. The room goes black.

____________________________________

In the fog of unconsciousness, Dean dreams.

He’s standing in a dense, unfamiliar forest, the kind that feels too alive. The trees are tall and gnarled, their trunks slick with moss, the ground soft beneath his feet. Everything is muted and silver-blue, like moonlight through a storm cloud. The air smells like wet bark and lightning.

And he’s not alone.

Something moves just ahead—low to the ground, sleek and fast. Dean follows, heart racing, breath steaming. The thing stops, looks back. A massive black wolf. Eyes glowing pale blue. Unblinking. Familiar.

It doesn’t snarl. It doesn’t run. It waits.

Dean stares at it, and for a moment, he swears it’s wearing Cas’ eyes.

He stumbles forward, calling out, but no words come. The wolf turns and disappears through the brush.

A distant sound rolls through the trees. Not thunder.

A roar.

Low. Echoing. Ancient. It vibrates in Dean’s bones.

He jerks awake with a gasp, sweat clinging to his skin.

Cas remains still at his side, curiosity as to what occurred between them flees as his eyes droop once again, that telltale hiss the only signal of what's coming.

__________________________________

When Castiel wakes up, his body feels different—foreign in a way he doesn’t understand. He’s tangled up with Dean, their limbs intertwined in a mess of sweat and confusion. He tries to shake it off, but the weight of what’s happened presses down on him. The bond between them is undeniable now. He can hear Dean’s thoughts in his head, the same way he can hear his own, as if their minds are now one.

Dean.

Castiel doesn’t dare move. He just breathes—and then the noise starts.

A whisper. A voice.

But it’s in his head.

‘Was that real ? And did we—? No, they wouldn’t…Would they? God, he’s so close. He smells so good, cedar…smoke…maybe some pine. I missed him. This is so messed up.’

Castiel goes still. “Dean?”

He can’t even look at him yet. His thoughts are a mess, a blur of emotions he doesn’t know how to sort through. But they have to talk. They don’t have a choice anymore.

Dean shifts, blinking sleepily. “Cas?”

“Are you...thinking right now?”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “You heard that?”

“I think we’re...connected somehow.”

Dean’s thoughts swirl around him—no words, just a jumbled mess of emotions and realizations. Castiel knows exactly what he’s feeling. He can hear it like they’re his thoughts. They feel each other, and it’s overwhelming. Cas’ heart pounds as he finally looks up, meeting Dean’s peridot eyes.

Dean pulls back, asking the thought aloud as panic rises in his tone. “Did we...?”

“I don’t remember,” Castiel admits, sorrow filling his heart at the possibility that even this was stolen from them. “But they drugged us. I’m so sorry Dean, they might’ve made us.”

He never wanted it to be this way, not like this. 

Dean swallows hard. “I….” He can see his friend…boyfriend? He’s not sure of labels but he’s struggling to come to terms. Finally abandoning that topic entirely to ask, “So this isn’t just me hearing voices, that’s you in my head?”

“No,” Castiel whispers. “It stands to reason that if I can hear you, you can hear me. Sorry in advance.” He tries for a joke, but it falls flat.

Dean’s breathing is shallow, and he looks just as lost as Castiel feels. It’s like they’re both drowning in each other’s minds, trapped in a bond neither of them asked for and neither of them knows how to navigate. They sit in stunned silence. Thoughts keep leaking across the space between them—accidental, vulnerable.

'I wanted to kiss you when we were fifteen.' 

Castiel closes his eyes. “Me too.”

Neither of them moves to fulfill the wish now, too uncertain.

Dean exhales shakily. “Is this what they wanted? For us to…to break?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, voice hoarse. “But I’m scared it worked.”

_________________________________

Somewhere beyond the thick walls, a shout echoes—sharp, panicked, wrong.

“Did you hear that?” He asks, his ears perked up.

Dean’s brow furrows. There’s another shout, this time followed by the crash of metal. Something heavy slams into a wall. Screams rise, fast and confused, then cut short.

Another sound follows. Wet. Animalistic.

Dean sits up too quickly. His vision swims. “That wasn’t from in here.”

Before Cas can respond, the overhead light flickers. A low siren warbles once—just once—before dying out.

Then a voice. Crackling over a walkie on the other side of the door, frantic and grainy:

“Security to Hall C. Now. We’ve got—shit, she’s—”

The speaker cuts off mid-sentence.

Green locks with blue, fear filtering through the new bond they share.

But before they can move before they can even think, the hiss returns.

Dean’s hand finds Cas’ as the same chemical mist floods the room.

“Don’t forget this,” he says.

Cas squeezes back, tight. “I won’t.”

Dean chokes. Cas gasps. They cling to each other as their bodies go slack.

And in the hallway outside, something snarls.

Chapter Text

Sam hops off of the curb after disembarking the city bus, headed across the street towards their rundown house. Not for the first time, he wonders why John couldn’t save just a little of the money for house repairs, or even just make it look less like a crack den and more like a home where a child is being raised. Or raising himself, really. The wind kicks up, flowing through his light brown strands and reminding him he needs a haircut. Maybe he can ask John today once he sobers up. 

He trudges up the warped steps feeling each creak as he goes, and a tickle of wind at his ankles where he’s outgrown his pants again. Just one more thing to make him stand out amongst his peers. He’s poor, and a giant. Not a good mix when you outgrow your clothes faster than your father cares to replace them. 

Sam lets himself in with his key, listening out for any movement. When he hears none, he makes his way inside, locking the door behind him. He debates pissing John off on purpose and leaving his bag by the door for him to trip over, but he’d rather not tempt fate—not when he’s so close to the truth.

At twelve, Sam is old enough to know when his father’s telling a bald-faced lie. So when John has his ‘in memoriam’ drink once a year for Mary, and again for Dean, Sam can tell there’s a stark difference between the real grief he has for his mother’s passing and the performance he puts on when Dean’s “deathaversary” rolls around.

Sam’s brother is out there, somewhere, and he’s going to find him—even if he has to do it all by himself. He’s a very determined and mature twelve-year-old, if his math teacher Mr. Gates is to be believed. He can do this.

His bravery lasts until he spies John Winchester passed out drunk once again on the couch in the living room, mouth open, snoring, dead to the world. Sam tiptoes past the living room, hoping not to disturb his father on his perpetual “job search” that usually ends at the bottom of a bottle. He shudders as he goes—whether from disgust or fear, it doesn’t matter anymore.

At school, Sam keeps his head down—well, as much as he can socially. Academically, the teachers won’t shut up about him. Not that John would ever care or notice. Sam doesn’t have many friends, and none of them know the truth of what he comes home to every day. It’d be too embarrassing.

He finally reaches his destination: his bedroom, the only place he can breathe, allowing his thoughts to wander. Even the idea of bringing someone to this hellhole they call a home sets his stomach roiling. Everyone thinks John is just a regular guy who gets a bit loud sometimes, but Sam knows the truth. He’s unpredictable—a drunk who sometimes forgets he has a kid to look after.

Sam is already used to taking care of himself. He does his homework, makes his own meals, and is learning how to fix things around the house when they break. John’s hardly ever around—either passed out like he is now or disappearing for days at a time. Sam doesn’t complain. He just does what he has to—especially when it comes to taking care of John.

Sam hates it, but the only money coming in right now is what John receives for Dean still being wherever the hell they have him locked away. Sam knows the deal—John sold his soul to the facility, essentially. The papers John and Mary signed when Sam was too young to understand, giving custody of Dean to the facility, were signed for a reason. It wasn’t about a medical study or a scientific experiment. It was about the money. They gave Dean away in exchange for a steady stream of cash. Cash that killed his mom—riddled with grief for giving her son away so easily.

He knows the truth now—all of it sketched out plainly in Mary’s own handwriting in an old journal. She begged John to bring Dean home. But, the payments would stop if Dean ever came back, and that fact burns in Sam’s chest.

Sam despises living off the blood money. Hates that it’s not just an innocent ‘study’—it’s a prison for Dean. But he’s just a kid, too. What’s he supposed to do? He has no idea how to bring Dean home, but he’s sure as hell going to try. Dean deserves better than this. He deserves freedom. He deserves to be saved.

And Sam’s determined to do it. He’s been snooping for years now, trying to figure out a way to get Dean out of there, with nothing to hold onto but vague memories of the past. He remembers things. Little fragments of his big brother.

“De!” Sammy shouts, wiggling to get down from his mother’s arms. He runs unsteadily to meet his older brother as the taller boy watches.

“Sammy!” Dean squeals in delight.

Dean kneels to catch him in a big hug as Sammy leaves a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. He gets a, “Missed you, buddy” as a reward.

Pizza, sweet pie, snuggles, laughter, love.

These are his last memories of Dean. They never left him.

But he’s alive.

He can’t forget that. No matter what John tries to get him to believe. He can’t forget the fact that Dean is alive. That he’s out there, somewhere, stuck in a cage.

Today, while John’s passed out on the couch, Sam takes the opportunity to do what he always does—dig through whatever papers he can find. He’s gotten good at it over the years, learning the ins and outs of John’s drunk ramblings and the places he hides things. And today, Sam hits the jackpot. 

There, in a pile of dusty papers, he finds a folder labeled Subject 6: Dean Winchester. His heart stops. He flips it open, hands trembling, and there it is—documentation from the facility. A list of other families whose kids are part of the study. Contact numbers. Names. This is it. 

Sam’s been searching for so long, and now he’s finally getting somewhere. He dials the first number, a Mrs. Bradbury, his hand shaking as the phone rings then goes to voicemail. He isn't sure what he’s hoping for—maybe some kind of answer, a breakthrough, a way to finally get Dean out of that facility. 

Most of the calls go unanswered, and when someone does pick up, they don’t seem to care. But Sam isn’t about to give up. He keeps calling, his frustration building with each unanswered call, until finally, he sees it. One name sticks out from the rest on the list: Castiel.

Weird name. Hard to forget. He’d only heard it once or twice from Dean, but the way he spoke Cas was his best friend.

Now, all these years later, that name comes back like a punch to the gut.

Sam sits back in his chair, heart pounding. Not just because of the name, but because it was real. It hadn’t been a dream or a detail his brain made up to comfort him as John often tried to convince him.

Maybe his family can help.

Sam digs deeper.

On the list, Castiel’s parents are listed as Charles and Naomi Novak. All three of them are listed as deceased, discovered through a simple Google search.

Huh?

Survived by Gabriel Novak and Anna Novak.

A funeral was even held. That can’t be right. Sam frowns, the numbers just don’t add up. The boy smells a coverup. 

He finds Gabriel Novak on social media, next. He doesn’t post much, but there are a few old photos—one of him and a red-haired girl who has to be Anna. In the comments, someone wrote ‘So sorry for your loss.’

They think he’s dead…

Making up his mind, Sam swallows the lump in his throat, preparing to dial. It’s probably a long shot. Probably disconnected like many of the numbers.

But he calls anyway. It rings and rings again.

And then—“Hello?”

A man’s voice. Tired, skeptical.

“Uh, hi, is this the Novak residence?” Sam asks, trying to sound calm even though his heart is pounding. “I’m looking for Gabriel…”

A pause. “Who’s asking?”

Sam hesitates. “My name is Sam Winchester. I…I think you had a brother named Castiel, right?”

Dead silence.

“I know this is probably weird, but I need to talk to you. Please. I think…I think your brother might be alive.”

There’s a click and for a moment, Sam thinks he’s been hung up on.

But then the voice comes back, lower. “Wait, what?” The man laughs bitterly. “That’s impossible. Cassie...he died when he was just a kid. What the hell kind of sick joke is this?”

Sam exhales shakily. “Look, I’m not joking. I know this is gonna sound insane, but Castiel is alive. My brother’s been missing too—for over ten years. He talked about Castiel once, well Cas is what he called him. The facility still has them locked up.”

Sam risks getting caught to give Gabe a very brief rundown of the little he has on their brother’s captors.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” The man says, tone showcasing how not okay he is. “So you’re telling me my brother’s been alive all this time, and you expect me to just take your word for it?” The man’s voice rises in anger. “How do you even know this? Who the hell are you?”

Sam explains, “I found his name on a list of families my dad had of people who’ve been involved with the research facility running the study.”

The man goes silent for a moment, and Sam can hear the sound of him taking a deep breath before he speaks again, tone heavy with tempered disbelief and sadness. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Ca…Cassie’s alive? How could that even be possible?”

Sam doesn’t have time to explain everything in full, but he knows he has to get through to this guy. “Listen, I told you what I know, but…I just wanna find my brother.” Paranoia sets in, Sam rushes to add, “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. We can keep in touch through text for now but if my dad finds out…”

The sentence is left hanging mostly because he’s not sure what Gabe could really do if John finds out. He’s not sure what John would do if he found out, after years of telling him to drop it or else.

Another long silence follows, and Sam can almost hear the wheels turning in the man’s head. Finally, he speaks, his tone more serious now.

“Alright. I’ll help you,” Gabriel vows. “We’ll find them both.”

Sam rattles off the contact information Gabriel requests, ignoring the voice inside his head warning against giving out those details to strangers. This is the only lead Sam has and Gabe’s all the help he’s been able to find. 

Sam hangs up the phone and sits there, his mind racing. He doesn’t have all the answers, but he knows that for the first time in years, he isn’t alone in this. Gabriel’s on his side, and they’re going to find their brothers—whatever it takes.

_______________________________________

Picking up his phone again, Gabriel dials Anna’s number. She needs to be filled in, especially after the bombshell Sam just dropped.

The phone rings, and Anna answers, her voice groggy but sharp. “Gabriel?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Gabriel says quickly, his voice tense. “I just got a call from a kid named Sam. He said…Anna I…” he stutters unable to get the frankly ludicrous words together until finally, “I don’t think Castiel’s dead, Anna.”

Anna goes silent, the weight of the statement settling between them. Gabriel hears the quiet shuffling of papers on the other end of the line, her mind clearly working through the implications.

“What do you mean, he’s not dead?” Anna finally asks, her voice barely above a strangled whisper. “But I…I saw his grave…Mother and Father..they said he died in an accident after I ran away. We all thought—”

“They lied,” Gabriel cuts in, sharper than he means to. “They lied about everything, Anna. Naomi and Chuck were always the worst, and now this kid—this twelve-year-old—calls me and says he found our brother’s name in some file his dad was hiding. A list of parents who gave their kids to some facility. His brother Dean was taken too.”

Anna doesn’t answer right away. Gabriel can practically feel her heart breaking through the line.

“Cassie’s…alive?” she repeats like the words don’t feel real in her mouth. “Why would they lie about that?”

“Because that’s what they do,” Gabriel mutters. “Cover up. Control. Keep what’s inconvenient out of sight. Castiel didn’t die. They gave him away. You remember how it was back then, he was with me half the time and if I couldn’t take him they ignored him. It wasn’t right…”

Gabriel struggles with his conflicting emotions, joy at finding out his brother’s alive somewhere, and deep guilt for having abandoned him. Even if it wasn’t entirely his fault. 

“We should’ve…” he stops, unsure of where that thought was going. 

What more could they have done outside of taking custody of Cassie themselves? Something he wasn’t at all equipped to do. He’d like to think he would have in a second had he known. But, Anna had already fled the household and Gabriel was struggling on his own in the city. He thought a few weekends a month would be enough, but he was wrong.

Anna exhales, and it comes out like a sob she’s trying to swallow. “We have to find him.”

“We will,” Gabriel swears. “And the kid—Sam—he’s trying to find his brother too. He sounds smart. Scared, but smart. I told him we’d help him find Dean.”

“He’s only twelve?” she asks.

“Yeah. Smarter than most adults I know, too,” Gabriel says. “But he’s in danger. Living with the dad who signed Dean over. If this all goes sideways…”

Anna’s voice firms. “Then we better move fast.

______________________________________

Sam’s barely able to process what he’s hearing before the news broadcast on TV interrupts his thoughts. His heart pounds in his chest, the words on the screen cutting through the silence of the room like a knife.

“Breaking News: Authorities are advising all citizens to shelter in place immediately. Please seek shelter in a secure location. This is not a drill.”

The alert feels like a punch to the gut, and Sam’s mind immediately goes to Gabriel and Dean. He hasn’t finished processing the new fear flooding his body when John’s voice slices through the tension. 

“Looks like we’re heading to Bobby’s,” John slurs, still a little unsteady on his feet. He’s already moving toward the door. "We can’t stay here. I’ll get the car ready."

Sam freezes, his thoughts racing. Bobby’s place. It’s the only place he knows will be safe, but they aren’t the only ones who need to get there. Gabriel needs to know about the plan. Sam’s fingers twitch, reaching for his phone instinctively.

John doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and Sam quickly unlocks his phone, his thumb poised above the screen as his pulse thuds in his ears. He’s so close to getting in touch with Gabe, to explaining everything, to making sure their brothers are going to be okay. 

He quickly types the message, glancing at the TV, where the alert is still running.

Sam: John’s taking me to Bobby’s place. I’ll explain more when I get there. I’m sending the address just in case. Don’t stop looking for him. I have no clue what’s going on but stay safe.

Sam hits send, praying Gabriel will get it in time. His fingers hover over the phone, wanting to check for a response, but the sound of John’s footsteps breaks his focus. 

“Sam!” John barks from the kitchen. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.” 

Sam barely has time to look at the screen as John storms into the room. He doesn’t even give Sam a chance to hide the phone before he snatches it from his hands, his eyes scanning the screen. 

“Don’t stop looking for him? What the hell are you texting about? Who’s this Gabriel?” John’s voice is low, but the irritation in his tone is unmistakable.

Sam tries to remain calm, but his throat feels tight, his mind scrambling. “I just—”

Before Sam can explain, John grunts, slamming the phone down onto the floor. The sharp crack echoes through the room as the screen shatters into pieces. 

“No more of this crap, Sam. You’re coming with me. Now.”

Sam’s stomach churns as he stares at the broken phone. His only lifeline is now ruined. His chest tightens, panic bubbling up inside him. He has no way to contact Gabe. No way to make sure he and Anna are safe. No way to find out if he finds Dean amid all the chaos breaking out around them.

But John is already moving toward the door, muttering to himself. "We’ll figure it out once we’re there. Get your stuff packed up."

Sam’s mind races as he grabs his bag and starts shoving the papers he’d been going through into it. His thoughts keep drifting back to Gabriel and their brothers. He has no idea what’s going to happen next, but he can’t let them down. Not now. 

He quickly glances at the door as John’s busy in the hallway, gathering his things. Sam takes one last look at the room—at the papers, at the broken phone. He doesn’t have time to think about it all right now. 

With a deep breath, Sam slings his bag over his shoulder and heads out of the room, following John. But the fear in his chest grows. 

How will Gabe know what’s going on? 

What if he can’t get to Bobby’s? 

What if it’s too late?

As John opens the front door, Sam’s mind spirals back to the unanswered message on his phone. He just has to hope Gabriel will find a way to get there. Somehow. 

___________________________________

Gabriel stares at his phone, rereading the message from Sam.

Sam: John’s taking me to Bobby’s place. I’ll explain more when I get there. I’m sending the address just in case. Don’t stop looking for him. I have no clue what’s going on but stay safe.

It looks like the address is a good four-hour drive from where he lives, it’ll take thirty minutes to rescue Anna from lockdown at her job. 

This is a fucking mess.

Still, he’s determined to keep his promise to Sam and find their brothers. Chuck and Naomi don’t get to rip his brother away from him twice, not post-mortem at least. And LeviaTech? Gabriel doesn’t trust them for a second. The CEO, Dick Roman, is too clean. Too polished. The kind of man who’s either hiding something or hiding someone. There’s no in-between.

Before he can reply to the text, another emergency alert blares loudly on his phone. 

Emergency Management Alert: Authorities are advising all citizens to shelter in place immediately. Please seek shelter in a secure location. This is not a drill.

But I have to rescue the ‘damsel’ in corporate distress….

The next text from Anna cinches their plans.

Anna: Never leave me unsupervised with a good wifi connection. I think I may have found a possible ‘hiding place’ for the facility under a building Roman Enterprises ‘abandoned’. I’m sending a photo, does that place look abandoned to you? Come get me, now! We’re rescuing Cassie!

And Dean, along with all the other kids whose fucked up families left them to die. 

“I’m comin’ sis,” Gabriel mutters to himself as he packs a bag, fully aware he won’t be coming back to his house anytime soon. 

Anna: Something’s wrong…people are starting to

The text ends there.

Gabriel stares at it, willing more words to appear. His gut twists when they don’t, terror building with every second.

One brother missing. A sister in danger. A kid trying to save his family from the inside.

He doesn’t have time to be scared.

He just texts back: “Hold on. I’m coming.”

Gabriel’s going to need help. The kind he really didn’t want to ask for.

He exhales through his nose and mutters, “Fuck,” as he slams the trunk of his car and floors it headed straight for the eye of the storm.

Chapter Text

Dean wakes up with a sharp breath, the chill in the air biting against his skin before he’s fully conscious. The light above him is too white, too bright, casting no warmth as it hums faintly. The ceiling tiles blur until he blinks a few times and takes in the room around him. For a moment, he forgets the last 48 hours, until it all comes rushing back.

It’s sterile. Clinical. Cold.

The Forbidden Wing.

The sharp antiseptic sting in the air, the lack of color, and the faint echo in every movement bring it all to the surface. But everything has gone quiet, and Cas is missing from his side. A pang of wrong hits him like a freight train, a clawing beginning behind his breastbone. Where’s Cas??? Dean sits up too fast. His body protests immediately, muscles aching, joints stiff, unsurprising throbbing in his neck and…elsewhere from he and Cas’…the word mating comes to mind but he has no clue why. We’re not animals for fucks sake. Their ‘first time’, sounds weird in his head and he prays Cas can’t hear this part.

Dean could tear out Roman’s throat with his teeth for taking the choice from them, the anger threatening to overwhelm him. It takes effort to steady his breathing. Everything feels too tight like his skin hasn’t caught up with the rest of him. He rubs a hand over his face and feels the dried salt of sweat clinging to his jawline. The last thing he remembers clearly is the bond pulling tight—Cas, that low sound in his throat, the heat of proximity, the swirling in his chest that wasn’t entirely his own. Then chaos, sirens, screams.

Now? Nothing. Silence.

His first instinct is to move, easier now that the restraints are gone. They’ve left him alone, untied, unhooked. That should relieve him, but it only sets his nerves on edge. They want him calm. Or maybe they want to see what he does when he’s given a little lead on his metaphorical leash. The thought makes him bold enough to flip off the camera as he climbs from the cot to pace the room.

No windows. One door. One visible camera, proof he’s being watched as the tiny red light blinks obnoxiously. The walls are seamless and too clean like they’ve been scrubbed of anything human. The only furniture left in the room is Cas’ abandoned cot, a bolted-down stainless steel toilet, and a sink with a mirror mounted above it. Dean glances at his reflection, startled by how drawn he looks. His cheeks are a little sunken, lips chapped, eyes ringed with shadows, and a hint of a foreign gold. It makes him gasp, so…inhuman. Dean’s getting increasingly scared of what Roman’s done to them. What he’s turned them into.

Dean knows one thing based on his stunning ‘makeover’, he’s been here longer than he thought.

He swallows hard. “Cas?” he says aloud, even though he knows there won’t be an answer. He tries once more, mentally repeating, ‘Cas? Can you hear me?’ Feeling stupid since he has no clue if that’s how this works in the first place. The silence hits harder than he expects. Not just the absence of a voice, but the absence of that tug—the tether he felt so clearly before. It’s still there, but faint. Like a thread stretched to its limit, vibrating in the distance.

He places a hand against the wall, breathing through the tightness in his chest. “Where are you?” he whispers.

The others—Charlie, Garth, Aaron—are they nearby? Are they okay? Why separate them now? Why now, after all this? More importantly: where the hell are Ms. Ellen, Nurse Meg, and Ketch? He hasn’t seen any of them since he was brought here. Just strangers in masks moving him like freight. The dread crawls in under his skin and settles low in his gut. They’re not testing anymore, they’re preparing.

And he has no idea for what.

_______________________________________

One Hour Ago

The observation room hums with low fluorescent buzz, monitors blinking softly in tandem with bio metric readings—heart rate, cortisol spikes, hormonal fluctuations, and new markers the team still doesn’t fully understand. Dr. Heyerdahl rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, staring at the screen tracking Dean Winchester’s vitals. Just as predicted, the boy is their very first ‘O’ subject. Making me proud. His numbers fluctuate in erratic patterns. Not unstable. Not anymore. Just…other. Beyond human. Predictably unpredictable.

