Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dean! C’mon, you promised you’d go,” Charlie said.

She was standing in front of his nearly empty counter. She had a Santa/Satan hat on top of her bright red hair. Just the usual red velvety, white trimmed cap, but it also had little red horns sewn on near the white brim.

Sure, the bakery was about to close in five minutes, but the glass case wouldn’t fill itself. He’d need to get croissants proofing and pie dough resting in the cooler. He needed to get some back up layers for his Death by Chocolate cake ready to be stacked. Each cake took a dozen thin layer sandwiched between thin, pourable ganache. If he didn’t get another batch started of his prize winning cinnamon rolls, he’d probably have a riot tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning was Saturday, the busiest day of the week for the Three Brothers Bakery, especially during the holiday season. People liked to stop in for a coffee and a special treat in the morning before heading off to do their shopping or whatever holiday thing they were doing that day. Caroling or decking halls or whatever.

The Three Brothers Bakery was something. It was his. And his brothers’ too definitely, but mostly his. He was the oldest. He’d built it. The recipes, mostly, were his. A successful business they owned without debt was more than most Omegas ever got to have in this life. The bakery took a lot of work, but it made enough to support the three of them comfortably. Dean, as the oldest, also worked the longest, hardest hours. He’d been at it since four this morning.

Yeah, he’d promised Charlie he’d go to her ‘holistic holiday’ fair, but he hadn’t really meant it, figuring she’d forget it and have a LARP thing she also promised she would do with someone else. The woo-woo fest wasn’t exactly what Dean wanted for this evening, not when he’d be back at the bakery at the ass crack of dawn.

Adam, their youngest brother, chose that moment to come out of the kitchen bearing a sheet tray full of cupcakes. That was his new thing- cupcake decorating. Dean wasn’t a fan of the overly sweet, heavy on the frosting and fillings confections, but he couldn’t deny that they sold like crazy. This batch was all done up in red, white, and green. Holiday ready.

“What’s going on?” Adam asked as he set the tray on the counter and pulled out one of the big pink boxes. Right. Those must be for that custom order for the Morrison party.

“Dean is trying to weasel out of going to the holiday fair like he promised,” Charlie said, before Dean could say anything.

Sam was right behind Adam with another tray of the holiday puke cupcakes. The Morrisons went in for huge parties and had ordered a full gross of cupcakes. 144. Who even knew that many people that would want to eat tiny cakes?

“He’s what now?” Sam asked.

“Weaseling out of the holiday fair,” Charlie said.

“We’re running behind,” Dean protested. “We sold out a lot today. That case isn’t going to fill itself.”

“Go. Adam and I have got this,” Sam said, already plonking the cupcakes into their little holes in the pink boxes. “Croissants are in the oven, Pain Au Chocolat is already in the proofer. Danish dough too. I’ve got cinnamon roll dough resting. We’re good and you need to get out more. Maybe meet someone nice.”

Dean absolutely did not need to meet someone. He had the bakery. That was enough. No matter how horny he got.

“I don’t need to meet anyone,” Dean said.

“Leaving ‘Omega Sota and the Tentacles of Power’ up on the laptop says otherwise,” Adam said, cupcakes in each hand, focusing on getting the order ready. “My innocent eyes did not need to see that.”

Both Adam and Sam were Omegas like Dean. Why weren’t they concerned about finding an Alpha for themselves and getting off his back about it? Adam was what every Alpha was looking for in an Omega. Pretty. Blond. Sturdy enough for pup bearing, with birthing hips. Fresh smelling. Not a little too old and stale, like Dean was by now.

“Oh, Omega Sota is a classic,” Charlie said. “Your brother has good taste in porn.”

“Again, don’t want to see that. Don’t want to know anything about my big brother’s taste in porn,” Adam said.

“It’s not like the Holistic Holiday Fair is the kind of place to meet an Alpha,” Dean grumbled, but somehow, between the three of them ganging up on him, they got him out the door. Charlie had produced another Santa/Satan hat from somewhere and jammed it on his head. The Holistic Happy Holiday Fair was just down the street at Third Unified.

No one in town knew what had happened to the first or second Unified churches and it wasn’t on Third Street or something, but it was a pleasant, white modern building with big windows filled with abstract stained glass, slabs of pink, blue and purple glass set into concrete. The double doors were each set with the symbol of the Unified Church, the Alpha, Omega and Beta symbols merged into one big squiggly icon. The fair itself was just as bad as Dean anticipated. After about the fifth vendor table filled with rose quartz ‘yoni wands’, Dean was ready to peace out and head back to the bakery.

First of all, he had plenty of nice, safe silicone and borosilicate glass ‘wands’ for his ‘yoni’ if he wanted one. Was that thing safe to put inside his body? He didn’t know. Maybe? He wasn’t going to risk it though. Second of all, it wasn’t more sex toys that his body was craving. He had plenty of toys and it was easy to get an orgasm any time he wanted. The ‘Happy’ in the holiday fair name was a euphemism. It was more or less a place for Omegas and women of all secondary presentations to go get sex toys for their self or gifting along with their woo-woo.

Besides the sex toy vendors, there were an assortment of regular magic vendors- crystals not meant to go in your hoohah, sex magic instruction books, that kind of thing. Herbs for heat help. They couldn’t call them suppressant herbs or drugs, but ‘help’ was vague enough for the authorities. He did stop at one vendor that sold those, because if you got them from that vendor, they actually worked. Dean hadn’t had a full heat in five years thanks to Missouri Moseley’s Herbarium, which was awesome.

Also, there were tarot card readers and other fortune tellers who supposedly could help you find your true mate before Yule. Dean was momentarily distracted by a table of ‘erotica’, hoping he could find something new. So he didn’t have to use the laptop to find something, then fall asleep after giving himself a ‘happy’ before he could delete his browser history. Unfortunately, the erotica was all sweet and ‘Omega focused’. In other words, boring.

Dean drifted away from Charlie whiles she was chatting up a pretty dark haired girl named Meg, who was tiny of body, but had a scent that embodied big dick energy. Alpha female for sure. It looked like Charlie didn’t need a wingman and he wasn’t about to cockblock her. He decided he was going to hit the head and then make his way back to the bakery. He went down the hallway where he thought it was, but didn’t find the little omega’s room, but an open doorway that had had velvet curtains hung over it temporarily. The room was mostly dark but had a table lit up with candles.

Candles? Real candles? Was that even allowed at this kind of event? Curious, he stepped inside. The table had the standard witchy set up with small brass cauldron. Sitting at it was a red-headed woman with bouncy curls and serious cat eye makeup game. She wore this pink silky, flowing gown that came down nearly to the floor and a fancy necklace set with big blue stones.

“Oh, Dean the baker,” she said. “Come in, tell Auntie Rowena your troubles.”

“Do I know you lady?”

“I know you. The Three Brothers is the only bakery in town that makes a decent Pain Au Chocolat,” she said.

Ah, a customer. He remembered most of his regulars, but based on her tiny waistline, Auntie Rowena wasn’t stopping in with any frequency. You didn’t get that way by stuffing yourself with Pain Au Chocolat every day, unless you were one of the rare outliers, with a roaring hot metabolism.

“We do our best,” Dean said, sitting down at her table even though he hadn’t been planning to. Had her eyes just flickered to glowing violet?

“Tell me your wishlist,” she said. “Your real wishlist. A man who bakes that Pain Au Chocolat deserves something nice up his stocking this year. Not any of that balderdash out there.”

Dean found himself talking, even though he didn’t want to.

“A man. I want a real man. An angel of Alpha,” Dean said. “Strong arms and a butt like a peach. An Alpha strong enough on his own he’s not going to try and take away the stuff I’ve built with my brothers. One who’s not going to take me away from them.”

“I see. Easy enough,” she said. She had a notebook open on her table. She started flipping through it. “Any particulars? Taller than six four? Rich as sin? Ten inches or more below the belt?”

Ten inches? Porn aside, who wanted ten or more inches? Where was that going? Not inside him for sure.

“Six is fine, anything more is wasted,” Dean found himself saying. Why was he saying that? Why was he telling this strange woman about his below the belt preferences? “But girthy. I like a nice stretch.”

The woman nodded and stopped flipping through her notebook. She took out a recipe card and handed to him.

“That’s exactly what you need,” she said. “Be sure to follow the recipe exactly. I can’t be held responsible for what would happen if you substitute vegetable shortening for the butter or God forbid, use artificial vanilla.”

“I would never!” Dean said. There were things that just weren’t done. Artificial vanilla was one of those.

She put a little cloth sachet into his hand next. “Here are the little extras you’ll need for the recipe. There should be enough for three batches in case you burn the cookies.”

“I never burn my cookies,” Dean protested.

“On you go then,” Rowena said, making a flittering motion with her hand. “Get baking.”

He got up from the chair and walked away, out of the room. When he turned around, the door was shut, not only shut, but looking like it hadn’t been opened in months. He looked at what he’d been given. It was one of those lined four by six recipe cards you kept in a box. Printed across the top it read, “How to bake a man”. He tried to read it, but suddenly, he was tired, as tired as you’d expect from someone who had been at work at four in the morning without a rest. Charlie appeared, towing the dark haired girl with her.

“There you are,” Charlie said. “Meg’s invited us to a party.”

“Charcuterie and Fireball shots,” Meg said. “Nothing but my festive best. My unicorn will be there too. I’m trying to get him laid. You look like his type.”

None of that made sense to Dean. He was too tired. Why was she trying to get a unicorn laid? If those were real, which he was pretty sure they weren’t, weren’t they into virginity and shit? Dean definitely didn’t qualify on the virginity front. His high school boyfriend Lee had made sure of that.

“Nah, that sounds a like a perfect recipe for a hangover. I’m heading home,” Dean said. He checked his watch. A lot more time had passed at the Happy Holiday Fair than he’d expected. It was now nine. “I’ve got to be up and baking in about six hours.”

Dean stumbled home down Main Street, past Singer Automotive, and the shop around the corner. He tiptoed in quietly. Sam and Adam were both back home already, Sam stretched out in a chair, thick book fallen across his face, Adam laid out on the sofa, TV on. Somehow, Dean made it up the stairs and flopped onto his bed, still dressed, on top of his covers.

He woke up about four hours later, wide awake. Someone, probably Sam, had thrown a spare blanket over him and pulled off his boots. He tried to roll over and grab those two precious hours left to him of the night, but it was pretty clear more sleep wasn’t going to happen. Ten minutes later, he got up, showered, dressed and shoved some toast and coffee into his face hole. He was out the door and on the way to the bakery.

The recipe card he’d been given last night had ended up in his jacket pocket, which he discovered when he shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth. He pulled it out and read it in the yellow light cone of a street light. It’d be dark for several hours still, and the night was cold and crispy, snow just starting to fall, pretty drifty little flakes of it. He hoped it stayed that way, because these December Saturdays kind of floated the bakery for the whole year. A few pretty flakes was good, put folks in the holiday spirit, but it couldn’t be a bad storm that kept people inside.

The recipe card was like he remembered. “How to Bake a Man,” it read. It started out as a pretty standard recipe for gingerbread men. Mix flour, ginger, cinnamon, baking soda, nutmeg, and salt in large bowl. Beat butter and brown sugar in large bowl with electric mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add molasses, egg, and vanilla; mix well. Gradually beat in flour mixture on low speed until well mixed. He flipped the card over and on top of that page it had in all capitals, “IT IS IMPORTANT TO FOCUS ON YOUR INTENTIONS”. Next there were some basic steps to roll out the chilled dough, cutting it out in the shape of a man, but you were supposed to chant a few phrases as you did it and some other steps that he read and immediately forgot. It was really weird. One minute he was reading a recipe by streetlight, the next, he was in his bakery with a couple hours of work behind him. He must be really damn tired. Sam and Adam weren’t here yet. He was still working alone.

He had rolled out the dough for the weird bake a man gingerbread already. The card was by him on his work bench, the sachet of ‘special ingredients’ had been opened and sprinkled into the dough. The recipe made a really small amount of dough, enough for one very large cookie with a lot of scraps but not much more. One large man shaped cookie, he thought. There were weird golden sparkles in the dough. He’d already pressed their largest ginger man shaped cookie cutter into the dough. Might as well bake it up, he thought. He carefully peeled it away from the counter and transferred it to the baking sheet. He read the recipe card. At this point he was supposed to be chanting, ‘Affer mihi virum bonum’ while focusing on the kind of Alpha he wanted to attract, down to the littlest detail.

All he could think about was blue, blue eyes and how he would smell honey sweet. Oh, and how he’d rise when Dean needed. And he’d have this messy dark hair, a low rumbly voice. For a moment, his mind slipped to his high school boyfriend Lee, but he soon got his mind back where it should be. The ideal Alpha he wanted. Blue, blue eyes (Lee’s eyes had been blue). Like a piece of sky (Lee’s eyes looked green sometimes). Focus, Dean, he told himself and mostly got there. Before he knew it, Dean had the gingerbread man in the oven. He looked up and Sam was there, watching him.

“Dean! What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Witchcraft, I think,” Dean said, holding out the recipe card. “One of those witchy ladies at the Happy Holiday Fair gave it to me. Probably just a bunch of nonsense. One of those manifest your wish bullshit pseudo spells.”

Sam swiped the card out of Dean’s hand and read it over, frowning as he read. He grabbed the little sachet of ‘extras’ from the stainless steel workbench where Dean had left it. He sniffed at the contents.

“This just smells like pumpkin spice mix,” Sam said. “A little heavy on the nutmeg. Maybe we should ask Bobby about this.”

Bobby was kind of their Step Oma. John Winchester had never properly mated him. Dean didn’t even know for sure if Dad and Bobby had ever done the dirty. The two had never shared a bedroom. Bobby was always around, doing the kind of things an Omega did for his Alpha that didn’t involve the bedroom and taking care of Sam and Dean, then later, Adam too. Bobby took care of them before John had died in that hunting accident and especially afterwards. These days, Bobby ran his auto shop and helped other hunters. If anyone around knew about real witchcraft, not the woo-woo like at the Holiday fair, it would be Bobby. And like Dean, Bobby knew that almost every vendor at the Holiday fair was just peddling woo-woo nonsense. Except Missouri Moseley. Bobby and Miss had an understanding, because she was useful to everyone that got heats or ruts. And she had really helped Dean out of big trouble that one time when he was a teenager.

“It’s fine, Sam. We’re not bothering Bobby over nutmeg,” Dean snapped. “It’s just a cookie recipe with extra wishing.”

But was it? Sam stuck a pinky into the sachet of spices and licked at the small dab of spices that came out. He tasted it cautiously.

“Nutmeg. Cinnamon. Ginger. Cloves. Meadowsweet. Tiniest hint of Asafoetidia,” Sam pronounced. “I guess its not going to hurt anything. The Latin just means, ‘bring me a good man’. Maybe it will bring you a good man. You deserve that.”

After that, Sam and Dean got to their baking and readying the shop for their business day. The witchy gingerbread man was pulled out of the oven and set to cool. The spell/recipe said that he was suppose to eat it precisely thirteen minutes after it came out of the oven. Dean couldn’t wait. Something about the smell of the spices made him impatient, it was just that good. He popped the first bite into his mouth while it still hot enough to burn his tongue a little.

The damn cookie was strangely, stupidly delicious. Like some kind of culinary magic had happened, because Dean didn’t like gingerbread cookies. This one didn’t even have icing on it. It went down a treat with his second cup of coffee for the day though. It wasn’t soft, but crisp and crunchy. A little odd tasting. Sam was right about the asafoetidia being in the mix. He didn’t mind it at all though. He said the chant one last time as he popped the head of the ginger man into his mouth, just for good measure. It couldn’t hurt.

At six, like normal, Dean unlocked the door to the bakery. An Alpha had been waiting outside and he practically stumbled into the shop when Dean opened the door. Tripped through the open door and almost face planted over his own feet.

“Please, you have to help me,” he said, his voice a harsh, low rumble, like thunder in the distance. He looked sort of like someone Dean knew, but he couldn’t figure out who. Maybe only sort of like him, not exactly.

He was beautiful. Everything Dean could have ever wanted in an Alpha. His eyes were bright, bright blue, like pieces of sky. His hair was dark and messy. He looked like he hadn’t slept yet. He smelled honey sweet, at least he did under the booze. He smelled like he’d been partying and was still maybe a little drunk. Did he smell like Fireball whiskey? His shoulders were broad and his arms looked strong. Why was he wearing a trench coat though? And under that, a rumpled looking suit with a loose tie.

“We’re just a bakery but I’ll see what I can do,” Dean said.

“My friend fed me lots of charcuterie and fireball last night.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a hangover,” Dean said, remembering that he’d been invited to that same party last night and had gone home to sleep instead. This poor sucker probably should have done the same.

“It was. My head hurts like someone dropped an anvil on it and I’m due for family pictures in an hour. Do you have coffee? Lots and lots of very strong coffee?” He asked.

