Chapter Text
"There is a shipwreck between your ribs. You are a box with fragile written on it, and so many people have not handled you with care."
~ Shinji Moon
Dean’s day started off bad and only got worse from there.
If someone had given him the choice between waking up late or waking up early, he would have probably chosen to wake up early, since he was one late appearance away from being fired by the diner that employed him in the mornings. Still, that didn’t mean that waking up a solid two hours before his alarm felt good.
Dean found himself tossing and turning sometime in the early morning. When he rolled over groggily to check if it was nearly time to get up, he saw that his clock read 02:03. He cursed as loudly as he dared in the darkness and rolled back over, begging his brain to let him go back to sleep. He needed the rest, God damn it! He had a busy day today. Thursdays were always taxing, since he worked not one, not two, but three jobs.
It soon became clear, however, that despite his obvious need for rest, his body wasn’t having it. Dean felt like his internal heater had been turned up a couple degrees. He might have read as having a fever if he’d bothered to test it, but he knew he wasn’t sick. His fucking body was throwing a hissy fit about being stuck on suppressants for the fifth year in a row. If he hadn’t been on the little yellow pills, he’d be due for his heat in a week or two. Thank God for modern medicine.
As Dean rolled out of bed at a ripe two-twenty in the morning, however, he was hit by the full force of how unhappy his body was with being stopped up on suppressants. Dean nearly fell back onto his stupid bed with how dizzy he was, which would have hurt, since he’d sold the bedframe last fall and only had a mattress on the floor.
It was cold as hell despite the fact that it was nearly May, which was fucking typical of Washington. Dean swore he could see his breath in front of his face as he stumbled across the room and turned on the light, his body wracked with involuntary shivers as he hurried to turn off his alarm and find some clothes that would be warmer than sleep pants and a soft T-shirt.
His arms felt fatigued just from the effort of getting dressed, so Dean knew his day was gonna be fucking peachy. His fingers were nearly too numb to button his jeans and the two flannels he was wearing. He glared at the clock on the floor that announced it was a whopping hour and a half before he was supposed to be awake—an hour and a half he could be using to sleep, for God’s sake—and quietly crept out of his room.
Over the years since he and his dad had moved into this apartment, Dean had managed to get the stench of cigarettes mostly out of his room by periodically opening the windows to allow fresh air in. He still caught whiffs of the stink every now and then, but it had become tolerable. The rest of the apartment, however, wasn’t quite so lucky.
Dean wrinkled his nose as he tiptoed out of his room and into the crappy little bathroom across the hall, wishing for the thousandth time that his dad had managed to find somewhere that didn’t have a couple of chainsmokers as its last residents. Then again, this was the only place they were able to afford, and it was better than being out on the streets, so Dean had to remind himself not to complain.
The bathroom light was harsh when he flicked it on. Dean squinted his way through his morning routine, appalled at the fact that he had to take a break while brushing his hair, since his arms were getting tired. He hoped that the fatigue would decrease a little once he’d had something to eat for breakfast. The only good thing about cleaning the nearby office building every Thursday morning was that he got free breakfast once a week, which made three full meals. Even if it only happened once, Dean still looked forward to it.
Yesterday, he’d gotten off his shift at the diner late, so he hadn’t had time to eat. He’d tried to make up for it at the burger place he worked at night, but just one meal wasn’t enough to cover a whole day of not eating. Dean’s stomach was aching with emptiness, clenching on nothing as it growled quietly for food he didn’t have. Dean tried to comfort himself with the thought of an orange and maybe a muffin at the office.
When he’d finished making himself presentable, Dean turned off the light in the bathroom and crept out into the hall. The door to his dad’s room was thankfully closed, which gave him a small amount of relief. It was always much harder to get around in the morning when his dad had passed out drunk on the couch instead of in his bed. Without the necessity for extra stealth, Dean could get out of the house quicker.