“How long since his last sample pull?” he asks, voice hoarse from too many hours and too little water.

“Four hours,” Juno responds, not looking up from her clipboard. “We’ve already maxed our standard series. We’re waiting on Roman for clearance to initiate contact pairings.”

Heyerdahl grunts. “He’ll want bonding tests again. This is unfolding faster than we could have imagined, he’ll want it recorded.”

“Of course he will,” she mutters. “It’d be easier if everyone didn’t pick this week to call out. This isn’t a fucking Walmart we need everyone here…”

Alistair lets her rant fall away into a distant buzzing. There’s no point complaining, it won’t lessen the load of work that needs doing. In the corner, another tech adjusts the feed on the camera pointed at Castiel Novak, their last ‘A’ subject. The boy hasn’t moved in fifteen minutes—just sits on the cot next to Dean, head bowed, breathing like every inhale is a war. They’ll need to be separated soon.

Heyerdahl glances at the notes pinned to the wall beside the monitors. ‘Pairing observations’ scrawled across the top in red marker. Below it: Dean/Castiel - O/A volatile, Jo/Kevin - A/O stable, Rhonda/Pam - A/A bond status unknown (unsure if two ‘A’ subjects capable of bonding), Kaia/Claire - O/A responsive, Dorothy/Charlie - A/O latent, Benny/Garth - A/O bond status unknown, subjects aggressive. Unbonded subjects - Aaron (O) - in medical distress, Victor (A) - in medical distress. Note: try placing subjects together. B Subjects: Ash, Cole, Patience. An unexpected development. Further observation is needed to determine why they haven’t changed.

The problems started with Benny and Garth. Every time they set one foot into his holding cell the teen loses it, not letting them anywhere near himself or Garth. Last time Heyerdahl checked, Benny had begun showing signs of a full shift far earlier than anticipated, his wolf form peeking out through his ice-blue eyes. It was a marvel to witness. Still, it won’t do to have one subject blocking the examination of another, the next step will be knocking them both out. If it gets the job done…

A shrill beep cuts through the lab, drawing everyone’s eyes to the center screen.

“Shit,” Rollins breathes.

Benny’s vitals spike off the chart. Pulse climbing. Respiration wild. Oxygen saturation plummeting. The cameras in Hall C flicker just for a second and then they cut out entirely. By the time security gets eyes on him again, it’s too late. Chaos erupts. A roar echoes down the sterile corridor, deep and bone-vibrating. The cameras in Unit 7 swing violently as something collides with a guard—there’s a blur of fur, claws, and too-bright eyes. Benny, in full wolf form, bursts through the containment wing like a bullet. His black snout pulls back, sharp teeth on full display as his dark fur stands up at attention. One tech screams as another hits the alarm. By the time security arrives, two guards are down and one lab tech—Erin West—is on the floor, blood blooming through the sleeve of her scrubs.

Benny snarls, teeth bared.

He lunges again—

—and a tranquilizer hits him square in the side.

It takes five darts before he drops, panting, and twitching, eyes still blazing with a feral heat. They drag him back to containment, still half-shifted, still growling. The teen won’t be happy to find they’ve removed Garth when he comes to but that’s a concern for several hours from now. Dr. Heyerdahl returns to the lab to check in with Juno now that they can properly examine Garth.

“We may as well do the same to separate Rhonda and Pam. I know Roman wanted to see what would happen if two A subjects were put in together but…I don’t think he expected them to get along quite that well, mist them,” Heyerdahl orders a faceless tech as he breezes back through the door. Pausing, he decides, “Actually, mist them all. Everyone goes back to their own containment room until this is straightened out.”

Turning to the examination area at the back of the lab he spots Juno, busy stitching up Erin’s arm as she shivers under a foil blanket.

“I don’t think this is just a bite, Alistair,” she murmurs. “I felt—something. Like it was crawling under my skin.”

Heyerdahl stands across from her, arms folded, silent. Concern floods his body but he doesn’t let it show. This isn’t supposed to be possible. This isn’t some fly-by-night endeavor, this took years of planning, and testing, even before they acquired their test subjects. Heyerdahl tried multiple delivery methods to introduce the animal DNA into their bloodstream, the most effective was a virus, it was unavoidable. Yes, that virus is still present in their blood but it’s dormant, contained. It can’t ‘infect’ anyone, not the way they’ve engineered it.

“That’s not possible,” he mutters, but the truth is staring him in the face.

Erin’s changing. Her eyes have already begun to shift—just slightly, gold flickering at the edges of brown. The first signs of an ‘O’ subject, something Roman likes to call ‘O Gold’, an ‘A’ develops a ring of red around their pupil from what they’ve observed. He makes a note on his clipboard, but the pen trembles in his hand. What does this mean for the rest of them? If it can be contracted through a bite, will it eventually go airborne?

“We isolate her,” he says flatly. “And we don’t report it to Roman. Not yet.”

Juno nods. No one breathes.

The words are barely out of his mouth when Roman steps into the room, smiling too wide completely unaware of their deceit.

“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” he says, looking toward the glass wall that separates them from Benny’s holding cell. The rest can be seen from the cameras mounted in each room.

“Depends which side of the glass you’re on,” Heyerdahl mutters as understanding dawns much too late to do him any good.

Something’s wrong. His fingertips itch. His jaw clenches without his permission.

He turns away, fast, before anyone sees the way his pupils flare.

He has a fleeting thought, wondering if he’ll come out an ‘A’ or an ‘O’ before the shit truly hits the fan.

_________________________________________

The television flickers in and out, static humming like it’s trying to hide the words coming next. Sam sits cross-legged on the cot in the back room of Bobby’s bunker, staring at the screen like it might change the second he looks away. A breaking news banner scrolls across the bottom:

A/B/O Virus – Mutation Confirmed. Public Health Threat or Human Evolution?

John’s leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed. Bobby’s perched near the door, silent but clearly listening. Both men haven’t said much since they shifted. Sam didn’t see it happen—only heard it…and it sounded painful. Whatever it did to them, it’s left a mark. Bobby’s more tense now, quieter. And John…well, John’s always been a storm. Now he just howls quieter. He’s not sure what could have both of these larger-than-life men scared silent, but Sam’s glad it hasn’t happened to him. Hopes it never will.

On the screen, a news anchor stares dead-eyed into the camera, her voice clipped and too calm.

“The newly discovered A/B/O Virus appears to transform carriers into Alpha, Beta, or Omega sub types—some with only hormonal changes, others with severe physiological restructuring. In rarer cases, those exposed develop animalistic traits, becoming fully shifter-classified. These individuals pose an as-yet-unmeasured risk to public safety and national health.”

John snorts. “Unmeasured risk, my ass. They just mean they’re scared.”

Sam doesn’t argue. Because John’s right—for once.

The screen cuts to shaky footage: a man mid-shift caught on security cam, snarling. Another clip shows a woman—eyes glowing, veins bulging—screaming before she collapses. The commentary continues, but Sam tunes it out. His focus drifts to Bobby, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked. He’s gripping the side of the armchair like it’s holding him up.

“What do you think?” Sam asks finally.

Bobby sighs. “I think the moment they started calling it a virus, it was over. People get sick, they want a cure. And if they can’t cure it, they quarantine it.”

Sam swallows hard.

Onscreen, the anchor announces new proposals under review: forced registration, mandatory screening, segregation zones for confirmed cases. Some lawmakers are already floating the idea of isolated living spaces for shifters. ‘Shifter relocation’ they call it. Sam knows what it really is.

Camps.

“Most kids under sixteen haven’t changed yet. Some doctors speculate it may activate during puberty or after a significant hormonal event.”

Sam barely hears it. He already knows what it means.

He’s not safe. Not really. Just waiting.

Bobby finally speaks. “We don’t run. We don’t make noise. We build. Quiet. Smart. Careful.”

John shrugs, pacing now. “And when they come knocking? What then?”

“We’ll be ready,” Bobby says. “But not if you keep flaring your temper like a godsdamn neon sign. What we need is stealth. Not more war.”

John opens his mouth, then closes it again.

The tension between the brothers is thick, as usual. Sam feels it pressing against his ribs. Although, that isn’t the only weight dragging the boy down. Bobby still thinks Dean’s dead. Sam hasn’t said otherwise. Can’t bring himself to, not yet. Not until he knows Dean’s really coming home.

They eat together in silence later that night, locked up tight down in Bobby’s bunker. A worn wooden table. Paper plates. A meal made of pantry staples and bottled water. Nobody says grace. Conversations are few and far between beyond requests to pass seasonings or sides. John sits on one end, Bobby on the other like bookends. Sam occupies the center, keeping his head down, and tries not to think about the fact that they’re already building a life underground while the world burns above them. Hope flickers in his chest. But it doesn’t settle.

Not yet.

____________________________________________

For the first time since waking up in the Forbidden Wing, there’s a shift change—and no one comes in. No footsteps. No muffled voices behind the glass. No buzz of the fluorescent lights flickering to signal someone’s approaching. Just…silence. Dean paces the perimeter of the room slowly, fingertips trailing along the cold wall. The same numb white that’s been mocking him since he opened his eyes in this place. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? A day? It all bleeds together in this sterile tomb.

They’re watching. He knows that much. But the solitary camera stopped blinking ages ago, and now all he can do is wait. The silence is thick. Not peaceful. Not even tense. It’s that strange, humming stillness right before a disaster. The kind that makes your spine itch. The others must still be nearby. He hasn’t heard them, but the pull toward Castiel is unmistakable—low and constant, like a compass needle trembling toward true north. He hasn’t confirmed his presence verbally though he’s tried. But, the bond is still there, just quieter now. Fuzzier. Like a radio with interference. He wonders if they’re like a satellite if the thick walls make it harder for Cas to hear him.

Dean presses his palm flat against the door. “Where are you?” he whispers. ‘Where are you?’ Cas. Charlie. Kaia. Benny. Garth. Patience. Cole. All of them.

But no answer comes.

He used to trust the rhythm of this place. Not because it was safe, but because at least it was predictable. Now that rhythm is broken, and it’s starting to feel like they’ve all been left behind. The caretakers—Ms. Ellen, Nurse Meg, Ketch—they’ve been gone for too long. And that makes everything worse.

Dean sinks onto the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, fingers laced together as he tries not to spiral. Maybe the others are just being tested separately. Maybe Roman pulled them. Maybe they’re resting. But none of those guesses feel right. They don’t feel true. The unease is burrowing deeper under his skin.

They’ve always played games with them—light touches of cruelty masked as protocol. But this silence? This absence? This feels like abandonment. He’s about to slam his fist into the door when it finally opens with a slow, mechanical hiss. Dean shoots to his feet.

Three figures step through—familiar ones.

Ms. Ellen. Nurse Meg. Ketch.

But something’s off.

They’re not wearing their usual badges or lab coats. Meg’s in jeans and a t-shirt, no colorful scrubs in sight. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, he knows the feeling. Ms. Ellen looks exhausted, her hair wild in a messy bun, not her usual neat waves. Her hands shake at her sides. Ketch is on edge, body rigid as he follows the women through the door. He won’t even look Dean in the eyes.

Dean’s chest tightens.

They don’t say anything at first. They just stand there. Silent. Still.

Dean isn’t experiencing the same issue.

“Where the hell have you been? Do you know what…” Dean’s going full steam ahead to tear them a new one but Ellen puts her hand up, pausing his words.

“Come with us please,” Meg says finally, her voice raspier than usual.

Dean hesitates, tempted to give them a hard time, and demand answers now, but something tells him to listen. He follows. They walk him down the suspiciously empty hall in silence, past glass doors and closed rooms that mirror his own. Abandoned walkie-talkies and papers litter the floor as though everyone dropped their things and ran. The idea runs a chill down his spine. What were they running from? As they near the end of the corridor, a door slides open—and the sight that greets him nearly brings him to his knees.

The others.

Together.

Cramped into a single room, pale and worn out and frightened. Jo makes a run for her mom, smashing into her side as she sobs. Kaia is curled up in a corner with Claire. Huh. Garth is limping, held up by Benny who looks worse for wear. Charlie’s clutching Dorothy’s hand like a lifeline.

And Cas.

Cas stands near the back wall, looking as hollowed out as Dean feels.

Their eyes meet, and something clicks in Dean’s chest—something hot and aching. The pull between them is still there, still wild and confusing and impossible to control, but now it feels almost like a relief.

Like he wasn’t losing his mind after all. Like home.

Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean can hear his thoughts, half-formed and loud. Smell the worry in his scent, and since when can he smell emotions? It’s all there wrapped in cedar, smoke, and pine.

You’re here. You’re okay. Please be okay.

Dean crosses the room, drawn to him instinctively. Cas doesn’t back away, but his hands are clenched. His jaw is tight. He’s terrified, and Dean can feel every sharp edge of it. He wants to say something—wants to grab his shoulders and shake him, or kiss him without coercion, or maybe hold him, or just fall apart—but then the adults speak again.

Meg clears her throat. “Sit. We’ll make this quick.”

That’s when Dean notices it.

The shift in tone.

This isn’t the warm assurance they’re used to, the careful and loving guidance. It’s closer to desperation.

Even Ellen’s voice trembles when she announces, “Things are changing.”

Dean stays on his feet, watching them all like a cornered animal. What could be worse than what they just went through? Do they even know?

“What kind of things?” he asks, eyes squinting in suspicion.

He can’t let himself forget they work for Roman just like everyone else in this building.

Can they be trusted?

Ketch finally meets his eyes, regret swimming in full view. “The kind we can’t stop.”

Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. This isn’t about the testing they’ve endured for years, the torture of the past 48 hours. Not anymore. Something has gone wrong. Something bigger than all of them. He glances sideways at Cas, who hasn’t moved. The bond thrums beneath Dean’s skin like static electricity—sharp and loud and real. What now?

Chapter Text

The office is silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the slow, wet sound of blood dripping onto the polished tile.

Dick Roman doesn’t move.

He can’t.

One hand grips the arm of his chair with white-knuckled strain, the other curled near his thigh, slick with blood. The pain is constant now—low, grinding. It twists somewhere deep in his gut like his own body is trying to turn inside out. His mouth tastes like iron. He breathes shallowly through it, each inhale pinched and ragged. The lights above him glare white against the pale walls, and everything feels too clean for how wrong he is inside.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It wasn’t supposed to get out.

It was contained. It was his.

His mind races backward—to the breach. The bite. That idiot wolf-child lunging during testing, blood spraying across the floor. Then Alistair, cocky and too close, hands all over, barely controlled growls and nips, spreading, contaminating.

And now?

Now it’s inside him. Malformed and tearing away at his core.

He doesn’t know why it’s taking him like this. Why the change is wrong. Winchester made it look like a fucking cakewalk. Roman braces against the desk as another spasm rips through him, and this time, he groans. Not from weakness. From rage. Blood seeps through the back of his pants, warm and slow. The virus is rewriting his organs—his abdomen cramping hard enough to knock the air out of him. Something is shifting internally, making room for anatomy that shouldn’t exist.

Making him an ‘O’.

The word curls through his brain like poison. Not an ‘A’. Not the elusive ‘B’. The lowliest ‘O’. The most vulnerable. The most controllable. He coughs, a sharp, wet sound, and blood drips over his bottom lip. His stomach turns. Internal bleeding, maybe. Or tearing. His own formula rejects his body like it knows what he tried to do. What he failed to do. He stares at the ceiling. There’s nothing poetic about this. No irony. Just the mathematical certainty of failure. The virus didn’t care who made it. It simply chose.

And it didn’t choose him.

A jagged laugh cuts through his throat, barely a sound.

“This is your fault,” he breathes, voice thin. “Heyerdahl, you son of a bitch.”

He tries to stand, but his knees give. He collapses to the floor, catching himself on the desk before he hits it too hard. Papers scatter. Research notes. Lab data. Trial failures. Every test he ran. Every child he monitored. Every injection logged as if it mattered. Pointless ‘principal’ disciplinary logs with lines and lines of ignored ‘consequences’. All for naught. His eyes land on the earliest printout of the virus’s genome—flagged in red ink with Heyerdahl’s annotation ‘stable under stress but prone to deviation in bonded exposure’. It sounded like theoretical bullshit at the time. Now it’s written across his skin in agony.

His phone buzzes once on the desk. Then again.

He doesn’t answer.

He knows what they’ll find when they get here.

No declarations. No legacy.

Just his body, slumped in a pool of blood, wearing the last laugh of the thing he tried to create.

The virus wins.

And all he leaves behind is a trail of broken kids and a ticking time bomb they’ll never be able to contain.

________________________________

Castiel doesn’t remember sitting down, but his legs are folded beneath him on the floor, knees sharp against the tile. The others press in around him—Charlie’s shoulder brushing his, Kaia curled tightly on the opposite side. Dean is close but not close enough. Their bond hums low in his chest, a steady ache like a bruise he can’t see. The silence in the room is thick and trembling. Meg is the one who finally breaks it.

“Roman’s dead,” she sighs, flat and final.

It’s not a comfort. It doesn’t even feel real. The others barely react a general sense of good riddance flowing freely in the air.

Ellen stands beside Meg, hands clasped in front of her like she’s praying, but Castiel doesn’t think she’s ever been the praying type. She looks tired. Not the usual worn-out tired. Not the two-days-without-sleep tired. The kind of tiredness that comes from watching the world you built crack apart and unable to stop it. Ketch hovers by the door, checking something on a tablet—maps, signals, maybe escape routes. He doesn’t speak.

“What happened?” Castiel asks, confusion flooding his system. The same is mirrored around him, a miasma of new scents and ‘sniffable emotions’ assaulting his senses. His voice sounds smaller than he means it to like something peeled him back too far.

Ellen answers first. “Roman’s transformation failed. He turned—started to at least. But, his body couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t complete the shift.”

Meg chimes in, her voice sharper. “He rejected the change. The virus tried to trigger his body to begin the transition to an ‘O’, but it didn’t take. It killed him instead.”

There’s a stunned quiet.

Dean’s fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, and Castiel hears the faintest echo of thought—He deserved worse.

But Castiel can’t summon the same sense of justice. All he feels is fear.

Because if it happened to Roman, what’s to stop it from happening to them?

“You knew,” Garth says from across the room, voice cracking. The outburst ceases Castiel’s train of thought. “You knew what he was doing to us. Benny turned into a…a fuckin’ wolf!”

The room breaks out in gasps and ‘what the fuck’s.

Did you turn into a wolf? No… Me either…but I did have a weird wolf dream…are we…? I…

Their mini conversation is interrupted by Ellen’s response.

Ellen’s mouth drops into a shocked o, shaking her head slowly. “No, we didn’t know everything. Do you really think I could knowingly put any of you kids in harm’s way like that? He lied to us too.”

“We were told it was a hormone study,” Meg swears emphatically, tears building in her brown eyes. “Monitoring adolescent development. Behavioral shaping. Some fancy bullshit like that. But we didn’t know about the fucking Frankenstein nightmare animal DNA part of things. Not until it was too late.”

“But, we were part of it,” Ellen says, soft and bitter. “That’s the uncomfortable truth. We helped it happen. We helped him hurt you, sorry won’t mean shit right now but….I am. We all are.”

Castiel doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The weight of betrayal hangs heavy enough without his voice chiming in, and Ellen’s right. Sorry doesn’t magically wipe the slate clean. They trusted her, Meg, and Ketch. Trusted they were the only ones that could be relied on in this place and even they failed them. His blame train is halted as the memory of a conversation floats back to him. Proof they tried.

“The government didn’t sanction any of this,” Meg continues. “They knew about the grants, the corporate umbrella. But not the experiments. Not the virus or the human testing. Roman kept it all off the record.”

“And now that it’s out there,” Ellen says grimly, “they want it buried.”

Dean straightens beside Castiel, fear billowing off of him in waves. “What do you mean?”

Meg meets his eyes, words whispered firmly. “I mean they planned to ‘put down’ the test subjects. All of you.”

The room erupts—gasps, protests, someone slamming their hand against the floor.

Castiel doesn’t move.

He just looks at Meg, confirming, “He was going to have us killed.”

Meg winces. “Not just you, anyone who spoke out against him as well. Including the three of us. There’s no way I was letting them lock you down here in the condition you were without answers.” Ellen reaches over, patting her on the back with a nod. Meg’s shoulders droop, her body relaxing from the simple connection. “El, Arthur, and I raised as much hell as we could and threatened to contact the authorities. That last threat wasn’t met with a ton of enthusiasm.” She admits, a small smirk curling her lips. “Eventually, the order was written, and Azazel locked us up in preparation, but Roman died before it could be fully executed. The system locked up, Art here got us loose, and everyone else ran once it spread in the building. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”

“That was two days ago,” Ellen chimes in, “We uh…‘changed’ like everyone else and came to get you as soon as we could.”

“And now?” Charlie asks, eyes red but steady.

“Now we need to run,” Ellen says, still emotional but determined. “That alert wasn’t sent but we need to be smart.”

Ketch speaks for the first time, voice clipped. “They’ll still come whether it was sent or not. Anyone who knows what was really being done here will know and they’ll come looking for answers. Roman’s death doesn’t erase the threat. Others want to finish what he started. Or wipe it all away.”

Dean shifts beside him, the bond tightening, pulling at Castiel’s chest. He feels the confusion, the fury, the urge to protect. It mirrors his own.

“We can’t go back to our parents, can we?” Kaia surmises, her sad frown growing with each word.

Ellen looks at her gently, and the answer is clear even before she speaks.

“No,” she says. “There’s no going back. I’m so sorry, honey.”

It only takes one to break them all. Kaia’s quiet tears turn to ragged sobs, the others joining as they try to comfort one another. It’s too much, too fast. And now their lives are in imminent danger, more so than if they’d just submitted to all the lab coat testing.

The sniffles and sobs taper off, revealing another sound layered underneath that has their heads popping up almost in unison.

There’s a pause.

Then hurried footsteps echo again in the hall.

Ketch is at the door in a blink, gun half-raised, tension coiled like a spring.

Castiel stares at the door as it creaks open again.

For one terrible moment, he braces for guns, containment suits—another round of orders and restraints.

Instead, Gabriel, visibly older but still his Gabe, stumbles in.

He looks like hell. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair windblown and his golden brown eyes darting like he’s expecting a trap. Anna follows close behind, her steps quieter but no less urgent. Her gaze sweeps the room, pausing on each kid with shock in her green eyes.

They stop in the doorway. No one moves.

“Cassie?” Gabriel finally whispers, his voice already cracking.

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. He nods once, and then they’re colliding—Gabriel pulling him into a fierce, ungraceful hug. His brother smells like sweat, dust, and outside air with a hint of family and home underneath his new unfamiliar scent.

“You’re real,” Gabriel murmurs, eyes gone dinner plate wide with shock. “Shit, you’re really here.”

Castiel clutches the back of his brother’s jacket, grounding himself. “I didn’t think you’d ever come.” He has so many questions but…his siblings found him, finally. Feeling Dean’s overwhelmed happiness through the bond boosts him even more.

“We didn’t know you were alive,” Gabriel reveals through tears. “But we had a little help—Sam found something.”

The name hits like a ripple in the bond. Dean stiffens beside Castiel.

“Sam?” Castiel echoes, unsure if he heard Gabriel correctly.

There’s no way Dean’s Sam, who’s probably just barely in middle school, was able to track Gabriel down and lead him here.

Gabriel nods fervently, an excited glow in his golden eyes. “Your friend Dean’s younger brother,” he confirms, an audible gasp bursting from Dean from the news. Castiel squeezes his hand a few times to show his support. “He’s been searching for Dean for years. He remembered your name, Castiel, from when he was little. The kid found you on a list in his dad’s things, called me up and that’s how we started looking.”

Anna steps closer, her eyes softer now. “We’ve been tracking this place for weeks, sweetie. It’s deserted upstairs, we broke in pretty easily and made it down here. Sam’s waiting for us to get you all home.”

Dean steps forward then, his voice low. “He’s okay? Sammy?”

“He’s more than okay, kiddo,” Gabriel promises with a friendly squeeze to his…boyfriend? Lover? No…more than that. His ‘something more than boyfriend’s’ shoulder.

Meg clears her throat, incapable of stopping herself from snarking, “Well, you’re late. Rescue already in progress…”

Gabriel turns, serving the snark back with a loaded, “And you are…?”