“Nearly done brewing,” Dean said.

They didn’t do lattes and stuff, but he thought they did a pretty good job at plain, brewed java. Dean tried to retreat around the counter to the coffee maker. The man in the trench coat tilted his head quizzically and said, “No.”

He caught Dean’s wrist up with his left hand.

“No what?” Dean asked. He should be freaking out, some Alpha grabbing him and holding him, but it felt different. It felt like it would be wrong to step away. Closer to this Alpha, the smell deepened from honey sweet to something a little salty, a little sharp and spicy. The scent had mutated from lovely and sweet to sweetly, sharply intoxicating. Compelling. He couldn’t stop staring at the Alpha, right into his blue eyes. The Alpha stared back. It should have been uncomfortable but it wasn’t.

“You can’t leave me,” the Alpha said. “I don’t know why, but it’s very important you stay close to me.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean said.

That was the moment that Adam burst into the front of the shop from the back.

“What the hell smells so bad in here?” He asked, nose wrinkling. Dean didn’t smell anything bad, just the Alpha who smelled amazing.

Sam was right behind him and he took a big whiff of the air and did that nose wrinkling thing too as well as one of his huge frowns. Weird that both Sam and Adam smelled something bad that Dean didn’t.

“Dean’s in heat,” Sam said to Adam. “You know how family members always smell terrible to each other in heat. You just don’t remember because you hadn’t presented yet the last time Dean had a heat.”

Dean couldn’t be having a heat. He took his Miss Moseley’s Heat Helper every morning like clockwork. It was just too damn dangerous for an Omega to have a heat without carefully planning it.

“And whoever that is, he’s about to go into rut,” Sam added.

“I’m Castiel,” the Alpha said. “And I shouldn’t be going into rut. I take Missouri Moseley’s Alpha Tonic. I haven’t rutted since I was sixteen. They’re very inconvenient.”

Even so, they kept standing there, staring at each other deeply.

“Dean, I have to get you home,” Sam said, grabbing Dean by the shoulder.

He tried to pull Dean away from Castiel. Dean, in turn, grabbed tight to Castiel, pulling him into a tight hug answered by Castiel which quickly turned into a kiss. Oh, hell yes. This was what Dean wanted. Castiel kissed like an angel and when Dean grabbed his ass, it was exactly the firmness of a perfectly ripe peach. A little give, a little soft, but not too much. It was the right shape too, nice and thick and round. His thighs were thick and juicy. His body was sleek and muscled, so that even though he was a little shorter than Dean, he didn’t make Dean feel too big to be an Omega.

Off in the distance, Sam was shouting something about calling Bobby and that it was too late to stop anything, that Dean was going to wind up mated against his will. Must suck to be that guy, mated against his will. Meanwhile, there was an Alpha to kiss and he had to figure out how to get him out of the trench coat.

___

It might have been a lot more frightening to see the sudden change come over Dean if it weren’t for the fact that he, for the first time Adam could remember, Dean was glowingly, radiantly happy. Like, sure, Dean had little happinesses all the time, but mostly they had to do with food. Give the man a slice of pie and he’d be surface happy for a while. This was different. When they’d moved on to kissing, it was like watching a romance movie or something. Like this was true love.

Sam was on the phone to Bobby and they were talking rapidly, something about witchcraft and Adam could hear Bobby shouting ‘Idjit’ over the phone even though Sam didn’t have it on speaker and was, in fact, in the other room.

The Alpha in the rumpled trench coat broke off their kiss just long enough to say to Dean, “We should get out of here.”

“Yeah, let me take you home.”

Adam didn’t know what to do. Like maybe he should have stopped them from leaving the bakery. But how? Never mind the Alpha, Dean had a good thirty pounds on Adam even though they were the same height. A lot of it was muscle built from years of hauling around the big bags of flour and other supplies. Before Adam could decide what to do, the bakery door opened and closed with a jingle from the bells that hung on it. Sam crashed through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the behind the counter space, phone in hand.

“What happened?” He asked.

“They left.”

“You didn’t try and stop them?”

“You think I could stop Dean? And an Alpha?”

“Good point. Any idea which way they went?”

It was clear that Sam was dead set on stopping whatever was going on with Dean. It was also exactly clear to Adam what was going on with Dean. This was true mating. Like happened in the movies. Why else would the pair’s heat and rut start up simultaneously, without warning, when both of them took suppressants? Adam took his, maybe not as religiously as Sam and Dean took theirs, but he hadn’t had a heat since that first horrible one where they’d locked him up in Bobby’s basement. He understood now that it had been for his own good, to stop him from getting mated at fifteen to the first Alpha he found, but at the time, it had been torture. Anyway, it was true mating and fate. Who was Adam to stop that?

“No clue, they just left,” Adam lied.

“I’ve got to go. Can you hold down the fort?”

“Sure,” Adam said.

“The rush shouldn’t start for an hour and Kevin will be in to run the register by then,” Sam said. “I’ve got sugar cookies about to come out of oven four, cinnamon rolls are in ovens two and three for another ten or so. Danishes just went into oven one. Don’t screw those up or Lily Sunder will never let us hear the end of it if she doesn’t get a cherry cheese again.”

“God forbid,” Adam said. “I’ve got this.”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he got this, but he’d do his best. Sam and Dean had practically raised him after his mom died, even though Dean was only nineteen and Sam sixteen when that happened. He hoped that Dean would get his happy ending before Sam barged in, cockblocking the true mating before it could even start properly. Adam’s nose let him know that the sugar cookies had to come out of the oven stat and despite what Sam had said about the cinnamon rolls needing ten, they weren’t far behind the sugar cookies. He got busy in the kitchen, keeping an ear out for the door.

Chapter Text

Despite Dean’s insistence that they had to open up at the ass crack of dawn, very few people ever came in at six on a Saturday morning. He got the cookies out in the nick of time, got them on the racks. His royal icing for those was ready to go as soon as they’d cooled, all done up in the pipping bags. The cinnamon rolls came out not long after, perfectly golden brown. He liked to ice those before they were completely cold, so the cream cheese icing would melt a little and seep into the cracks, making them gooey like they were supposed to be, but both Sam and Dean insisted on icing at a temperature that left the icing floating on top like a fluffy cloud and and the rolls dryer than an Omega’s suppressant tamed vagina, or at least if you asked Adam they were. After that, the sugar cookies were ready to ice and he did some simple Yule designs- wreaths, pine trees and bonfires. At about six thirty seven, the door to the bakery opened with a jingle, the first since Dean and Castiel the Alpha had absconded. He wiped his hands and went out front.

An Angel was standing in front of the counter. Or at least the closest to one you’d find on earth. He was blond like Adam, but older, mature looking. He was dressed in a stupid, ugly Yule sweater with holly and ivy designs on it. Somehow, that didn’t make him any less appealing. He was handsome as fuck and he smelled like. Well, it was indescribable but Adam thought it smelled like everything good all at once. Spicy but fresh. Like rain in a forest. Like a thunderstorm. And all the best parts of coffee. And home. His eyes were electrical blue. For a hot minute, Adam hoped that his own heat would start up and it would like it had been with Castiel and Dean- an instant, profound bond. Nothing like that happened though.

Despite that, Adam knew instantly, this would be the man, the Alpha, that he married, with a certainty that was unlike anything he’d ever known. It became his truth, his foundation. He just hoped that the Angel felt it too.

When Adam stepped up to the register, the Angel held up his cell phone. There was a picture of Castiel the Alpha on the screen. It was obviously zoomed in from a bigger group picture and Castiel wore headband antlers and a red ball fake nose. Maybe from some family Yule picture of past years?

“Excuse me, have you seen this man?” The Angel asked. “He’s about yea high.”

The Angel indicated a height about two inches shorter than himself.

“He smells sort of like salted honey.”

That hadn’t been entirely what Castiel had smelled like to Adam, but there’d definitely been a bit of that among the rank heat and rut smell. He wasn’t about to say that to this guy though. A horrible thought passed through Adam’s head. What if this Angel was Castiel’s boyfriend or something? That had happened before. People had been supposedly in love before they met their true mate.

“It’s my brother. We’re supposed to be taking family Yule pictures in about twenty minutes and he’s nowhere to be found. This is the last day we can get it done for the cards and this is the only time we could all meet,” the Angel said. “Last we heard, he was going to one of Meg Master’s parties yesterday, but we haven’t seen him since.”

“Yeah, so about that,” Adam started. “He was here, but he’s gone now. He left with my brother. I think they’re true mates. My brother went into heat instantly.”

“That’s a disaster,” the Angel said. “He’ll never make it to family pictures if that’s true. Do you know which way they went?”

“No clue, sorry,” Adam said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. They might not have gone home. They might have gone somewhere else entirely. They could have gotten into a car and driven to a motel or something.

“If that’s what was happening, it’s certainly too late to stop it. Father will have a meltdown if all of us aren’t there for the pictures.”

“Maybe a donut or something will placate him a little. It always puts me in a better mood,” Adam suggested, more to have an excuse to talk to the Angel a little longer than anything. Given that both the Angel and Castiel were at least thirty or older, it seemed toddler like behavior on the father’s part to have a tantrum if your adult children weren’t able to participate in one family portrait. Sometimes you had to meet toddler behavior with toddler style bribes.

“Most likely not, but anything is worth a try,” Angel said. He took a quick look in the case and said, “I’ll take two dozen cherry cheese danishes. And Two dozen of the blueberry cheese.”

Adam grabbed one of the big pink bakery boxes and started loading it up with danishes. Fuck Lily Sunder and her Yelp reviews anyway.

“You must have a big family,” Adam said.

“Very,” Angel said. “Maybe you should add a dozen of those cinnamon rolls too.”

He pulled out his wallet and pushed a credit card across the counter. It was tempting to just give Angel the danishes, but Sam would kill him for comping that much product without a good reason.

Adam looked at the credit card. Michael Shurley was Angel’s name. Shurley was a pretty common name around here. You saw all over town. Were they all related? Castiel must also be a Shurley then, if he was brothers with Michael. That was weird. Probably Dean was going to be Dean Shurley before long. Would that make Adam a brother in law to Michael? Was there a Mrs. Shurley or an Omega Mr. Shurley? That would be horrible. Meeting the man of his dreams and then having to find out there was a beautiful wife or Omega mate. Adam contemplated these things while he finished loading the boxes and rang up the order.

“There you go,” Adam said, handing the big bag with with the pink boxes over along with the receipt. He sighed when Michael was gone with a jingle of the door, leaving him alone in the bakery again.

It probably wasn’t going to be a busy morning. The snow had started in the early morning. Adam remembered hearing it might be a heavy storm, the kind that kept people indoors, not out being festive and buying bakery treats and coffee. He went back to the kitchen and thought about taking the cream cheese out to soften for cheese cake. Right from the fridge it was cold and stiff. He could start whipping it. The big Hobart stand mixer, nearly five feet tall, would cream just about anything, including Sam’s arm once, but the recipe worked better if the cream cheese was properly soft. He looked around for his next task. Cheese cakes had been the last thing on Sam’s list. Dean kept his list in his head, so you kind of had to guess if any of his usual tasks had to be taken care of.

Adam looked around Dean’s section of the work bench. Normally, you left it the hell alone. Dean took care of Dean’s stuff, period, full stop, but Adam figured that Dean might be out for a few days at least. Maybe back never. You never knew with an Alpha, some of ‘em acted like they owned you just because they put a bite mark on you. Dean had left out a recipe card, which was weird. Sam worked from a recipe notebook, which Adam also used, while Dean had all the recipes memorized. There was also a little cloth sachet that contained brown spices, nutmeg, cinnamon, that kind of thing and some scraps of dough, wrapped up in plastic as if saved for later.

“How to bake a man” the recipe card read. Pretty standard gingerbread recipe at first, but it got strange as it went along. You had to chant this phrase in Latin as you rolled out the dough and cut it out. The door jingled and he went out to see who was coming in, still clutching the recipe card. A red headed woman wearing a long black lace gown with no coat on top, which seemed like an impractical sort of thing to wear on a snowy early morning, but wasn’t the strangest thing that happened today so far.

The woman asked, “D’you have any of the Pain Au Chocolats left? I know they sell out early.”

“It’s only seven,” Adam said. He set the recipe card on the counter and went for Pain Au Chocolat. “How many?”

“Oh, just the one,” the woman said. She grabbed the recipe card as Adam was reaching for the wax paper. “When you’re my age, French pastries are very much a sometimes treat. Now, this is an interesting recipe. I thought I gave it to your brother Dean.”

How did she know Dean?

“You did. He made it. Then his true mate walked in the door,” Adam found himself saying, not sure why. He shouldn’t be talking about something so private like that to a stranger. “It works? It’s real? It’ll bring you a man?”

“Of course it’s real, Cupcake,” the woman said as she took the Pain Au Chocolat from his hand. “You just have to be certain about what you really want. You must careful about what you wish for. Are you sure that handsome Alpha you have your heart set on is worth the trouble it will surely cause?”

She handed the recipe card back to him before he could even think about his answer and walked out of the bakery without paying for the Pain Au Chocolat. He was still clutching the recipe card when Kevin bustled into the bakery, taking off his coat, stomping snow off his boots.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kevin said. “The snow.”

“No problem,” Adam said. “There’s hardly been any customers yet.”

Adam tried to settle back to his work, but he kept glancing over at the recipe card and the leftover supplies. He kept thinking about his Angel. Michael Shurley. He searched on his phone, looking for the guy. Was he local? Living someplace else and home for the holidays? He wasn’t married or mated was he? It didn’t take much searching before he had his answer in an article published yesterday in the local paper that Adam never bothered to read. Lt. Colonel Michael Shurley, recently retired from the Air Force, son of local businessman Charles Shurley, returning home after retirement. Graduate of the Air Force Academy. Served twenty years in a variety of locations, mostly overseas, but a couple years in Florida and Nevada. No mention of wife or Omega or children, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. It was the kind of puff piece about the home town hero that filled local papers, but at least it came with a photo of his Angel in his dress uniform that Adam could save to look at later.

There was cheesecake to make, but Adam didn’t do that. He grabbed the extra dough and the little pouch of extra spices. Was the cookie recipe a spell? Was it real? Or was it was just a coincidence that Dean had found his true mate after making one of the cookies. Adam decided it might not be real, but it couldn’t hurt to wish for the handsome Alpha. He rolled out the dough scraps, sprinkling the spices and softly chanting the Latin like the recipe said, thinking about the Air Force Lt. Colonel with his bright blue eyes and broad shoulders. Bring me Michael Shurley, Adam thought as he put the gingerbread man into the oven, setting a timer. It was very important that the cookie not burn, the recipe card said, so Adam watched it like a hawk the whole baking time. The recipe was also very specific about cooling time so Adam set a timer to the correct thirteen minutes and though it was very, very hard to wait for it, he took his first bite when the alarm beeped.

The cookie was crisp and perfect. It melted on this tongue as he crunched on it and he felt happy. Like perfectly happy like you did at Yule when you were a kid and anticipating your presents and good things to eat, like those chocolate oranges and iced sugar cookies.

___

They were going to go to Dean’s house, but they got waylaid. The walk to home was pretty short, but Cas’s new office was closer, only two doors down from the bakery in the second floor office space over Garth’s Pretty Good Groceries. Cas had his office keys on him luckily. He was still moving into the space, hadn’t even opened his office for business yet. He’d moved back to town this week after living in Chicago for years and returning only for a few days each year, for the Yule holidays.

“I’m a tax accountant,” Cas said as he let them into a small office filled up with moving boxes. “I made good money at a big firm in Chicago, but I wanted to be closer to family.”

But more importantly, the room had a sofa. One of those not terribly soft sofas you found in waiting rooms, but a sofa was a sofa. It was softer than the floor. Cas pushed Dean against it, kissing him all the while. It was an impatient confusion of limbs pulling on each other and clothes being gotten out of the way, thrown this way and that without care. The room was cold, but Dean didn’t care. He was burning up. They crashed into each other, Cas’s cock finding its way into Dean’s cunt without any guidance, gliding in root deep like it should have been there all along. Cas started moving right away, their bodies slapping together, slick flowing so everything moved real easy and felt so good.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah. That’s what I need,” Dean said.

After that, there wasn’t much talking, just fucking as furious as if there was a fire in Dean’s pussy and Cas was trying to put it out with his cock. They stopped only a moment when there was a big crack, like wood breaking and the sofa tipped, crashing unevenly to the floor, making them roll off it onto the floor. Dean was momentarily on top, but Cas smoothly tipped them over again so he was on top again, cock still inside Dean.

“We broke my sofa,” Cas said, but he didn’t stop moving inside Dean. Instead, he stepped up somehow, found a way to thrust deeper, harder and it lit some unkindled fire in Dean’s body. They both started breathing harder, like this was some kind of race. Maybe it was. There was a stretch and Cas was pushing until Dean’s body let the knot in. Dean’s internal muscles closed over it, holding them together.