Today, he had a lot of extra time, since he’d woken up so Goddamn early. Dean took that unwanted blessing and used it to clean up the apartment a little, since he was never home to do it in the daytime and too exhausted to do it at night. His dad usually yelled at him for the mess every couple days or so, even though Dean was rarely the one who’d caused it. Mentioning that was like asking for an ass-kicking, though, so Dean never said shit.
He tried to be as quiet as possible as he gathered up armfuls of the glass bottles next to the sofa. There were an impressive amount. Dean estimated about eighty percent of them were hard liquor, too. Seasonal depression was hitting his dad hard. The whole living area stank of alcohol and dirty, tired Alpha.
Dean cringed a little at the scent. This close to his heat, suppressed or not, his inner Omega was more sensitive to stupid shit like that. He was more prone to becoming emotional, and more likely to crave dumb stuff like nesting and cuddling and other useless things. He was also hyper aware of every shift in his familial Alpha’s moods, especially when John was angry or upset. Which, unfortunately for Dean, was most of the time. He’d learned a long time ago to get used to it, but that didn’t stop the sudden stink of Alpha rage from throwing him off guard sometimes.
He tried to breathe through his mouth as he quietly cleaned up the living area. By the time he’d finished, his hands were sticky with old alcohol and there was an impressive pile-up near the paper bag for recycling. Dean risked stuffing the bottles in a bag of their own, glancing back at the hallway that led to his dad’s room every now and then to make sure he hadn’t caused too much noise. When he’d packed away the mess neatly, he quietly washed his hands and set about picking up the various pieces of trash and other debris.
Something inside of Dean was strangely soothed by the feeling of cleaning up his space, his home. As much as he hated the apartment and the situation and all of his stupid instincts, Dean had to admit he felt better about tidying everything. It was a stupid, pussy thing to be comforted by, but it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone. Besides, his dad would never know.
Dean got started on the dirty dishes that had stacked up in the sink. He had to go slowly to make sure he didn’t wake the sleeping Alpha down the hall, but he managed to get through a good chunk of them before it was time for him to get ready to go. He had his backpack near the door, so it didn’t take very long for him to wipe off his hands, dry off the last of the clean dishes, and slip quietly out the door.
Outside, it was freezing. Dean’s cold fingers fumbled the key a few times as he locked the door behind himself. He stuffed the key in his pocket and headed toward the stairs that would take him down to the parking lot, jogging a little to warm himself up. He cast the Impala, Baby, a longing glance as he passed her in her parking space. Gas was expensive, and John didn’t trust him with her. Since Dean had yet to be able to afford a bike, he was forced to take the bus to work. It wasn’t so bad, but Dean didn’t love sharing space with creepy Alphas and homeless people that looked like they wanted to crack his skull open just to see what was inside.
It was the only mode of transportation Dean had, though. He was at least grateful that there was a bus stop only a quarter of a mile from his apartment. He knew he could have been stuck somewhere even farther, and he was glad he didn’t have to walk a mile or even longer.
The cold wasn’t so bad once Dean’s blood had warmed from walking to the bus stop. The bruise on his jaw from when his dad had hit him for being disrespectful last night throbbed a little with each beat of Dean’s heart, but the pain wasn’t too bad. His bruised ribs from a couple weeks ago were nearly healed, so Dean was actually feeling pretty good.
He sat down on the bench at the bus stop and exhaled, adjusting his backpack so it sat more comfortably. As he did so, Dean remembered that he needed to refill the small amount of cash he had for his bus fare, so he slung the bag into his lap to check that he had enough.
By his calculations, he’d be fine until next Tuesday, but when Dean opened the small pouch where he kept his bus money, he found it completely empty. There wasn’t a single coin or bill in sight. Dean stared at the empty pocket, sticking his hand in incredulously. Even when he’d completely run out of cash, he’d never had nothing. There had always been a stray one or a couple dimes in there somewhere. And he always remembered if he was getting too low. Always.
Dean’s stomach felt like it had solidified into solid rock and was now sinking down to his boots. A chill flickered down his spine as he realized what had happened. His dad.