“Complicated,” Meg says dryly. “Let’s just say we used to work for evil incarnate, and now we’re trying to right our wrongs. Ya know, be better people or whatever.”

Ellen steps up beside her, rolling her eyes at Meg’s useless response to an honest question. “We’ll explain. All of it.”

And they do.

Meg and Ellen walk Gabriel and Anna through it—Roman’s experiments and the virus. His attempt to create a new subclass of humans. The betrayal. The control. The deaths.

Dean moves closer to Castiel without a word, practically melded into his side at this point. The bond hums low between them with a steady warmth he could get used to. Two days ago he would have killed for this level of closeness but…so much has changed around them it’s hard to enjoy it in the face of the unknown.

“He was going to use the kids,” Ellen explains. “Build an empire by using their biology like weapons. Sell them or trade them for favors. He wasn’t trying to save anyone.”

“You sure he’s dead because I could…” Gabriel offers his own brand of justice, eyes narrowing.

“Bled out in his own office,” Meg promises. “I’m a nurse, I confirmed it myself. The virus didn’t take. Roman called them ‘O’ subjects, the news changed it, and now they’re ‘omegas’. Either way, the virus tried to force something it couldn’t. Not with his body, at least. It tore him apart from the inside.”

“Meg!” Ellen scolds, eyes darting to each of their faces checking for discomfort. “You’re gonna scare them.”

Meg rolls her eyes though her scent turns apologetic, “My bad. Yes, he’s dead and it wasn’t an easy death. No coming back from that…”

Gabriel does a little jig in celebration while Anna stays silent.

Her jaw is clenched tight. Her hands curl into fists.

“I knew he was dangerous,” she murmurs. “He seemed so…so…slimy whenever I saw him in the news. We barely made it out of the city because of him.”

Gabriel doesn’t speak for a moment. Then he nods once, sharp. “That decides it, we’ll burn this place to the ground.”

Ketch, still at the door, grunts. “We’ll take what we can before someone else finds it. We’ve got maybe an hour. If that.”

They break into teams. It’s all movement after that.

Patience and Cole dig carefully through the half-destroyed lab. Ash and Pam sweep Roman’s office. Charlie cracks the server bank with Meg’s help while Anna sifts through hard files with Ellen. Castiel and Dean stick close, checking drawers, cabinets, and anything that might hold proof.

They find some of it. Printouts. Charts. Photos. Recordings from sessions they didn’t know were being filmed. But most of the records? Gone. Deleted. Falsified. Scrubbed clean by someone who knew the clock was running out.

“It’s like we never existed,” Cole says, sifting through a box of heavily redacted paperwork.

“We exist,” Dean replies, voice flat. Emotionless in a way that would worry Castiel if he couldn’t feel the wave the other boys keeping back. Holding himself together by the tautest thread of self-control. “They’re just trying to bury us again.”

Castiel finds an old binder labeled Subject 1 – Viability. His name is scratched out on the cover and replaced with a number. He doesn’t open it, what’s inside, if legible, doesn’t matter now. Instead, he passes it to Anna to add to the stack. Eventually, the pile of salvaged evidence sits in the center of the room—ragged, partial, but real. Proof. They can’t stay. That part is obvious. With Roman dead and containment broken, the facility is no longer a prison—it’s a ticking bomb.

“We need to leave, now,” Ellen says, pulling a bag over her shoulder. “Before they send in cleanup.”

Gabriel nods. “We’ve got a car. It won’t fit all of us, but we’ll make it work.”

Everyone makes the last run for their personal belongings and anything they may want to keep from around the abandoned facility.

Gabriel lingers at Castiel’s side as he packs away his things, starting with his books. Dean’s doing the same, grabbing his photo of his mother and his clothes as he shoves everything into a duffle bag Ketch gave him.

His brother’s tone is quieter now, almost hesitant. “You know…they told us you died, Cassie.”

Castiel looks up slowly, confused. “Who did?”

“Dear old Mother and Father,” Gabriel says, jaw tight. “Naomi and Chuck. They held a funeral. Headstone and everything. Said you passed after an ‘unexpected illness’ when you were five.”

Anna joins them, her voice softer than Castiel ever remembers it being. “We mourned you, Cas. They buried an empty casket. Fooled all of us…“ She pauses, understanding dawning on her face as she adds, “Well, in hindsight maybe not Michael or Lucifer. We should never have believed them I’m so sorry, it’s been so long, and you…”

He doesn’t speak. Can’t. There’s too much building behind his eyes—rage, confusion, grief that never had a name until now. All this time…

“We would’ve come for you sooner,” Anna swears, hand ghosting toward his shoulder. “If we’d known the truth…you know that, right?”

Castiel gives a single, trembling nod. “I believe you.”

It won’t give him back the time he’s lost with them, but knowing he’s still loved is a start.

Gabriel turns then, his gaze landing on Dean standing off to his side. “And you,” he says. “I owe Sam big time for helping us find Cassie. Find all of you.”

Dean goes still but doesn’t interrupt as Gabriel explains his brother’s involvement.

“Twelve years old and already closing out cold cases, he’s one determined little dude.”

Dean’s expression crumples at the edges—barely perceptible to most. Castiel sees. The flash of disbelief. The relief. The guilt.

“He remembers me?” Dean asks, voice raw. “I hoped, but I thought he would’ve been too young to…”

“He does, enough to move heaven and hell to find you,” Gabriel says. “He’s waiting for you with your dad at your Uncle Bobby’s.”

There’s a hint of something in his tone but Dean doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Castiel will ask his brother later, hopefully Sam really is okay. Anything less would break Dean’s heart.

Dean nods, too fast, blinking hard as he looks away.

Castiel reaches for his hand without thinking. Dean doesn’t pull back.

They don’t say anything else.

They don’t need to.

It doesn’t take much longer for everyone to gather their bags and head for the doors. Castiel glances back once as they prepare to move—at the empty walls, the machines, the lingering weight of what was done here.

Then he looks to Dean again.

Their eyes meet.

And they walk forward, not looking back.

______________________________

The television glows in the corner of the room, casting blue light across the bunker’s concrete walls. Sam sits cross-legged on the floor, elbows on his knees, watching the screen like it might suddenly change its mind.

It doesn’t.

The anchor’s voice is smooth and practiced. Too calm for what she’s actually saying.

“Effective immediately, all citizens exhibiting signs of the A/B/O virus—including those with confirmed Alpha, Beta, or Omega traits—must report to local registration centers for biometric processing and classification.”

Sam swallows hard.

Behind him, Bobby mutters something and turns the volume down, but not off. The words keep coming, now in a smaller box on the screen beside footage of long lines and terrified families waiting outside converted school gyms and fire stations.

“Failure to comply may result in detainment or further investigation by Homeland Biological Affairs.”

Then it happens.

The anchor’s tone shifts just slightly. More clinical. More distant.

“Those exhibiting shifting-related symptoms may fall under the newly proposed ‘non-human classification’—pending Senate approval later this week.”

Sam’s stomach drops.

Non-human.

They said it out loud, on national TV.

He barely notices that his fists have clenched until his fingernails bite into his palms.

“They’re not even trying to hide it anymore,” he says quietly.

Bobby doesn’t respond right away. Just leans against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching the muted footage roll.

After a long moment, he exhales. “They never were, kid.”

And that’s what scares Sam the most.

_______________________________

The doors bang open, and Dean squints against the sudden light.

Outside.

Real, open sky—clouded, gray, streaked with the yellow tinge of smoke on the horizon. Not quite what he imagined seeing after years underground. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he saw the sky without it being on a TV screen, or fleetingly through Ellen’s office window.

It should feel like freedom, but it doesn’t.

Instead, the first thing that hits him is the sound.

Screaming. Sirens. The low, panicked pulse of a city unraveling.

The air smells wrong—burnt rubber, ozone, blood.

They step out slowly, one by one, squinting into a world that’s just left of center to what they left. The facility might be behind them, but it’s clear they didn’t escape in time. Whatever Roman started—whatever virus he unleashed—it’s escaped.

Dean watches two people sprint across a parking lot in the distance. One snarls, stumbling mid-run, their back arching as something shifts beneath their skin. They collapse onto the pavement, limbs twitching.

He doesn’t stay long enough to find out what they’re becoming.

Meg’s voice echoes in his head—some people bond and shift, some break.

Dean knows what he is now. Omega. He still doesn’t understand what that means, but the way Cas looks at him, the way his body knows he’s his—it’s real.

Cas is beside him now, their shoulders brushing. Dean doesn’t have to look to know his friend is tense. No, he’s so much more than that now, finally. The exact label is…pending. Mate. Mine. Huh? The bond between them feels like a string pulled taut, stretched to the limit, ready to snap or hold depending on what comes next.

A loud crash nearby sends the group ducking instinctively. A store window shatters across the street. Someone—or something—screams inside.

Ketch breaks the tension with a grunt. “We need larger transport. Now.”

Miraculously, he and Gabriel find an old school bus abandoned a few blocks away—thankfully intact, though the windshield’s cracked and one of the tires is a little low. Dean doesn’t ask questions. None of them do. They pile in quickly, silent and shaken, the adrenaline long gone and exhaustion setting in. The injured sit near the front so Meg can attend to them easily while the rest spread out throughout the remaining seats. They all give Benny and Garth a wide berth. Between Benny’s intermittent growling and Garth’s uncharacteristic whines, it seems they need the space to figure out their collective shit. Dean takes a window seat in the back and Cas sits close beside him, head resting on his shoulder. The engine sputters to life with a groan. As the bus pulls away, Dean glances at the smoking remains behind them—the shattered compound that bore this mess. Trapped them for eleven years of their lives. Dean turns, and he doesn’t look back again.

They’ve survived the experiments.

But the world they’ve escaped into? It’s unrecognizable.

No rules. No map. No reset. Just instinct and survival.

Dean presses his forehead to the window, eyes on the road ahead.

They need allies now. Real ones.

Because this fight is far from over.

Chapter Text

The bus jolts forward with a groan, protesting every gear change Gabriel throws at it. The shocks are long gone, and each bump in the road rattles through the floor like a tremor. The smell of rust, old upholstery, and stale air lingers despite all the windows cracked open. But it’s moving—and for now, that’s enough.

Dean slumps into a seat near the middle, Cas beside him. Their shoulders brush every time the bus hits a dip, but Dean doesn’t pull away.

Cas looks out the window, quiet. His face is bruised, the yellowing bloom of a healing welt beneath his eye. His knuckles are raw. Dean still hasn’t gotten the full story on the wounds, but he’s sure the other person looks worse. This new Cas is…warrior strong. Dean glances over once, then again, then gives in and laces their pinkies together on the seat between them. No one’s looking and if they are, he doesn’t care.

“Hey,” Dean says softly. “We’re getting out.”

Cas nods. His lips twitch like he wants to smile but doesn’t quite make it. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

Dean swallows hard. “Sam’s waiting. He’s…twelve now.”

The fact floors him for a moment, still remembering a tiny toddler with a wild mop of hair. 

“You’ll see him soon,” Cas says, and this time his voice is steadier. “He’ll be proud of you.”

In the seat behind them, Charlie and Dorothy sit close together, heads bent over a shared notebook. Something inside Dean understands their new bond, but when his eyes catch Claire and Kaia, he wonders. Wonders how they were in love with someone else one second and swapping girlfriends for each other the next. What they’ve become…it overrides everything. It scares him. Charlie continues drawing, oblivious to Dean’s internal unraveling in front of her. Peeking behind him. he catches a few scribbled lines, quick strokes, mostly cartoonish versions of everyone on the bus. 

Dorothy watches next to her, then smirks. “You made Ketch too handsome.”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” Charlie mutters.

Across the aisle, Benny has his arm wrapped around Garth, who’s shivering under a blanket someone found in the facility. Garth’s still pale, his body struggling to bounce back after what they did to him. Benny murmurs something in his ear, something too soft to catch, and Garth manages a half laugh that sounds more like a hiccup.

Anna moves through the aisle with a box of crackers and water bottles, handing them out slowly. She kneels beside Cole helping him open a bottle without hurting his splinted fingers.

“You’re safe now,” she tells him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “You hear me?”

Cole nods mutely, clinging to the water like it’s a lifeline.

Up front, Ketch sits stiffly near the door, one hand resting on the holster at his hip, eyes always moving in a circuit from the windows to the mirrors then back on the horizon. He hasn’t said much, but no one expects him to. He’s a guard dog now, for better or worse.

Ms. Ellen claims the first row of seats. From there, she watches the whole bus like a mother hen with a battalion of wounded chicks. Her hand rests on the seat beside her, ready to reach out and steady someone, or catch them, or hold them if they cry. Dean watches them all, silently. Observing.

“Meg,” she calls softly.

Meg is crouched beside a girl in the back, checking a fever with the back of her hand. She glances up.

“When we stop, we need to get more gauze. Maybe meds if we can find a gas station that hasn’t been looted.”

Meg nods. “If we’re lucky, I’ll find something stronger than ibuprofen. A few of them need real help.”

They drive through the desolation of a world gone quiet. Nothing but burned-out cars, empty gas stations, and crows circling above farmhouses. No signs of any people besides them. Silence surrounds them with smoke rising in the distance. At some point, Dean closes his eyes and rests his head against the window. Cas follows suit, head tilted to lean against Dean’s. The warmth between them is quiet, unspoken, but there.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?” he whispers.

Dean doesn’t open his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Cas’ fingers curl more tightly around his. “Me neither, but we’re going anyway.”

Dean nods once.

Yeah, they’re going anyway.

The bus wheezes and rattles like it’s held together with spite and prayer, but it keeps moving. Gabriel drives with one hand on the wheel and the other fisting gummy bears into his mouth, muttering about outdated maps and how GPS is for the weak. Somewhere outside Omaha, the group pulls into a half-looted gas station with just enough shelter to feel safe. The building seems a little shady, but Meg leads the charge, dodging around other patrons picking over the wrecked shelves.

Dean manages to get past a few people to the drinks in the back. “There’s hardly any water and like, two sodas.”

Cas stands beside him, peering in. “Do you think we’ll ever eat like normal people again?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away, considering they haven’t had to feed themselves…ever. Shit. That first thought sparks another. He’s watching Cas under the flickering light of a busted neon beer sign when the random thought pops into his head.

“You’ve never had meat lovers pizza, huh?” he asks again, as if the time and distance might’ve changed it.

Cas shrugs. “My parents didn’t order out much and Gabriel’s favorite comes with extra cheese, no meat.” He pauses, brow furrowing before he says, “Huh…I’m surprised I remember that. Anyway, once they left me at the facility….you know the rest.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment. “When we get somewhere real, I’m gonna get you the biggest, greasiest, most ridiculous meat lovers pizza in South Dakota.”

Cas blinks at him, eyes soft in the gloom. “You promise?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. I do.”

Back on the road, the bus is quieter. The sun dips low, casting fire through the cracked windows. Benny and Garth sit side by side, half-asleep and tangled together in a wool blanket that smells faintly of gasoline and mothballs. Charlie leans against Dorothy’s shoulder, doodling small stars in a scavenged notebook.

Ms. Ellen does a quiet headcount as she moves down the aisle, handing out water bottles and pressing the backs of her fingers to a few flushed foreheads. Meg trails behind her with antiseptic and gauze, checking dressings and leaving soft reassurances in her wake.

Dean sits with Cas, again. Not touching, but close.

“You ever think about what you’d do, if we’d never been taken?” Dean asks suddenly.

Cas tilts his head. “I used to, but then I stopped because it didn’t help.”

Dean nods. “Yeah…I get that.”

Cas looks out the window, murmuring lowly, “I’d still want to meet you, though. Even if we’d had real lives.”

Dean’s breath catches, but before he can say something back, Gabriel calls out from the front, “Five-minute break! Stretch your legs! Pee if you still have kidneys!”

The joke barely lands but they follow ‘order’s with tired sighs and sleepy smirks. They’ve stopped at a rest area just past the South Dakota border. There’s a working faucet outside and a few kids take turns rinsing their faces, gulping water straight from their hands. Some of the stronger ones wander toward the tree line to stretch, or just to breathe something that doesn’t smell like rubber and body heat.

Dean lingers behind, watching Cas stare up at the moon, bare feet pressed into the grass like he’s trying to root himself there.

“You okay?” Dean asks, joining him.

Cas nods. “It’s so quiet out here….not like the facility. No hum of lights or buzz of the doors unlocking.”

Dean says nothing, but he slides his shoulder against Cas’, warm and steady. They stand like that until Gabriel whistles from the bus and everyone shuffles back on, heavier but also…less hollow.

The school bus groans to a halt, tires crunching over gravel as it lurches forward and finally stills on the dirt road that winds into Bobby Singer’s salvage yard spread like a scar across the flat land, with a crooked farmhouse at its center. Smoke curls from the chimney and light shines through the windows. Morning light paints the sky in bruised colors of lavender, smoke-gray, and a ribbon of gold just starting to break the horizon.

For a second, no one moves. Inside the bus, everything is quiet. The engine ticks in the silence, metal cooling. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath. Dean’s throat is tight, his palms sweat, but he forces himself to stand first.

“Ready?” Cas asks softly.

Dean swallows hard. “Not even close.”

He rises slowly, like his body doesn’t quite believe the ride is over, like his muscles are still braced for more running, more pain. His hand curls around the back of the seat in front of him, steadying himself. The moment stretches. He peers out the smudged window, eyes sweeping the yard.

It looks exactly how he remembers it and nothing like it at all. The porch steps and the rusting cars. The leaning mailbox still barely attached to its post. Before he can assess further, the front door of the house flies open. A blur of movement charges down the porch steps, a kid, tall for twelve, hair wild, arms pumping. Sammy.

Dean’s legs move before he tells them to, stumbling down the bus steps and into the light. His boots crunch over the gravel, heart slamming against his ribs so hard he thinks it might break something. Sam barrels toward him and Dean can barely breathe as they make impact. Dean crashes into Sam, arms locking tight, his little brother’s face burying into Dean’s neck as he holds Sammy like he’ll never let go again. Dean’s knees nearly give out from the weight of it, this boy who isn’t a toddler anymore, who’s taller now, broader, different, and still Sammy.

Dean’s voice breaks on a whisper, “You’re here. You’re really here…and so frickin’ tall.” he can’t help but muse. Much taller than he was as a toddler of course.

Sam squeezes him tighter, voice muffled by Dean’s jacket, “I looked for you, soon as I could work a computer. I didn’t stop, promise.”

Dean breathes in sharply, shoulders shaking. He fists his hand in the back of Sam’s shirt like he needs something to ground himself. The smell of old detergent, dust, and a whiff of a home he barely remembers.

Around them, no one speaks. Some of the kids smile, soft and wistful while others look away, blinking fast. A few cling quietly to each other, letting the moment wash over them like it’s too sacred to interrupt. The screen door groans open again behind them. Bobby walks out, slower than Sam, but his stride doesn’t falter. His eyes go to the boys, softening at the sight of them as he stops just a few feet away. He doesn’t speak right away as he walks down the porch steps to meet them.

Dean finally pulls back from Sam, blinking through tears he doesn’t have the strength to wipe away. Their eyes meet as Bobby places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, solid, warm, and familiar. Dean can’t help himself, he falls into him like a puppet with cut strings. The hug is different than the one with Sam. Less wild and desperate, but no less vital. It’s grounding, like if he lets go of Bobby, he might float away entirely.

Bobby holds him tight. “You’re safe now,” he says roughly. “All of you.”

Dean nods into his shoulder, unable to speak. Cas stands a few steps behind, close but not crowding. Dean spots him watching them out of the corner of his eye. With quiet patience, eyes soft, a faint smile tugging at his lips. When Dean fully turns, breath catching, Castiel brushes a hand gently against the small of his back. The action whispers I’m here, and Dean leans into it without thinking.

Next to them, Gabriel leans toward Anna, nudging her lightly. “Told you it’d be a tearjerker,” he murmurs.

Anna gives a watery chuckle, wiping under one eye. “Yeah, well. You didn’t say it’d hit this hard.”

Beyond them, the yard slowly fills with sound. Murmurs of recognition, gasps of relief, and laughter choked with tears. One by one, other families step forward to Dean’s shock, he never expected this. Maybe the others weren’t abandoned…just him. Cole’s mom breaks into a run, catching him in an embrace that falls into tears. Patience’s father drops to his knees as she jogs to his side. Small children cry out as they reach the bus for Benny, clearly having feared they’d never see him again. It’s becoming clearer by the second. This wasn’t a choice.

But at the center of it all stand him and his brother. Dean knows he’s broken but with Sammy back in front of him he can see the difference. He’s older, more determined. They’re stitched together by something bigger than blood, and that means something at a time like this. The world may be ending, but in this moment, Dean and Sam have each other again and that’s enough to begin.

Eventually the yard grows quiet, but not calm. Most of the reunions have wrapped, families drifting toward the house in small groups or lingering by the bus with bags in hand and tears still drying on their cheeks. There’s a fragile kind of peace settling in, like everyone’s afraid to speak too loudly and break it.

Dean stays close to Sam. He hasn’t stopped touching him since the hug on the porch. A hand on his shoulder or ruffling through his hippie hair. Enough to remind himself that Sammy’s really here. Cas stands on Dean’s other side, quiet as ever, but Dean feels the weight of him. Steady and present, like gravity.

______________________

That’s when he spots him, lurking in the shadows. Of course. He steps out from the shadows of the porch, like he’s been there the whole time, watching and waiting. Castiel recognizes him from the few photos Dean still has of his family.

John Winchester.

Dean goes still.

The warmth of the morning, of the air, of Sam’s presence, of being free, bleeds out of the moment in an instant. Castiel’s jaw clenches as his pulse pounds. Every muscle in his body tenses like he’s bracing for impact. He doesn’t move, but his entire body responds. His wolf rises in a snarl beneath the surface, heat licking at his throat like fire. John reeks of disdain, of judgment, of threat. Every part of Castiel’s altered biology is screaming danger.

He tightens his fingers into his palms, forcing a slow breath.

Stay still. Stay still.

But his bones feel like they’re shifting, grinding. 

John stands stiff-backed with his arms crossed, half military posture, half resentment. His eyes rake over the crowd until they land on Dean, then Sam, narrowing as they circle over to Castiel last. A low thrum runs through his bones, warning, warning, protect. He feels it in his molars, behind his eyes. That ancient pull to fight, to defend. He swallows hard, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Dean takes a single step forward, the weight of years pressing down on him and traveling through the bond.

“Took you long enough,” Dean says, voice like ice.

John’s gaze lingers on Castiel, his lip curling. “So this is what you’ve been up to,” he sneers. “Shacked up with another freak. Always knew there was something…off about you, kid.”

That word cuts deep, and Castiel feels the shift snap against his spine, hard enough that it stings. He takes half a step forward before forcing himself to stop.

Don’t move. Don’t shift. Not here. Not now.

Dean doesn’t hesitate as he steps forward, shoulders squared, fury rolling off him in waves.

“Say that again,” he growls. “Say one more goddamn word about him, and I swear—”

“He’s not even human anymore,” John snaps, voice rising. “Neither of you are. You’re not my son, not anymore. You’re both fucking lab rats, products of some failed fucking science experiment that got the rest of us normal people infected…”

The words land like blows, but Castiel doesn’t flinch. His wolf roars against the walls of his chest, trying to claw its way out. Instinct tries to override common sense, the bone-deep truth that anyone who threatens Dean dies rises inside him. Castiel clenches his fists until the feeling subsides. Sam flinches beside him, but he doesn’t step in, seeming to know Dean needs this.

“You gave me up,” Dean says, each word heavier than the last. “You let them lock me up while you raised Sam like nothing happened…like I didn’t exist. Mom wanted me out…” 

The weight in Dean’s voice pulls Castiel closer, almost without meaning to. He doesn’t touch Dean but he’s just behind him, close enough to catch him if his knees give out. Close enough to lunge if John makes a single wrong move. The bond flares like a live wire. Pain and rage radiate off Dean in waves, and Castiel’s wolf drinks it in like fuel.

Ellen steps forward before his wolf makes the decision for him. The newly minted omega’s voice cuts through the tension like a whip.

“You remember that last visit?” she asks coldly. “When you brought Sam and paraded him around like he was the only child that mattered to you? While Dean was forced to watch?”

Dean swallows hard at his side.

“I told you not to come back after that,” Ellen continues. “I knew what you were doing. You didn’t care about Dean. You cared about the check.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my family,” John growls.