Cas’s teeth biting down on his neck, right on the mating gland, was a surprise, but not unwelcome, at least not at that moment. Dean had a thought that he might regret it later, when he was more clear headed, but for the moment, his inner Omega was smug, preening at the idea that he’d snagged such a prime example of Alpha as his mate. If it all turned out to be a problem, there’d be time to sort it out later.

“My Omega,” Cas said, cuddling Dean close through the tie and as they both fell asleep on the office floor, next to the broken sofa and moving boxes.

Chapter Text

Sam gave up searching for Dean after about two hours. Dean hadn’t gone to their home with the Alpha. The Impala hadn’t moved from its parking spot or even been disturbed today, because the snow still covered it, pristine. Even though Dean’s car hadn’t been taken, Sam still checked every motel in the county. They could have gone in the Alpha’s car. When the last one had been checked, he realized he’d better get back to the bakery. He’d left Adam alone to run it. Not that Adam had never been alone taking care of the family business, it was usually more on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon, not Saturday morning.

The snow had fallen hard and heavy for a short while, leaving a couple of powdery inches, but it was slowing now. Sam thought about checking the weather report but decided not to. What difference would it make if he did? Snow would fall or it wouldn’t, regardless. They probably wouldn’t get more than a few more flurries, he decided, based on how dreary and gray the sky was. The temperature should remain just below freezing, so the snow should stick around for a while, putting people into a holiday mood. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be so cold it kept people inside. Before long, the bakery would probably be swarming and he’d better get back. He called Bobby to let him know the search was over.

“Whatever was gonna happen has already,” Bobby said. “We can get ‘em uncoupled if the idjits got themselves mated. We did it before for Dean. We can do it again.”

“Bobby, what if this is the real thing? What if this guy is the Alpha Dean is meant to have?” Sam asked. “This isn’t Dean getting mated by his jerk ass high school boyfriend. Dean’s old enough to know what he wants. Wouldn’t you want him to meet someone? Have a family of his own?”

He’d try to be happy for Dean, but the idea that this might be a true mating made it all that much worse as far as Sam was concerned.

“If that’s what this is, then I’ll be happy for him, but if this is witchcraft, it isn’t,” Bobby said. “Never knew a true love spell that could do more than make limerance. I’ll meet you at the bakery. We’ll take a look at those spices.”

Sam parked the Bronco in his usual spot and walked towards the bakery. He was stopped by Sheriff Mills.

“Just the man I want to see,” Jody said. “Have you seen this man?”

She held out a picture of the Alpha that had taken Dean away.

“This is Castiel Shurley. He disappeared in the early morning hours after leaving a party. Someone claims they saw him enter your bakery about six this morning. I wouldn’t normally go on a goose chase for a missing accountant but he’s the son of Charles Shurley and Chuck is riding my ass about finding his son.”

You might as well call this town Shurleyville. Everyone knew that Charles Shurley owned most of it. They rented the bakery building from the Shurley Real Estate Trust. The only commercial building downtown that wasn’t owned by the Shurley’s in one way or another was Garth’s Groceries.

“So get this,” Sam said. “We’re looking for him too. He left the bakery with Dean soon after he came in. They, uh, I mean. It was very sudden. The both of them.”

He wasn’t sure why he had a hard time saying the truth to Jody. It wasn’t like she didn’t know about the birds and the bees. She and Bobby went way back. She was always around, like a second mom or something. She got it even though Sam couldn’t seem to but the words together.

“Simultaneously heat and rut?” She asked. “The pair of them went to find someplace a little more private at least?”

“We think something like Bobby’s sideline might be involved, but we’re not sure.”

“Oh, great. Witchcraft is just what this county needs for Yuletide.”

“C’mon on in,” Sam said. They’d gotten to the front door of the bakery by then. “Coffee? Maybe a cinnamon roll?”

It was still relatively early, but the bakery was picking up. A line of customers waiting snaked around the front. Both Adam and Kevin were busy waiting on customers. Sam checked the case. All danishes of all flavors were already sold out. He should have made more, same for the Pain Au Chocolat. Croissants were running low. He should have made more of the laminated dough for all of those, but he was just one man. He was the only one of the three of them that did it properly. Dean was just too hot handed and he melted the butter out of the dough so it didn’t laminate properly. Funny how that only happened with the croissant style pastries that Dean hated to do and not the pie doughs. Sam was working teaching Adam, but it was an exacting process of shaping, folding, rolling, and most importantly, waiting. It would take a while before Adam mastered them.

Sam led them behind the counter and into the kitchen, checking around to see if there was anything that needed tending to. There wasn’t. Nothing in the ovens, more cinnamon roll dough was in the proofer with date and time on the plastic wrap, didn’t need to be touched for a couple hours. Adam had managed everything, except he’d never gotten around to the cheesecakes that were on the list. Everything was clean and ready for the next round of baking. Everything but Dean’s workbench, which was still messy from his early baking spree.

You didn’t touch Dean’s workbench, not unless you wanted Dean on your ass about it. Sam grabbed the recipe card and the little pouch of spices. Was it a little more depleted than he remembered? He wasn’t sure. Bobby came in the back door, wearing his usual plaid shirt and cap, his only concession to the cold was his insulated vest. He plucked the pouch out of Sam’s hand without a word, giving Sam a side eye.

“And you didn’t call me as soon as you thought it might be witchcraft why?” Bobby asked, opening the sachet, looking at the contents. He didn’t taste it like Sam had, which he realized now was stupid of him.

“Dean got it at the Happy Holiday Holistic Fair,” Sam explained. “He said one of the witchy ladies there gave it to him. We all know there’s nothing real going on there.”

“Bunch of claptrap and perv supplies mostly,” Bobby said. “Only mostly. Every now and then, you get a real witchcraft mixed in. Let’s see this spell.”

Sam handed it over. Bobby read it, rubbing the back of his head as he often when he was puzzling something over.

“Doesn’t look anything like the usual true love spell or anything like that. It’s just an intention setter and manifester. Nothing binding, nothing coercive. Nothing more harmful than milk. Dean getting his heat could just be coincidence,” Bobby said finally. “Doesn’t seem familiar though.”

“Do you think we have a new witch in town?” Jody asked.

“Looks like it,” Bobby said. “Balls. Let me see that dust again.”

Bobby tipped the cloth pouch out into a spare ramekin and examined it quizzically. It appeared to be nothing more than a mix of spices. When Bobby stirred it with a teaspoon though, little golden sparks rose up and danced in the air over the brown powder.

“Well, that’s magic,” Jody said. “But it doesn’t smell like dark magic.”

Bobby and Jody did their best to keep Sam, Dean and Adam out of their ‘sideline’ and the hunting life. The hunt had found Sam a few times though, so he knew a little. One thing was always true; harmful magic smelled, not exactly bad, but it had a distinctive scent that wasn’t describable. You might not know what it was until someone who knew told you. This dust mix just smelled extra good and spicy. Like the best quality cinnamon you’d ever come across. It made him want dip his finger tip in it again and taste it. Or bake with it.

“Well, it’s inconclusive that the witch has good intentions or bad,” Jody said. “And we have no idea where Dean is with Charles Shurley’s son? Did you try and locate his phone?”

“Right there,” Sam pointed to where Dean’s phone had been abandoned on the work bench.

“Well, as far as we know for sure, they’re two consenting adults who triggered each other hormonally and went off to do consenting adult things in private,” Bobby said. “I’m going to make some calls, see if I can find anyone knows anything about baking spells.”

“I don’t think there’s anything more I can do here,” Jody said. “I’ll let Chuck know his son is unexpectedly busy and let you know if I track the happy couple down.”

“Did you want that cinnamon roll?” Sam offered.

“Can you box it up so I can take it home to Donna?” Jody asked. No one knew for sure if she and Donna were mates, though they’d been living with each other for a few months. Donna had been the Sheriff the next county over, but had gotten pregnant without a mate or husband at the very most inconvenient time. She’d lost her re-election for that reason, her former county being majority conservative. Afterwards, Donna moved had in with Jody. People assumed Jody was the father, being an Alpha female and Donna being Beta, but no one had confirmed anything. Jody and Donna didn’t say they were just friends but they didn’t say they were mates either. Donna was very pregnant now and due in late January.

“No problem,” Sam said.

After that, there was no word for a long time. Sam got to laminating dough and making sure things got done. He had a lot of special orders for parties, stuff to stock ahead, all of that. The cinnamon rolls had to be rolled out, spread with the buttery, sugary, spicy filling. The front of the house kept up a steady business, the door jingling as people came and went and before Sam knew it, it was closing time almost. Kevin was handling the counter by himself. Adam was in the back with Sam and they were working on croissant shaping, rolling up the triangles of dough.

The door jingled again, then a moment later, Kevin called out, “Adam, there’s someone here asking for you.”

Adam shrugged, wiped his hands on his apron and went up front. Sam followed, curious. A thirty or forty something year old Alpha, vaguely familiar and handsome in a way. He was blond and had sharp cheekbones. If Sam had to guess, this was one of the many Shurleys. He stood there, holding a plastic wrapped poinsettia. He wore an ugly Yule sweater, one that had boughs of holly and ivy printed on it. With cats.

The Alpha was holding the poinsettia out to Adam. Oh, hell no.

____

Not sure what else to say, Adam said, “How did the cherry cheese danishes go over?”

“Very well with everyone but my father. There were a couple of fights over the cinnamon rolls. I’m sorry about the plant,” Michael said. “I wanted to get you flowers, but the florist was closed already and this was all that Garth’s had left.”

The plant was huge and red, bigger than any bouquet you’d normally get. The plastic wrap crinkled as Michael handed it over the counter and Adam had no clue where he was going to put the thing. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that Michael wanted to give him flowers and had tried.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t try and get flowers on the weekend in this town,” Adam said.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Michael said. “I…”

Michael couldn’t say anything more. Sam had suddenly appeared, planting all six foot four of himself between the counter and Michael. Even though Sam was Omega, he could make himself be hella intimidating when he wanted to. His height and the breadth of his shoulders helped a lot with that and the fact that he didn’t act like any Omega you ever met before. Not that it hadn’t been useful at times to have two Omega brothers that could scare off even an Alpha, the goon squad act was definitely not welcome at the moment.

“Who the hell are you and why are you trying to give my underage baby brother flowers?”

“Butt the hell out, Sam,” Adam said. “And I’m nineteen, not underage any more.”

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” Michael asked. He sounded happy to see Sam. “It’s good to see you again. It’s Mikey Shurley, Luke’s big brother.”

“As if that’s supposed me make me happier to see you?”

“I didn’t realize things ended badly between you two,” Michael said. “I was away for a long time.”

“Well, they did,” Sam snapped. “And you can let Luke know he can rot in hell.”

Wait? Who was Luke and why was Sam so upset about him? Adam had always thought Sam was ace. At least Sam never gave any sign of being interested in anyone that way. He didn’t look at anyone, not men, not women, Alpha, Beta or Omega. Adam had, in his unwiser, younger years, gone snooping in his brothers’ belongings. While Dean had an impressive, extensive array of knot toys, pornography and other such things, Sam was either way, way better at hiding them or he didn’t have any at all. The only thing Sam had an extensive array of was hair care products.

“I will, if I hear from him,” Michael said. He sounded regretful, sympathetic. “He’s been estranged from the family for many years. You should come to the family party tonight. Father always liked you.”

“Yeah, not such a good idea. Chuck can go fuck himself,” Sam said. “And back off whatever you think you’re going to do with Adam.”

Adam was going to go off on Sam again, something about cock blocking and it wasn’t his fault that Sam’s junk had been glued shut or something. Adam actually wanted to have sex sometime this lifetime and he was more than old enough. If only Sam didn’t step in like Adam was still a fifteen year old kid getting his first heat. That was when Adam noticed the card tucked in among the red leaves of the plant. A handwritten phone number and a little note that said, “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re like sunshine after a long dark winter. Mikey.”

He looked up at Michael, caught his eyes and mouthed, “I will call you later.”

Adam hoped like hell that Michael understood. Michael didn’t nod or anything, but he said, “Well, the invitation to the party stands. It sounds like we might be family soon enough anyway.”

___

That was when Sam put it all together. Lucifer and Michael were brothers and their father was Charles Shurley. Jody had just said that the Alpha she was looking for, the one that Dean had gone off with, was also the son of Charles Shurley. The Shurley family was sprawling, to say the least, the man having at least six ex-wives and a couple of Omegas. It meant that Dean’s Castiel was brothers or half brothers with with Michael and Lucifer. Oh, hell no. And now Michael, who was nearly twice Adam’s age, was attempting to court Adam. If Sam was reading into the situation right, that was, what with the poinsettia gift and all. Dean was thirty, old enough to handle it when one of those snakes pulled a shit move. Adam did not deserve to have his heart broken by a Shurley brother. By the oldest Shurley brother.

“Again, not happening,” Sam said. “If Cas and Dean get mated, we’ll deal with it civilly, but you’re keeping your hands off our pup. It’s time for you to go.”

Michael retreated without protesting further. As the door jingled shut, Adam launched himself at Sam, verbally at least. That was bad enough. Adam had a sharp tongue on him at times and a temper like Dean’s, inherited right from John Winchester.

___

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Adam shouted. “Maybe you’re happy to be a spinster Omega and do nothing but bake all day, but I’m not. I want to do something with my life besides laminate dough. I want him, Sam.”

“He is way too old for you,” Sam said. “And he’s a Shurley.”

“I don’t care that he’s nineteen years older than I am. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life. I want his knot and I want to give him pups and everything.”

“That’s not fair,” Sam said. “When you’re older and you find an Alpha close to your own age, you’ll have my blessing, and Dean’s too, probably, but I am not letting my baby brother throw his life away on an Alpha old enough to be his father. You don’t even know what his intentions are.”

Honestly, at this point, Adam didn’t care if Michael’s intentions were just for a good time, not a long time. A one night stand with the Alpha didn’t sound like a bad idea if that was all he could get.

“Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut, I could have gotten a date with him and found out what his intentions are,” Adam said.

He walked out of the front door of the bakery, still holding his poinsettia, wearing his bakery apron. He completely forgot his coat and the rest of his layers, flannel shirt discarded a long time ago in the hot kitchen. He regretted it instantly when he stepped into wind and snow in only a t-shirt, but he was too proud to go back for it. Home was only a few blocks away. He’d just suffer for the few minutes it took to get there. Adam trudged through the storm, turned the corner from Main to Washington. A turquoise blue pick up truck, slightly rusty, stopped in front of him. The passenger door opened up. Michael was inside.

“Get in, you’ll freeze out here,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” Adam said. He was, but the poinsettia was starting to look a little limp, so he got into the pick up. Michael had the heat cranked up. Adam ditched the bakery apron instantly, dropping it on the floor boards of the old truck.

“These South Dakota winter storms are no joke.”

“This isn’t a storm,” Adam said. “These are flurries. You’ve gone soft. You’ve spent most of the last twenty years in Guam and Qatar. Florida.”

“You read the article in the Gazette?”

“It had a really good picture of you,” Adam said. “Mikey?”

Mikey shrugged. “Lots of Michaels around.”

“Not Michael or Mike or Mick?”

“Sometimes things from your childhood stick around forever,” Mikey said.

“You know, I’m not underage, no matter what Sam said. I’m definitely over eighteen.”

“Sam’s right,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I’m way too old for you. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“No, you can’t be that much older than me,” Adam protested. “You sure don’t look it.”

In Adam’s mind, dad age was like John had been the last time Adam had seen him- grizzled and hard worn. Not this guy who was at a prime age, mature but not old at all.

“I’m thirty eight. A lot of the guys I served with had kids at eighteen, nineteen,” Michael said. “So, yeah, I’m old enough to be your father. I just. I know I shouldn’t even think those things about you, but I look at you and you seem perfect to me. Like a ray of sunshine. You smell like home.”

“Same,” Adam said. It was only then that he realized that Michael was driving them out of town. Not that he cared or was worried. If anything, the longer they drove, the more likely it was that Adam could close the deal. “Where are we going?”

“Isn’t your home out on the state route, next to Singer Salvage?”

“Bobby and Dean bought houses in town. I live on Washington,” Adam said. “The county condemned the old house by the salvage yard when I was thirteen and the Shurley Real Estate Trust bought the land and built condos where the salvage yard was.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Michael said. “I’ve been away a long time. I used to drop Luke off at the salvage yard to play with Sam, when they were both pups.”

“What’s the deal with that?” Adam asked. “Why’s Sam so pissed to be reminded of this guy I never heard of?”

“Your big brother and my baby brother were childhood sweethearts,” Michael said. “Everyone thought they’d grow up and get mated. Puppy love, you know? I don’t know what happened. They were dating, last time I was home for a visit, when Sam was fourteen and Luke was fifteen. They seemed devoted to each other, at least devoted for teenagers. Then a couple years later, I was told Luke had been disowned and was missing. I was told, no, I shouldn’t ask any questions about it.”