He must have found Dean’s bus fare stash. He’d probably taken the cash for something, whether for buying more alcohol or to fund whatever gambling craze had overtaken him this time around. Dean stared at the empty pocket of his backpack with the cold rock of his stomach sitting in his boots, and he realized he’d never see that cash again.
Fuck.
The sound of a vehicle coming finally pulled him out of his stupor. Dean looked up from his backpack to see the bus rolling up right on time, interior lights illuminating the dark street as it came to a stop in front of the bench. The doors opened with an aging squeak. The hinges probably should have been oiled seven or so years ago, but no one had bothered to do it yet.
“You comin’ or not, Dean?” a familiar voice asked. The bus driver, a somewhat friendly Beta named Ernie, leaned forward in his seat so he could see where Dean was sitting on the bench.
“Sorry, Ernie. I, uh… I don’t have the cash I thought I did,” Dean said. He stayed sitting on the bench.
The man grimaced. “That sucks to hear, kid. I ain’t runnin’ a charity, y’know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. He still felt numb when he unglued himself from the cold wood of the bench. His stomach must have still been in his boots, since they felt heavier than usual when he began to walk away from the bus stop. “See you around, Ernie. Maybe I’ll have enough to ride tomorrow.”
He seriously doubted it. Whatever his dad had stolen had set him back several days. He’d either need to sacrifice money for a few meals, or he’d have to walk to work for the next week.
Ernie closed the door and drove off with a sympathetic look on his face, the bus tearing away from the curb with a puff of acrid smoke. Dean watched it go numbly, thinking about the mile and a half he’d have to travel to get to the office building he was supposed to clean. He only had twenty minutes. If he wanted to make it, he was going to have to run.
The truth was, Dean had done much worse things in the past. He supposed the only reason he was dragging his feet now was because he was cold and his body was fatigued, and all he wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet and try to catch up on that sleep he’d missed this morning. Actually, no, what he really wanted was to curl up somewhere soft and warm and then get some sleep. Somewhere with blankets and pillows and low lighting, somewhere that smelled of home and safety and—
Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip. Shaking his head at his own pathetic urges, Dean tightened the straps of his backpack and prepared to run to work. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He just thanked God he’d been a little early getting out of the house this morning instead of late. Maybe his impromptu wakeup had been a blessing in disguise.
The morning air was cutting as Dean set off at a run toward the building that he cleaned on Thursdays. The cold seemed to saw at the back of his throat with every inhale he took, his legs turning leaden after only about fifty feet of sprinting. Dean didn’t have time for his body’s weakness; he needed to get to work on time. It was because of this third job that he could even afford something like the bus anyway while still being able to keep his dad happy and pay the bills. Besides, there were more important things than his comfort.
Dean thought of the little ceramic jar in his closet, buried under a pile of clothes and books that had once been his brother’s. The jar was his brother’s too, as well as the couple thousand dollars inside of it. The amount of money was pitiful, and Dean knew that it wouldn’t even make a dent in whatever money Sammy would need for when he went off to Stanford or Harvard or whatever other brainiac college he was headed to. But it was still something, and Dean didn’t want his Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen to have to pay for everything of Sammy’s.
At the end of every week, Dean added whatever amount of money he could spare into that jar. Sometimes it was a couple dollars and sometimes it was a couple cents, but Dean hoped that by the time his little brother turned eighteen, he’d have a sizable amount to send Sammy where he was staying in Sioux Falls with their aunt and uncle. The thought of getting his brother that money was the only thing that kept him going sometimes.
The city was just beginning to wake up as Dean jogged down the streets toward Sandover. The few homeless people or early-rising runners on the sidewalks didn’t bother him as he ran past, which he was grateful for. He knew he’d have to reapply his scent blockers once he reached the office to maintain some level of professionalism, since the proximity of his heat made the protection offered by his suppressants wear thin.
Dean arrived at Sandover about two and a half minutes before he was supposed to get there. He applied his blockers around the back of the building before creeping in, wiping sweat off his face as he made his way into the suddenly too-warm office building.