Castiel’s eyes lock on him, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t bare his teeth.

Every muscle trembles with restraint.

“I knew Mary,” Ellen says, her voice quiet but sharp as a knife. “I helped her get clean. Helped her file the request to bring Dean home. You told her it was denied…but we both know you lied. She relapsed because of you, her death is on your hands John Winchester.”

A stunned silence falls. Dean doesn’t turn around, but Castiel sees it. The way his shoulders cave in, the slight quiver in his breath. Don’t let go now, Castiel thinks, nearly reaching for him. I’ve got you.

Chapter Text

Silence. The kind that crackles, waiting to explode. Dean feels something inside him break like a rope pulled taut for too long.

“She wanted me,” he whispers brokenly, shaking his head slowly. “You just didn’t.”

John’s face twists, not in guilt, but in anger. The same stubborn, defensive arrogance Dean remembers.

“It wouldn’t have worked,” he says. “You think she could’ve raised you? Not with her past. Not after what she did.”

“She tried,” Dean says, barely holding himself together. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

John shifts his glare to Cas, eyes full of disdain. “You think you can protect him? You’re just as broken as he is.”

Cas steps forward, calm but unflinching.

“I may be broken,” he says, voice low, “but I would never leave him behind.”

That’s it. Dean steps between them, his voice razor-sharp. “You don’t get to speak to him. You don’t get to look at him. You gave up your right to an opinion the minute you lied to Mom and left me in that place.”

John’s jaw ticks as his fists clench, but he doesn’t say anything, not with everyone watching.

Bobby’s voice cuts through the tension, gruff and unwavering. “Alright. We’re not here to fight old battles. We’ve got shelter to organize and mouths to feed. If you want to stay, John, you follow my rules. If not, there’s the road.”

John opens his mouth, probably to argue, probably to lie, but whatever he sees in Bobby’s eyes shuts him up. His uncle pulled the older brother card; John must obey or risk the consequences. Dean doesn’t wait for permission. He turns his back on the man who left him behind. Sam and Cas fall into step on either side, and together, they walk toward the house.

________________________________________

The house is quiet in the way that only old buildings can be, settling wood, humming appliances, the occasional creak of a floorboard that could be someone or no one at all. Castiel finds Dean in the laundry room, sitting on top of the dryer. His elbows rest on his knees, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to shrink out of his own skin. 

A beam of mid-morning light cuts across the room, striping the floor. The scent of detergent is faint beneath his new favorite scent, honey, clove, and citrus. Dean. Castiel steps inside and closes the door behind him. Dean doesn’t look up right away, but he doesn’t ask him to leave either. He leans against the wall across from him and waits.

“You ever think,” Dean says eventually, voice low and tired, “that some people just weren’t meant to be parents?”

Castiel doesn’t answer right away; it’s not like he won the parent lottery either, after all. He watches Dean’s fingers drum against his leg, restless, unsure. “I think,” he says softly, “some people never learn how to love what they don’t understand. They’re just not suited to…caring for others. Too selfish…”

Dean huffs an unamused snort. “Yeah, well…he never even tried.”

Silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Finally, Dean looks up. His eyes are rimmed red, but not wet. There’s a rawness there that Cas knows too well. Pain stripped down to the nerve endings.

“You stayed close,” he says. “Back there…”

Castiel nods, murmuring, “You looked like you needed it.”

Dean whispers, “I did.”

Castiel pushes off the wall and walks to him, slowly stopping just in front of him. He rests a hand on Dean’s knee. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “I just…couldn’t stand the idea of him hurting you…I almost tore him apart…”

Dean lets out a shaky breath, “I know. I could feel you…here,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest right over his heart. He taps his temple lightly, explaining, “But I could hear you up here, too. Still weird…”

Castiel doesn’t say a word, nodding silently as he pushes forward. Dean leans back, opening his legs slightly so he can step between them. Their foreheads meet, warm and familiar. Castiel rests both hands on Dean’s thighs, thumbs brushing lightly. He feels the slow exhale against his neck, the way Dean’s hands come up to hold his hips like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

“This is real, right?” Dean whispers. “Us? This isn’t just some virus thing…”

Castiel closes his eyes. “It’s real for me.”

Dean nods, something in his body relaxing under the words. He presses a kiss just under Castiel’s jaw, soft and lingering.

“I like it when you touch me like this,” he admits, voice rough.

“I like having permission to,” Castiel replies, smile tugging at his lips.

Dean chuckles, pulling him closer until their chests touch. “Then don’t stop.”

Wish granted,” He murmurs, pressing closer. 

He stays, arms wrapped around Dean’s waist, breathing in the moment like it’s the first good one in days. Outside, he can hear it as the house moves on—voices rising, dishes clattering in the kitchen. But in this little room, it’s just them, sharing a quiet moment. A bond reawakening. A promise, unspoken. We’re not alone anymore.

___________________________________

Hours later, they’re summoned back outside by Bobby. A quiet tension still hangs in the air after the confrontation with John. Dean looks around at the small crowd, most still recovering from the chaos of the journey. Some sit in small groups, others stand apart as they digest everything that’s happened. Bobby stands at the center of it all, a solid presence, directing the movement of the group as they gather. He waits to have their attention, his usual gruff demeanor taking on a serious edge. 

Once he has a mostly silent crowd, Bobby motions toward the house, but instead of leading them there, he turns toward a large metal door. Dean noticed it earlier around back. He’d searched his childhood memories and didn’t remember seeing anything like it; now his unspoken questions will be answered.

“We can’t all stay in the house,” Bobby says, eyes scanning the group. “I’ve got a safer place. But, you’re gonna need to trust me.”

A ripple of unease spreads through the crowd around him. No one has forgotten what it was like in the underground facility. Many of them are still too raw, too fragile, from the claustrophobic torment they endured, the isolation. The word ‘underground’ alone has his stomach churning.

Dean steps forward, protective of his friends, even against his uncle. “Bobby, what is this?” His voice is guarded, the trauma of being locked away in the facility still too fresh.

Bobby readily answers, “My old bunker. Built it back when our biggest concern was nuclear war.” He pauses, meeting the eyes of everyone in the group. “There’s room for all of ya, it’s secure, and it’s stocked. It’s the safest place we’ve got.”

Cas looks around, clearly uncomfortable, but trusting Bobby. “You’re sure it’s safe?” He asks, his voice quiet but steady. He’s not so much asking Bobby as he’s asking himself. Dean sees the same struggle, memories of the facility overlapping this moment.

Bobby gives a firm nod. “I wouldn’t offer it if it wasn’t.” He turns and starts walking toward the metal door, clearly expecting them to follow.

They all hesitate. Garth looks between the others, unsure. Kevin’s eyes flick to his mother, as though looking for reassurance. Benny’s mom rubs his shoulder, offering quiet comfort, but there’s no denying the fear in the air.

Dean leads, cautiously following Bobby, but his hand lands on Cas’ shoulder, keeping him close. The proximity wraps him in cedar, smoke, and pine, keeping him somewhat calm. Sam stays by his brother’s side, watching with cautious curiosity. As they approach the door, Bobby pulls out a key, unlocking a large, thick padlock. 

“Don’t worry,” he says gruffly, pushing open the heavy door with a loud, groaning creak. “The padlock stays off; there’s an internal double lock on the inside to keep things secure. It’s not pretty, but it’ll do.”

A cold draft flows out, and the smell of stale air hits them first. The dim light from the open door barely illuminates the stairwell leading down into the bunker, a jagged line of shadows cutting through the gloom. They share uneasy glances as some of them shift on their feet, already regretting the journey, as if the basement’s a replica of where they came from, waiting to suck them back in. 

Claire, voice quivering, steps forward first, always the brave one, but even she’s shaken now.“It’s just like the labs…”

Kevin steps beside her, his face pale. “It’s…not the same. You wouldn’t do that to us. Right?”

Bobby sighs, a weary sound, turning to face them. “It’s not the same. This place was built to keep me safe, not to hold anyone captive. You have my word.”

They stare, eyes bouncing around the room, still uncertain. Dean steps fully into the doorway, his hand gripping Cas’ tightly as they start down the stairs, leading the way. The weight of his past in underground spaces lingers at the back of his mind. As they descend, the space below them opens up into a larger underground space, lined with shelves of tools, crates, and old gear. It’s utilitarian but functional. 

A large table dominates the center of the room. Around it are several long, battered couches, sleeping bags, and makeshift beds slapped together from whatever Bobby could gather on short notice. Dean pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking around at the place that is both a refuge and a reminder of what they’ve just escaped from. The concrete walls are covered with dust, but the place feels solid. He exhales, unsure whether to be relieved or unsettled.

Bobby steps in behind him, slamming the door shut with a thud. “This is as secure as we’re gonna get.”

Anna glances over at Cas. She speaks for the first time in what feels like hours. “Is this really okay?” she asks, voice tinged with doubt. 

Cas meets her eyes, steady but thoughtful. “It’s not perfect, but it’s safe,” he answers, his voice quiet but reassuring.

Bobby gives a brisk nod. “I’ve got a few supplies here, but we’ll need to stay low for a while. Stay out of sight.”

Some of them are restless, fidgeting uncomfortably at the idea of being thrust right back into lockdown. Charlie shifts on her feet, her eyes darting to the door, her fingers twisting nervously. 

Bobby gives a knowing look. “I get it. No one likes being stuck underground again. But if we don’t stay hidden, we’re targets.” He glances at Dean and Cas, who seem to understand. “No one’s gonna find us here unless we let 'em.”

Dean’s nod settles the rest of them, for now. They fall into a brief, tense silence, the weight of their shared history looming, an almost tangible mixture of relief and residual trauma. Bobby gives them firm assurance about the bunker and all the measures he’s put in place to protect anyone inside. It helps, but just as the tension seems to fade, a sharp knock echoes from the door at the top of the stairs. 

It’s abrupt, sudden, and unsettling, cutting through the quiet like a knife. Bobby freezes, his eyes flicking toward the door, face hardening as his scent sharpens. He doesn’t need to say anything to make it clear he’s on high alert. 

“Stay here. No matter what, stay here,” Bobby orders quietly, eyes locking onto Dean. His tone is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency. 

The kids, already on edge, instinctively retreat further into the bunker, some even backing toward the far wall, making themselves small. Bobby walks towards the door, his boots echoing on the concrete. His hand tightens around the doorknob, and for a split second, it looks like he might hesitate, but then he opens it.

The woman in the doorway wears a badge and a scowl. Dean doesn’t recognize her, but Bobby clearly does. He can smelltwo new scents in the air through the open doorway. The brunette is an alpha, and the blonde is an omega. Mated. The last bit comes from Cas, down their new bond.

“Singer, we’ve got company,” the brunette says, her tone tight and clipped. She’s clearly been in the thick of things, and her presence offers a rare moment of reassurance. 

Bobby introduces the new arrival, “Sheriff Jody Mills. She’s been running intel for us.”

Behind her stands a blonde woman with sharp eyes and a shotgun slung casually over one shoulder.

“That’s Sheriff Donna Hanscum from over in McCook County. We can trust her.”

Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ hand. “What kind of company are we talking about?”

Jody’s eyes land on him with something like recognition. He can’t remember clearly since he would have been just a kid, but maybe they have met before. She answers cryptically, “The kind you don’t want knocking.”

There’s a brief pause as she scans the room, taking in the kids huddled in the back. She doesn’t seem surprised to see them all here, but the sheer exhaustion on her face suggests they’ve all been through a lot.

Jody looks to Bobby, a silent understanding passing between them. “You’re not alone in this,” she says quietly.

Dean stands from the corner, his protective instincts kicking in as he moves toward Cas, instinctively putting himself between Cas and the doorway. He’s tense, ready for anything. “What exactly is goin' on out there?”

Jody’s expression darkens as she glances back to Donna, who looks as if she’s seen far too much. “The streets are a mess. The alphas…they’re losing control, and the omegas—hell, it’s chaos.” She bites her lip, her face grim. “We need to move fast, or we’ll have more trouble than we can handle.”

Bobby steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he considers the situation. “Alright, let’s talk more inside,” the alpha says firmly. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. And I don’t think anyone here’s ready for what’s coming.”

The kids exchange looks, their collective anxiety now mixing with an unspoken, growing urgency. But there’s comfort in the women’s presence—a reminder that, while things are far from settled, they aren’t facing what comes next on their own.

_____________________________________________

It starts with an unexpected shift a few days later. The kids are gathered in the bunker while the adults continue to plan what comes next. Without their input to Dean's dissatisfaction. Suddenly, a feeling he’s been pushing away for days rises in him. He’s been trying to control it, trying to ignore the warning signs his body gave him. He didn’t see what happened to Benny back in the facility, but he’s heard plenty about it since. The pain, the confusion. The omega decided he wants no parts of it. Still, outside of his control, the pressure builds up too much, and the choice is taken from him. Dean’s eyes shift first, only noticeable to him by his vision slightly altering. Before he can stop it, his bones begin to contort painfully.

“Shit!” he gasps, clutching his sides as his back arches. “Ahhhh!”

The shift isn’t easy. It’s not like the small, manageable changes they experienced when they first became aware of their new bodies. This is different—full transformation. The change makes Dean feel like he’s being ripped apart from the inside out.

Cas is by his side in an instant, kneeling over his body on the floor. “Dean, breathe, love. It’s okay, just breathe.”

“How is this okay?” Dean manages to grit out through clenched teeth as his limbs stretch painfully. “I’m—what the hell am I turning into?”

“You’re not ‘turning’ into anything. You’re…becoming what you’re supposed to be,” Cas murmurs, though his voice trembles as he watches Dean’s transformation. 

Dean knows the alpha’s been scared that he’d be next. The truth is, they’re all stuck in an awful game of Russian roulette that Dean just lost. As the shift finishes, he collapses to the floor on four furry legs, shaking. The world feels sharper, clearer—his senses are heightened, and his new instincts are overwhelming. 

Cas’ scent is more enticing in this form. The cedar richer, smoke thicker, pine deeper. It fills his senses and thrills something inside him. Dean can’t help but nuzzle against his mate, accepting the tingling brush of Cas' hand as he runs his fingers through his fur. Mmmm, awesome. The action dulls his panic but only slightly. The omega feels a howl rise in his chest, but swallows it down. The wolf within him roars, wanting desperately to fully break free.

‘What the hell do I do now?’ Dean wonders, further tamping down the urge to roll all over his mate and drown in his scent.

Cas settles next to him, his cobalt gaze intense. ‘Master it, we’ll all have to at some point.’ His words come out braver than he looks.

The room is tense. The shift triggered a domino effect, sending waves of shock and horror through the group. Like Dean, most of them heard but didn't actually see Benny shift in the labs.

“None of us can escape it,” Benny mutters, staring at Dean. The alpha has the look of fear etched across his features. 

His thoughts are going a mile a minute, but Dean catches the overwhelming desire to block out the idea that they might be more than just alphas and omegas. 

He continues, “What Roman did to us…he’s dead, but we’re fucked for life.”

Dean shakes his head, trying to focus. ‘I can’t be half wolf for the rest of my life. What if we get stuck like this?’

The words toss him into a pit of fear. Dean swiftly remembers a key fact: he has no clue how to change back. Shit. His inner turmoil is interrupted by Garth’s voice.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Garth says quietly. “But the news…it’s all over the place. Shifters are being hunted. People out there see us as…as monsters.”

Dean rolls his eyes, or the wolf equivalent of the action. He huffs, trying his best to play off his panic as annoyance. ‘Great pep talk. Benny, how the fuck do I change back?’

Before his friend can answer, Claire interjects. Her voice is sharp with disbelief, “You really think they’ll come for us? We’re just kids!”

‘We’re not just kids anymore,’ Dean growls, whirling awkwardly on four paws to turn to face the others. ‘We’re different now. Hell, I’m a fucking wolf, and you guys can still hear every word I’m saying. We have to face it, things have changed.’ Back to his original point, ‘Benny? Care to share with the class?’

Patience interrupts this time, stepping forward cautiously, her expression guarded. “If we’re the hunted…what happens to us now? Where do we go?”

Anna’s voice rings out with quiet certainty. “We stay together and pray for the best. Protect ourselves, fight back if we have to. That’s all we can do, right now.”

But there’s a shadow behind her words that Dean can’t ignore—the same one he feels creeping in his own chest.

*****

Almost as though Dean’s shift opened up the floodgates, more reports came in over the next few weeks. It starts small—barely a whisper. A small story in the local paper. Mention of a ‘situation’ a few states away during the morning news. A passing story about an ‘incident’ in Montana. Then one in Ohio. Then three in one week. People. Shifting into wolves, foxes, lions, hawks, the list goes on from there. Full-body changes, just like Benny and Dean. Bone and blood and fur. It’s sending the world into a panic and making them all fearful for their lives.

Dean leans against the bunker wall, watching the flickering TV screen from across the room. Another blurry clip plays—a shaky cellphone video of someone mid-shift. Commentary can be heard over the clip, ‘Consider a beast with human intellect. It can rip you to shreds without hesitation, and can strategize a hunt to outsmart you like a human. That’s dangerous, my vote is for total extermination.’ The shifter falls to the ground, scream twisting into a growl, and then suddenly there’s a bear where a man used to be. It ends in gunfire.

“That’s the third one this week,” Garth mutters from the couch, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “And they’re not even trying to blur the body this time.”

“Shock sells,” Charlie mutters, hands clenched in Dorothy’s as they look on. “They don’t care who sees what. Just as long as it scares the hell out of the right people.”

Claire looks pale. “We’re not them,” she says, like she needs to say it out loud. “We don’t lose control like that.”

“Yet,” Benny adds, tone clipped. “That’s what they’re gonna say when they come for us. That it’s only a matter of time.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He knows they’re right. The headlines are getting uglier by the day. Words like feral, mutation, and biohazard. The talking heads don’t even flinch when they say it. ‘They’re not like us anymore. They’re beasts. They need to be controlled or put down.’ Sometimes the broadcasts blur the aftermath. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Dean can’t tell the difference between real footage and fear-mongering propaganda—and that’s what scares him most.

At night, the conversations are quieter, harder.

“I thought I was done being afraid of what I am,” Kevin says one night, tucked near the heater with Jo. “We got out, got our families back…but we’re still trapped. In our bodies…in this bunker…”

Patience nods, her voice low. “Roman put a permanent target on our backs.”

“They’ll never stop coming,” Kaia adds, curling into Claire’s side. “Once they’re scared of you, that’s it. That’s all they need.”

Dean listens, noting their concerns mirror his own. He doesn’t know what scares him more: the fact that the world has changed, or the fact that it hasn’t. People still find new reasons to hate what they don’t understand. And now that they’ve turned into something no one can understand…the rules don’t apply. Not for them. Not anymore.

*****

When the adults reemerge from another closed-door meeting, he can tell a decision has finally been made. After weeks of quiet glances, muttered agreements, and long silences during the latest biased news report. No more running, no more hiding. The bunker has become their home, their sanctuary. It’s the only place left where they’re safe from the world outside.

Bobby spreads out a map on the main table. “We either dig in or dig graves.”

No one argues. They all know what’s coming. The question is only when.

Ketch stands at the entrance, checking the security measures. “We’ve got to keep the doors locked at all times. If anyone comes for us, they’re not getting in.”

Meg moves through the room, checking medical supplies. “I’ll need to figure out how to deal with the injuries some of you still have. Most of you are still healing from that last round of tests, and we have to keep track of everyone’s needs.”

Dean watches them all, his eyes lingering on Cas for a moment longer than necessary, tracking the tension in his frame.

“What if we can’t stay here forever?” he asks quietly. “What if they come for us anyway?”

Cas looks at him, his expression solemn. “Then we’ll have to be ready. We don’t have any other choice.”

_________________________________________

Jody shows up again later that week with more supplies and worse news. Her eyes are tired, mouth set in a grim line. “Three more patrol zones added. They’re not even waiting for proof anymore—just going off rumors and suspicion.”

“Any raids?” Castiel asks, already knowing the answer.

Jody nods. “Two. Both ended in fatalities. No IDs released. Not that it matters to them.”

After that, no one suggests moving again. The bunker becomes permanent. No longer a stopgap but a stronghold. Roles fall into place quickly, not because they’re assigned—but because they’re needed.

The group begins working to fortify the perimeter with old fencing, motion sensors scavenged from nearby abandoned warehouses, and Bobby’s stash of Cold War era protective gear. Castiel puts up fencing alongside some of the parents with Benny and Dean’s assistance. Garth rigs battery-powered security alarms with Sam and Gabriel’s help. The twelve-year-old has been asking questions no one else wants to. 

‘What happens if the power fails?’ ‘What’s our fallback if we lose radio contact?’ ‘What if we outgrow the food storage?’

Bobby and Anna were more than happy to help him build out a contingency plan on scraps of paper and empty cereal boxes, taping them to the wall in a grid of desperate hope. Donna assists by showing them all how to barricade a door in sixty seconds flat. Everyone does their part, and it gives the alpha a glimmer of hope for their survival.

Castiel finds himself to be vital to the others as the days pass, caught between every room of the bunker. Between comfort and calculation. Between being the one people lean on, and the one who leans silently on Dean when no one’s watching. 

When the others shift—some screaming, some silent—Castiel is there. Not only to catalog shifter types in their small group, but for a shoulder to ‘cry’ on as well. It helps now that he’s had his own shift into a midnight black wolf with the ‘most stunning sapphire eyes’ according to Dean. Sap.

When their instincts come too fast, too strong—when someone snaps or growls or hides in a dark corner for hours—the alpha talks them through it. When he doesn’t have the words, he just stays. They all adapt in their own way. Some quietly. Some violently.

But they can agree on one point: the bunker no longer feels like a place they’re hiding. It feels like a place they’re defending.

*****

Later that evening, the kids gather around the makeshift table in the bunker’s dining area. The weight of what they're facing hangs in the air.

“I’ve been thinking,” Claire says, breaking the silence. “If we can shift…what else can we do? Are we…are we still us? Or are we something else now?”

Dean leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know, Claire. I don’t even know how to handle it. It’s like I’m still me, but…not. Like I’m not fully in control of my own body.”

“I feel it, too,” Castiel admits. “My instincts are stronger. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to ignore them.”

“We’re not the only ones like this,” Garth says, his voice low. “The world’s full of people like us now.”

Anna looks up, her face pensive as she asks, “If we become animals, does that mean we’re less human?”

“Being 'human’s' just a label,” Benny scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice. “The world won’t care what we are. All they’ll see is a threat.”

Cole shudders. “What happens if they decide we’re the enemy?”

No one has an answer for him, least of all Castiel.

*****

Their efforts continue over the next few days fortifying the bunker, securing all entrances, and gathering supplies. Ketch handles security like it’s life or death, because it is. He patrols the grounds twice a day, setting tripwire snares and pressure-triggered flares, half military, half madman. Castiel doesn’t question his methods—just his hours of sleep.

After Meg finishes taking inventory of everything medical, she turns an empty storage closet in the bunker into a rough infirmary. She’s been just as gentle and kind, with a hint of biting sarcasm, as she was in the facility. It’s been a comfort to him and the others as they heal, from their physical wounds at least.

Meanwhile, Ms. Ellen’s been teaching them how to cook, insisting she won’t be saddled with the responsibility. The alpha knows better; she wants to ensure they can take care of themselves. Just in case. She’s practically become Bobby’s shadow, helping to keep things running smoothly as well.

Then there’s Dean. When he’s not helping with the fence or going on supply runs, the omega organizes weapons training with Ketch like he’s preparing for war. Not because he wants it—but because it’s the only way he knows to keep everyone alive. Though a part of Castiel is fairly certain his mate is keeping himself busy to avoid John. That’s a topic neither of them has discussed beyond a mutual agreement to ignore the man like he doesn’t exist.

As time passes, they wrestle with their new identities, the reality of their situation settling over them like a heavy weight. Some are scared, most are angry, and some just want to run. But Castiel knows there’s no running anymore.

_________________________________________

A few nights later, after a considerable amount of wheedling, Dean successfully tempts his alpha into foregoing sleep to stay up and talk without prying ears. Sometimes being in this bunker affords them even less privacy than the facility. It could be the increase in adult supervision or the decrease in overall space; either way, he feels like someone is always watching.

“We can’t just hide forever,” Dean murmurs to Cas, as they stand close, near the entrance, looking out into the dark. “But what are we supposed to do when the whole world hates us?”