“And you didn’t? Your seventeen year old brother disappears and you don’t do anything?”

“I was halfway around the world, flying missions over Iraq at the time,” Michael admitted. “I sort of assumed things would work out on their own. My father regularly disowns us and then all is forgiven before long. I was disowned for picking the Air Force Academy rather than USD and back in his good graces before the end of the year. But I guess no one has seen Luke since.”

“Wow.”

It wasn’t like his little bunch of two half-brothers and a Step Oma was exactly family of the year, but the Shurleys really sounded like something else. This guy’s dad sounded like an asshole. Not that John Winchester was a prize, but there’d always been Bobby at least to rein in the worst of John’s tendencies to drink, to make up for John’s neglect and generally make sure his pups got to be pups.

“I tried to look for him,” Michael said. “I really did. I was limited by being halfway around the world and with my body and soul pretty much owned by the government. A lot of things in my life were put on hold, not just family back in South Dakota.”

“What about family elsewhere?” Adam asked. This was the only question he really wanted an answer to. “Did you have pups at eighteen or nineteen too? Is there current or former wife? Or an Omega?”

“No,” Michael said. “There’s never been anyone long term. Here. If I turn here on Frogman and then on Calais St. that will get us back to Washington.”

“No,” Adam said. “Keep driving. There’s a motel in Harrisburg. We’re getting a room.”

“We are?”

“We are. And then you’re going to screw me silly all day and into the night. You’re going to miss your family Yule party.”

“Shouldn’t we, maybe, go out to coffee first? Dinner? Some kind of date?”

“If you want to delay the inevitable, but I think it’s a foregone conclusion we’re having sex, don’t you?”

“Not that I don’t really want you, but it’s a bad idea,” Michael said. “A very bad idea.”

His scent, rising heavy and musky, heady and intoxicating, said that he thought otherwise. Michael wanted him, so much. He wanted Michael so much. Why shouldn’t they take this chance to share some joy together? Even though he was so young, he knew better than anyone that life was too short not to take your chances. Mom was gone, Dad was gone. They’d only had a short time together before she died, then he’d died, leaving Adam alone with his brothers and Bobby.

“You’re not afraid of Sam, are you?”

Honestly, Dean was the one that you should be scared of, but he was most likely preoccupied for a while.

“Sam, no. I’m not afraid of Sam,” Michael said. “However, I am unreasonably frightened of Bobby Singer.”

Why would you possibly be scared of Bobby Singer?

“Even more reason to do this now,” Adam said. “With Dean and your brother Castiel getting mated, we’ll be around each other all the time. Shouldn’t we just get this out of our system? One glorious afternoon and night and then we’ll be done.”

Not that he believed that for a hot minute, but maybe it could get Michael on his hook.

Chapter Text

“That’s not that’s how it works,” Michael said. He’d been staring ahead at the long highway in front of them, as if there were anyone else on the road or the straight, flat road was hard to drive or something. Adam noticed that one thing Michael wasn’t doing was turning around and heading back to town. He was still driving very much out of town, to Harrisburg.

“If you don’t want to go all the way to Harrisburg, you can turn at Elgin Road up there. There’s that pull out near the river. Lots of pine trees. Very secluded. Plenty of room in the truck cab.”

That was one of the nice things about those old pick up trucks- the bench seats were very convenient for certain activities. The only thing better would be the Impala’s back seat. Not that Adam had ever borrowed Dean’s car for that purpose, but a guy could imagine things. For that matter, he could imagine how it could happen in this truck, on the old bench seat. It would be cold, he thought, but maybe he could talk Michael into it later in the year, in spring or summer.

“Our first time isn’t going to be on the side of the road in a borrowed truck,” Michael said.

“So there is going to be a first time.”

“Fuck! Yes,” Michael said. “I’m going to hell, but yes. Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy for an Omega?”

“All the time. I’m the baby brother. Comes with the territory,” Adam said. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that even though he’d worked around food all day, he hadn’t eaten anything since early morning. Except a gingerbread man cookie. “Maybe you should get your lunch date first.”

Luckily, they weren’t very far out from Harrisburg. When they got to its small downtown, there wasn’t much choice. Adam pointed out Jimmy’s, the diner Dean liked to stop at when they used to come to Adam’s therapy appointments.

“No,” Michael said, driving past. “Jimmy Novak is a half sibling of mine. It’ll be closing early for the Yule party. Harvelle’s Roadhouse?”

“Ellen Harvelle is one of Bobby’s best friends,” Adam said, thinking about how she was likely as not to lead him back to Bobby by the ear if she spotted him out on a date with an older man. Or worse, call Bobby and snitch on him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That leaves us with the Weiner Hut, Nacho Daddy or taquitos from the Gas and Sip.”

It turned out Nacho Daddy had been closed down by the health department and the Weiner Hut was also closed early for the Yule Party.

“I forgot my half sib Alfie just bought it,” Michael said. “He’s Jimmy and Cassie’s full sib.”

The Gas and Sip shared the same parking plaza with the closed and dark Weiner Hut, so it was just a few steps to their final option. They wandered the aisles, picking up snacks, weighing their choices. They were both agreed on beef jerky, taquitos and funyuns but Michael was actually looking seriously at one of the pies. An alleged ‘cherry’ pie with high fructose corn syrup and red dye no. 40.

“Mikey, I can’t believe you can even look at that,” Adam said. “You put that back now, I’ll get you the most amazing pie later.”

“You’d bake me a pie?” Michael asked. He dropped the ‘pie’ instantly.

“I was thinking one of Dean’s, but yeah, I can bake you pie or almost anything really.”

Then they passed the small ‘personal care’ section of the market. Michael started reaching for a box of condoms.

“No,” Adam said, softly. “Don’t want anything between you and me.”

“People get pregnant outside of heats all the time,” Michael said.

“I want your pup,” Adam said.

Michael stopped his reach to the condoms. He stood up straighter, a funny look on his face. A longing, aching look, but soft too. Yearning?

“You hardly know me. We don’t even have the excuse of being true mates.”

“Don’t we?” Adam asked. He’d known from the instant he first laid eyes on his angel that this was the one. Maybe he didn’t have the excuse of uncontrolled hormones crashing into each other, making them lose consciousness control, but this was his mate, something he knew in his gut, deep down. They looked at each other, falling deeply into each others eyes for a long time.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Adam asked. He did. That was what had happened today when his Angel walked in that morning. Adam’s life had changed forever in an instant. It was like it was the first day of his life, like he had just become real. Or like when you stirred the cornstarch slurry into the fruit mixture boiling on the stove top and it gels up instantly, turning thick, substantial.

“I do, but maybe I want to get to know you before we bring pups into this? Maybe I’m selfish enough to want to love just you for a while?”

“Fine,” Adam said, though he didn’t really mean it. Michael picked up the box of condoms and added it to their shopping basket.

The fourth or fifth time Dean woke up, he was covered partly by something, arms and legs tangled up in another set of limbs, chest hair in his mouth and a firm, muscled chest as his pillow. He and his Alpha had slept briefly, woken up just long enough for them to fall all over each other again, get tied up, then fall back asleep. They’d repeated the cycle multiple times, enough that a whole day had passed in a kind of electric haze of sex and sleep cycles. When he looked out the window, it was completely dark again.

It took Dean a moment to sort out that he was partly covered by a trench coat and that he’d woken up because someone had walked into the room and turned on the lights. At some point in the day, they’d pulled the cushions from the sofa onto the floor, but that was really all they had in the way of bedding. That and the trench coat.

“Castiel!”

Dean looked and it was another Alpha, like a strange, duplicate copy of his own Alpha, but not. The smell was so different, nothing at all like the smell of the Alpha under him. Even though the face had the same features and bones underlying it, the expression was so different it was like you were looking at two utterly different people. Twins but not.

“Jimmy?” Cas asked, sheltering his eyes from the sudden light with a hand. He sheltered Dean with his other arm as if the intruder might attack. Not that Dean needed it, but it was good to know Cas had the instinct.

That was when Dean made the connection. Jimmy was Jimmy Novak, who owned Jimmy’s, Dean’s favorite diner down in Harrisburg. It was just a hop, skip and a jump from Sioux Falls. That was why he looked familiar, and more importantly, why Cas had looked so familiar. They were brothers. Fuck. Jimmy had taken his wife’s name, but he was a Shurley. That meant Cas was a Shurley. Fuck. Sam was going to be so pissed that Dean had found a Shurley to be his mate. Of all the damn people in all the damn world that had to have sky blue eyes and tousled dark hair, it had to be a Shurley

“We’ve been looking for you all day,” Jimmy said. “You didn’t just miss family pictures, but you’re missing the Yule party. Father is furious.”

“Let him be furious,” Cas said. “As you can see, there’s no need to look for me. I am not lost. I am here at my office with my new mate. Jimmy, this is my new mate…”

He paused. Dean suddenly realized that though he knew his mate’s first name, Cas might not have remembered the couple of times Dean’s name had been said in his presence. They hadn’t exactly introduced themselves each other. There’d been not much in the way of talking during the times they’d been awake, just fucking. Lots of amazing fucking, like, best orgasms he’d had in a long time, but this moment was his first clear headed moment since setting his eyes on Cas and getting his scent. His inner Omega was still feeling pretty damn smug when it contemplated what had just happened. His conscious self didn’t even know what the hell to think.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said as he put his hand up to the mark Cas had left right on top of Dean’s mating gland. Done right, they healed instantly. Cas had done it right and it wasn’t even tender, just a circular scar. “I own the bakery with my brothers.”

“Dean? Double cheeseburger, extra onions, every Thursday at four, Dean?” Jimmy asked, connecting Dean with his regular customer at the diner. “I didn’t even know you knew Castiel.”

“I didn’t, not until this morning,” Dean said, feeling very naked under the trenchcoat, with Jimmy staring at them, the broken sofa right behind them, the moving boxes all around them. “It was one of those spontaneous things.”

“A true mating?” Jimmy asked. “Then it’s all the more important you two come to the Yule party, so the mating can be celebrated. So father can give his blessing on your union.”

“Jimmy, we are not attending the Yule party,” Castiel said. “And I am not asking father’s blessing like I’m an eighteen year old pup wanting to mate his high school boyfriend. Dean and I need to spend time together. Alone.”

Jimmy was silent a moment. He finally sniffed the air and said, “You were rutting…still are, a little.”

“Yes. Get out while I still have the will power not to throw you out.”

Blessedly, Jimmy said, “I will give father your regrets. By any chance, did you see Mikey? He was out looking for you earlier and he hasn’t been seen since.”

“No, I have not seen him. Out.”

They were finally left alone in the office. Dean’s head was mostly clear and it seemed like Cas might be thinking more or less clearly as well. It was clear that they needed to get out of Cas’s office. If nothing else, they needed food and water. Fresh clothes and a shower would be good too. Not that he didn’t want to get Cas’s knot again, really damn soon, but he was clear headed enough to make a decision about it, which meant maybe they ought to do something else. Like maybe talk about what had happened or just get into a more comfortable situation.

Dean started looking around the room for his clothes. A least a pair of under shorts or something might help him focus.

“Should we try and move to someplace more comfortable?” Cas asked. “I can’t offer my home unfortunately. I was staying with Jimmy until I could rent an apartment.”

“Not sure I can take you home,” Dean said. “My brothers will be there. We could stay here. Garth’s is still open. We could probably get everything we need at Garth’s.”

_____

When they got to the motel room finally, Adam thought they would move onto the fucking right away. He’d been hoping for a king heat suite, one big bed for them to mess up any way they liked. No such luck. The last available room had two queens and a faux wood dinette table and a little sofa and TV area. There was a wagon wheel chandelier, wagon wheel lamps on the bedside tables and green shag carpet that looked like it might be older than Adam, but was almost startling clean for its age. Despite the age of the furnishing, the room didn’t have a nasty smell or weird odor.

Adam had tried to carry in some of the bags but Michael wouldn’t let him. In the end, Adam had carried in only the poinsettia he’d been given earlier. He’d thought about leaving it in the truck, but it would never survive out there and these were the first ‘flowers’ Adam had ever been given. He had no clue how to keep them alive, but he figured a good start was not leaving them outside in the deep freeze that was South Dakota in the winter.

Michael locked the door behind them, then dropped the many bags with their taquitos and other snacks and supplies on the faux wood table, then sought out the remote for the TV. He clicked it on and found the weather station. He didn’t pay attention to it, more like it was back ground noise, because he started unpacking their haul of junk food and drinks, putting the waters and gatorades into the kitchenette’s fridge to chill. In the end, Mikey had bought way more snacks than they needed. Adam tried to help but that got him a ‘sit’ from Michael, so he took a chair at the dinette table. Michael piled all of the best snacks from the Gas and Sip in front of Adam, including most of the taquitos.

“Eat,” Mikey said, settling down with his own, much smaller pile of food.

Was this some kind of provider instinct kicking in? Adam pulled open the bag of Funyuns and took one of the pale rings out. Despite the name, Funyuns only had a nodding acquaintance with actual onions.

“So, you spent twenty years seeing the world, going all over and why did you come back here?” Adam asked. “You could have settled down anywhere.”

“After twenty years of anywhere, somewhere in particular starts to seem appealing again,” Mikey said. He contemplated one of his taquitos and set it down again. “I wanted to be around people that knew me. Unfortunately, I might not be staying. Jobs for retired fighter pilots are mostly clustered around major airports. If I’m lucky, I can find something in Omaha or Minneapolis.”

“I’m from Minnesota, originally,” Adam said, thinking back to Windom, the small town where his dad had met his mom, where Adam had lived most of his childhood, his mom working the graveyard shift at the hospital, his dad swinging by town when he could. He didn’t know it then, but his dad had a whole other family here in Sioux Falls with Bobby and two brothers. It’d been a hard adjustment once he’d had no choice but to come here when Mom died, then Dad soon after. Dean had made sure Adam got therapy and just about everything else he needed.

For a moment, Adam thought about the life he might be able to have- with Mikey flying commercial airplanes out of Minneapolis. Between the good job and a military retirement, Mikey would probably be making bank. They could have a nice house in the suburbs with pups and Adam could stay home with them. It wouldn’t be like his childhood- heating up his own frozen dinners and putting himself to bed, or after that, being dragged to the bakery with Sam and Dean whenever he wasn’t in school. They said being a stay at home Oma was hard too, but it had to be easier than getting up at the ass crack of dawn just about every day and busting his tail in the bakery. Would he rather spend his days chasing mini Mikeys and only baking when he wanted? Would Sam and Dean hate him if he chose a different life than the one they’d built?

To cover his thoughtfulness, Adam shoved part of a taquito in his face. Even though it kind of sucked. He was hungry, so he finished it and started in on another. He thought about how much he’d rather be having one of Dean’s burgers. Or even a bowl of Sam’s relentlessly healthy bean soup when you came down to it.

“Or I could figure out something else to do with my life,” Mikey said. “Stay here so we can be close to our families.”

“Sioux Falls isn’t so small we don’t have an airport,” Adam said. “Not that I’d know. I’ve never been on a plane. Dean’s afraid of flying. I’ve never been on vacation anywhere we couldn’t drive in the Impala.”

“Never flown?”

“Never.”

“We’ll have to change that,” Mikey said.

“Not like there’s ever been time for long family vacations. If we all go, that means closing the bakery and no one in town gets a decent croissant.”

Mikey chuckled a little bit and said, “Well, we can’t have that. It’d be a crisis.”

“Honestly, I don’t get people’s obsession with them. They’re a pain in the ass to make and take forever. Three days if you do it right, with all the steps and proofing time. The little flakes get all over when you eat them. They’re puffed up and full of nothing.”

“So, what do you like best then?”

They hadn’t gotten around to the sex yet, but Adam was having a much better time talking to Mikey than he thought he would. He still wanted, so much, to see what Mikey looked like with his ugly Yule sweater on the floor, but he was having fun anyway. Mikey had broke open a bag of Funyuns and was popping them into his mouth rapid fire. He got this happy look on his face as he ate, as if they made him stupidly happy and it made Adam stupidly happy to see that happy look.

“To make or to eat?”

“Oh, definitely to eat.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure my favorite thing to eat will be you, but when it comes to what we make in the bakery, it’s cheesecake.”

That was when Mikey reached out and drew him close, until their lips touched, tentatively at first. Adam grabbed the back of Mikey’s head and made it clear that the kiss wasn’t unwanted. Mikey’s kiss grew quickly more demanding, not just the touch of lips on lips, but his tongue finding entrance into Adam’s mouth. He kissed like an angel too, Adam thought. Not the harp and wings kind from greetings cards, but like one of Heaven’s warriors. Adam was still holding on to the back of Mikey’s head, but it was more like he was hanging on for dear life. Mikey was pulling him close until their chests were touching. Adam was suddenly, electrically aware of his nipples. No, of every square inch of his skin, the parts under his clothes included. He could feel things he usually tried to ignore start to wake. Not just his cock getting hard this time, but the slick starting to flow, the little sensations of all his internal parts getting ready to receive an Alpha.