The managers at Sandover hired him and a couple other random teenagers to clean the various floors of their building every week. Dean had floors four and five, which usually took him about an hour each. He could typically be done by about six thirty, which gave him half an hour to get over to the diner that he worked at in the mornings.
He tried to clean faster than usual today, not even stopping to check if there were condom wrappers in the boss’s trashcan or not. He wanted to be done early so he had time to run to the diner and cool off so he didn’t show up at work all sweaty. The diner owner, a crabby bitch named Amara that had given Dean the visual feel-up a few too many times for him to be comfortable being in a room alone with her, wouldn’t appreciate him looking like he’d just run halfway across the city to get to work, even if he had.
Thankfully, Dean was able to finish his floors quickly. He reported to the janitor, who grunted that he’d get his pay sent in the mail to him by Saturday. After that, Dean left the building with his backpack and prepared to run across town to the crappy cafe-slash-diner that he worked at from the morning to late afternoon.
The distance was only about two miles, but the sidewalks were getting crowded as the city started to wake up. Dean had to weave through crowds of people attempting to get to work at the same time as he was, his head growing dizzy with the myriad of different scents that began to cloud the early morning air.
What he could feel of his legs ached painfully when he finally reached Amara’s diner. Dean slipped through the back door that led into the kitchen and ducked into the bathrooms before anyone but the cooks could see him. Once he was inside the relative safety of the bathroom, he went into a stall so he could change into his apron and apply some more scent blockers. The crappy clock on the wall told him he had about seven minutes before he had to clock in and start helping open the diner, so he had to hurry.
When he’d changed and gotten his scent completely covered, Dean rinsed his face with cold water in an attempt to cool himself down. His body still felt overheated from his run and from the way his hormones were acting up because of his suppressants. His legs were aching fiercely now, not used to so much rapid exertion in such a short burst. Dean didn’t have time to work out anymore, so he wasn’t exactly in shape. Sure, he was used to standing on his feet for fourteen or fifteen hours a day, but that wasn’t the same as sprinting two miles in twenty minutes.
When he’d cleaned up as best he could, Dean exited the bathroom and ducked through the kitchen to get to the front. The cooks, two big Alphas who didn’t seem to know he existed, barely glanced his way as he slipped past the fryers and around the window where the food was placed when it was ready. Thankfully, Amara seemed to be in her office when he came out, so he didn’t need to worry about her shouting at him when he’d only just arrived.
Unfortunately, that was the only good thing about his shift that day. Almost from the moment the doors opened, the diner was flooded with customers. For a place that had mediocre food and even shittier coffee, it sure had a shitload of people that wanted to eat there. Dean was given no time to rest between waiting tables, running food, taking orders, and cleaning up after customers left. At some point, Amara even emerged from her office to help, which was an indicator of how fucking busy they were. She never did jack shit if she didn’t have to.
At around lunchtime, the flow of customers slowed down enough for Dean to be able to breathe and get a drink of water. His legs were aching, and his still-healing ribs were giving him pain again. Dean curled an arm around his torso as discreetly as he could while he waited for a couple plates of food to be ready, trying to focus on the nearby tip jar so his vision stopped swaying around.
The water helped a little bit. By the time the lunch rush hit, Dean felt a little better. Even then, by the time his shift was over at two in the afternoon, Dean was exhausted. As he clocked out, he thought of the shift still ahead of him at the burger place across town and felt like crying. He had almost two and a half miles to travel, but it wasn’t too bad, since he had an hour to get there.
Usually, Dean took that hour to eat something at the diner, but he knew that wasn’t going to be possible. The food was cheaper here than at the burger place where he worked, but Dean knew that if he wanted to get to his next job on time, he would have to make his way over and hope that he had a couple minutes to wolf down some fries or something, since that was all he could afford.
The wave of unnecessary emotion hit him as he was leaving the diner, his legs throbbing with pain, his body aching at the mere thought of walking two and a half miles to his next job, only to work for another six hours. Dean leaned up against the dirty brick of Amara’s diner as tears choked his throat and blurred his vision, fighting to breathe past the vice grip his despair had on his lungs.