All of the ‘bravery’ he displays for the others has fled; he just needs a little reassurance. Cas doesn’t answer immediately. His sapphire gaze stays fixed on the trees beyond the fence, shoulders tense, quiet for so long that Dean starts to wonder if he’s going to say anything at all.

Then—softly, evenly—he says, “We do what we’ve always done. We protect each other, we do what we can to survive…”

Dean exhales, a brittle thing caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He ducks his head, arms crossed, not because he’s cold but because he feels exposed. Tired. Human, in all the ways that still matter. Cas moves closer, silent as ever. His hand finds Dean’s jaw—gentle fingers tilting his face upward. 

“You’re not alone,” he says, and that’s all it takes.

Dean leans in before he can talk himself out of it. The kiss is slow, warm, full of breath and wanting, nothing rushed. It’s not about heat or instinct—it’s reassurance. A reminder. His mate’s hand stays at the side of his neck, thumb stroking his mark like he’s grounding them both. The omega presses in, seeking something quiet and unspoken, and finds it waiting for him. They break apart only slightly, breath mingling.

Dean rests his forehead against Cas’ and lets his eyes close for just a moment. “Stay with me?” he whispers.

Cas answers without hesitation. “Always.”

Chapter Text

Two years ago, he and Cas stood in the bunker with the world falling down around them. Now the outside is quiet—but not safe. And Dean isn’t a boy anymore. Neither is Cas. The war hasn’t ended. It’s evolved.

*****

Wind slices clean through the trees, catching in his fur as he runs. Dean surges forward, paws pounding soft earth, tail slicing through the underbrush. The air is crisp, laced with pine and the faint scent of rain. Every inhale tastes like freedom. Behind him—no, beside him—Cas runs silent and sure, a shadow in motion. Midnight black fur gleams in the filtered sunlight, near invisible until he turns, catching Dean’s side in a playful shoulder-check.

Dean snaps back with a low growl, answering the challenge. He arcs wide around a tree and bolts forward again, heart hammering, lungs burning in the best way. This is the only time the world doesn’t feel heavy. This is what it means to run with no leash, no eyes watching, no collars disguised as protection.

‘You’re lagging, sweetheart,’ Cas teases, his voice curling into Dean’s mind like smoke—familiar, amused, and more than a little smug.

Dean huffs, not bothering to respond. He pushes harder, claws biting into the slope as he crests a ridge and drops into the wide clearing below. The woods open around him, untouched and wild behind the barbed-wire fencing they helped Bobby and the others install almost a month after everything fell apart. HHPS patrols don’t come this far anymore. They learned their lesson.

Dean slows as he nears the clearing’s edge, muscles burning pleasantly, chest rising and falling with steady breath. He sinks to his haunches, ears twitching toward the sound of rustling leaves, distant birdsong, the whisper of wire rattling in the wind. It’s quiet here. Safer than most places left in the world. Not because the world’s healed—but because they carved this place out of what was left.

He stares ahead for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest beginning to slow. ‘It’s hard to believe, huh?’ he sends to Cas, not expecting an answer.

Two years ago, they were underground, half-broken, afraid of their own skin. Now, they run together—freely, fiercely, mated and alive. It almost feels like defiance.

‘I needed this,’ Dean admits, and he means more than the run.

Cas doesn’t answer right away, moving closer as fur brushes fur, his presence wrapping around Dean’s like warmth at the edges of a chill.

The alpha nudges their bond tighter, a soft pulse of reassurance. ‘I know. You always carry more than you let on.’ He can practically feel his mate poking around, picking up on what he hasn’t said. Quieter yet fierce in its stillness, he swears, ‘No one touches what’s mine.’

Dean huffs softly, more exhale than laugh. That deep rumble starts low in his chest again, scent building with pride, affection, and something sharper. He sends his words over the bond, ‘Let them try.’

The bond pulses between them, the way it always feels when they’re alone out here. So much stronger than those first few months, more than he ever could have imagined he’d share with his best friend. They’ve practically got it down to a science now. When he shifts, he can feel everything Cas does. Every emotion translates cleanly. Reassurance, contentment, need. Especially need.

Dean’s eyes flick toward Cas again, just as he pads up beside him and sits. Their fur brushes as the silence stretches between them, warm and full. But it doesn’t last. Because no matter how far they run, the current state of things always finds a way back in. Dean’s thoughts drift, unbidden.

The world outside their fence has gone to shit. HHPS tags shifters like stray animals and drags them to ‘detainment centers’. More like prison camps dressed up in less controversial government language. The name of the agency is a joke, Hybrid Human Protective Services. ‘Human’ is just branding now—none of it applies to them. Not since the laws changed, making registration mandatory, while unregistered shifters started disappearing.

They’ve watched the footage. Unregistered wolves captured, zip-tied through the ears, caged, and labeled feral. Foxes and coyotes tranquilized and hauled off in metal cages to be studied like lab rats. Bears shot for twitching wrong. Big cats sedated and chained, muzzles strapped on as if they were rabid. Registered shifters denied work, rights, and housing. Homeless shifters herded into HHPS custody indefinitely for ‘their own protection’. Doesn’t matter if you follow the rules. The rules can change on a dime, always in HHPS’s favor, of course.

Dean has seen the bruises on the newcomers who made it through the patrol lines. He’s heard the stories—families torn apart based on reports from ‘concerned citizens’. Friends who never came back from the city. Shifters found dead in ditches with collars still embedded in their throats. The ones who make it find their way here. The bunker’s at full capacity now, overflowing with traumatized survivors and ghosts of the life they once had. People sleep on twin mattresses two, sometimes three or four, to a room. Even he and Cas share with Rhonda and Pam.

Every new arrival has that same hunted look in their eyes and dried blood on their clothes. Belongings stashed in whatever they can carry, always looking over their shoulders, waiting to be found out. But here…here, in this stretch of forest, it’s just them. Their runs are never just about letting off steam. Dean needed the silence. He needs Cas.

Sitting at the edge of this clearing, with their problems locked away and his alpha beside him, Dean finally lets his want consume him. He stands and gives a shake, loose soil flinging from his coat. His eyes lock onto Cas’ ocean stare. He’s still in his wolf form, watching. The omega doesn’t have to ask, turning to head deeper into the trees, not needing to look to know Cas is right behind him.

The bond between them pulses hot and bright, a constant hum under the skin. It flares, tugging low in Dean’s belly, sharp and urgent. His scent flips to match, deepening to mirror the shift he feels between them. Cas’ desire brushes against him through the bond, thick like molasses, laced with something possessive and wild.

By the time they reach the mossy clearing they’ve claimed as theirs, Dean is already shifting. The change ripples through him—muscle, bone, flesh bending back into shape. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not like the first time. Now it feels…inevitable. Like shedding a skin he was never meant to wear full-time. When he exhales again, he’s on two bowed legs, bare in the filtered light.

Cas follows, slower, more controlled, his wolf form melting away in sleek lines until his human body emerges—tall, broad, a ring of red circling his cobalt stare. Power rolls off him in waves, tempered only by the gentleness in his gaze. Dean stands there, waiting, unapologetic in his want.

“You gonna stand there and stare all day, alpha?” he teases, voice husky from the run, from the shift, from what he already knows is coming.

Cas steps closer, enveloping him in a delicious cloud of pine, cedar, and smoke threaded with delicious desire. The alpha’s quiet as breath, until he’s in Dean’s space. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says, palm finding the omega’s hip.

Dean’s mouth quirks. “Like this?”

Cas nods, “Naked. Wild. Mine.”

A shiver ripples down Dean’s spine from the way Cas says that last word. Mine. It hits every nerve he has, triggers the bond between them like a wire drawn tight. Dean can feel himself going slick, knees slightly weak. He leans in, nose brushing the edge of his mate’s throat, scenting him from the source. It’s instinct, more than habit. Cas tips his head to give him room.

“You smell like forest and fire,” Dean breathes, lips brushing skin. “Always smell like this right before…”

Before he gives in. Before Dean forgets what it was like to be alone. He’s had Cas at his side practically all his life, but not like this. The alpha growls low in his throat, pressing their bare, heated bodies together. His hand trails down Dean’s back, steady and warm, until it rests at the curve of his spine. The action grounds him in the moment as his body reacts before his thoughts can catch up. Everything inside him coils tight with need. He’s half wild already when Cas finally kisses him, slow, thorough, and claiming.

Dean’s breath catches the second his alpha’s lips meet his. The forest seems to fall away, distant and blurred, like it’s making space for them. For this. Cas kisses him again—firm and deep, one hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck, the other trailing up to grip his hair. Dean’s body leans into it, all instinct, hips already arching forward like he can’t help himself. Tension thrums hot between them, spooling tighter with every touch.

Dean breaks the kiss with a shaky exhale, eyes glazed. “Love you,” he murmurs, voice rough.

Cas doesn’t respond with words, sinking to his knees in the moss and pulling Dean with him. The ground is soft, cool, and damp under his back, but all he feels is Cas’ heat, his weight, the sure press of hands exploring him like they’re relearning the same map they’ve traveled a hundred times. Dean’s legs fall open easily, willingly, and he doesn’t care how desperate it looks. He wants this. Wants him.

Cas slides a hand down his chest, teasing a nipple before trailing down his stomach, fingers dragging possessively. His eyes flash crimson as his scent spikes—intense and layered with want. Rich pine, deep smoke, and sharp cedar roll over Dean in a wave, alpha-heavy, pressing all the right buttons in his body. Dean shudders, gasping as Cas noses at the curve of his throat near his mark. A reminder of their mating, one he doesn’t remember, but they’ve more than made up for that since.

Cas’ hand slides past his leaking cock, teasing at his entrance. “You’re so slick,” the alpha growls against his skin, voice full of reverence and hunger. “Ready?” he asks, pinning Dean with his burning gaze of ocean ringed with red.

He lets out a soft, helpless noise, arching his back. “I always am with you.”

Cas presses into the heat between his legs, fingers already searching out that special spot. Dean cries out, one hand fistingin the moss beside him, the other grabbing Cas’ arm like he might fall without him. The bond pulls taut, hot, electric, and craving. Every nerve feels primed, ready, and waiting. Dean’s heart hammers against his ribs as Cas leans over him, lining their bodies up. His cock drags slick against his slick soaked hole, not pushing in yet—just there, thick and promising.

Dean’s thighs tremble. “Don’t tease,” he breathes, lost in sweet anticipation.

“Never,” Cas answers, voice low, steady. “I’d give you anything, my love.”

Finally, he presses in as Dean gasps, head falling back, back arching off the ground. It burns, just for a second, but the bond floods him with twin streams of pleasure edging towards delicious completion. His body yields, opening to take all of him because it’s Cas, and that’s all that matters.

His mate begins to move, slowly at first—deep, steady thrusts that send sparks across every inch of Dean’s skin. The forest echoes faintly around them, but the only thing that’s real…the only thing that matters, is this. The sweaty slide of bodies, the grounding grip of Cas’ hands on his hips, the bond flooding with heat and feeling and pure love. Dean meets every thrust with equal desperation, moaning openly now, eyes locked on Cas like he’ll fall apart if he looks away.

“Casss,” he gasps. “Tell me you feel it…”

Cas kisses him again, hard, before breaking away just long enough to say, “Always…”

Dean’s vision whites out with the next roll of Cas’ hips as his mate’s knot begins to grow, hitting his spot almost every time. Fuck. His legs tighten around the alpha’s waist, ankles locking behind him, pulling him deeper. He doesn’t care how exposed he is, how open—he wants all of it. He needs it.

Cas’ rhythm builds—faster, harder, breath coming in short, hot bursts. The bond flashes bright in Dean’s chest, every pulse of it singing minemineminemine through his blood. He’s close. He can feel it cresting. Cas knows, too. A smug grin quirks his lips before it’s wiped away as the alpha’s mouth falls open in an O, overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Dean—” Cas groans, voice breaking, and that’s all it takes.

The omega comes with a sharp cry, pleasure ripping through him like lightning, his entire body shuddering with it. The bond explodes between them, golden and blinding, wrapping around them both like a net. Cas follows a second later, hips buried deep as his knot locks, voice lost in a growl against Dean’s throat as he spills inside him. The heat of it sends another aftershock through him, and for a moment, the world just stops. No war or fear. No HHPS. Just the forest, the earth, and his alpha wrapped around him like he’ll never let go. Cas remains locked inside him as he lowers them gently to the moss, one hand stroking Dean’s side, slow and grounding.

The warmth between them lingers as their bodies still. Dean breathes deep, anchoring himself in the moment. In the bond. In Cas. Yes, they’re shifters, wanted men, unregistered fugitives with blood in their past and a war in their future. But right now, they’re whole. Dean lies there for a moment, letting Cas’ scent settle over him like a second skin. Cedar melts into pine while smoke binds with his citrus and honey. Their bond pulses quietly in the background now—sated, steady. His thighs ache in the best way. His chest feels open, vulnerable, safe.

Eventually, Cas’ knot goes down enough to separate, to Dean’s immense displeasure. He’d rather stay here in the forest all day, but responsibilities await them back at The Den. Cas noses gently at his cheek, then shifts—fluid and quiet, black fur rising where pale skin had been. Reluctantly, Dean follows. The shift comes easy this time, smooth like breath, like surrender. His paws hit the moss, and he shakes once, body humming with contentment. He brushes his flank against Cas’ as they start walking, this time in silence—slow, side by side, fur occasionally grazing.

By the time they reach the back perimeter fence and retrieve their clothes, the scent of smoke and boiled herbs filters in from the house. Someone’s cooking. It always jars Dean a little—how normal it sometimes feels here.

____________________________________

Their run, combined with Dean’s other reason for luring him out here, leaves the alpha buzzing, heart steady but mind sharp. Dean trots just ahead, his reddish brown fur catching the filtered afternoon light through the trees. He doesn’t look back—but he doesn’t need to. Castiel follows without question.

The scent of the forest still clings to them when they break through the brush. Bobby’s fencing glints in the distance, layers of barbed wire and perimeter spikes warding off whatever the world might send next. Castiel shifts as they near the house, body stretching and folding back into human shape with practiced ease. He doesn’t feel exposed anymore. Not with his mate beside him.

Dean steps into his space, close enough to scent him again. His golden greens glitter in the waning sunlight. “You’ve got moss in your hair,” he says, fingers already brushing it away.

Castiel shakes his head with a grin, adjusting Dean’s flannel while reminding him, “You put it there.”

In place of a response, Dean kisses him—soft, sure, claiming without taking. The kind of kiss you give someone who already has all of you. Castiel leans into it because after everything, this is what remains. This bond. This boy, he once pined for, now grown into a man with sharp teeth and a loyal heart. They break apart only when footsteps crunch through the gravel.

One of the newcomers, Bela, passes them with a nod, arms wrapped tight around a crate of scavenged batteries. She’s an alpha hawk shifter who showed up at ‘The Den’ about six months ago, clothes torn, eyes sharp, body practically twitching to shift back into hawk form. She rarely speaks unless she has to, but her quiet diligence has folded itself into the rhythm of life underground. She knows where every fuse is kept, every charging cell hoarded like gold. When she moves, it’s with silent purpose—just another shadow in the bunker’s strange little ecosystem.

Two jaguar shifters trail behind her, one limping. They met the twins when they got caught trying to steal from Bobby’s supply drop. Her brother, Max, stayed hidden in the woods for two days before she convinced him it was safe. They arrived thin, bruised, suspicious—but they stayed. Max, an omega, has a raw scar along his calf from a trap he barely escaped weeks ago. Alicia’s an alpha, she sticks close, all fast hands and low laughter, fingers dancing constantly over the radio she’s modified three times over just to pick up static transmissions from other survivor camps.

Castiel watches them go, gaze lingering. The alpha knows their stories. All of them. He remembers the girl who watched her sister get dragged into an HHPS van and never saw her again. The boy who holed up in a grain silo for eight days with nothing but canned beans and his father’s pocketknife. The ones who walked on bleeding feet across three states just for a rumor—just a rumor—that Bobby’s place was still standing. The truth is, it’s not safe here. Not really. But it’s safer than what’s out there. That has to be enough.

The cellar hatch behind Bobby’s house creaks open. The older alpha climbs out, squinting against the sunlight. He carries a box of supplies in his hands, brushing dust from the sleeves of his hole-ridden flannel after setting it down on the grass as they approach.

“Glad to see you two are still breathing,” he says.

“Mostly,” Dean replies, grin twisting his plush pout.

Bobby stretches his back. “Jody’s swinging by later. Wants to debrief. HHPS might be shifting its patrol perimeter again. We’ll need to move the western alert line.”

Dean’s mouth tightens. “Something we should worry about?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Bobby says. “But it’s coming.”

Castiel glances toward the tree line, where forest meets wire and the wind carries secrets. He doesn’t say it aloud. But the feeling’s been growing like a splinter under his skin. Something’s coming.

Dean just says, “We’ll be ready.”

The feeling of wrong follows Castiel all the way to the bunker door, only washing away as the sounds of their friends and family reach his ears. Inside, the space is loud in the way that means life. Ellen shouts from the kitchen about needing more help with lunch. A radio crackles in the distance, and further inside, a thump echoes, followed by a familiar string of curses from Ketch. The scent of the outdoors gives way to garlic, sweat, and too many bodies moving through too little space. The hallway’s alive with sound—voices overlapping, a pan clattering in the kitchen, someone shouting for the younger kids to stop running. There are fewer than ten of them total, but they can wreak havoc if left unsupervised.

Dean sniffs the air, “Smells like soup,” he mutters.

Castiel hums in agreement. “Hopefully edible this time…”

They barely make it ten feet before Patience flags them down, glancing up from the floor next to the map table. She sits cross-legged, a dozen weathered topographical charts spread around her like tarot cards. A red marker rests between her fingers.

“Storm’s shifting west,” she says without looking up. “Might cut off our east-facing trail if the river floods again.”

Dean arches a brow at Castiel. “What storm?”

She doesn’t answer, focusing back on the charts in front of her.

“Knowing Patience, it’s either metaphorical or at least a month out,” Castiel murmurs with a shake of his head. He’s grown used to his friends ‘premonitions’ by now.

Castiel herds Dean further down the hall towards their bedroom. The shower is calling his name, hopefully with Dean. As they pass the radio room, they find Kevin typing furiously on his salvaged laptop, mouth moving soundlessly along with whatever’s blasting through the headphones perched on his ears. The other two-thirds of the triad hover behind him. Jo’s inspecting a medkit while Ash tosses a screwdriver from hand to hand like it’s a coin. Every time he catches it, he leans over and pecks her neck, with her complexion growing increasingly red.

“Quit it, babe. I’m tryin’ to focus,” Jo grumbles, fighting a smile as she elbows Ash away. Instead, the beta moves closer, draping himself lazily over her shoulder like he belongs there—which, he does.

Kevin rolls his eyes from his seat at the laptop but doesn’t say anything to his bond mates. His fingers tap out a steady rhythm, eyes locked on the patrol maps flickering across the screen.

“ETA on redirect, Kev?” Jo asks, slipping easily into mission mode. The alpha’s voice is calm, but Castiel can hear the tension under it—coiled like a spring.

Kevin lifts one hand, then drops it again, still not looking away. “Soon…”

Ash glances up and spots Dean and Cas standing in the doorway. The fox shifters’ grin widens instantly.

“You two smell like wet dog and bad decisions,” he teases, arms still looped around Jo’s middle.

Dean smirks and flips him off without breaking stride.

Jo chuckles. “If you see Meg, let her know I need another dose pack ready for tonight. Aaron’s temp spiked again.”

Castiel frowns. Aaron’s been a little…fragile since what they went through. Concern spikes as he asks, “Is he alright?”

“Meg’s got it handled,” Jo says. “Even made him tea and barked orders until he passed out.”

Ash leans in, resting his chin on Jo’s shoulder again. “Also threatened to knock him out cold with morphine if he didn’t stay in bed. So, you know. Classic bedside manner.”

“Effective,” Castiel says dryly.

Kevin sighs from his seat, but a faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Castiel watches them for a beat—Jo’s hand resting on the omega’s arm, Ash twirling a screwdriver like it’s a fidget toy, and Kevin anchoring them both without ever needing to speak. They work like a unit. A triad, as Ash proudly declared during their third month in hiding—loud enough to make Ketch choke on his food in shock. It’s worn off since then, now that they see how happy their friends are. It works for them, and in a place like this, that’s more than most people get.

Leaving their friends with a promise to catch up later, they only make it a few feet down the hall before another distraction pops up—this time from the sparring room. Claire and Kaia are in the thick of it—knives flashing, boots skidding on the floor. Neither speaks. The sound of metal-on-metal fills the air.

“You two should eat something,” Charlie calls to them from her position at the doorway. The omega’s arms are crossed, a bruise just visible under her jaw.

“We will,” Dean says. “Any more word from Jody? Bobby said she’s on her way over.”

“She’s inbound. Wants to update everyone at the perimeter. Something about a new detainment route near the river.”

Castiel meets her eyes. “We’ll be there.”

Charlie nods and vanishes back into the room. Further into the bunker, their progress is hampered once again. This time, by Benny and Garth, leaning over the main generator, muttering about voltage and backup surge power. Garth’s forehead is streaked with soot. Benny doesn’t even look up as they pass, but lifts a hand in greeting.

Gabriel appears a few doors down from their destination, hair a mess, holding two mugs of soup. “For the record,” he says, offering one to Castiel, “I did not agree to kitchen duty. I was assigned against my will.”

“Against your will?” Dean asks, chuckling.

“Practically a war crime,” Gabriel sighs, lips twisting into a smirk.

Anna trails behind him, clipboard in hand, smile small but real. “They made him stir soup.”

Castiel snorts as he accepts the mug, enjoying the warmth that floods through him with his first sip. “This is pretty good. Surprising, considering you helped, but thank you, Gabriel.”

Dean glances around. “Feels full today.”

“It is,” Anna says. “We’ve had three new arrivals in the last week. A coyote shifter from Louisiana. A lioness out of New York. A red fox kid from Chicago—barely older than Sam.”

That sobers them both. The teen rounds the corner a moment later, jacket slung over one shoulder, talking animatedly with Victor about trap disarmament and field med kits. His voice cracks on a word, and he curses under his breath. Everyone can see the change in Sam now that John’s out of the picture. No one even says the man’s name anymore. Bobby gave his brother a choice—to stay and help or walk away. He left that same night. Dean hasn’t directly addressed his feelings about it, but Castiel knows. He felt the tension leave the omega’s shoulders in the days after.

Dean smiles faintly. “Sammy’s gettin’ there.”

“He’s trying,” Castiel agrees, proud of how far he’s come.

Sam’s not that tortured little boy who fought against his own father to find them. He may be un-presented, but over the last two years, Sam’s begged for more responsibilities, not to be treated like all the other kids in the bunker. Now, he contributes to their small community just as much, if not more, than anyone else.

Leaving Gabriel and Anna behind, they pass Pam and Rhonda in the hallway. The alpha lionesses are arguing once again about food portions at meals and sleeping assignments for newcomers…or which of them hogs the covers, he’s not sure. Rhonda throws a pen at her girlfriend, and Pam dodges it without looking, giggling maniacally.

‘So dysfunctional,’ he says, rolling his eyes as they walk past the couple.

“It’s home,” Dean murmurs in response as they finally make it to their room.

It’s crowded. Loud. Messy. But he’s right, it’s home.

_________________________________________

Steam curls around Dean’s face as he leans into the corner of the shower, palms flat against the tile. The water is hot, too hot—but that’s the point. He can feel the sting where it hits his shoulders, the burn of it chasing away cold memories like it has a chance in hell of working.

Behind him, Cas moves quietly, rinsing shampoo from his hair, careful not to crowd. They’ve shared dozens of showers by now, but this time Dean flinches when their arms brush. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s already happening. The steam thickens, warping the room around him. The water feels too loud. The tile is too white. His breath starts to hitch.

In a flash, he’s back there. In that room. Bound to the bed. Rubber gloves and voices behind glass. Secrets and pain, so much pain.

He gasps and jerks away from the wall, barely aware that his balance slips. Cas’ hand catches him mid-stumble, grabbing his arm with a firm grip, steadying him.

“Dean.” His name cuts through the fog. “Dean, look at me.”

He can’t, not when the ghosts are that close. But Cas moves in front of him, blocking the water, blocking the past. His hands rise slowly—calm, patient—and rest on either side of Dean’s face, thumbs brushing the curve of his jaw.

“You’re not there,” Cas says quietly. “You’re safe. Right here, with me.”