He started tugging off Mikey’s ugly sweater so he could touch Mikey’s back. He ached to feel skin on skin, not his hands all over the scratchy acrylic knit. Mikey helped helped tug it off and the white t-shirt he wore underneath. Given the bulk of the sweater, Adam thought maybe under it Mikey would have a bit of a dad bod, fine with him, but no. Mikey hadn’t retired from a desk job. His torso was sculpted, beautiful, the kind of muscles you got from active work. He had tattoos, not a lot, but two big ones. One, on his bicep- the Air Force symbol superimposed on an eagle. Covering most of his back, a large angel- with armor, sword and shield. Normally, Adam didn’t go in for tattoos but they were perfect on Mikey. The feathers on the angel’s wings in particular looked so lifelike, like they’d have a soft, feathery texture if you touched them, like the angel could really fly. Adam did touch them and it was just Mikey’s skin- smooth, rippled muscle under it. He’d never touched a body like this one, so muscular, so masculine.

To be fair, Adam wasn’t experienced beyond making out with Quinn at his prom last year. You could probably call him a virgin still. They hadn’t gotten beyond second base in the dark corner of the hallway behind the school gymnasium. For all his wanting this Alpha and his earlier boldness, he was maybe a little scared. The tattoos, weirdly, were the first thing that made Mikey seem so much older than him, like symbols of a whole life lived long before Adam was around

“I’m a virgin!” Adam blurted out, even though that was the last thing he wanted to say.

Chapter Text

Mikey froze. Like deer in headlights froze.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Adam said.

“It does. I mean we should get you back home,” Mikey said. “We don’t have to hurry this. I don’t know that there’s a right way to do this, but if there is, we should try to do that.”

Stupidly, the weather station was still playing from when Mikey had turned it on for background noise. Adam found himself suddenly listening to it.

“….the storm’s central pressure is dropping rapidly, leading to intensified winds and precipitation. This will result in heavy snow and strong winds, mainly over Sioux Falls and just south of Sioux Falls. What we’re seeing is a bomb cyclone. a rapidly intensifying storm that experiences a significant drop in atmospheric pressure — at least 24 millibars within 24 hours — a process known as bombogenesis. Snow is already falling heavily south of Sioux Falls and we’re seeing winds that might get up to seventy miles an hour….”

Adam got out of his chair and went to the window, Mikey joined him. It was whiteout conditions, the parking lot lights showed snow blowing almost sideways, visibility about zero feet.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere,” Adam said. “At least not in that decrepit truck you’re driving.”

__

Adam never came back. Dean didn’t come back. Sam was left alone in the bakery he never wanted.

Yes, he was good at it. In many ways, he was a better baker than Dean, more precise, more consistent, taking on the hard tasks like their laminated dough pastries. That didn’t mean it had been what he had wanted in life when he was young. He’d had a plan, him and Luke and a whole new life and place. It had been derailed when Luke disappeared. Then Dad had died and Adam had come into their lives. In the end, Sam supported Dean. They’d taken care of their brother and they’d built something good, something needed in their town. It was a good life, one that meant something, but it hadn’t been the one he’d wanted.

When it was closing time, he sent Kevin home and put the place to bed, making sure all the bakes that needed to be done were, that the pans and bowls were cleaned and put away. The only thing left was Dean’s bench. He wouldn’t normally have touched it, but it was clear Dean wasn’t coming back that day. He weighed Dean’s wrath against the health department and it came out in favor of sanitation. He cleared it all away until he got to the sachet of spices poured out into the ramekin and the recipe card. The spices smelled better than ever- strong, fragrant. It was tempting to dip another finger in and taste them again. There was also a round of the cookie dough Dean had made, wrapped in plastic. Sam had put away it carefully in one of the coolers earlier in case it was needed or something. It was always him that made sure this place didn’t fall into chaos, wasn’t it?

He thought about how he should get it all cleaned up as fast as possible then go look for Adam, make sure he’d just stormed off home and wasn’t out making the biggest mistake of his young life. Or see if Dean had risen from the hormonal fog and returned home yet, maybe with a new mate in tow. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he leaned against the counter (with memories of Dean snapping that if he had time to lean, he had time to clean). Sam examined the recipe card again. He’d thought Bobby had taken it when he’d gone to make his calls but obviously, he hadn’t. It was here. He didn’t know for sure that Dean had somehow managed to magic Castiel Shurley into his life from following a cookie recipe, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence that an Alpha had appeared suddenly today.

How to bake a man, across the top of the card in a beautiful looping handwritten script. He must have read it a half dozen times today, but right now was the first time he stopped to contemplate if he would want a man if he could conjure one out of flour, sugar, butter and spices. Would he if he could? Sam was pretty sure he was unmateable, doomed to live a life with no love beyond family.

He’d met his true mate, too early, before either of them were ready. His mate had run away, gone for forever with no explanation. No explanation from his family either. Sam had been sent away by Charles Shurley when he’d come asking questions.

He’d always assumed Lucifer had run away. Sam would have too if he were an Alpha, considering the family that Luke had. Naming you after the devil himself. Lucifer Morningstar Shurley. Yeah, that in itself was worthy of cutting them off, never mind everything else. But Sam thought that Luke would have come back for him or sent word at least. Something. Part of him thought maybe Luke had died. At least he did until two years ago. Sam had caught sight of the front man of a new band, Ladyheart. He’d dyed his blond hair dark brown almost black, wore a lot of eyeliner and black leather. He was calling himself Vince Vincente, but it was Luke. He was out there. He was successful, even selling out stadiums. He could have come back to Sioux Falls, at least long enough to let his true mate know that he was alive. Sam was exactly where he was when Luke had left. Luke could have found him. He could have but he chose not to.

More than that, he’d left Sam crippled, in a way.

They were meant for each other, like two puzzle pieces that keyed in exactly to each other. Their bond had started before they’d even presented, when they’d had no idea that one of them would be Alpha, one would be Omega, but it had never been completed. He was like a key for one specific lock and the lock had fucked off to wherever and was never coming back. He wouldn’t fit in any other lock. He couldn’t get mated to someone else. Hell, he’d never even been attracted to anyone else. It was like his body was waiting for Luke to come back. The few times he’d tried to go out on dates had been disasters. Poor, sweet Sarah. He’d tried to kiss her and ended up throwing up all over her, literally nauseated by the thought of doing that with someone who wasn’t Luke. He’d pretended he gotten food poisoning, but it was more like soul poisoning. He’d been ruined by his early bond with Lucifer.

He hadn’t even had a heat, ever. Dean got him Missouri Moseley’s heat helper and Sam pretended to take it every morning, throwing out the herbal supplement. He still didn’t get heats. Luke’s absence had broken him.

There was a knock at the back door of the bakery. When he opened the door to the alley, a petite red head stepped into kitchen, walking in like she belonged there. She was wearing a black lace, floor-length gown and full glam makeup, not the sort of thing you ever saw in Sioux Falls. She came up to about his shoulders. She was familiar but it took him a moment to remember where he’d seen her.

“Rowena,” he said. “Every Thursday afternoon, one Pain Au Chocolat, never any more, never anything else. I’m sorry. We are closed already and we sold out of your favorite today.”

“Oh, I know, Samuel,” she said. “I’m not here for French pastries. I’m here because I made a promise.”

“A promise to who?” Sam asked.

“Your father, my dove,” she said.

“John?”

Bobby wouldn’t let a witch near him, much less extract a promise from one. John, on the other hand, had done whatever it took to get a job done.

“We made a deal. He spared my life, in return, I made a promise to him.”

Her eyes flared, just a moment, violet purple.

“You’re a witch,” Sam said. She nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He should have grabbed his phone and called Bobby. He should have grabbed the gun he knew Dean kept velcroed under his workbench just in case. His own was concealed too far away. He didn’t. He grabbed the recipe card still on the bench.

“This is yours,” he said.

“I might have written it down, but it’s an old, old spell,” Rowena said. “With a little twist of my own, but what family recipe doesn’t have those?”

“And it works? Dean baked himself an Alpha?”

“More drew one that already existed to himself,” Rowena said. “Not even I can make a man out of a cookie, at least not one that lasts more than a few minutes.”

“And I could draw an Alpha to me?” Sam asked. “Find myself a mate.”

Why was he asking her that? It would be wrong, wouldn’t it? Any kind of spell that worked to bend someone’s will to its ends was wrong. Love spell or not, good intentions or not. That much he’d learned from Bobby. Bobby didn’t let his boys near the hunt, kept them in the dark as much as he could, but he’d told Sam more than he had any of them.

“No, not you,” Rowena said. “You’ve got your Alpha tied tight to you as a miser’s purse strings already. You wouldn’t be able to draw a new one to you until you learn to let the old one go. And he agrees to let it go, because soul bonds tie both ways.”

Hadn’t Sam tried? Hadn’t he done spells he’d found in Bobby’s old books with orange candles and strings, with graveyard dust and knives, mirrors and black candles. If want alone were enough, he’d have been free of Luke years ago.

“Do you really want to let go of him?” She asked. “Intentions count more than all the black candles in the world. If you did want to let him go, more like than not, he’d be gone. Here, a little holiday gift for you. From me to you.”

She held out a little rectangular box to him. It was wrapped in Yule paper- printed with holly sprigs and ivy vines. Then she was gone without answering all of the questions he had. What was the promise that she had made to his father? When had she had a run in with John Winchester? What did she mean that he had his Alpha tied tight to him? If that were so, wouldn’t Luke be here and not off in California, being a rock star? What was in the box?

Sam finished up cleaning up Dean’s mess, trying to ignore the early Yule gift still on the counter. Wasn’t he always cleaning up Dean’s mess in some way or another? As he tidied and wiped and sanitized, he wondered how she could say that about his Alpha. Luke was in the wind. Sam was the one who was tied up, unable to move forward, unable to have a life beyond the one he had- a completely selfless devotion to his brothers and to the medium of flour and sugar and butter. And a soul mate that had disappeared years ago.

What kind of partner would he pick if he could ever break free from Luke and the unwanted soul bond. He thought about Sarah the girl he’d tried to kiss thinking a woman might circumvent his bond. She was pretty and sweet and smart. The kind of girl anyone should want. Or his friend Eileen, who was sassy and smart and could kick his ass if she wanted. He tried to think about Alphas in general- broad shoulders and strong scents, but like always, his mind kept drifting back to Luke, his should have been. His wickedly smart and funny Alpha. His rebellious Alpha. His meant to be that never was.

Eventually, he did have the bakery completely closed up and returned home. It had started to snow again, heavy and thick, the wind punishing. He remembered hearing there might be heavy snow tonight but this seemed like it met the criteria for an out and out blizzard. When he got home, the house was dark, still locked. Completely empty, neither Dean nor Adam home. Part of him was alarmed. He thought he should go looking for Adam, maybe knock on the doors of some of the Shurleys so he could get a current phone number for Mike Shurley. Balthazar was just down the street. He’d probably have the number of any given Shurley you’d want to know. But maybe Adam wasn’t with Mikey. Maybe he was off with one of his friends bitching about Sam and how oppressive Sam was and how living with his older brothers sucked. The thing was, Adam was their little brother, but he was right- he was legally an adult. Maybe getting his heart trampled on was part of growing up.

If it weren’t snowing so much and if Sam wasn’t so damn tired, he would have gone out searching for Adam. But Sam was tired. He’d been awake and working when most of the world was still sleeping for about as long as he could remember. He’d done far more of the work around and for the bakery than Dean had ever given him credit for as long as he could remember. He’d taken care of his brothers as best he could for so long and gotten so little appreciation for it. Something had to change.

Sam walked into the kitchen, thinking about something he could put into his mouth that wasn’t flour or butter or sugar. A lean protein and a vegetable sounded good after a day surrounded by sweets, but convenience won out. While he heated up some bean soup he’d made a few days ago, Sam dialed Adam’s phone. It went right to voicemail but that wasn’t anything new.

“Hey, so, this is me admitting you’re right. You’re not a little pup anymore and you’re allowed to want things and to date people and find someone. Not Mikey Shurley, but someone,” Sam said into the phone. “I just want you to know that I’ve always got your back and I know Dean does. Give me a call though. Let me know you’re okay.”

Then he called Dean’s phone, before remembering that Dean didn’t have it, that it was in his own pocket, grabbed from the bakery just before leaving. Sam set the bean soup to simmer on low while he contemplated the gift. The kitchen around him slowly seemed to take on light and life. It was Dean’s house and Dean had never renovated the kitchen, so the cabinets were painted, probably with lead paint, a bright yellow, the linoleum floors were kind of a bilious green and the counters were red Formica, the kind so old they had the aluminum trim on the edge. The stove so old it had a pilot light, one that never worked, so they kept a big box of wood matches next to it. Sam sat down at the enamel top kitchen table on one of the vinyl diner style chairs and decided he might as well open the gift from Rowena the witch.

He tore off the wrapping paper and inside was a box, white printed with a holly and ivy design in gold foil. It looked like the kind of box you found fancy scented candles inside and when he pulled the top off, inside were two small scented candles in amber glass jars. They each smelled delicious, but in their own way, though together they became one scent greater than its two parts. They were not like food delicious, but not like perfume either. Normally, he, like any Omega, hated scented candles and perfumes, anything fragrancy, because it interfered with his sense of smell, being able to tell intentions and feelings- what a person really smelled like. But these candles weren’t artificial at all. They were real.

He lifted the two small jars out of their protective box. One, the wax was creamy white and it had one of those wooden wicks. It had a label that said, ‘return to me’. The other, the wax was deep yellow, almost brown, like beeswax. The wick was the normal string kind. The label said, “a new beginning.” Together, the two candles smelled like something indescribable. Something that hadn’t been in Sam’s nose for over a decade now. It smelled exactly like Luke had. It smelled so exactly like Luke that Sam sat there, frozen, for long minutes holding the amber jars, remembering their last kiss and how it had been at midnight two days before Yule. They’d both snuck out of their family homes and gone to Falls Park, walked around in the snow until they got to the frozen waterfall. It’d been a long, sinful, delicious kiss. They’d made out until they were half frozen. If it hadn’t been so cold out or if they’d had somewhere to go, they probably would have gone a lot further than a kiss that night. It should have been their first time together. Luke had disappeared the day before Yule.

The only other thing in the box was a note, in Rowena’s hand writing. “Pick one and only one candle. Burn to completion,” the note advised. Taped to it was a single match stick, the wood kind with the red head. Was this real candle magic? It wasn’t just dime store tapers and string from the ball of twine in the kitchen junk drawer, the spell gathered from some crumbling paper back book.

He should pick ‘a new beginning’. That would be the right one, wouldn’t it? A new beginning was severing the old soul bond that was holding him back, that kept him tidally locked to an Alpha he hadn’t seen in a decade, unable to move forward with a new love. “Return to Me” wasn’t even a question, not any kind of option.

No, he shouldn’t light either. He should take them both over to Bobby and tell him about the witch, see if he knew her, if John had told him anything about the run in the two had had and what kind of promise would have been extracted from her.

He didn’t though. He sat alone in a kitchen that wasn’t really his, after a long day baking in a bakery that wasn’t really his, for all that he was thirty three percent owner, heating up leftover bean soup that neither of his brothers had appreciated, so he was eating the whole pot himself, bowl by bowl. He was alone and he always would be unless he could find some way to move on from Luke, his never was soul bond. It was so stupid. They were literal children, the both of them, when the bond had started.

He should be able to be free of it and free to move on with his life. It wasn’t too late for him to start college. He could go to USD. It wasn’t Stanford, but it was something. He could still work weekends in the family business. He wouldn’t be abandoning his brothers. Weren’t they trying to move on, in their way? Trying to find mates or at least a good time. He stood up from the table, taking the red headed match with him and walked to the stove. He struck the match on the striker of the box they always kept there. The red phosphorus flared up yellow orange and the match burned.

Sam lit the new beginnings candle and went back to his bowl of soup and his book.

Chapter Text

It was true. If they didn’t have it at Garth’s, you could probably do without it. He and Cas did a chaotic strike on the grocery store. Dean found camping mattresses and blankets. There weren’t any regular pillows, but Garth had stocked decorative Yule themed throw pillows. There were big, colorful beach towels, obvious leftovers from the long forgotten summer. Dean picked up a bunch of those up because one thing Garth’s didn’t have was any kind of waterproof heat blanket. Cas had picked up a bunch of food stuff- things you could eat without cooking, snacks mostly, but also shelf stable microwave meals, bottled waters, gatorades. A mesh bag of oranges. Those snack cakes shaped like a Yule tree, which Dean approved of. He might be a baker, but sometimes, you just wanted horrible mass-produced, bad for you snack cakes.