God, everything was going wrong today. He hadn’t had enough time to eat at the office, he didn’t have enough time to eat here, and he doubted he was going to get to eat anything at the other restaurant, either. His day of three meals was turning into a day with no meals, and all he wanted to do was fucking sit down. God, that was all he wanted right now. Dean wanted to sit down and curl up and make the pain in his stomach and chest and legs and head go away.
I’ve done worse, he reminded himself. This is for Sammy. He’ll never be in this situation if he goes to college, and I’ll make sure that happens any way I can.
The thought brought him little comfort, but it was still enough to give him the strength to begin his trek to his third and final job of the day. As he walked, Dean tried to make himself feel better by thinking of all the good things in his life right now. There weren’t many, but he tried anyway.
For one, he only had to work twice tomorrow, which meant he got to sleep in. And for another, his job at the burger place wasn’t actually that bad.
The place was kind of weird. It was run by what Dean assumed was a Russian family—more specifically, a few men that he thought were brothers. If Dean was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on with the whole place, but he figured it couldn’t just be a burger restaurant. For one, there were always people coming and going in the back, exchanging words in rapidfire Russian with the cooks and the managers.
As far as Dean knew, he was the only non-Russian employee. He was treated in varying manners, from unnoticed to tolerated to welcomed. It was nicer than the disdain or disgust his other employers had toward him. None of the people working at the burger place seemed to care that Dean was a single Omega that was around mating age and didn’t seem to have a family to speak of. The pay was better than at Amara’s too. Dean didn’t mind the job at all.
He was about fifteen minutes early when he finally reached the burger restaurant, a place named Mystery Spot. Dean took a moment outside the building to catch his breath and make sure he looked presentable in the next door bank’s window. His hair was passable, but his skin was pale and his eyes had dark shadows underneath them. Worse, no matter what kind of fake smile he mustered, he couldn’t seem to get rid of the exhausted look that had settled over his whole body. At this point, he didn’t even have it in him to care.
Six more hours, and then I can go to bed, Dean thought to himself. It wasn’t very comforting.
He took a deep breath before entering Mystery Spot. Inside, it smelled of cooking food and the underlying scent of steel that never seemed to disappear. Dean saw, standing behind the register, that Castiel was on duty today. His heart did a quiet little flip-flop in his chest, and he reflected that this shift couldn’t be too bad if his favorite Krushnic brother was the manager for tonight.
There were four brothers, to Dean’s best estimations. They rotated who actually worked in the restaurant. Dean’s two favorites were the younger ones, Castiel and Gabriel. Gabriel was funny and nice to talk to, and Castiel was just… nice to look at. Dean knew, of course, that his little crush was pathetic and had absolutely no chance, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the Alpha.
Dean’s dad liked to tell him that he expected him to mate a nice Beta girl someday, which Dean figured was the best thing his dad could come up with as his son’s ideal partner. He would probably flip his shit to know that Dean was being a typical needy Omega by fawning over an Alpha, but he’d long ago stopped fighting himself on that. Castiel was just too attractive for Dean to bully his inner Omega into forgetting about him.
He was about Dean’s height, but his shoulders were broad and strong. He had thick, powerful thighs and muscled forearms, and his hands were fucking sinful. His voice when he spoke, which was rare, was gravel-deep and reminded Dean of whiskey or a far-off rumble of thunder. His face was achingly beautiful, his blue eyes were entrancing, and… and he barely acknowledged Dean on a good day.
Still, Dean sent the Alpha a hopeful smile as he entered the restaurant, unable to help himself. “Hey, Mr. Krushnic,” he greeted, stepping around the register to get to the back where he could hang up his backpack. He glanced at what Castiel had been doing as he passed and saw stacks of dollars, presumably being counted. Dean thought he also caught the glint of something dark and metallic, but it was probably just his imagination.
Castiel nodded at him silently as he passed, which was more than he gave Dean most days. Dean’s heart felt like a flower opening its petals for the first rays of dawn, vibrant and excited. Even the aching of his tired body couldn’t keep him from feeling a little more optimistic about this shift than when he’d first walked in. Yeah, Castiel was his favorite. He was gonna take that to his grave.