Dean’s vision sharpens like a lens coming into focus. The tile is off-white, not sterile. The water pressure’s weak. It smells like soap and shampoo and Cas.

He blinks. “Sorry. I—”

Cas leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t be. You’re okay.”

Dean swallows, the lump in his throat hard to clear. “I didn’t mean to pull away.”

The alpha presses a kiss to his cheek, pulling away just enough to murmur, “I know.”

They stay like that a moment longer before Cas turns off the water. Dean breathes deep. The alpha grabs his towel from the hook, drying Dean’s shoulders with gentle, unhurried movements. He walks him back to their room without a word, hand steady at Dean’s back the whole way.

At the door, Cas squeezes his wrist once, grounding him again. “I’ll grab you some water.”

Dean nods, watching him disappear down the hall. But, he barely has time to dry his hair before the house goes quiet in that specific, ominous way that means something’s wrong. He walks into the common room, towel still slung around his neck. Everyone, including Cas, is gathered near the old flat-screen mounted on the wall, shoulders tight, eyes locked on the flickering image.

A news anchor sits rigid behind her desk, voice carefully neutral. “—unconfirmed sources say the facility in southern Illinois has reported three separate cases of confirmed pregnancies among detained shifters.”

Dean stops cold.

“Again, these reports have not been verified by HHPS officials, but witnesses describe elevated security, the removal of prisoners to an unknown second site, and visible transfer of medical equipment through the northern gate.”

The camera cuts to aerial footage—gray fencing, armed guards, blurred figures in containment suits.

“According to internal leaks, at least two of the individuals are male omegas. With the shifter population possibly regaining fertility, this could change everything for…”

Dean’s stomach flips. A low murmur ripples through the room. Meg swears under her breath. Max looks visibly shaken as he leans into Alicia’s side. Claire scoots forward in her seat like she’s trying to read between the lines of the image on the screen.

“They’re gonna lock us down even harder,” Garth says quietly. “If they think we can breed…”

“They’ll treat us like livestock,” Meg snaps. “Like test subjects…just like Roman…”

Dean barely hears them. His mind is spiraling—male omegas. Pregnant. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or be sick. He never really let himself believe it. Not when Meg first brought up heat cycles—clinical, casual, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing he’d ever heard. Not when Cas’ scent started to shift every few months, smoke deepening at the edges, pine and cedar laced with something heady and sharp that made Dean restless for reasons he didn’t want to examine. Not even when their bond began pulling tight during those weeks as his heat approached, stretching like a live wire under his skin, every touch charged, every thought turning him mad with desire.

He told himself it wasn’t what it sounded like. Shifters might be shifters, sure—but the rest sounded impossible. Dean stupidly decided human biology had rules, and rules didn’t just fall apart because some off-the-books government lab decided to scramble their DNA with wolves and foxes and God knew what else.

But biology can get it wrong, and that’s when those ‘rules’ go right out the window. Thanks to Roman biology can also be manipulated for nefarious means. Dean begins to realize how much his earlier beliefs were just wishful thinking. He looks at Cas now—across the room, tense and silent, jaw locked like he’s grinding down an instinct—and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. If this changes everything. If it already has.

In the beginning, Meg tried to explain it. Said the wolf shifters were showing clear signs of natural cycles. Alphas entering rut—that biologically driven, aggressive phase of intense need and fertility. Omegas falling into heat—when their bodies practically called out for a mate, desperate and open and undeniable. It wasn’t just psychological. It was scent and hormone and biology—all of it real…and apparently, not limited by gender.

“Shifters follow their animal instincts,” she’d said, hands on her hips, voice far too amused for Dean’s comfort. “If you’re a wolf, you’re wired to mate. Doesn’t matter what parts you’ve got.”

Dean had nearly choked. Cas hadn’t looked much better. But if they can believe the news, she was right all along. Male omegas can carry. The capacity for reproduction followed their instincts and shifted right alongside everything else.

At the time, Garth, ever helpful, had piped up with, “They wouldn’t be babies anyway, they’d be pups.”

Dean had stared at him in horror for five full seconds before walking out of the room. He’d spent the better part of the first year avoiding the whole topic. Thankfully, no one got pregnant. Meg had all sorts of theories: stress, or starvation, or trauma, or just the fact that their bodies hadn’t fully adapted. Whatever the reason, abstinence talks turned into relieved shrugs, and eventually Meg stopped lecturing entirely.

After year two, she made a simple request, “Just keep it in your damn rooms and off the shared furniture for fucks sake.”

That last bit had earned her a stern glare from Ellen, and Dean figured that was the end of it, that they were the exception. But now? Now, a news broadcast is shattering that illusion. He swallows hard. Because if it’s possible—if their biology really has changed—then it’s not just theoretical anymore. He could be bred. By Cas. Babies—pups—theirs.

Dean can’t even begin to wrap his head around that one. Doesn’t want to. But the seed of it is there now, sprouting and clawing through the denial he’s been clinging to for two years. Cas…Cas hasn’t looked at him since the news report ended. Dean can’t decide if that’s a relief or a warning. Because if this changes everything, then the one thing he thought he still had control over—his body, his future, the limits of what they were becoming—might already be gone.

The news fades into background noise. People drift away in uneasy clumps. Some go quiet while others begin prepping defense plans again. The kids retreat to the lower hall, whispering like they’re afraid to speak too loudly. Dean steps outside for air. He needs to think, and it feels too oppressive inside, as though the walls are closing in. The breeze hits him soft and warm, laced with pine, ash, and…something else.

Dean stops cold. A scent—faint but undeniable—drifts in on the wind. It doesn’t belong to anyone in the house. Not any of their regular scouts or anyone from town. It’s alpha. Strong and unmasked. His shoulders tense. Behind him, Cas steps onto the porch, probably wanting to talk, but that will have to wait.

Dean turns his head slightly. “You smell that?”

Cas pauses and inhales. He nods once, confirming Dean’s fear, “Not one of ours.”

Understanding dawns in Cas’ sapphires. Dean doesn’t say what they’re both thinking. Someone’s coming.

Chapter Text

Twilight drapes over the trees like a curtain, filtering lavender and ash through the dense canopy. The woods behind the Den are quiet—too quiet. Not the peace of contentment, but the kind that settles before a storm.

Castiel’s ears twitch at every shift of the underbrush. His paws press lightly into the earth, absorbing the rhythms of a place that’s become both home and battlefield. Dean runs just ahead, silent but steady, his fur rippling with every lunge. They’ve done this perimeter a hundred times. But tonight’s different.

The wind shifts. Dean halts so suddenly that Castiel nearly barrels into him. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, unmoving. Then it hits him—sharp, acidic, wrong. An unknown scent, definitely alpha, but there’s something more. It eludes him in a way that frustrates the wolf.

Castiel’s hackles rise. His instincts scream protect, defend, eliminate. His bond with Dean pulses hot behind his ribs, an echo of their shared instinct. Mate. Threat. Danger.

‘There it is again…’ Dean sends, steady but tight across their mental link.

Castiel doesn’t respond right away. He tracks the scent through the brush with narrowed eyes. It’s faint—fresher than it should be for how diluted it’s become. Whoever it was, they’re good. Careful. Smart.

‘Yes. You were right. It’s definitely not one of ours. Not even close.’

Dean’s snarl is barely restrained. ‘You think someone’s testing our boundaries?’

‘Or casing the place,’ Castiel replies grimly. ‘Either way—they got close enough.’

The two of them loop the entire fence line, circling wide, moving as one. The chain-link perimeter stands untouched. No tracks. No broken twigs. No flattened grass. But the scent doesn’t lie…or maybe it does. Because the longer Castiel focuses, the more he doubts himself. His gut churns. There’s something buried in it, but he can’t quite grab it.

Dean noses along the fence again, circling back toward him. Their bond vibrates with low-level tension. Beneath that, something warmer hums. Castiel’s hand itches to touch him. Not now. Not with the weight of everything pressing in on them again.

The news report haunts him more than he expected. Shifters suddenly regain the ability to conceive. Male omegascarrying. A future no one planned for…and the scent tonight—it pokes that same raw nerve. A threat to the Den. To Dean. To what might be possible for them. Eventually…

Castiel draws in another breath, this one slower. He forces himself to calm down. There’s no evidence. No tracks. No breach. But his wolf doesn’t believe in coincidences. They return to the compound in a tense silence. The moment Bobby opens the door and sees their faces, Dean doesn’t hesitate.

“Soft alert,” he says before they’re even inside. “Something’s not right and I’d rather overreact than the alternative…”

Bobby grunts, already turning back to bark orders. “Garth, Benny—you’re on night watch. Double the perimeter. Don’t sleep. Don’t talk. Keep your eyes open, teeth ready.”

Dean adds, “It wasn’t close, but it wasn’t careless either.”

Bobby nods tightly. “I’ll radio Jody and Donna now. They’ll want a full breakdown.”

The pair slips inside, but Castiel lingers in the doorway. He looks back toward the woods, just past the faint glow of the perimeter lights. There’s something in his chest he can’t shake. That scent—it meant something. The thought scratches at the back of his mind. Whoever it belongs to knew where to step, how long to linger, how to disappear without leaving a trace. Beneath the layers of threat and warning, there was something…personal.

He doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

__________________________________

The whir of the scavenged desktop fan is the only sound in the archive room, its tired motor pushing warm air around the cramped space. Sam’s curled over a patched-up laptop, fingers stained with ink, smudges of dust along his cheek where he’s rubbed his face without thinking. The glow of the screen cuts sharply against the dim yellow bulb overhead. It smells like paper and plastic and the kind of tired that never really goes away anymore.

Kevin’s old satellite box is still wired into the corner outlet—barely holding on, but holding. He’d handed Sam the latest decrypted file that morning, mumbling something about “shady corp stuff, maybe military?” before heading off to reroute the comm tower.

Sam hadn’t expected much. Their mission to prove the government’s full involvement with Roman Enterprises hasn’t yielded much information. Most of what they find these days are false leads or fragments—half-corrupted spreadsheets, redacted logs, blank drives. Sam can tell this is different. He scrolls, slows, and stops.

Roman Enterprises Internal Archive – A/O Division

ACCESS: OVERRIDE GRANTED

The folder splits open into dozens of subdirectories, and at the center of it all is a file labeled “REAOP.” The military serial codes, funding logs, and departmental acronyms that are listed in the file make Sam’s stomach twist. DARPA. DHS. NSRDC. He clicks through with growing dread. A detailed project brief pulls up, complete with signatures—Roman’s, a few generals, and a medical director whose name appears multiple times. Dr. Heyerdahl. Sam recognizes the name immediately. He’s heard it whispered in rage and in fear many times over the last two years. Creep.

A chill races down his spine. The document isn’t just a proposal. It’s a timeline. A pipeline right from clandestine private contract, to illegal experimental protocol, to full ‘off the books’ government funding. They knew.

The next folder opens, and his jaw drops. It contains recent notes between Dr. Heyerdahl and a government official, whose name has been redacted, of course.

Subject Profiles – Tier I Containment Priority (Viable Shifters)

• D.W.
• C.N.
• C.L.
• B.L.
• G.F.
• C.B.
• D.B.

He stares, hollow. The initials might as well be written in blood. Dean. Cas. Claire. Benny. Garth. Charlie. Dorothy. They’re all here listed for immediate recovery and ‘containment’—categorized as ‘successes’ by Creep.

Tier II (Baseline Shifter Carriers – Latent Traits Only):

• S.W.
• E.L.
• L.R.
• A.M.
• J.T.

Sam. Eli. Lacie. Josie. Andre. The younger kids who haven’t presented yet. According to the notes, they don’t have the same genetic markers, but they were still being monitored. Sam wonders again if John would have handed him over, too, if he were on that first list. He shakes the thought away, recognizing it’s a futile question almost as soon as it forms. The alpha’s gone now; what he most certainly would have done over a decade ago is irrelevant. Sam scrolls further, focusing instead on the task at hand and not his shitty dad. Good riddance, asshole.

Note: Subject LILITH – pending containment. Variant Omega subtype (avian). Status: unstable. Additional documentation restricted.

Sam’s heart stutters. He highlights the name, clicks it—nothing. Just a broken link. Redacted. Blocked even here. But that name…it sounds familiar. He’ll have to ask Ms. Ellen, she knows more about the facility than anyone.

He leans back in the chair, pulse rushing in his ears. The room feels smaller now, claustrophobic. The laptop’s screen flickers faintly, and in the pale light, Sam presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until colors bloom behind his lids. This was never just about control. It was a conquest; none of this was an accident. Now, they’re assets…and the government paid for it. This is their proof, as close to a smoking gun as they’ve gotten over the last two years. Even the files the survivors grabbed as they fled the facility didn’t provide this much useful information.

Sam hits print, listening as the old inkjet starts chugging through the file. The sound is loud in the quiet—pages stacking as the truth becomes tangible. He takes a yellow highlighter and begins to mark lines—shaking a little as he goes. Sam doesn’t know yet if he’ll tell the whole group. But Dean needs to know right away. He prays this has nothing to do with the strange scent he and Cas caught the other night, but he’d rather not take chances. Keeping everyone here in the Den safe is too important.

__________________________________

The Den is quiet in that specific, deceptive way Castiel has come to recognize. A silence born not of comfort, but of exhaustion. Of things unspoken.

The communal kitchen is still warm from the presence of too many bodies and a hot oven, but the breakfast chatter has thinned. Amelia stands at the stove stirring something thick in a pot, eyes distant. Claire isn’t with her—off training with Kaia again, likely. Castiel nods a greeting, and Amelia nods back wordlessly. At first, the alpha thought the woman didn’t like him. But eventually, after another rebuffed attempt at friendly conversation, Claire explained that he holds a startling resemblance to her deceased father. Now, he keeps his distance out of respect.

In the far corner, Rhonda slams a cabinet shut hard enough to rattle the whole rack. Her cheeks flush red as she mumbles, “Sorry.”

Pam doesn’t flinch at her side—just holds her hand out silently for the supplies her girlfriend’s too keyed-up to hand over gently. There’s tension there, always simmering under the surface, but the couple works in tandem anyway.

Castiel leaves, walking through the hall slowly, catching glimpses of the others. Patience and her little sister Josie are hunched over a puzzle near the library, the younger girl humming softly. Cole rushes past him, late for his shift, walking the perimeter. The beta’s always volunteering for something, unable to sit still for long. He finds Victor around the corner, barking orders at two kids who forgot to re-stack the supply crates. A few doors down, Kevin’s buried in a maintenance report, rubbing his temple. Everyone’s trying, but Castiel’s not kidding himself. None of them is okay.

Ellen’s voice echoes from the next room—firm but patient. “No one’s asking you to relive it, Aaron. Just to admit it happened.”

Aaron doesn’t answer.

Castiel doesn’t stop to listen. He already knows how that conversation ends. Sometimes Ellen gets through. Most times, she doesn’t. We survived. But not all of us survived intact. He feels it in the way people flinch when the generator kicks on. In the kids who only speak when spoken to. In the way some still insist on making their beds with military precision, who walk around with not a hair out of place.

The hallway narrows as he turns toward the infirmary, drawn by a thread he doesn’t have to name. Inside, the light is low, filtered through the makeshift curtains hung to soften the harsh fluorescents. Dean sits on the edge of one of the cots, gently cleaning a scrape on Sam’s arm. The younger boy winces but doesn’t pull away. He’s taller now—voice deeper, shoulders squaring—but there’s still that tension around his eyes, the kind Castiel recognizes too well.

“Hold still or I’ll make you help inventory the supply closet,” Dean teases lightly, his tone warm but unyielding.

“Cruel,” Sam mutters, but there’s a ghost of a smile.

Dean taps the bandage in place and ruffles his hair as Sam tries unsuccessfully to pull away.

“You’re getting better. That new kid has bad aim, didn’t even knock you flat,” He says.

Sam huffs a laugh and hops off the cot. “Give him a week. He’ll land it next time.”

As Sam ducks out, Castiel steps in, silent. Dean looks up—and softens.

“You hear what happened?” he asks.

Castiel nods. “First shift panic?”

The omega’s jaw ticks. “Same old story. Kid lost control. Sam caught a flying elbow.”

Castiel asks, “He’s alright?”

“Yeah. A little bruised, but proud of it.” Dean stands and wipes his hands clean on a towel. “He wanted to help. Said he was tired of just watching.”

There’s pride in his voice, but worry too—telegraphed in the way his fingers curl tighter than they need to around the cloth. The alpha moves to stand beside him, their shoulders close. The scent of clove and citrus fills his nose as he breathes deeply, warming him from the inside out.

“We’re all still learning,” he says quietly.

Dean lets out a slow breath. “You think we’ll ever stop feeling like we’re waiting for the next hit?”

Castiel doesn’t answer right away. He reaches, hand brushing against his omega’s in that familiar, grounding way. “I think we already have,” he says. “We just haven’t realized it yet.”

For a moment, it feels true.

__________________________________

It’s late. The kind of late where the lights are off in most of the Den, save for the occasional glow of the hall lights or the pulse of a motion light near the perimeter fence. Somewhere outside, Pam and Rhonda are on patrol, which means the room Dean and Cas share with them is finally—mercifully—quiet.

Dean finds his mate sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, with his legs folded under him. He watches the alpha sharpening one of their knives with slow, methodical care. The rhythm is almost meditative, but Dean knows him well enough by now to hear the tension behind it.

He hesitates near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”

Cas pauses, knife poised mid-stroke. “Of course.”

The omega crosses the room, dropping onto the bed with a quiet exhale, knees brushing Cas’. “I’ve been thinking about that news report,” he starts, voice low. “The pregnancies…”

Cas sets the blade down carefully, giving him his full attention.

“I know we joked about it once,” Dean says, forcing a small laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Garth and his ‘pups’. But…now it’s real…and I keep thinking—what if that had been us?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away. His cobalt gaze drifts, thoughtful. “It could have been,” he says.

His mate isn’t wrong. They’ve shared more than a few heats and ruts since the world changed.

Dean nods. “I mean…we’ve been careful, but not that kinda careful. I didn’t think we had to be. I mean, Ellen gave us that talk forever ago, remember? But it’s not like I have—” He breaks off, gesturing vaguely. “You know.”

Cas tilts his head slightly, sapphires squinting as his brow furrows. “And Meg explained rather thoroughly that you do, in fact, have that equipment now, Dean. We can’t live in denial, my love.”

Dean swallows, throat suddenly dry. He knows he can’t hide from this. The shifts in his body, the way his instincts override logic when his cycle spikes, the ache he gets when Cas’ scent hits just right. It’s been spelling out the truth all along.

Cas’ voice softens, concern edging into his scent. “If something had happened, I would’ve been happy…you know that, right?”

“I do,” Dean quickly assures him. “That’s not what this is about.”

Cas watches him for a long moment, confusion replacing concern. “Then what is it about?”

Dean shrugs, but the weight in his shoulders gives him away. “I’m not ready for that. For being…a dad. Not with everything going on. I can’t wrap my head around any of that right now. ‘S not like they taught us ‘how to parent’ in that hellhole.”

Cas nods, slowly. “You’re right, neither am I. But…someday, I might want that. With you.”

The words land somewhere deep. Dean isn’t sure what he expected—maybe panic or an argument, not this quiet truth.

He nods back, surprised by the heat behind his baby blues. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

A pause stretches between them, full but not heavy.

“We should be more careful,” Cas says after a moment, practical now. “Meg found some of those alpha-grade condoms right before the last pharmacy raid. The ones made for…‘full-cycle compatibility. Designed to hold up through rut and heat, even post-shift.’”

Dean snorts. “Are you quoting the commercial? They called them ‘AlphaSafe Ultra’ or something, didn’t they?”

Cas’ mouth twitches, scent shifting to happier territory. “Endurance you can trust.”

Dean barks a laugh. “God, I hate that I remember that jingle.”

“You hummed it once,” Cas informs him, smirk widening on his face. “In your sleep.”

Dean groans and shoves him lightly. “Alright, enough of that. We’ll use the condoms.”

Cas’ smile fades into something gentler as he reaches up, brushing his fingers against Dean’s jaw. “Thank you,” he murmurs, sincerity flooding his scent.

Dean leans into the touch, their foreheads nearly touching. “No,” he says, voice quiet. “Thank you. For saying it out loud.”

Cas doesn’t answer with words, leaning into his space and kissing him—slow, grounding, familiar. Not claiming or hungry, just real.

*****

The common room is packed—elbows and knees and too many mismatched chairs. Some sit on crates while others stand, leaning against the walls or clustered in doorways. The smell of old wood, sweat, and distant tea wafts under the low hum of conversation.

Bobby clears his throat once—just once—and the noise dies fast.

“We need structure,” he says bluntly, arms crossed, standing like he’s about to deliver bad news. “Can’t keep playing this by ear. There are too many of us now, too many moving parts.” He pauses, glancing around the room before revealing, “We’re gonna form a board—call it a council, call it whatever you want. But it’s gonna make the decisions that affect everyone.”

Dean glances across the room. Claire is perched on an ottoman, chewing on the end of a pencil. Charlie whispers something to Dorothy, who nods, expression serious. Garth’s already half-raising his hand like he’s volunteering, but Benny elbows him and he lowers it sheepishly.

“We’ll do this by vote,” Bobby continues. “Everybody gets their say.”

The room shifts—excited, uncertain, buzzing. Unsurprisingly, Ellen and Bobby are nominated before he even finishes explaining the process.

Someone adds Meg, who chuckles darkly but doesn’t argue, muttering under her breath, “Your funeral.”

Patience’s dad, James, earns a solid nod of approval after someone points out he’s calm under pressure and actually listens before speaking. Kevin’s mom, Linda, rounds out the votes with a quiet show of hands and warm smiles from her family.

Bobby scrawls their names on the whiteboard salvaged from the local library. “Alright, that leaves three spots open.”

Claire nominates Dean loudly from her perch on the ottoman. “Because he always complains, which means he’s paying attention.”

He groans, but more hands go up than don’t. “You’re all gonna regret this,” he mutters, slouching lower in his seat.

Cas is voted in next—unanimously, and with very little discussion.

Jo offers a simple, “He keeps his head when shit hits the fan,” and that’s that.

Dean doesn’t expect it—but when the little ones get an honorary turn, it’s Sam’s name that comes up again and again.

Josie stands on a chair to make it official. “He helped Andre fix the solar heater and reads Lacie stories when she’s scared. He’s like…a little grown-up.”

Dean turns to catch Cas’ reaction. His alpha is already watching him, and damn if the pride blooming in Dean’s chest isn’t mirrored back tenfold in his mate’s ocean eyes.

Sam tries to brush it off, all fourteen-year-old awkwardness. “Guess I’ll need a clipboard or something,” he mumbles.

Dean ruffles his hair on the way past. “You’re gonna do great, Sammy.”

Bobby cuts through the chatter, “Everyone else is dismissed. Movin’ on to the next item on the docket. Expanding our communication network between the camps.”

“We’ve got radio contact with a couple of other camps,” Meg says, leaning back in her chair. “But it’s too loose. Informal and kinda risky if you ask me. If we get hit, there’s no backup plan.”

“Then let’s make one,” Cas says quietly.

James draws a rough map on the whiteboard, linking a handful of known outposts. “Here are some of our existing evac routes. We should make sure they’re still viable. We would need medical chains, more supply runners, and scouts for intel drops.” Pausing, he stares at his handiwork. “I think we can build something that lasts.”

Bobby nods, lifting his grungy trucker cap to scratch his head. “But we gotta be careful. The more people we connect with, the more chances we’ve got to be exposed.”

“Then we do it smart,” Dean chimes in, crossing his arms. “No written communication, coded language on open channels, you know, spy shit.” Laughter erupts around him.

Ellen shakes her head, a faint smile curving her lips. “I didn’t raise him to use that kinda language, but he’s right.”

Dean chuckles, turning to Sam. “You, me, and Kev—let’s expand what we’ve already built. You know I’ve got experience cracking into things I’m not supposed to.” He smirks.

Sam grins, nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll need parts. Hard drives. Maybe a signal booster.”

“I’ll talk to Kev,” Dean says. “He and Ash know where to scavenge.”

The room begins to shift again—talking, planning, energy rising. No one’s pretending this’ll be easy. But for once, the mood isn’t just survival. It’s strategy. It’s hope. Dean glances at Cas, who watches it all with quiet approval. It feels like the beginning of something.