The store was mostly empty of customers and employees, in the last minutes of its opening hours. Garth himself was running the register. Cas stepped back at the last minute to pick up some paper towels, so Dean stepped up with their cart by himself. Garth’s nostrils flared a little, picking up Dean’s heat scent, but Garth kept control of himself, didn’t even say anything. The nostril flare was the only sign he’d noticed the heat. Dean wondered if it was because Garth had a mate or if it was because Cas putting that mating bite on Dean’s neck had changed something about Dean’s heat. Dean must be putting out pretty strong ‘taken’ pheromones or something.

“Hey, Dean. Stocking up for the storm I see,” Garth said as he slid items after item rapidly past the laser scanner, each with a beep.

“What storm?” Dean asked.

“Biggest one in a couple years. Weather station is saying it’s a bomb cyclone, winds up to seventy miles an hour,” Garth said. “Better plan to stay inside tonight. Most folks are already inside.”

Dean had noticed that the snow had picked up again, blown by strong, gusty winds. Since they weren’t planning on going any further than a door down back to Cas’s new office, Dean had just noticed then moved on mentally. Snow, cold and winds were par for the course in Sioux Falls. They were used to getting bullied by any random cold front that rolled down from the polar north by way of Canada’s plains. He figured that by the time his heat was fully done, the storm would be over anyway.

Cas stepped back up to the register, arms loaded- paper towels, baby wipes, and a small jug of eggnog.

“Castiel! My newest favorite tenant!,” Garth said while continuing to scan, beep, beep, beep. “Shouldn’t you be back at Jimmy’s in Harrisburg by now? What with the storm and all.”

“What storm?” Cas asked as he started adding his items to the conveyor belt.

“Bomb cyclone, supposed to get up to eighteen inches in the next twenty four hours,” Garth said. “State’s already closed the highway between here and Harrisburg.”

It was then that Garth seemed to notice that Dean and Cas were there at the store together, sharing the supply run. Garth’s face lit up like a whole pile of Yule lights. He seemed ready to step out from behind the register and wrap the pair of them in his arms for some kind of group hug. Garth held himself back though.

“Congratulations, guys!” Garth chirped. “I didn’t even know you two lovebirds knew each other and now you’re mated. You’ll have to tell me all about your meet cute sometime soon. I suppose Cas is staying with you, Dean.”

“I am aware that my office lease does not allow me to maintain a residence there,” Cas said. “But we hope you would be understanding about us sheltering from the storm there.”

“Oh, sure,” Garth said. “I’m about to close up shop for the night, but if you need anything, I’m just on the other side of the block across the alley. Let me know and I can get you set up.”

“Appreciate it, Garth,” Dean said, grabbing his wallet as Garth was finally getting to the end of their order.

“I know just the thing,” Garth said. He pulled a huge key ring from his pocket, flipped through it until he grabbed a smaller sub ring, which he disconnected and handed to Dean. “Office suite 2C, across the hall, is vacant. It has a full bathroom with shower, not just the powder room. So long as you promise to leave it as clean as you found it, you can use the facilities.”

Garth beeped the last couple of items through the register.

“That’ll be three-hundred and sixty-five twenty-four,” Garth said. Dean kind of swallowed hard, because that was far more than he was anticipating spending. “Wait, you’re a member of the Super Garth Savers Club. Key in your phone number on the pad there.”

Dean did.

“Three-hundred and fifty-one nineteen,” Garth corrected.

Dean got his card out but Cas had been a second or two faster. His card was already touching the reader by the time Dean was moving that way.

“I was going to get that,” Dean protested. He didn’t hustle his ass in the bakery every morning during hours most people had hours of sleep in front of them still so that some Alpha could pick up the tab for him. If there was one lesson he’d learned from Bobby it was, be independent. Never count on an Alpha, never think you could rely on one. Keep one around if you wanted something from one, in Bobby’s case, a chance to raise the Alpha’s kids, but never, ever be trapped by one.

Cas was about to say something about how he wasn’t going to let his Omega pay for anything, but there was some silent communication going on between him and Garth. Cas might be a weirdly intimate stranger to Dean, but Garth knew Dean, knew all the Winchester boys. Whatever clue Garth was dropping, Cas seemed to pick it up quickly and instead gave the answer you would expect out of an accountant.

“The supplies we don’t use up can stay as part of my office supplies,” Cas said. “So the business will pay for that part. As for the rest, we could discuss what would be an equitable split of expenses later. I don’t want to spend time discussing it now when I have more than enough cash to float the transaction. And we don’t want to burden Garth here by re-ringing the transaction in multiple parts.”

So Dean let it rest, for now. They all packed up the huge purchase and had it ready to go.

“Oh, Castiel, you should contact your brother Mikey if he hasn’t caught up with you yet. He stopped by looking for you this morning,” Garth said, putting the last pack of Yule tree snack cakes into the bag.

Cas just rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said, voice flat and polite, “Thank you for letting me know.”

Leaving the cart at the door, they loaded themselves up with multiple bags each, to the point where Cas said, “Perhaps we should leave some in the first floor entrance and make a second trip upstairs.”

To make his point, Dean grabbed one of Cas’s bags and said, “Bobby Singer didn’t raise no two trip losers. Let’s get back upstairs. We’ve been out long enough. Starting to feel my heat again.”

____

“I should probably call Sam, let him know I’m safe,” Adam said, looking out at the blizzard still, wondering why he hadn’t paid any attention to the weather reports earlier. He was suddenly wondering why he’d listened to his inner horn dog and insisted on getting not just a motel room, but one in a different town. A motel room with an Alpha he’d just met that morning, one old enough to be his father, one with a military history and obviously strong enough to snap Adam like a twig if he wanted. He was, looked at objectively, in a truly dangerous situation.

And yet Mikey didn’t smell like danger. Adam’s inner Omega was telling him to cuddle up with this one, to make a nest and huddle up inside it with this Alpha to wait out the storm.

It couldn’t hurt to let someone know where he was. Mikey responded by grabbing his own phone and stepping to the other side of the room for a call. So Adam checked his own phone. He had it set to DND earlier. Sam had left a voicemail that Adam ignored, figuring Sam was just bitching him out for leaving the bakery earlier or for their argument about Mikey. At least Sam’s usual voice mails were Adam being bitched out for something or another. He’d skipped some crucial cleaning thing at the bakery or he was out too late on the night before Adam was supposed to be at the bakery early.

“Sam, I just wanted to let you know I got caught out in the storm. I’m at Big Dick’s in Harrisburg, room one twenty three,” Adam said. The full, original name of the motel was Big Dick’s Halfway Inn. Rumor was that the first owner was named Richard and was a real jokester. Technically, the motel was now called The Heartland Hotel and owned by someone else, but no one ever called it that. It would be forever Big Dick’s.

“Weather channel says the state has closed the highway, so I’m here until they open it again. Could even be a couple days until I get home. Look, I know you didn’t approve of me hooking up with Mike Shurley. Maybe you’re right, maybe it was a really bad idea, but I’m here with him now. So I’d appreciate if you don’t crash out about it, at least not until later. I don’t think you could get here anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to turn my phone off because I don’t have my charger with me.”

He signed off and looked over at Mikey, who was still talking with someone on his phone, someone named Gabriel, about the same thing Adam had told Sam- that they were trapped by the storm in Harrisburg, that there was no way they could get back to Sioux Falls, not until tomorrow soonest. Mikey was apologizing for missing some kind of family party, which sounded like it was both a big deal and something that Mikey desperately wanted to miss.

“Family?” Adam asked when Mikey was done with the phone.

“Family sucks,” Mikey said. “You know, I kind of miss when a phone wasn’t a little glass brick you carried in your pocket. When it had a receiver that you could slam down. Pressing an icon on screen just isn’t satisfying.”

Adam actually kind of knew what he meant. They did on-line orders mostly, not phone orders, the bakery still had one of those old land lines with a big, black phone, usually covered in flour prints, mounted on the wall. It looked like it had been there since Bobby was a young pup and when you slammed the hand set down, it jingled, like there was a bell inside of it. Adam made sure to never hang up hard on an actual customer but Sam or Dean checking up on him? They were fair game if they pissed him off.

“So, what next?” Adam asked. The weather channel was still showing scenes of the bomb cyclone that was apparently busy dumping nine inches of heavy snow an hour in Omaha. Maybe they could change the channel to start with. There wasn’t much more the weather channel could tell them- that it was going to snow a shit ton in the next twenty hours or so.

“Eat snacks and watch Yule specials on TV?” Mikey suggested. He started to rummage in the plastic bags again, pulling out pizza flavored Combos and a box of those Yule tree shaped snack cakes.

“Only if we save one bed for sleeping, one for snacking,” Adam said. “No crumbs in the sleeping bed.”

“Fair,” Mikey said.

Mikey tossed his snack choices on the bed closest to the TV and started stripping down, taking off his boots, then jeans. He left on a pair of black knit boxer briefs that revealed just how good of shape he was in, as if Adam hadn’t known before. His chest kind of twinged as he looked at Mikey, the conflict of wanting him so badly, so right now, but knowing that this was a bad choice he’d made, coming here with an Alpha, even though he was sure he was in love with the man. Being sure didn’t mean it was easy. Being sure didn’t mean right. As Dean always said, there was the right way, the wrong way and the Winchester way, which, in Adam’s experience, was just the wrong way but with more steps.

Adam wondered if he was expected to strip down to shorts too. As a compromise, he pulled off his top t-shirt, which had a few flour marks, and the sneakers he always wore to work. He left on his jeans and the tight tank top that kept him flat and compressed up top. Adam had small breasts, like Omegas often did, but he preferred to keep them put away and smushed as pancake flat as he could make them.

Mikey was pretending that this wasn’t a fraught moment. He pulled back bedspreads and blankets, got into bed on the far side, the one closest to the door. He started flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch. He acted non-chalant, but Adam could tell from the worried scent coming off him that he was very, very, very chalant at the moment, a scent that grew stronger the longer Adam put off getting into the bed with him.

“You don’t even have to get into the same bed if you don’t want,” Mikey said.

“No, I want to. I want to so bad it hurts,” Adam admitted. “I just wish you’d carried me to bed and tore my clothes off when we first got here, took charge. So we could just be doing it and I wouldn’t have to be making any decisions. And maybe it would be easier to regret the things I did do rather than the things I didn’t.”

“There don’t have to be any regrets. Nothing has to happen that you don’t want,” Mikey said. “But maybe get under covers. You’re starting to shiver.”

The room was kind of drafty and the ancient wall heater/AC combo unit was struggling to keep the place warm. Adam, wearing nothing up top but his tank top, suddenly noticed he was shivering, just like Mikey said. He hadn’t noticed before but it became immediately intolerable. Adam climbed into the bed and under the covers, close to Mikey but not touching him yet, a few inches between them despite Mike being on the edge. A queen size bed was too small to be shared a large Alpha like Mikey and a still sizable Omega like himself, unless the Alpha and Omega were comfortable with getting snuggly.

Adam soon discovered the delightful fact that Mikey was like a furnace under the blankets, a powerful heat source. He couldn’t help scooting closer until they were touching, arm skin to arm skin, side by side. At least until Mikey lifted his arm up, making a spot for Adam to cuddle in, and pulled him close, just as the TV settled on a classic animated Yule movie that Dean insisted on watching every year, even though it was kind of creepy, being that clay, stop motion animation. The movie must have been old and hoary when Dean was a little kid.

Adam watched the familiar movie only half paying attention. Mikey seemed to put his full attention to it, but maybe he was nostalgic for the movie, just like Dean got when watching. Mikey’s scent slowly drifted from worried, anxious, to content, settled. Something about being in a warm bed with a hot, in many senses, Alpha, who was happy to be there just as he was was snooze inducing to Adam, who had been up and at it since the ass crack of dawn, carrying the majority of the work today, since Dean had gone off and found a mate and Sam had spent most of the day more worried about that than a Saturday on one of their busiest money making weekends of the year.

With a yawn so wide, it felt like his jaw was going to pop, Adam flipped over, became the little spoon, and fell fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up at daylight, or something like it anyway, an utterly unfamiliar sensation. He’d fallen asleep sitting at the table with his bowl of soup, still half uneaten, at his elbow. This time of year, if it was this late, the bakery would have been long open. He almost panicked and jerked out of his chair, ready to pull on fresh clothes and then make a run for the bakery to get it at least open. When he got upright though, he noticed that it was still snowing sideways, hardly light at all even though it was nearly seven thirty. It looked like about eighteen inches had fallen over night. From the strong winds, It had drifted to over three, four feet inches in places. The plows hadn’t even made a first pass yet on Washington, no cars had tried to pass through. The snow was still pristine, pure white, heaped high like marshmallow fluff.

Dean was going to bitch because no one had gotten the snow blower out and made a first pass on the driveway and sidewalks to clear it. Dean liked to get out and do snow blowing about every six inches or so, to make sure their old snowblower could handle it. But no, it was too late for that. The Impala was snowed in for sure. They’d probably have to get Bobby out with the plow and do manual shoveling of the side walk. One thing was clear, there was no point trying to get to the bakery to open it, at least not yet. No one would be coming in for cinnamon rolls or donuts. The ovens would stay cold today. Sam worried. A snow day when they were kids was special, a rare treat, but for the bakery, it was a day without revenue. Maybe he might have to go in later and deal with product, if he could, because he there was a batch of croissants that would be over proofed by tomorrow.

Still no sign of Dean or Adam in the house. No message from Dean. One from Adam. He’d listen to it in a little bit. There wasn’t much Sam could do at the moment. If he did need to pick Adam up, Bobby kept a plow on the front of the wrecker this time of year. Bobby could get out and get Adam. For now, Sam started making coffee and doing a few dishes.

When coffee was brewing, he noticed that the candle he’d lit last night- the ‘New Beginnings’ candle, had burned down completely while Sam had slept sitting up at the table. Only a finger length of blackened wick was left, not even a phantom of scent left, maybe a greasy film of wax, no more. Sam finger combed his hair, feeling it fall into place, even as his neck felt like someone had given it a few good twists in the middle of the night. How had he been so tired he’d fallen asleep sitting at the table, a burning candle a few inches from his hair? The other candle was still sitting in the white and gold box, unburned. It didn’t smell like Luke anymore. Maybe there had been some synergy between the two candles that was gone since the other was burned down. The remaining candle smelled like wax and nothing else. Sam put the empty candle jar back into the box, shrugged, closed the box and stuck it in the back of one of the many poorly organized cabinets that filled the walls of the kitchen. No way was he going to admit to Bobby that he had used obvious witchcraft, burning a spelled candle, without consulting Bobby first. Especially when it was from the witch that had given Dean the recipe spell and the spice pouch.

Then Sam called Kevin, confirmed that he shouldn’t bother to try and come in, and he set the website and the Facebook page to show that they were closed due to inclement weather.

Only then did he listen to Adam’s message.

“Weather channel says the state has closed the state route, so I’m here until they open it again. Could even be a couple days until I get home. Look, I know you didn’t approve of me hooking up with Mike Shurley. Maybe you’re right, maybe it was a really bad idea, but I’m here with him now. So I’d appreciate if you don’t crash out about it, at least not until later. I don’t think you could get here anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to turn my phone off because I don’t have my charger with me.”

That was exactly what Sam had been afraid of, but there wasn’t anything Sam could do at this moment in time. Maybe be ready to beat the crap out of Mike Shurley if he needed to. Later. He wanted to wring his little brother’s stupid neck for letting himself get caught out in the storm like this, but Adam was nineteen and the time for wringing necks was past. Sam might as well keep as calm as he could for now because he couldn’t do anything else about the situation until the storm had passed and the plows were opening the roads again. He thought about putting in a call to Jody, to see what she could tell him about how road clearing was really going, if it were at all possible to get out to Harrisburg, but decided she was probably busy enough already.

Pouring himself a cup, Sam checked the news and the weather sites. Most of the highways in the area were still closed. Authorities were advising people to shelter in place, remain home if at all possible. Adam hadn’t sounded worried at all even as he was saying it was a bad idea. Maybe a little excited if anything. It was too late for Sam to do anything. The night had come and gone. Adam had slept with Mikey Shurley already, whether in the having intercourse sense or just sleeping in the same room with the Alpha. Sam tried to call Adam back but it went right to voicemail.

“Hey, whatever did or didn’t happen with Mike Shurley, I want you know we’re not mad,” Sam lied. Sometimes, you had to lie, just to keep the peace. Sam just hoped that Dean would back him up this once. “Look, come home and talk to us before you do something like run off to get married or something like that. Whatever happened, you have a home here with us, okay? Bite on your neck or not. Whatever that Alpha has to say about it. Whatever happened, we’ll get it figured out.”

Sam settled down back at the table, with his lukewarm cup of coffee and the book he’d fallen asleep over last night, trying to enjoy his snow day and not worry about the bakery or what his brothers were up to or about the witch that had given him that pair of candles. Burning that candle would probably come back and bite him in the ass but it was too late to regret the decisions of last night in the cold, dim light of a snowy morning.