Dean said hello to the cooks in the back as he hung his backpack up. After his first few weeks working there, he’d tentatively asked if they could teach him how to say hello in Russian, since that was what they always spoke while working. They’d been surprisingly open to teaching him, and now he greeted them in their language as a sort of courtesy. He was pretty sure they didn’t mind. He even got a couple smiles today, so he knew the two men were happy to see him.
Dean waited until Castiel had finished at the register before sneaking out to clock in. The dark-haired Alpha had pulled out a notebook and was making notes in it on the counter, completely immersed in whatever he was doing. Dean didn’t bother trying to read what he was writing. That would be rude, and besides, it wasn’t like he could understand the Cyrillic symbols anyway.
The little sauce containers that they gave customers needed to be refilled, so Dean went about doing that. As he snapped lids on cups and stacked them neatly in the refrigerator beneath the counter, he became aware of the weight of someone’s gaze on him. There was only one other person in the front of the restaurant at the time, so Dean knew who it was. He didn’t react, though his ears heated at the attention. Fucking traitors.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” an accented voice asked, low and rumbling.
Dean looked up, praying the flush in his ears and cheeks wasn’t super visible. “Uh,” he said intelligently, brain struggling to comprehend what Castiel had asked and simultaneously form a response. Fuck, the Alpha’s eyes were blue.
There was an awkward silence, and then Castiel said, “Your hands are shaking badly. You look tired.”
Dean gulped, ducking his head. Right. He probably looked pretty nasty right now, after a day of working and running around the city. “I, uh… I’m okay. Thanks.” Shit, fuck, that hadn’t been what Castiel had asked. Jesus, the guy was talking to him more in five minutes than he had in two whole weeks and Dean was royally fucking it up.
“There is still time before your shift starts,” Castiel said, nodding at the clock behind Dean. His gaze felt like a physical weight resting on Dean’s shoulders, pinning him in place. “You should eat something.”
The refrigerator began to beep at Dean because he was still holding the door open like a dumbass. He stood abruptly and closed it, horribly embarrassed. There was no way the traitorous heat in his face and neck couldn’t be seen, now. God damn it, he was such an idiot. “Um, okay. Sorry.” He had no idea what he was apologizing for, but it sounded right. Besides, it was always better to apologize than not.
Castiel tilted his head a little to the side, something that reminded Dean of a dainty sparrow and a dangerous wolf at the same time. He grabbed a notepad for writing orders from across the counter, the movement sinuous, then held it out. “Here. You can put your order on this.”
Dean’s face flushed, this time with shame. He took the pad of paper so the Alpha didn’t have to keep holding it, but once he had it, he set it down beside him. “I, um… I can’t afford a big dinner.” God, he would love nothing more than to inhale one of the gourmet burgers that the cooks in the back made, but there was no fucking way he could pay for that. After the day he’d had, he couldn’t even afford the cheapest item on the menu.
Castiel’s face shifted for the first time, morphing into a slight frown at Dean’s words. Dean’s stomach turned to lead. “You are an employee here, yes? You don’t need to pay for dinner.”
Dean blinked. “What?” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Castiel’s frown lines deepened ever so slightly. “You don’t need to pay for dinner. You work here, you should have free food. Here, come look.” And then he was reaching out, and then he was putting his Goddamn hand on Dean’s fucking shoulder, and Dean was pretty sure his brain short-circuited right there. Because Castiel had very large hands, very warm hands, and Dean could feel the heat of his palms through the material of his work shirt. The steady pressure of his hand on Dean’s right shoulder almost took Dean out right then and there.
It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing. Castiel was showing him the menu up on the wall, as if Dean hadn’t memorized it from working here for so long. The Alpha had handed him a pen, instructing him with a surprisingly patient deep voice to write down what he wanted to eat.