*****

The low static buzz of Kevin’s scanner cuts through the bunker’s usual evening noise. Dean doesn’t think much of it at first—Kevin’s always tweaking something in his makeshift comms room, chasing a cleaner signal, syncing frequencies with Jody, or trying to boost the satellite array that only half-works on cloudy days. But this time, the tone in Kevin’s voice is off, his scent is mired in confusion edging towards panic.

“Dean?” Kevin calls, sharper than usual. “Can you come here a sec?”

Dean pushes through the narrow hallway, still chewing the last bite of a granola bar. “What’s up, Kev? If this is about boosting the solar array again—”

“It’s not that,” Kevin interrupts, tapping at the screen. “You remember the weird alpha scent you and Cas picked up a few days ago?”

Dean sobers instantly. “Yeah. What about it?”

Kevin points at the red blip pulsing at the edge of their west perimeter map. “Think this is related?” he asks. “Everyone should be accounted for here in the den. It’s past curfew…”

Dean steps closer, squinting. “Shit. Is it moving?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says grimly. “It circled. Doubled back. Like it’s trying to find a way in.”

Dean’s pulse quickens. “Tell Bobby we’ve got movement and get Benny and Garth on standby. Have Ketch ready to back them up.”

Benny’s the largest wolf in the pack, and Garth may be a little scrawny, but he’s a scrapper. Ketch is one of the few bear shifters among them; it would be dumb not to have him ready to fight.

“I already pinged them,” Kevin replies, fingers flying over the keys. “But, Dean…this part doesn’t make sense.”

Kevin hits a key, and the readout splits—overlaying three separate blips recorded by the sensor earlier in the week.

Dean leans in. “You’re saying that wasn’t one shifter?”

Kevin nods. “No. It was three. Three overlapping signals. The pattern’s a mess, like they passed too close together. I can’t trace them separately, but the readings are distinct.”

Dean’s stomach sinks. “Cas said something seemed off…”

As if summoned by the words, his mate appears in the doorway—tense, breath shallow, ocean eyes already scanning the screen.

__________________________________

Castiel doesn’t need to ask. He can see the data. The memory of the scent trail fills his nostrils again as though etched in memory. Kevin plays the recording from the sensor—a low-frequency blip moving across the screen, shifting intermittently to prove it’s not just one unknown intruder, but three.

That’s when it hits him, what was so familiar, there all the time for him to unravel. The strong scent of family mixed with two unknown scents, and one he had hoped to never encounter again. Worn leather, motor oil, and whiskey soaked in aggression and tinged with bitter regret. John Winchester.

Castiel swallows hard. “It’s him.”

Dean turns to him. “Who?”

Castiel wonders how he hasn’t figured it out yet. The alpha pushes his confusion aside as he answers, “John, but his scent is twisted up with two others.”

Dean’s voice sharpens. “You’re saying that asshole’s leading someone here?”

Kevin makes a choking sound. “But—why?”

“Arrogance?” Castiel says, tone gone icy. “They probably think they can just take whatever they find.”

The air shifts. The bunker feels smaller, closer. Dean’s jaw tightens. “We need to alert everyone. Now.”

They move fast—Dean to Bobby, Kevin to the PA system—but Castiel lingers, listening. Just then, one of the cameras picks up voices, crunching underbrush. He bolts toward the outer hallway, sneakers echoing on the concrete floor as he moves. Dean’s right behind him, weapon drawn. They rush out into the back yard…and there they are.

Three figures emerge from the tree line, cloaked in shadow and certainty. One of the previously elusive scents fills the air—slick and cold, like oil on metal. Calculating…controlled. The other twists in the wind—burning ozone, rage. Chaotic and hungry. Then there’s John. The banished alpha swaggers across the grass like he owns the place, shoulders squared, chin high. Another figure stalks beside him—taller, broader, every step too measured. The third hangs back slightly, his familiar face grinning like he already knows how this ends.

Castiel’s hands clench at his sides. He doesn’t say the names right away, but he knows them. Michael. Lucifer. It’s the blood that gives them away. Shared strands of DNA, tangled in a way only family could be, and woven into their scents. It’s the same with John, his mate’s father smells faintly of family, whether he accepts it or not. Castiel’s inner wolf rises in warning. His brothers aren’t just alive—they’re here. But why?

The alphas stop just beyond the fence and watch. No one speaks. Behind them, the rest of the camp slowly filters out. Curiosity and confusion create a nauseating cloud of mixed scents, enveloping the group. They don’t know what’s coming, but Castiel has an idea. He knows Dean feels it too, as his mate’s grass greens trail over to meet his wide-eyed stare. Something terrible has found them.

Chapter Text

An unnatural silence descends on the property. Dean stands just inside the fencing line, boots scuffing the dry dirt, the faint hum of Bobby’s perimeter sensors still echoing in his ears. He feels Cas just behind him, calm but coiled. Bobby stands to his right, shotgun glinting under the glow of the floodlights like a promise.

Across the clearing, three figures step out of the tree line as though they were waiting for a curtain to rise. Dean recognizes John right away, but the other two take him a moment. Their identity finally clicks, but it only enrages him further. Cas’ older brothers Michael and Lucifer. He remembers those pinched faces from the few family photos his mate has. They looked innocent back then, but he’s heard enough to know better. Trustworthy people don’t help their parents fake a death.

The trio looks clean and fed. Not the ragged, half-starved strays Dean might have expected. Cas, Gabe, and Anna assumed Michael and Lucifer didn’t survive the outbreak. Not that they tried very hard to look for them after learning what they did. John’s wearing his old leather jacket, the one that always smelled like sweat and smoke. Michael’s dressed like a military reject with his dark hair neatly styled, boots polished, and posture straight. Lucifer’s smile could slice through bone, wide and hollow and sharp. Dean stiffens, instincts screaming wrongwrongwrong even before his brain can catch up.

John’s the first to speak. “Well, look at this,” he says, voice full of mock admiration. “You boys really outdid yourselves. Fortified fences. Well-placed lookouts. Safe, quiet. You’ve built yourselves a nice little kingdom.”

Dean stares, but he doesn’t answer. Cas remains silent at his side. John spreads his arms like he’s praising them, like he’s not one of the reasons their ‘kingdom’ had to be built in the first place. At least the other parents are remorseful. But that would be too much to expect from John Winchester.

The alpha smiles widely, but something feels false about it. “I gotta say—I’m impressed. Almost makes me wish I’d stuck around.”

Bobby doesn’t blink, exposing the half-truth immediately. “You didn’t leave, John. You were shown the damn door.”

That knocks the smirk off John’s face, if only for a second.

Michael steps in smoothly. “We didn’t come here to stir up trouble. There’s no need for weapons.”

Dean notices the way Lucifer keeps scanning the tree line behind them—like he’s cataloging exits. Weaknesses.

“You can talk,” Bobby says flatly. “On that side of the fence.”

Lucifer heaves a theatrical sigh. “You know, most people would at least offer guests a chair.”

“We’re not ‘most people’,” Bobby replies. “And you’re not guests.”

John tuts under his breath. “C’mon, brother. No need to be so hostile.”

“You think we don’t know who these two are? You’re standing there with the two sons of bitches that made Cas’ life a living hell,” Dean snaps, finally finding his voice. “Forgive us if we’re not rollin’ out the red carpet.”

Michael raises his hands. “We’re not here to fight. In fact, we were hoping for the opposite. Perhaps open a line of communication. Share resources. Keep the peace.”

Dean narrows his eyes, distrustful of their request. “Why now, after all you’ve done?”

“I missed you boys,” John says, softer now. “I haven’t seen you in almost two years.” He chuckles softly, “Hell, Sammy’s damn near taller than you now, Dean. I…we figured we should come by and try to fix things. Maybe let the kids talk, if they want to.”

Sam steps up beside Dean. “We’re not interested.”

John’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t mean with me.”

Dean blinks as the air shifts with sudden movement at the tree line. Two more figures emerge—a woman and a boy. The woman’s about John’s age, blonde hair tied back, eyes alert and guarded. The kid—twelve, maybe—stands beside her. Blue hoodie, wide eyes, his expression uncertain. He sticks close to the woman’s side, but his gaze flickers toward the fence. Toward Dean and Sam. The hint of resemblance between them gives it away right before John utters the words.

Gesturing beside him, he says, “Boys…this is my mate, Kate…and my son Adam. Your little brother.”

The silence is immediate and deafening. His lungs stop working as his scent fills with betrayal. Cas flinches at his side, reaching for his hand to keep him grounded. Dean’s sure he’ll feel grateful for it later, but in the moment, the contact barely registers. Sam says nothing—just stares, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s not sure if he’s going to throw something or turn and walk away.

Dean’s words come fast, sharp with disbelief. “You had another kid?!” he demands. “When? While Mom was still alive?”

John doesn’t deny it, doesn’t even look ashamed. “It wasn’t planned,” he says with a shrug. “Mary and I were considering divorce. Kate and I met at a bar,” he explains. “Didn’t even know about Adam until years later. Kate tracked me down a few months after Mary’s funeral. I wasn’t in any position to raise another kid, Dean.”

“No, you were too busy abandoning the ones you already had,” Sam spits, voice vibrating with rage.

John’s jaw flexes, his hands clench into fists as an angry flush travels up his neck. Dean’s thankful for the fence between them, keeping things just over the line of civility. Something’s still off about all this.

Dean’s heart pounds like a war drum as he asks the obvious, “Why bring him now?”

“Because I’ve been a terrible father to all three of you. Adam deserves to know his family,” John says. “What’s left of it…”

Dean shakes his head, disbelieving. “No. You’re not doing this. You don’t get to show up with a half assed apology and a secret kid and pretend it’s all one big happy reunion. This doesn’t change a damn thing between us.”

Cas shifts behind him, and Dean feels the warmth of his presence across the bond, but not the comfort.

John glances toward the boy, then back to Dean. “You can hate me all you want. Hell, I deserve it. But don’t punish Adam for my mistakes.”

Dean doesn’t look at the kid. He can’t…not yet.

John’s next words have that old, worn-out edge in his voice—the one that sounds like he thinks he still has authority. “We’re not asking for much,” the alpha says. “Just the option to visit. Trade between camps. Let my sons get to know each other.”

Dean’s throat feels raw. The words slip out unbidden, but he stands behind them. “We’re not your sons anymore.”

____________________________________

Dean’s words echo uncomfortably as a quiet challenge builds in John’s dark eyes. Michael’s even tone slices through the thick silence like a scalpel.

“We didn’t know if you’d made it out alive,” he says, gaze flicking toward Castiel but never settling. “We started looking a few days after the outbreak, but when we checked the facility, it was abandoned…”

Castiel watches him carefully, eyes narrowed. He’s not an idiot; he can guarantee almost all of what his brother’s spouting right now is a lie.

Michael continues. “We thought maybe you were…dead. But we got lucky and found some paperwork left behind. It had the names of every child under Roman’s care and their families. Contact information, addresses, everything we needed to try and locate you.”

Lucifer adds smoothly, “It’s how we found John, little brother.”

Castiel flinches inwardly at the word, but he doesn’t let his reaction show. Brother. These men aren’t his brothers, not after all they’ve done.

‘You buying this? I mean…that’s how Sammy found Gabe, but…’ Dean sends, body rigid at his side.

‘It’s just barely plausible…’ he admits, nose trying to sniff out the lie from across the yard. Castiel can’t get much from here with the wind blowing in the opposite direction.

“So, yes,” Michael says with a faint smile, “We couldn’t find Gabriel or Anna, but we hoped to find you alive. When Winchester told us all of you were safe, that you’re all grown up and mated now, Cassie…” The alpha punctuates the words with a sidelong glance at Dean that sets Castiel’s inner wolf off, growling and at the ready just under his skin. Michael continues, oblivious.

“Wanted to get here as soon as possible. Traveled practically day and night,” Lucifer adds with that same too-wide smile.

Dean snorts beside Castiel. “You expect us to believe that?”

Michael shrugs. “You don’t have to. I’m not sure I’d trust me either, but consider what we’re asking.”

“And what’s that?” Bobby asks, arms folded.

“Not for asylum,” he clarifies. “We don’t want to move in. Just the chance to talk, to trade. Visit with your families; this isn’t the time for division. It should be us against them, not each other.”

Lucifer nods. “We’ve got other survivors at our camp, it’s not far from here. Mostly scavengers, a few mechanics, and a couple of decent medics. John told us you have a nurse, but a little extra help can’t hurt. One nurse for a growing community sounds risky to me…”

“We’re not asking for much,” John repeats his earlier words. “A chance…a little openness between our camps. Our people need it. I’m sure yours do too…”

Bobby’s silence stretches long. Castiel senses the weight behind it— a combination of calculations, caution, and sheer gut instinct. The tension is thick in the air. Dean’s jaw clenches, eyes bouncing from one potential threat to the other. Sam still hasn’t said another word since Adam’s name was spoken, but anger flashes in his eyes.

Finally, Bobby steps forward, shotgun still resting casually against his shoulder. “We’ll put it to a vote. Tomorrow. Come back in the afternoon. You’ll get your answer then.”

Lucifer lifts his brows. “And if we come back early?”

“You’ll get a couple rounds in your furry asses before you clear the treeline,” Bobby says, all warmth gone. “If you’re lucky.”

Even Lucifer loses the smile at that.

Michael dips his head. “Fair enough.”

John nods too slowly, eyes lingering on his sons like he expects something more. He gets nothing. The intruders leave in silence, melting back into the darkened treeline as though they were never there.

“Ketch, follow them and make sure they leave,” Bobby orders. “See if you can track them back to wherever they’re camped…”

With a grunt, the alpha jogs off to do just that.

No one speaks as the rest file back inside. The pack disperses with little more than exhausted nods and muttered good nights. The tension has worn grooves into their backs.

Castiel breaks off from the others, following Dean as he trudges toward their shared room. When they enter, Rhonda and Pam are already curled up—tangled in sleep, tense even at rest. Castiel wonders if they even bothered to come out in the first place.

Dean strips off his boots in the dark and climbs in fully clothed beside Castiel without a word. He shifts, one arm draping across Dean’s waist, nose brushing the curve of his mate’s neck. Dean’s hand finds his, fingers threading together. They stay like that, still and unmoving. Holding each other against the weight of it all. Castiel doesn’t sleep, nor does Dean. Instead, they lay together in silence, waiting for the sun to rise.

________________________________

The Den smells like stale coffee, sweat, and too much tension. Dean leans back in one of the mismatched chairs pulled up to the long table in the main room, still running on no sleep. A dull throb pulses behind his eyes, but he doesn’t complain. No one’s slept well since their surprise family reunion.

Around the table, the elected board settles into place—half exhausted, half wired with nerves. Bobby stands at the head, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Ellen sits to his right, nursing a cup of something strong that probably isn’t tea. Meg looks like she hasn’t even blinked since dawn. Cas is quiet beside him, spine straight, expression unreadable. Sam fidgets across from them, tapping a pen against his blank notepad.

Clearing his throat, Dean asks, “So…are we voting?” The less time they spend on this bullshit, the better.

Bobby grunts. “Let’s do it.”

The board runs through the options, voice by voice. The final agreement is for controlled contact and strict trade limits. The outsiders won’t be able to enter beyond the outer perimeter unless they are invited. No overnight visits. No open gates. No trust, not yet. Not ever, if Dean has his way.

“We’ll allow a line of communication,” Bobby summarizes, once the final hand count is done. “Trading resources, if we have to. But no access to our defenses, and no direct contact with any of the kids.”

“Dean and I won’t be meeting with John,” Sam adds firmly.

He nods, confirming his brother’s declaration.

Cas speaks next. “I would like to speak with Michael and Lucifer.”

Dean stiffens beside him. ‘You what?!’

‘Don’t worry…’ he soothes through the bond.

Cas continues as though Dean never said a word. “They claim they just wanted to find Gabriel, Anna, and me. I don’t believe them, but if I can get closer…I might learn their true intent. It’s just a conversation, here where they can’t try anything.”

Dean exhales slowly, arms folding over his chest. “Only if we intend to set up surveillance protocols once we’ve made a deal. We’re not going into this blind. They can’t be trusted.”

Meg snorts. “Guess I’ll keep the tranq gun handy.”

The vote closes with reluctant agreement. Cas’ ‘recon mission’ is tentatively approved—limited time only, with eyes on him at all times.

Ellen rises. “Then we’re settled.”

Bobby nods toward the door. “Let’s tell ‘em.”

They step out into the yard as a group with the rest of the Den watching from just inside the door. Most probably can’t even see out past the small crowd. The dew-covered grass crunches under their boots, and Dean squints into the morning sun as the figures on the other side of the outer fence come into view.

John’s the first to step forward, flanked by Michael and Lucifer, all three of them exuding the same smug, artificial calm that grates under Dean’s skin like sandpaper. He keeps his face neutral, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, but his pulse is a low, irritated drumbeat beneath his skin.

Bobby takes the lead. “We’ve voted.”

John cocks his head. “And?”

“We’ll allow limited trade between our camps,” Bobby says. “Your people can communicate with ours, but no unsupervised access. No inside-the-fence visits. If you wanna send messages, you send a runner. That’s all.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Strict, but understandable.”

Michael nods slowly, like he’s pretending to be the reasonable one. “We can work with that.”

Sam steps up beside him, arms crossed. Addressing John directly, he says, “We’re not interested in family reunions. If you want something from us, it goes through the board. You’re not part of our lives anymore.”

John doesn’t speak right away, but Dean doesn’t miss the subtle shift in his scent—bitter, sharp, barely restrained. His jaw tightens, and for a second, Dean thinks he might explode.

But instead, the alpha smiles. Thin and cold as his tone, “Sounds like a start.”

“Barely,” Dean mutters, ignoring the cold shiver running through him.

Lucifer gives a dry laugh. “Understood.”

Michael raises a hand, calm and falsely diplomatic. “We’ll let our people know. Expect word from our messenger, Alex, in a few days.”

____________________________________

Evening filters in through the high window, casting golden bars across the old dresser and the edge of their mattress. The walls are thin in the Den—never meant for this many people—but for once, the rest of the bunker is quiet.

Dean sits on the edge of their bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor like the answer to everything might be hidden in the scuff marks. Castiel stands a few feet away, still in his boots, arms crossed loosely over his chest. For a long while, neither of them says anything.

Then Dean exhales—tired, dry, like he’s been holding it in all day. “A son,” he mutters. An unexpected growl follows, words wheezed through clenched teeth, “What do I always say, Cas? Fucking secrets, man…”

Castiel nods, quietly. “Mentioning him now seems…convenient. It’s not like he went looking for them at the beginning of the outbreak.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “You think Kate knew about us? About what he did to me? To mom and Sammy?”

“I think she knew enough,” Castiel says, voice flat. “Mary aside, he doesn’t seem to attract the type that sticks around without reason.”

That earns him a ghost of a smile, but it doesn’t last.

Dean leans back, golden greens finally meeting his eyes. “What about your brothers?”

Castiel’s stomach tightens at the question. “They’re lying.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, ‘duh’ written all over his features. “Yeah, I got that part. But why?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” He walks over slowly, shedding tension with every step until he settles beside Dean, their shoulders brushing. “They say they want peace now. But duplicity and chaos are what they do best.” He huffs an unamused laugh, “…they helped my parents fake my death for all these years, but I’m supposed to believe they give a shit now? No, Michael and Lucifer have only ever cared about themselves.”

Dean looks sideways at him as he asks, “So what’s their angle?”

“They’re pretending,” Castiel answers simply. “But it’s calculated. They haven’t made a move yet, which means they think they still have something to gain. I just can’t see what.”

Dean’s hand drifts to the inside of Castiel’s wrist. His touch is warm and grounding as he asks, “You think they’re waiting for something?”

“Or someone,” Castiel murmurs. “A weakness, maybe.”

They sit in silence again, but it’s softer now. Less about strategy and more about presence. Being there for one another in the aftermath of yet another house of cards being blown to bits around them.

“I won’t let them get to you,” Dean quietly vows.

“I know.” Castiel glances at him, marking the promise in his citrus and honey. “And I won’t let them get to us.”

Dean tilts his head until it rests against Castiel’s shoulder. “…we need to be smart.”

“We will be.” He shifts, resting his cheek on the omega’s hair. “If they want to play peacekeeper, we’ll let them…until they show their true faces.”

“And if they don’t?” Dean asks, peering up at him with questioning emeralds.

His answer is simple, “Then we’ll keep watch until they do…”

Dean cuts in, choking out through giggles and an abnormally deepened voice, “He’s a silent guardian, a watchful protector….a Dark…”

Castiel pokes him in the side, cutting his teasing short. “Dean. This is serious.”

“You’ve gotta admit you were goin’ Batman on me there for a second…” he smirks, ignoring the glare Castiel sets on him. Sighing, he gestures, “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“We wait,” he says, easily summarizing his point while resisting the urge to flick his mate in the forehead.

Dean’s fingers tighten slightly around his as he groans, “I hate waiting.”

“I know,” Castiel responds. “But at least we’re good at it.”

Outside the window, the trees shift in the wind. Inside, their bond hums steadily between them.

_____________________________

The hum of the server rig is barely audible under the whirring fans Kevin salvaged from an abandoned tech store. According to Jody and Donna, the owner was a shifter. One morning, HHPS took him, and eventually, looters took the rest. Sam sits cross-legged on the floor beside the metal rack, flicking through a stack of printouts, decrypted transmission logs, each one more promising than the last.

The resistance network is functional—barely. But it’s there. They’ve managed to establish consistent comms with four neighboring camps. The encrypted radio loops through a coded hourly check-in, and a backup channel broadcasts from Kevin’s laptop every eight hours. Emergency signals go out via a rotating codebook system Ketch helped put together—part military protocol, part earned paranoia.

It’s not perfect, but it’s growing…and once they hear back from John’s so-called ‘messenger,’ it’ll be Sam’s job to add that camp to the network too. The thought turns his stomach. He leans back against the wall, letting the chill of the concrete bleed into his spine as he rubs at his eyes. The room smells faintly of solder, sweat, and frustration.

Adam.

That name—that kid—won’t leave his head. Assigning the title of brother to him feels like a betrayal to Dean, and by extension to his new siblings, Gabe, Anna, and Cas. Yes, they’ve had the others’ support along the way, but it’s practically been the Winchesters and Novaks against the world for two years now. Sam didn’t shed a single tear when John left; it was like a weight was lifted off of him. For the first time in 12 years, he experienced what a real family feels like through Bobby and the others. But especially from Dean and Cas. They’ve been there for him in more ways than John Winchester ever has. The fact that the alpha thought he could come back, announce he’s even more of an asshole than they thought, and everything would be okay is laughable.

Adam.

The kid must’ve been born when Sam was barely two. Dean would’ve been six. Their mom was still alive. John was still…pretending to care. They’d had plans, then. Sam read it for himself; their mom had wanted Dean home. She’d argued for it, believed in it. She believed in them, in their family, and especially in her ‘loyal’ husband. All while John was out knocking someone up at a bar. Only to pretend none of it ever happened.

Sam can’t help but wonder—did John ever plan to tell them? Or was Adam just another secret buried beneath years of excuses? His jaw clenches at the idea. That they’d never know the full story—that there were more lies than truths left in John’s wake—makes his skin crawl. And now he shows up like we’re supposed to hug it out and start going on ‘family outings’. Sam snorts under his breath. Keep your enemies close. That’s what they say, right? Well…fine.

He’ll add John’s camp to the network when the location comes through. But he’s already planning out their backup plan, as discussed with the board. Sam’s working on protocols to monitor their broadcasts and listen out for anything suspicious. If there’s even a whisper of deceit, he’ll catch it. He’ll make damn sure they’re protected.

Sam glances at the map pinned to the corkboard across the room—colored strings crisscrossing counties, markers denoting camps, patrol routes, blackout zones. We’ve built something real here. Something worth protecting. He won’t let John—or anyone—tear it down.

________________________________

The wind shifts just after sunset, carrying smoke from a fire that isn’t theirs. The scent is sharp and unfamiliar, laced with something metallic. Castiel stands at the edge of the back yard, jaw tight, eyes tracking the horizon. The forest beyond the perimeter fence is darker than usual, as if the trees are holding their breath. Even the wind seems reluctant to pass through. Dean joins him a moment later, fresh from a shower. He’s still toweling off his hair as the alpha tracks water dripping down his bare chest.

His mate’s question pulls his attention back to focus, “You smell that?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, already scenting the air again, attempting to find it.