Sam was finally getting into the book’s headspace, entering into the pleasant trance of immersion into the fantasy world he was reading about when there was a heavy rap on the front door. He automatically went to answer it, sort of thinking it might be Bobby offering to plow their driveway or something. He was still holding the thick hardcover in his hand when he opened the door.

It wasn’t Bobby. It was Luke.

Sam did the only thing he could think of and slammed the door in Luke’s face.

___

Dean woke up to day light with a shout, startling himself right into an upright position. He didn’t even remember when he’d last woken up for the day in daylight hours. Even during the summer, it was dark when Dean normally woke.

Why hadn’t he set an alarm? That made him check his pants, now in the little organized pile of clothes close to the bed and suddenly realize for the first time since yesterday that he didn’t have his phone with him. He decided he’d probably left it in the bakery. He could picture it sitting on the work bench amid his bowls and other mess. Sam was going to be so pissed, what with the way that Dean had gone off yesterday, been out of contact all day, and now Dean wasn’t there when he should have been.

On the makeshift bed of camping mattress, Yule themed throw pillows and fleecy blankets they’d gotten at Garth’s, Cas was starting to stir, woken by Dean’s shout no doubt. Cas rolled over and quipped, “You’re an angry sleeper. Like a bear.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t overslept like this in years,” Dean said, crawling out of the bed and onto the floor, pulling on a pair of undershorts.

“Overslept? It’s not even seven am yet.”

“I should have been at work three hours ago.”

“You were still planning on opening the bakery today?” Cas asked. “The bomb cyclone? Eighteen inches of snow?”

Dean walked over to the window and looked out. Snow was still in whiteout conditions, what little he could see, the streets hadn’t been plowed yet and it was white, white, white all around. He remembered what Garth had said, that the state had closed the highways. So much for eighteen inches. It had drifted to several feet high in spots. Yeah, even though Dean could struggle through the short distance to the bakery, there was no reason to open it today. There wouldn’t be any customers, at least not until the town could get the streets plowed. They hadn’t had had to close the bakery due to weather many times, but this was the worst snow in years.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not going anywhere today,” He admitted, turning away from the window. He walked back over to their temporary bed. “At least not yet. Maybe later I could try and get into the bakery, get my phone.”

Cas had already gotten out of bed, pulling on suit pants and one of the Yule themed sweaters that found its way into their cart last night at Garth’s. He started checking moving boxes, opening them up and closing them.

“What are you looking for?” Dean asked, puzzled. Was Cas going to be trying to work in this chaotic mess of an office? The only piece of furniture besides the broken sofa was one of those rolling office chairs.

“The microwave is in one of the bigger boxes,” Cas said. “I don’t remember which one. I should have labeled it but I didn’t.”

“What do you need the microwave for?” Dean asked, thinking Cas was ruining a perfectly good opportunity to get back into bed and get busy.

“I thought I could make you a hot breakfast at least,” Cas said. He held up one of the microwave ready oat meals he’d gotten at Garth’s last night. Yeah, Dean wasn’t putting that in his mouth. At least not when he could be putting other things in his mouth.

“That can wait,” Dean said, stripping his undershorts off again, looking at the bed they’d made, the nest of blankets and throw pillows. Sofa cushions and camping mattress.

“Oh, yes, it could definitely wait,” Cas said, stepping away from the boxes.

He was shedding the ugly Yule sweater and suit pants as quickly as he’d pulled them on. Little Cas was already fully erect as Cas hurried back to their temporary bed. Why was Dean utterly certain that if you measured it, Cas’s cock would be exactly six inches, no more, no less, but very girthy, just like Dean liked. Perfect for him physically in every way.

Cas stopped to lower the blinds before he made it bed, something they’d forgotten about completely yesterday. Across the street from Cas’s office was the county courthouse and town square. No one was at work yesterday most likely, but if they had been, they’d have gotten an eyeful of Cas and Dean’s antics. Blinds closed, Cas turned back to him, walking across the room, magnificently naked. Physically, Cas was not at all what you expected out of an accountant, even one that was an Alpha. This was not a physique built from hours tending to spreadsheets. This was broad shoulders that had been hidden by a trench coat and a six pack. Not that Dean hadn’t seen plenty of Cas’s naked body yesterday and last night, but this was kind of the first time he’d been paying attention.

Yesterday, it had been more about just crashing into Cas- the physical sensations, the scents. About satisfying the inner Omega. About just getting that girthy, big knot inside of him where it could do the most good to satisfy his heat. Now though, there was time to appreciate Cas- his looks, his smile. The way he was crawling up Dean’s body, laying down a line of kisses from Dean’s left knee, up his thigh, lingering a long time on Dean’s lower belly, like right over where Dean’s internal junk was. Lingering long enough that a thought caught hold of Dean’s mind, a piddling little doubt that soon enough grew to a big old disruptive thought.

A thought big enough that Dean had to sit upright, knocking Cas away and shout, “Son of a bitch!”

“What? What is the matter?” Cas asked.

“I hope you’re ready to be a dad come September, because I’m not on any birth control besides the Heat Helper,” Dean said.

Chapter Text

Birth control for an Omega was heat control. Supposedly the hormonal thing was just too complicated for there to be a pill or a shot or implant like Beta females got. Dean always suspected it could have been done, but political and social factors stopped the scientists from even trying. Dean could have gotten a copper IUD and he’d tried that for a while, but the insertion had been a nightmare and he’d pretty much bled and cramped the whole time it was in. The juice hadn’t been worth the squeeze, because how often was Dean getting laid anyway? Not often enough to be worth that much pain.

“And I have certainly not been doing my part to keep my semen out of your reproductive organs,” Cas said, ruefully. “Condoms were very far from my mind.”

It was all part of nature’s trick to make you make a pup when maybe that wasn’t something you were ready for. Nature didn’t care if you were ready or not. She wanted pups to be made. You could have the Alpha wear condoms if you were heat fucking, but half the time, the Alpha’s rut was triggered by your heat, so try and get a rutting Alpha to focus enough to put one on and use it properly. In their situation, where Dean and Cas had somehow managed to trigger each other, it had been just a perfect clusterfuck of a storm of irresponsible fucking. A true mating situation like he’d gotten himself into meant almost certain conception. A pup was just about inevitable.

And due to the storm outside, they almost certainly couldn’t get to someplace that sold Missouri Moseley’s Post Heat Care Preparation, not in time for it to be effective, given that it had already been about twenty-four hours since the time that Dean and Cas had met and dove head first into each other. The storm outside might still be going on for a while. Even so, Dean started putting his clothes back on, just the undershorts to start.

“If you’re opposed to making a pup with me right now, could we get you the stuff from Miss Moseley’s? The post heat care?” Cas asked.

By now, they were both sitting upright on the camping mattress, side by side, not touching. Dean was very, very aware that this Alpha was a stranger. A stranger Dean had been very intimate with, but a stranger. Some would say that this Alpha was the one fate meant for him, given how it had all gone down. An Alpha who was soul bonded to him by virtue of a bite given on hormonally driven impulse, but still very much a stranger, someone Dean hadn’t laid eyes on before yesterday. Dean looked at the Alpha. He was handsome, even beautiful, even with the hair that was sticking out all over the place, unruly. You could lose yourself in those fierce blue eyes.

Dean thought about what it might mean to make a pup right now. The bakery was doing well, always busy. It made money, enough to support him and his brothers comfortably. There’d be money enough for a pup too, but there wouldn’t be enough time. That was one thing pups took up that you couldn’t buy. Dean woke everyday before dawn and put in hours and hours of toil. He was already tired all the damn time. How could he bring a pup into his life, as much as he wanted one?

“I don’t think there’s anyway we can get the stuff in time,” Dean said. “What with the roads still being closed for who knows how long. Nobody in town stocks it regularly. Closest place that does is in Sioux City. Good luck getting there in this kind of weather.”

At the Happy Holistic Holiday Fair, Dean had bought a couple months supply of the heat helper, enough for him and his brothers, but he hadn’t even thought about getting the post heat care while he was at it. He never kept it on hand because if the heat helper was doing its job, you never needed the post heat stuff. In the few situations where he was doing a little recreational fornication outside of his heat, he wasn’t doing that with an Alpha. No, the sex wasn’t as good as it would have been with an Alpha, but he had some fun times with Lisa who taught yoga at the Y in Madison. It wasn’t even often enough that you could call it a situationship. He always used a condom, even though an Omega was far less likely to father a pup. Point was, this was the first time Dean had worried about pregnancy much since his teenage years.

“A pup isn’t certain, just very likely,” Cas said. “And I don’t think it would be so terrible, having a pup now. Not ideal, as we’ve just met, but I can afford to support you and our pups from my investments, even if my new business isn’t producing a full income just yet. I was already planning to buy a home in town. It will just have to happen sooner than I planned.”

He was going to support Dean and pups. So, he didn’t want Dean to work then? He wanted a stay at home Oma? Dean put his hand up to the bite scar on his neck, the lasting physical symbol of their bond. Cas had claimed him with it during their first mating.

They were supposed to be eternal, an until death do you part kinda thing. They weren’t. Most people didn’t know they could be removed, the bond broken purposefully. This wasn’t the first mark that had been placed on Dean’s neck. Dean and Lee had mated, impulsively but purposefully when they were teenagers and run away together. When they were about three states away, Dean had realized what a fucking dumb thing he’d done and snuck out to call his Dad. Between Dad, Bobby and Missouri Moseley, they’d gotten the bond broken and the scar gone. It hadn’t been easy, not a thing to do lightly, but it could be done. It could be done a second time if it needed to be done. One thing that wasn’t happening to Dean was some asshole taking him away from his dream and the life he’d worked so hard to build just because some Alpha thought he deserved someone to stay at home and be a wife and a servant, raise pups and clean house.

Dean finished dressing, jammed his feet back into his boots. He didn’t have a coat, but even in the storm, he thought he could make it to the bakery and he was sure he had an old coat there. His phone was there and if not, there was always the old wall phone. He could call Bobby who would know what to do. He could call Sam who probably wanted to know where the hell Dean had gotten himself to. Dean stood up, looked around at the chaotic office with its broken sofa, piles of boxes and one very naked, Alpha sitting on the camp mattress.

“So, uh, I’m gonna go,” Dean said. Cas sat on the sofa, tilting his head, confusion slowly insinuating itself across his face. “This is. It’s a lot. I’ve gotta think about things.”

And then he left. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, running away like this, but it was the only thing he knew how to do at this moment.

Cas’s voice echoed down the hallway, calling out, “Dean?”

___

Adam woke up to the weather channel on the TV again, some talking head blathering about the bomb cyclone still and how it was moving across the plains, how it might be gone from the area by later today, that the roads were still closed but major roads might be open again by this evening.

He woke with an Alpha clasping him tightly, like he was a teddy bear or something. He couldn’t ever remember waking up so happy since he was a little pup, since before Mom had died, really. He was warm, he didn’t have to be anywhere else but here. It was a snow day and when did he get those anymore? Back in Sioux Falls, Sam probably had the bakery open already and was bitching up a storm about how he had to do it all on his own. Adam didn’t care. He was content right where he was, in bed with the Alpha that would soon be his. It was comforting, feeling Mikey’s breath warm on the back of his neck, a heavy leg draped over Adam’s thighs.

Mikey was such an effective bed heater that they’d shed one of the layers of blankets overnight. Adam had vague memories of waking long enough to shed both his jeans, then his tank top, so he was wearing nothing but his boring gray undershorts. He definitely would have put on a better pair if he’d had any idea he’d wind up in bed with an Alpha. Maybe he might have even put on something pretty, something not gray and washed to faded at least.

Not that Adam ever went in for pretty things to wear. His family, especially his brothers, went in hard for masculine, hard wearing, practical clothes. His life was draped in plaid, khaki, brown. Carhartt jackets and hoodies. Adam couldn’t even imagine how much shit Dean would give him if he found out Adam was wearing pink panties or something, so he wore boring gray knit boxers. Maybe someday when he was living with Mikey, he might be able to branch out into something less practical.

“Hey,” Adam said.
“Morning, babe,” Mikey said.

Adam was pulled even closer. Mikey’s arms wrapped around Adam’s upper body tighter and Adam was suddenly very aware that he was more naked than he’d ever been with someone who wasn’t a medical professional. He’d never been tits out with someone, especially with someone whose hands were so close to them. Though he seemed to be super careful not to cop a feel, Mikey sniffed around the crook of Adam’s neck.

“Mmmm, you smell so good,” Mikey said.

Adam felt movement between them and realized that that wasn’t a big flashlight that had suddenly appeared between them. Oh. Mikey was big. Like really big. Like how the heck was that supposed to fit inside big. Adam was fighting two different urges. One to roll around and throw himself at the Alpha, one to run. Mikey took charge though, made a decision for the both of them.

Mikey casually grabbed a pillow and pushed it between their lower bodies, so that his erect cock was no longer touching Adam’s ass, separated only by two thin layers of cloth. The pillow was a motel pillow, thin, not much fluff left to it, but it was enough to form an effective barrier. Adam didn’t feel the flashlight anymore.

“Just morning wood. Doesn’t mean anything,” Mikey said, repositioning himself back into the cuddle.

“You want me.”

It was statement of fact. There could be no doubt that Mikey wanted to give Adam a nice wake up dose of vitamin D, so to speak. That wasn’t just morning wood, for sure. For one thing, it hadn’t been there when Mikey had first woken up. Adam thought he’d felt the knot already starting to form. What else could you expect from an Alpha that had spent the night in bed with an Omega? The scent of aroused, amorous Alpha was a cloud all around them and he thought he smelled himself slicking up.

“I do,” Mikey said. “But what I want more than anything is to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life. I’m prepared to take my time to get there.”

“You can have that and have me right now,” Adam said. “I want you too. I don’t see why we have to wait.”

Adam wriggled around until he was face to face with Mikey, though the damn pillow was still between them. What he wanted more than anything was to rip the pillow away, maybe magic away their undershorts too, so that nothing was between them. Adam wanted to feel that huge cock rubbing against his own, much smaller cock which was so hard he was aching.

“Why rush things? We’ve got all day together in this motel room,” Mikey said, brushing Adam’s cheek with his hand.

They were now looking at each other, blue eyes staring into blue eyes. Mikey pressed his lips gently onto Adam’s, a delicate kiss that Adam hungered to turn into a deep, frantic one, but he kept to Mikey’s lead. That would be what an Alpha wanted, right? An Omega that took his Alpha’s lead, no matter how much the Omega wanted to climb on top and ride that Alpha like he was a pony.

“All day with nothing to do but each other,” Adam said.

He took Mikey’s hand in his own and laid it on top of one of his breasts, so it was cupped by Mikey’s big strong hand. Adam hoped maybe that might inspire Mikey to some action. Adam wasn’t very experienced, but the couple of times he’d gotten to second base, the other guy had been very enthusiastic about feeling him up. Mikey was no exception, at least at first. He closed his hand, squeezing just enough, pushing in as if feeling for the nipple. Then he groaned a little, then froze. He took his hand away, sweeping it down Adam’s flank, settling about midriff.

“You’re very pushy,” he said.

“You knew what you were getting in for when we got the room.”

“I suppose I did,” Mikey said. “You’re making it very hard to stick with my good intentions.”

Chapter Text

Luke knocked again and called through the closed door, “Sam? Sammy?”

Sam retreated back into the kitchen and grabbed his phone, wondering who the hell would be better to call. Bobby would come over, no doubt, and explain to Luke in no uncertain terms that he should get lost. Bobby would pull no punches and get down to brass tacks real quick. He didn’t call Bobby though, feeling like that call would result in him admitting that he’d used Rowena’s bewitched candles. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, ever. He knew he was an idiot. He didn’t need to have Bobby rub it in.

He called the Shurley that he knew would talk to him. Not really a friend, but not not a friend. This Shurley managed a lot of the rentals for the Shurley Real Estate Trust, including their lease of the bakery building, so Sam had to talk to him regularly. He was one of Luke’s full brothers, the one between Mike and Luke. He was also one of the only Omegas in that family, so he felt safer than the rest of them. Maybe that was an illusion and you shouldn’t trust a Shurley period, but

“Yo, what’s shaking, Samshine? Something going on at the bakery? Pipes froze in the cold?”

“Gabriel, what the hell? Lucifer is back in town and you didn’t think to give me a heads up?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Gabriel answered. “He wasn’t home for pictures or the Yule party yesterday. Dad hasn’t made any of his grand announcements about the return of the prodigal child or anything like that.”

“Well, unless I’m hallucinating, he’s on my porch now, knocking on the door.”

“Why not let him in then?”

Why not? Wasn’t this the thing he’d craved for years? A chance to ask what the hell had happened and where Luke had been?

Before Sam could answer the question for himself, Gabriel added, “I’m sure a lot of us want to know where the hell he’s been and what he’s been doing.”

“Well, why don’t you come get him then? You can ask him yourself.”