Dean obeyed numbly, scribbling down the number for the bacon burger he’d always wanted to try. Castiel’s hand left his shoulder as he took the pad of paper from Dean, and that helped partially bring the Omega back to earth. His brain came back online just as Castiel set the piece of paper with Dean’s order on it in the window, shouting something in Russian to the cooks in the back.
He came back out to find Dean standing there, frozen and unsure of what to do. Dean was too busy with his own internal freak-out to notice the slight softness in the Alpha’s blue eyes as he gestured at a booth in the corner, saying, “Go sit down until your food is ready. You look like you could fall over.”
Dean could, his knees were about to fucking give out any second now, but he couldn’t make himself move. It was only when the door opened and admitted a customer that Dean figured out how to unfreeze, how to get the fuck out of the way and flee to the corner of the restaurant so he could panic about how much of a colossal dumbass he’d just been.
He sat down in the corner booth and exhaled in relief. Even though he still felt disjointed from the interaction he’d just had with Castiel, he couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of finally getting off his feet. His legs were aching badly. Dean hunched over a little so his bruised ribs were happy, and then he sort of soaked up the bliss of his body finally being able to rest.
There was still phantom pressure on Dean’s right shoulder where Castiel’s hand had been. He wanted to reach up and feel it, to make sure it was real or something, but he didn’t want to make the sensation go away. It was nice. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d been touched like that, in a way that wasn’t meant to harm or direct, just to steady and comfort? Jesus, he was a fucking mess.
It’s the heat, he tried to convince himself. It’s just ‘cause my body is all wacked out on hormones and suppressants. That’s all.
He stared at the wood grain of the table he was sitting at, tracing it with his eyes, and tried not to think of feeling that heavy warmth on his face, in his hair, petting him gently.
Fuuuck.
Dean tried to pull himself together by focusing on what was going on in the restaurant. The customer that had come in a few minutes ago was now sitting at a table a few feet away, reading one of the free newspapers. Castiel was rearranging the jars of crushed up cookies and candy bars that they added to their milkshakes, his movements precise and quick. Dean quickly looked away before he could get too entranced. He didn’t want to do something stupid like get caught staring.
He must have zoned out while staring at the table, because it felt like only a few minutes before the delicious smell of a burger was reaching his nose and a tray of food was being set down in front of him. Dean blinked, looking up at Castiel in shock. For some reason, the idea of the Alpha bringing him food was hard to comprehend.
Castiel set a bottle of water on the table next to the food and said, “Eat, Dean.”
Dean had a whole new meltdown at the realization that the Alpha actually knew his name as he was walking away. It took him a few seconds to even register that there was food in front of him, that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday and that he was starving. Along with the delicious-looking burger was a mound of golden fries, which Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t ordered. He glanced back over at where Castiel was taking another customer’s order, then decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The burger, for the record, was just as delicious as it looked. The patty was juicy, the bacon was crispy, the sauce was tangy, and the cheese was satisfyingly melty. It was the best thing Dean had eaten in a long, long fucking time. He tried not to make any noise as he ate it, not wanting to disturb the other customers. He had to pace himself so he didn’t give himself a stomachache by eating too fast.
The person who’d been sitting down got up to leave soon after they got their food. The other person had only been grabbing takeout, so the restaurant was soon empty. Dean snuck glances at Castiel as he stocked the front and cleaned the counters, his gaze catching on the way the Alpha’s forearms flexed when he moved.
It was only because Dean was staring at Castiel that he didn’t even see the other man come in through the door. He heard the bell chime distantly in the background, and he saw the way Castiel’s gaze rose from the glass he was polishing to see who had just entered the restaurant. Dean saw the way the Alpha’s whole body went rigid with tension, as if someone had just pointed a loaded gun at him.
And someone had, because a few seconds later, Dean heard the thunderous crack of gunfire.
And then, it was only because he was looking at Castiel that Dean saw the way the bullet hit him right square in the chest. It was only because he was looking at Castiel that Dean saw the moment the Alpha’s body collapsed to the ground in half a second, like a puppet with its strings cut.
And just like that, the Alpha was dead, in less time than it took a living heart to beat.