If it were HHPS, Jody or Donna would have called. Or one of the other camps, but there haven’t been any alerts. What is that? Reports have been trickling in for weeks. Across the country, protests turn to riots, and whole neighborhoods are locked down. More anti-shifter legislation has been introduced and fast-tracked. Armed raids on ‘suspected shifter camps’ have increased in rural zones. HHPS numbers have doubled in the last month alone. In some regions, they continue to tag hybrids like livestock—under the pretense of public safety. The word feral gets thrown around even more often now. As if it explains everything. As if it justifies any of this.

Inside the Den, everyone feels it. The tension. The way the air coils tighter day by day. Ellen has started keeping her boots on again, even at night. Pam and Rhonda rotate double shifts, even when no one asks. The kitchen’s quieter. Laughter rarer. People are watching the trees again. Still, John and his crew have done nothing. Yet.

Alex returned days after the vote with their leader’s approval and bags of supplies. They’ve returned twice since then, but neither of them has been able to suss out the truth of their intentions. The alpha has suffered through idle chatter from Michael and Lucifer that he knows is posturing in the hopes of gaining some enlightenment. Nothing. They haven’t once asked about Gabriel or Anna, either. They’ve barely asked about him—not really. Just vague questions and smoother lies. The facade is falling, but not fast enough. They still have no clue where this mystery camp is located, who leads them, nothing. It remains elusive, so John’s pack hasn’t earned their trust. Which is why Castiel knows, deep in his bones, that it had to be them.

Behind them, the bunker door swings open. Garth jogs out, tension in every movement. “Victor and Aaron haven’t checked in.”

Dean’s towel stills mid-motion. “Since when?”

“Over an hour,” Garth says. “Patrol loop should’ve had them back thirty minutes ago. Last ping was west fence line.”

Castiel’s stomach drops.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but Dean must sense the shift in his scent. A quiet dread rolls beneath his skin.

“They wouldn’t just bail,” Dean mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Not those two.”

“No,” Castiel agrees, his voice tight. “They wouldn’t.”

By the time the rest of the Den is gathered in the common room, the sun has dipped below the tree line, casting the map room in shadows. Kaia’s already cleaning her knife in slow, methodical circles. Claire’s perched on the nearest armchair with her rifle across her knees. Ash and Jo are half-geared before anyone speaks a word. Kevin’s fingers fly across his keyboard, running signal extrapolations. The map on the wall is filled with overlapping circles and red thread.

“They were here,” Kevin says, pointing at the last known location. “And then—nothing.”

“That’s near the old creek bend,” Charlie says, frowning. “But there’s no drop-off or blind spot there.” Their last radio ping was just beyond the western fence.

“There is if someone jammed the frequency,” Meg mutters, eyes narrowed.

“Or dragged them past it unconscious,” Benny adds.

Everyone goes quiet.

Castiel doesn’t realize his claws have extended until Dean grips his wrist and quietly pulls his hand down, a silent signal.

“I know,” Dean murmurs. “Me too.”

Bobby enters after the others, shotgun in one hand, radio in the other. “Still no contact. I’ve got Benny and Garth doing a sweep on the ridge. So far? Nothing.”

“It was them,” Castiel says. Not a question. No one disagrees.

“They knew exactly where the patrol loop ended,” Kaia says grimly.

“They’ve been watching,” Claire growls, fury low in her throat.

“John’s crew?” Ellen asks, voice sharp.

“We’ll have to find him, and it won’t be easy,” Sam says. “Not without coordinates or proof.”

“We let them near us,” Meg says bitterly. “Let them sniff around our home.”

Dean steps forward, arms crossed. “Doesn’t matter how good they are at hiding—we’ll find them. We go in quiet, everybody comes back in one piece.”

Castiel meets his eyes. “We don’t leave any of our own behind.”

Bobby’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Then suit up.”

No one hesitates. Blades are strapped. Radios checked. Rations packed. The Den, which has lived on tension and adrenaline for too long, finally has a focus. A mission. Outside, the wind howls through the trees again. But this time, it’s not a warning. It’s a challenge.

Chapter Text

The sky is still ink-black as Dean steps outside, boots crunching quietly on the patchy frost. The air carries that brittle hush that always comes before something big—as though the forest itself is holding its breath. Everyone is awake. No one is calm. They’re about to march into enemy territory—and they don’t even know where that is yet.

He crouches beside one of the storage bins Bobby repurposed as an armory crate, checking over his pack. An extra set of clothes, just in case, a radio, his utility blade, nothing bulky. Nothing that would slow him down. The others are gathered in small clusters, checking weapons, trading quiet instructions, offering nods that stand in for goodbyes.

Sam’s voice cuts through the haze, “You’re seriously leaving me behind?”

Dean doesn’t look up. “Not this again, Sammy.”

His brother insists, words carried on a growl, “I can fight, Dean. Quit treating me like a kid.”

Dean sighs, “I know you can. But right now, we need someone to stay here and protect everyone else. The kids. The injured. The ones cycling.” He stands and finally turns toward him, jaw tight. “I’m trusting you with that.”

Sam scowls, and for a second, Dean thinks he’ll argue again. But then Sam glances toward the others preparing to leave, then back to the open bunker door, and exhales like it’s dragging something out of his ribs.

But, he wouldn’t be Sammy without at least one more complaint. “You make it sound like I’m not just stuck babysitting.”

Dean softens—barely. “You’re guarding the Den. That ain’t nothing.”

Sam doesn’t answer as the fight completely drains from his shoulders.

A sharp whistle breaks the silence, giving Bela the signal. She nods as she shifts—feathers bursting outward with a shimmer of energy. In seconds, she’s airborne, dark wings catching the pre-dawn light as she circles high above the treeline.

Rhonda jogs over, already strapped with a crossbow. “That’s our eyes. Soon as she circles back with a heading, we move.”

Dean’s gaze slides across the yard to Cas, standing quiet and unreadable near the others. Bobby and Ellen are double-checking the last of the patrol routes, but Cas is still, focused, jaw set. The bond pulls tight—like a rubber band drawn too far. They’re not on the same team like on supply runs. That had been Dean’s idea, tactically. It doesn’t make it suck any less.

His alpha crosses the yard slowly, boots soundless on the thawing grass. The others give them space without being asked. The closer he gets, the stronger Cas’ scent becomes, pine smoke and cedar wrapping around him. Dean can smell his mate’s anticipation, maybe a little nerves, but no fear. It settles something inside him.

“You good?” he asks anyway, keeping his voice low.

Cas doesn’t look at him at first, muttering, “I’ll be better when we’re back…all of us.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away. Reaching out, he brushes his thumb beneath Cas’ jaw lightly. “Keep your head. Stay outta sight till the signal.”

Cas’ fingers catch his wrist, turning the grip into a handhold as their fingers lock together. “Same to you.”

They breathe in tandem for a moment, quiet. It was so much easier to ignore the fact that this could most certainly be a trap before he was faced with this moment. The intensity in Cas’ sapphires only deepens, picking up on Dean’s train of thought. His brow furrows, lips twisting into a frown as his expression turns grave.

Wanting nothing more than to soothe what he disturbed, Dean leans in and kisses him. He’s probably worried over nothing, anyway. The kiss starts soft, almost cautious, but turns fierce in a heartbeat—desperation threaded through the press of mouths, the scrape of stubble, the bite of time slipping through their fingers.

When they break apart, Dean’s breath brushes against Cas’ cheek as he mutters, “Gotta go raise hell with my angel.”

Grinning widely, Dean gives Cas’ ass a firm smack as he steps back. His alpha yelps, baby blues searching to make sure no one saw. Of course, everyone saw, though they’re trying their damndest to hide their amusement.

“Dean,” Cas warns, half a sigh, half a growl. Though his scent betrays the truth.

Dean lets out a huff of a laugh, “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

He continues to laugh, watching as Cas’ mouth eventually turns up in a slight smirk, his scent swirling with amusement and desire. The fun ends quickly as a second whistle splits the sky, ringing out in three sharp bursts. Bela’s found the trail. Benny, Alicia, Garth, Gabe, Ketch, and Rhonda are ready to go.

Dean turns as his unit gathers, giving a single nod. “Time to move.”

Both group falls into motion, sliding into the trees without a word, gear tight to their bodies, eyes sharp. Every step brings them closer to a threat they can’t fully name. But Dean knows one thing for sure. He’s not coming back without his family.

*****

It feels like they’ve been hiking for hours when Bela flies overhead, signaling they’re close. Finally. Both teams stop just short of the ridge, where the unfamiliar trees grow thick and the shadows heavier. The forest here smells different—like ash, damp rot, and old blood. Dean scans the undergrowth, nostrils flaring. Traces of John layered with other scents overlap here, slightly overwhelming him. They’re close. Too close for comfort.

Behind him, the others fall quiet. Garth’s shoulders are tight. Alicia checks her gear one last time while Gabe murmurs something low to Benny, who grunts in reply. Ketch doesn’t speak at all, but Dean can hear the faint click as he cracks the tension out of his knuckles. It’s time.

The two teams circle together briefly, heads bowed toward the map Bobby sketched out, with Bela’s guidance, hours earlier. The plan is simple. Cas’ group will slip in from the west side, where the terrain dips and the tree cover thickens. Dean’s unit will hit hard and fast from the east, attacking the camp while shifted, using the chaos as a distraction. They’ll draw fire, eyes, hopefully everything. He’s praying it’ll be enough to save Aaron and Vic; failure isn’t an option.

Dean watches as Meg touches Patience’s shoulder before they both melt back into the trees. She’ll stay behind with the med crew. Just in case. He catches Cas’ eyes across the clearing. His mate moves toward him in silence, footsteps light but sure. There’s a stillness to him now that makes Dean ache.

“Guess this is the part where I say something inspiring,” Dean mutters, lips twitching. “Like, don’t get shot.”

The bond hums low between them as Cas steps in close, “I could say the same to you.”

Dean exhales slowly. “I hate splitting up.”

“I know,” Cas says, promising, “It’s not for long. We’ll find them.”

Dean nods, even if it feels more like a prayer than a promise. Reaching out, he curls his fingers around the back of his alpha’s neck, pulling him forward to press their foreheads together. Long enough for the world to go quiet. Long enough to remember what they’re fighting for.

“You come back to me,” Dean whispers, tone shakier than he intended as nerves trickle over the bond.

Cas’s grip tightens on his arm. “Always.”

They part, no time for anything else. Dean watches his alpha’s back disappearing in the opposite direction, with a cold trickle of unease rolling down his spine. He tries to shake it off, forcing himself to turn, heading toward his own path. As Dean leads his team down toward the lower slope, memories come uninvited—blunt and sharp.

Aaron, sitting beside him in the rec room after lights out, whispering dumb jokes he learned from some book until Dean couldn’t breathe from laughing. Vic, with his arm slung over his shoulder during lunch, rolling his eyes as he listened to every conspiracy theory Dean could dream up. Years later, sparring outside The Den, laughing, bleeding, building something that felt a little like hope.

They’re his brothers, just as much as Sammy. Not by blood. But by something almost stronger, unbreakable. Survival created a bond that even John won’t be able to sever. This is about family, something he could never understand. Dean clenches his jaw, boots digging into mossy dirt. No one lays hands on his pack. Not again. Not ever.

The ridge flattens out near a break in the trees. Bela circles above, a black silhouette against the bright blue of the afternoon sky, peeking through the treetops. One long caw cuts through the stillness. That’s the signal.

“Now,” Dean growls, stashing his bag behind a thick patch of brush and ditching his clothes. The others follow suit as he begins to shift.

His body transforms in a heartbeat—bones crack, muscles stretch, senses expand as his paws hit the dirt. The forest comes alive in a symphony of scents and sounds. Dean’s coat gleams red-brown and black, fur shiny and thick in the beams of light filtering through the trees. Beside him, Gabe and Garth fall into step, both sleek wolves. Ketch towers over them, massive and grizzled in black bear form. Alicia’s jaguar form moves like smoke while Rhonda’s lioness bristles with quiet fury. Benny, already shifted into his wolf, is a wall of muscle and teeth.

Together, they move as one—low, fast, deadly. The enemy camp appears just beyond the treeline. Tents are scattered without any obvious pattern, surrounded by various crates and barrels, and people shuffling around. Shadows pass close by, unaware and completely unprepared for what comes next. Dean’s heart pounds in his chest, longing for Cas at his side. Now’s not the time. Pushing his wayward thoughts aside, he charges, knowing the others will follow.

_____________________________

Castiel moves like a shadow through the trees, each step deliberate, each breath drawn slow and shallow. At his side, Jo signals for them to hold. Bobby adjusts the strap on his rifle. Claire crouches low, knife already drawn. The others fan out—silent, focused, ready. It’s almost too quiet. The brush here is sparse, neatly trimmed. Like someone wanted the path to be easy to navigate. Castiel’s jaw clenches as he tries to push down the persistent fear that they may be walking into a trap. One he and Dean share.

They should never have entertained any of this. That first day—when John reappeared with Michael and Lucifer in tow, masks of concern plastered to their smug faces—he should’ve ended it then. But curiosity got the better of him. It’s not as if Michael and Lucifer gave him anything useful; instead, he was set up. Lulled into a false sense of security while they…what? Plotted to kidnap Aaron and Vic…but…why? That’s what still bothers him. Why do all this? They should never have been allowed to get this close.

But they were. Because of hope…or strategy. He’s not sure anymore. Now, they’re here. It feels like he’s several football fields away from his love. Where danger could be anywhere in such an unfamiliar place. The bond thrums in the back of his mind like a wire pulled too tight. Castiel’s eyes flick eastward—toward the chaos he knows is building. His mate is out there, shifted and circling with the others, waiting for the signal to draw attention away from this side of the camp. Dean said it was safer to split, logical, and he agreed. Now…it doesn’t feel safer. The alpha’s hand tightens around the hilt of his blade just as Dean’s voice brushes into his mind, low and familiar.

“Hey, Cas? Got your ears on?”

Castiel exhales quietly, barely audible. “…yes.”

“Just checkin’. Can practically feel you vibrating from here. I’m fine.”

A faint smile ghosts across Castiel’s lips. “Nosy mate,” he murmurs under his breath.

But it helps as the tension unwinds just enough for him to refocus. They reach the tree line’s edge, ducking behind thick brush where the slope angles down into the back of the camp. From here, Castiel can see scattered tents pitched between fire barrels, makeshift structures, and a crude-looking shed. After a cursory scan of the clearing, he spots them. Just ahead, near the far side of a low-burning campfire, two figures are tied to a wooden post. Victor and Aaron. Both slumped, but breathing…barely. Blood stains Victor’s sleeve, and Aaron’s face appears to be bruised and swollen. Worry bleeds into his scent, not just from their appearance. This is too easy.

“Something’s wrong,” Castiel murmurs, hackles rising as his inner alpha bristles.

“Too exposed,” Bobby agrees, raising his scope. “Not even trying to hide ‘em.”

Jo narrows her eyes, growling low. “They want us to see them…it’s a trap.”

Before anyone can move, a sudden noise cracks through the clearing—a shift in the wind, the scuff of boots on packed dirt. The unholy trio steps out from behind the shed, surrounded by armed guards. First, Michael, head high, expression bored. Followed closely by Lucifer, smug and smirking like he’s on stage. Finally, John—looking like regret personified in old leather and lies. But this time, they’re not alone.

From a nearby tent, more figures emerge. Familiar in the worst way. Devoid of bleached white lab coats, replaced instead by worn jeans and hole-ridden castoffs from who knows where. Some names Castiel never learned, but all bear faces he’ll never forget. The lab techs and scientists. A revolving door of nurses. Like Lilith. Still impossibly pristine like she’s never dirtied her hands despite the blood on them. Only one doctor remains seared into his nightmares. The very man standing to Lilith’s right. Creep. Castiel’s stomach flips. His claws itch beneath his skin.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Michael says lazily, spreading his hands like this is some kind of theater. “Look at this as a renegotiation of terms. We did ask nicely, after all. Welcome to the consequences of your inaction.”

Lucifer tilts his head toward the still-bound figures. “Thought a couple of familiar faces might speed things along.”

John doesn’t speak, but his eyes flick toward the treeline like he knows Castiel’s there.

Creep steps forward, voice smug and clipped. “You were always a promising specimen, Novak. Predictable. Loyal. Weak.”

Claire growls beside him as Bobby shifts into place, ready to fire. But they can’t—not yet. They’re outgunned and possibly out of options. Acting now could get Aaron and Victor killed.

“We heard about your little bunker from our new friends here,” Lilith purrs with a sadistic grin. “Sounds cute. A haven full of hybrids…just waiting for another round of Alistair’s clinical innovation.”

Castiel’s blood chills. She can’t mean…

“We gave you time to settle,” Lucifer says, eyes scanning the treeline. “But we’ve seen what you’ve built, Castiel. You’re just a lab rat, time to put you back where you belong and leave the bunker to us…”

Castiel steps forward from cover before he even thinks about it.

“No!” he shouts, voice booming across the clearing. All eyes turn. “You don’t get to take this. Not again!”

Michael’s smile sharpens. “Oh, but we already have little brother.”

Castiel’s gaze flicks to the restraints holding Aaron and Victor; one is loose. Enough to get Victor free, but not with all these eyes on him. Searching, he spots it. A weakness. Castiel finds his mate, eyes locking with Dean’s across the clearing, showing him what the plan is. The bond flares—go.

_______________________________

The moment Dean hears Creep’s voice, something in him snaps. Even in wolf form, he recognizes the bastard. The oily scent. The clipped, smug cadence. That voice haunted every injection, every experiment that left one of them screaming those last few days. Now here he is, back for more.

Dean crouches low at the edge of camp, flanked by Benny on one side, Alicia on the other. Gabe and Rhonda are tighter toward the east flank, just inside the treeline. Ketch rumbles low in his throat, barely restrained in this massive form as Michael and Lucifer spill the horrible truth.

Michael leans casually on the post beside Vic, smug as ever.

“We’ve been tracking down the families for a while now. Under the guise of reunification efforts. Government-funded bullshit.” He grins. “You wouldn’t believe how many people just opened up to us when we said we were there to help.”

Lucifer laughs under his breath. “Saps. All of them. Figured we were the clean-up crew after the outbreak. Meant well, wanted to help the kids find their folks.” He gestures vaguely. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Creep steps forward, face eerily calm. “I would never have abandoned you willingly. I simply…relocated for a while. But, you naughty kids left home without permission, and it took so long to find you…” He looks directly at Dean, sending a shiver of wrong through him. “You, especially, were always too important to lose.”

Dean clenches his fists behind his back, the urge to run and protect their home warring with the need to fight to protect their friends. He wants nothing more than to put distance between himself and this disgusting excuse for an alpha, but they have a job to do. He’s not leaving without Vic and Aaron.

Michael continues, nodding toward the others, “Luckily, we found John. Didn’t even have to twist his arm,” he chuckles. “He was bitter. That made it easy. We told him what we needed, and he offered himself up like some prodigal martyr.”

Lucifer adds, voice low and sweet as venom, “He knew that he still meant something. To you. To the rest of your little bunker family. Hatred can be just as damning as love, sweetheart.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. They used him, again…and he let them. “You were supposed to be done,” he thinks bitterly. “You were supposed to be gone.”

Cas hasn’t moved. He stands stiffly near the forest line, hands clenched at his sides, the air around him humming with tension. His eyes meet Dean’s through the clearing—brief but focused. Intent. Dean shifts his weight subtly, following the line of Cas’ gaze. A tarp, low to the ground, stretched too tight. Unnatural against the leaf litter and roots. It’s just behind one of the guard’s boots. A trap—or a hiding place?

Dean scans higher, past the tent poles and fire pits. The fence line on the far side of the camp is half collapsed, an old support beam leaning at an angle. One hard knock and it could take the corner tower with it. An attempt could draw gunfire, but it’s worth the risk.

Cas doesn’t say anything, not out loud. The bond flares—urgency, warning, now. Dean growls once, sharp and guttural. The team responds instantly. Garth lunges first, drawing eyes. Ketch barrels through a line of startled guards, scattering them like twigs as his claws and teeth tear through them. Alicia goes up a tree and launches herself like a missile toward the nearest watchman. Rhonda snarls, snapping down on a soldier’s thigh as Gabe slams into another at full speed. Dean sprints through the chaos, heading straight for Aaron and Vic. Almost there.

He only looks away for a second, but that’s all it takes. Dean feels Cas scream through the bond before he hears it. A white-hot spike of alarm. Something slams into the omega from behind—hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and throw him forward into the dirt. The copper tang of blood floods his nose. Claws rake across his shoulder, yanking him back by the scruff. Dean tries to twist, to bite, but the hold is too tight. Something stings his neck—then warmth spreads. His limbs begin to tremble.

“Tranq,” he realizes dimly. “Shit…”

Through the haze, he sees Cas shove someone off him—then go down hard with a grunt, head hitting a nearby stone. Dean howls as the world goes black.

__________________________________

Pain is the first thing that registers. A sharp, pulsing throb behind his left temple. The rest of Castiel’s body feels like one big bruise—ribs tight, shoulder wrenched, skin sticky with what feels like half-dried blood. The scent of antiseptic and iron curls in his nose. Something low and animal growls in the back of his throat before he can stop it. His inner alpha is on high alert, pacing inside him as though caged. Something’s off, it scratches at the back of his fuzzy mind as he blinks up at the rafters of the Den’s makeshift infirmary. He’s not in the woods anymore.

“Cas?” a voice murmurs, close but careful.

The persistent squeak in his voice gives Sam’s identity away while throwing Castiel into a bittersweet memory.

“I think my voice is starting to change…has it been squeaky, Dean? And I thought this was a mole, but it could be a pimple…”

Dean smirks, swearing, “I promise if you start to turn into a pimple-covered squeaky-voiced mutant or somethin’ I’ll tell you.”

The sparkle in his evergreens is enough to soothe Castiel’s concerns until his friend starts up with his conspiracy theories again. Rolling his eyes, he pulls Dean's sleeve, dragging him away in the hopes he'll let it go for once. Of course, he doesn't...

Sam shifts in his seat, pulling the alpha back into the present. His brother-in-law sits beside the cot, eyes shadowed and drawn. Behind him stands Ellen, arms crossed, her expression grim. Bobby’s near the door while Meg paces in the corner, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Dean,” Castiel grunts hoarsely, trying to sit up.

Sam moves quickly to steady him. “Hey. Slow down—”

“Where’s Dean?” he demands, already ignoring the sharp twist of nausea that comes with movement. The room spins, but he forces his eyes to remain open.

Bobby steps forward. “Cas, you took a bad hit. Your head—”

Castiel cuts in, growling, “Where is he?”

A silence settles over the room, heavy and wrong.

Ellen answers in a broken whisper, “He didn’t make it back…”

Castiel’s chest seizes. “No. No…he was right there. I almost…” The alpha tries to swing his legs off the cot, but the room spins violently this time, black creeping in at the edges of his vision. His knees buckle before he even stands.

Sam catches him. “Cas, stop. You have a concussion. You can’t shift, you can’t run—you’ll pass out before you clear the gates.”

“I have to go,” he gasps. “I promised him—”

“And you’ll keep that promise,” Meg cuts in, voice clipped. “But, not by dying in the hallway.”

Castiel grips the edge of the cot hard enough to splinter it. His claws are out again, blood under the nails. He wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, and now…now Dean is gone.

“They still have Victor…and Aaron. Rhonda and Dorothy, too,” Bobby adds quietly. “We had to retreat, or we would’ve lost more.”

“Then we go back.” The words rip from his throat, ragged and rough.

“We will,” Ellen assures him. “But not blind. We need to plan what comes next and rest…” Her last words seem to be just for him.

Meg nods toward the table behind them, covered in maps. “We’re sending Bela first to scout, again. She’s faster, harder to spot from above. We need a clearer layout before we send in another team.”

Castiel swallows hard, jaw clenched. He presses a hand to his temple where the bandage is tightest. His head pounds in time with his heartbeat. But nothing drowns out the ache of absence in the bond. It’s quiet in a way that burns soul deep. Castiel despises the irony of it, how he used to fret over what could be lurking behind those evergreen eyes; now, without Dean’s constant drone in the back of his head, everything feels empty, cold. The alpha closes his eyes, fury and guilt battling in his chest like twin wolves. Dean didn’t come back.

For the first time, Castiel broke a promise to his omega. But when he finds his mate, because he will find him, everyone responsible for harming his love will pay.