“No can do, Kiddo,” Gabriel said. “Have you seen the weather out there? Also, I’m entertaining a lady friend who’s in town for the holidays, if you know what I mean. Oh, hey, did you know your baby brother is holed up in Big Dick’s with my big bro?”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam said. “There’s not much I can do about that at the moment.”

“Pretty sure Adam’s virtue is safe. Mikey said his intentions are honorable. He’s a Boy Scout. If anyone can keep it in his pants around an Omega like Adam, it’s Mikey,” Gabriel said. “Just thought you should know. I’m gonna let you go. My lady friend is getting impatient.”

Then Gabriel ended the call, before Sam could explain that Mikey’s honorable intentions were probably worse. Sam could handle it if Adam and Mikey had a one night stand in that motel room. If Mike Shurley mated Adam, that would be a disaster. Meanwhile, Luke was still knocking on the front door.

Sam could be brave. He could open the door and let Luke into the house. He didn’t think Luke was any danger to him. He just wasn’t ready for this conversation. It was one he never thought he’d have a chance to have, so he hadn’t even allowed himself to think about what he’d say. Instead, his eye landed on the hooks by the back door. There was his coat, his boots were still on his feet. His keys were in his pocket. If he went through the back yard and cut through Jesse and Cesar’s yard, he would come out on Clinton St. He could be at the bakery in five minutes, even with the snow. It wasn’t him being cowardly. It was strategic. He had product to deal with, those croissants needed to be baked. Dean never had baked the layers of the death by chocolate cake he’d said he would. Those could always be made ahead and frozen anyway. Sam could also make some roulades for Yule log cakes.

Coat on, beanie hat jammed on his head, he trudged through the storm. It took longer to get to Main Street than he thought. The wind was punishing, whipping the snow so hard it hurt as it hit Sam’s face. He wondered, like he did every winter, why he was still living someplace where the air hurt his face. Luckily, it wasn’t true whiteout conditions. He had enough visibility that he could see the houses, the buried cars on the street. Sam arrived at the bakery in time to see Dean unlocking the front door, shivering because he only had a plaid shirt on, no coat. Sam took the keys from him and got the door open. He pushed them both inside, but it was a struggle to push the door shut behind them. At last he got it shouldered closed and the dead lock bolt thrown. Dean brushed past the counter into the kitchen. He was holding his hands a few inches over a lit burner by the time Sam followed him. Was this hypothermia?

The kitchen was like an icebox, cold and dark. Sam had so many questions he wanted answered, like where Dean had been and why he wasn’t with Castiel now and why Dean had been so damn stupid as to head out in a storm like this one without a coat, but he figured he wasn’t going to get any answers while Dean was still half frozen, snow dusting his hair. Sam started pre-heating ovens. They kept the kitchen pretty cold because once all the ovens were going, it could get toasty fast. Once everything was on, Sam stripped off his coat and his own, dry flannel shirt. He held them out to Dean, who just stared at them, still shivering. Sam tugged Dean’s wet shirts off and wrapped him in the dry clothing. Then he got busy brewing some herbal tea and had a mug shoved into Dean’s hands before long.

“I don’t want your hot leaf water, Sam,” Dean said, but he kept the hot mug clutched in his hands, warming himself on it.

“I think you’ve got mild hypothermia,” Sam said. “Drink it.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said. “It was colder than I thought. Wind chill’s bad is all. It’d be no problem without the wind.”

Dean did not drink the tea, but he looked better already. He started to move around the kitchen as if checking to see it had been put to bed to his standards. As if he hadn’t walked away in the middle of the morning with his bench a mess and all kinds of shit that he should have taken care of left undone.

“You didn’t open?” Dean asked.

“No, Dean, I didn’t open,” Sam snapped, checking on the trays of croissants he’d left overnight to be baked off in the morning. “There’s two feet of snow, not counting drifts. No one is going to be coming in today.”

“You let Adam sleep in?”

Sam weighed his options, whether it would be better to tell Dean straight up what had happened there, that Adam was off trapped in a motel room in another town with the oldest Shurley brother, or if he should elide the truth a little and say that Adam ended up spending the night with a friend. Instead, Sam went for option three- counter-attack and redirect.

“Are we going to talk about you using witchcraft?”

“No, no we are not,” Dean answered.

“Or the fact that you got yourself mated to one of the Shurleys?”

___

Dean couldn’t help but touch the side of his neck where the bite scar was. Yesterday was kind of a blur if Dean were honest. Yeah, he remembered the highlight reel- the moment his eyes met Cas’s blue eyes and he’d become lost in them, the moment that Cas had dropped his fangs and made his mark. But the rest- a whirlwind of amazing sex and bliss. His conscious self had had so little control yesterday. He’d been run by his inner Omega who, if you asked Dean, was a knot hungry little bitch who hadn’t been laid in so damn long that he’d grabbed hold of the first likely looking Alpha. Yes, Dean had wanted a mate so damn bad, but if he had had any say in exactly who that mate was, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been a Shurley.

Dean didn’t know exactly what had happened between Sam and Satan Shurley, just that the dick was gone, right the day before Yule. That had been that horrible first year that Adam had come to stay with them. Earlier in the fall, Dad had brought home a sad little boy, saying that it was his pup with some Beta woman, that she had died and now Adam had to stay here with them, that he didn’t have any place else to go. Then Dad had left, gone off to ‘work’. By the time December had rolled around, Dad was dead too, a ‘hunting accident’ they’d been told. By the time the holiday season was over, Dean had no Dad and two hurting, angry, grieving baby brothers. He was losing his job too, because the bakery he’d been working at part time since high school was closing doors. Bobby helped a lot, but it had been on Dean to keep their small family together. Sam had been sick for months after, pining sickness. He wouldn’t talk about what happened with Lucifer at all, but you couldn’t miss how Lucy wasn’t coming around any more. He’d even dragged Sam out to see Missouri Moseley herself to see if the bond between Sam and Lucifer could be broken like it had with him and Lee, but she’d just laid her hands on Sam and closed her eyes. A moment later, she’d opened them and said she was sorry, nothing could be done, no, she couldn’t explain why. Sam had gotten better, eventually, but he was never the same after that.

“It wasn’t like I had a say in who,” Dean said after a fraught silence hung between them for too long. “Yeah, I mean, I wished for an Alpha, but it wasn’t like I was wishing for one in particular. I didn’t even know who he was until long after we did the thing.”

“Why are you even here and not getting all cosy with him?” Sam asked.

Sam had gotten tray after tray of croissants out of the proofer. With the ovens on and starting to heat up, the work starting, the bakery was starting to come to life, starting to feel like home, like it did. Dean had been checking around, seeing what needed to be done, comparing what was in ready against the list he kept in his head. He decided that what they needed the most was pie crust. They did a steady pie business during Yule and he knew he had special orders coming up that he should prep ahead for. It wasn’t so much the bakery itself that was home, but the work.

“I think you’re going to be an uncle, Sam,” Dean said. “A mating like that, nobody wrapping up anything. Most likely, I’m knocked up and I think he wants me to stay home with the pup.”

“He can’t force you to,” Sam said, sliding a sheet tray into the oven. “Not any more. And the bakery is protected, right?”

With Bobby’s help and at his insistence, the LLC that owned the bakery had been set up as a trust for them. No Alpha could claim a part of it just because he’d made a mating claim. The trust was set up so that no part of it would ever go to an Alpha mate, no matter what the state laws that applied to the mating said about an Omega’s property becoming the Alpha’s property. Fewer and fewer states had that kind of mating laws any more, but there were still some that did. The bakery and the income it produced were protected, so his brothers were protected.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Maybe legally he can’t force me, but that wouldn’t stop some of them.”

“You said you think he wants you to say home with the pup, but did he actually say that? Did you talk to him about it?”

No, no he hadn’t. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d fled before any discussion could be had. Dean had been right about one thing. He did need to think about things. It was a lot. Dean decided to do what Sam had done to him when he’d asked an obviously uncomfortable question- counter-attack and redirect the topic.

“So, is Adam coming in today?” Dean asked.

Sam slid the last sheet tray of croissants into the oven and shut the doors with a precise gentleness that let Dean know Sam actually wanted to slam them. Why did he not want to talk about where Adam was and why he hadn’t come in with Sam?

“Adam didn’t come home last night,” Sam said after a long minute.

“You know where he is though, right?” Dean asked, worried. It wasn’t like Adam to cause trouble. He was a good kid.

“Yes, I know where he is,” Sam answered. Then was silent a long time before adding, “You’re not going to like the answer.”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, not going to like it?” Dean asked. “Is he hanging out with that Quinn kid again?”

“No, Dean, he’s not,” Sam snapped. “I would be thrilled if it were Quinn he was spending the night with.”

“You know when I picked Adam up from prom, they were making out in the hallway and Quinn’s hands were up Adam’s shirt, feeling him up, right?”

“I know. And I also know it took Adam weeks to speak to you again after what you did when you found them,” Sam said, remembering the weeks of walking on eggshells around the both of them, the long cold shifts at the bakery when he was stuck between the both of them, a human no man’s land, conveying messages. Adam had been prickly about settling down to work in the bakery after high school as it was. It hadn’t been as rough as the year that Lucifer had left, but wasn’t a good time.

“Did you even stop and consider that maybe Quinn’s hands were exactly where Adam had wanted them to be?” Sam asked. “That maybe he deserves as much freedom and choice as he can get? Bobby allowed us…”

And maybe, Sam thought, if Dean hadn’t scared off the basically harmless Beta kid that Adam dated in high school, maybe Adam wouldn’t be off in a motel room with an Alpha twice his age doing god knows what, Mike Shurley’s Boy Scout reputation not withstanding. Maybe it couldn’t have been prevented. Maybe Mike Shurley might still have walked into the bakery and Adam might still have gone crazy for him,

“And look where that got us,” Dean said, slamming down the box of butter he’d gotten out of the freezer where he kept it for pie crust. “Both of us with a broken mating one way or another, way too early. Where is he? Who’s he with?”

Sam wasn’t ready to answer that. Dean was starting to bubble with anger. He tore the case of butter open with his bare hands. Time to deflect and redirect again. Sam was picturing Dean digging out the Impala by hand and trying to drive to Harrisburg, despite the storm. Threatening to beat Mike Shurley if he had to. Dean was intimidating. For an Omega. Mikey Shurley was an Alpha’s Alpha. Probably strong as hell and it looked like he had military training too.

“Lucifer’s in town,” Sam said.

“Lucifer? Your Lucifer? Satan Shurley is back in town? What does he want?”

Sam had been right. This was probably the one thing that would have gotten Dean off the topic of Adam and what he might be doing in a motel room with an Alpha he’d met about twenty four hours ago. Sam might need to take the hot seat for a little while, but he could take it.

“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to ask him. He was knocking on the front door when I left out the back.”

“Are you going to give him a chance to explain himself?” Dean asked. “Find out why he left and was gone so long. You deserve to know. It nearly killed you when he left.”

“It didn’t,” Sam protested, even as he knew it almost had. “Pining sickness is a myth. No one dies from it. I was depressed. Anyone would have been in my situation. It doesn’t matter why he left. I survived a decade without him. I think it’s time I moved on. I’m good. So, have we decided on a cut off date for special Yule orders? The nineteenth?”

“We doing Yule logs again this year?” Dean asked. “Any way we could get out of it? They’re such a pain in the ass.”

“We always sell out of them,” Sam said, thinking of the profits from them. You could charge double the cost of a regular chocolate cake and people would pay, because it was the holidays. Today would be the perfect day to get ahead on this kind of stuff. They could bake the sponge cakes, fill and roll them, slice into shorter logs and then freeze until needed.

“No fancy decorating on them this year,” Dean said. “You spent way too long last year making meringue mushrooms for them.”

It wasn’t that hard to make the meringue mushrooms and they really made the cake. Anyway, he’d gotten Adam to do all the decorating last year because he was better with a piping bag and frosting than either of them.

“The mushrooms are traditional,” Sam said. “It’s not a Yule log without them. It’s just a chocolate roulade. You know, we really are part of a lot of family’s Yule traditions. For a lot of people, it’s not Yule without the Yule log.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Dean conceded. “Do it your way.”

Dean’s marginal approval gotten, Sam flipped through their recipe notebook until he found the one he needed. He was starting to weigh the flour. Dean was putting the still frozen butter through the food processor with the grating disk when there was a knock on the bakery front door. They both stopped what they were doing. Who was it? Was it Luke having found his way here? Or was it Castiel, Dean’s new Alpha? Or someone else?

“Do you wanna go see who that is?” Dean asked.

“No, do you?”

___

At the moment, Adam was curled up, half naked, in bed with Mikey, the pillow still between them. For now, he’d resigned himself to the fact that nothing was happening yet. They were talking. Only talking.

Except he didn’t mind so much, so long as he didn't think of it as a substitute for getting down. It was just comfortable, cuddling in the warmth of the bed, Mikey wrapped around him, though the damn pillow was still between their nether regions. His nose was close to the crook of Mikey’s neck and the scent of good Alpha, strong, secure, wholesome even, just bathed him all over. Adam ended up explaining how he hadn’t been around yet when Mikey had left for the Air Force.

“So you’re a half sibling to Sam and Dean?” Mikey said. “I’ve got plenty of those around. Dad always seemed to think that the next family he made would be the one that would make him happy and whole. The problem was, no matter where he went, there he was.”

“I don’t think I’d exist if Sam and Dean’s mom was still alive,” Adam said, something he’d thought about many times and even talked about once to his therapist. “But Dad always told me that he loved my mom. Mary was the woman that Fate had chosen for him, but Kate, that’s my mom, was the woman he’d chosen for himself. Do you believe in true love without being true mates?”

“I don’t know that there is such a thing as true mates,” Mikey said. “People with extreme genetic compatibility sure. But one and only one person out of the billions in the whole world who is meant for you and you alone. That seems unlikely. But love, that’s different. I knew the instant I laid my eyes on you, you were the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Then Mikey touched his lips to Adam’s and they kissed, slowly. It didn’t build. It was a long, slow, smoldering fire, hot but banked. Adam felt like when it was time and Mikey was ready, it would explode into an inferno, but for now, it didn’t matter that it didn’t get hotter.

“I know you’re the one,” Mikey said when they finally broke apart again. “Just looking at you makes me feel the same way as when I’m flying. No one else ever has.”

“So, I’m a thrill ride that pushes you to the limits of human endurance?” Adam joked, thinking of the films he’d seen, how fighter pilots had to hold up to g-forces that turned most people unconscious during their high speed maneuvers.

“That’s not what I mean,” Mikey said. “When I’m flying, I’m fully at peace. I’m where I belong. In the sky. Like I’m in heaven. That’s what I feel looking in your eyes.”

After that, Adam couldn’t say anything in response. It was too much, too overwhelming, because he felt it too, that utter certainty. He buried his face into Mikey’s arm pit, to get as much as the intense musky Alpha scent of the man as he could. How could he explain that the scent made him feel like he was at home for the first time in years, maybe for the first time since he’d left Windom and come to Sioux Falls. He drifted off to sleep for a little while, he was so comfortable.

Later, when he could talk again, he asked, “So, did you always want to be a fighter pilot?”

“Always,” Mikey said. “For as long as I can remember. How about you? What’s your dream? Being a baker?”

“Oh, no. That’s Dean’s dream. I’m just along for the ride,” Adam said. “It’s the family business, and I’m family.”

“So, what then? Being an Oma? You said you wanted my pups.”

Adam thought about how limited his choices had been once he was done with high school and so far, the bakery had been the best option of a bad lot. It wasn’t that college had been forbidden to him, but the thing he wanted, the profession he dreamed about pretty much was. Pre-med was a pretty stupid thing to study with so few med schools accepting Omega students and fewer yet hospitals willing to have Omegas as residents. More and more professions were opening to Omegas, but so far, not that one. Supposedly Omegas were too weak and subject to their hormones. As if Alphas weren’t just as subject to hormones. An Omega in heat was moody and horny, but an Alpha in rut was plain dangerous at times, especially to other Alphas, but really to anyone he saw as getting in the way of him getting to the Omega he wanted..

“I do want your pups,” Adam said.

“That’s not what you dreamed about when you were a pup though, is it?” Mikey asked.

“No,” Adam said. “It’s stupid to even think about it. I can’t have what I dreamed about as a pup. I wanted to be a doctor, but I can’t, so the bakery it is. Sam and Dean need me to keep it running.”

“Because you’re Omega?” Mikey asked. “Would you have the grades for med school?”

“I would have been valedictorian. Except I’m Omega,” Adam said.

He was thinking about the bitterness he’d had to push down about that. By his calculations, his GPA was slightly better than the Alpha that had been named. No one in school administration would admit it was because Adam was Omega, but everyone knew. Things were getting better for Omegas. They were. Forty years ago, he would have graduated with an Omega Equivalence Degree. Seventy or eighty years ago, he’d have left school as soon as he’d presented and been mated not long after his first heat. Life was better for Omegas but anyone who thought Omegas had equal rights and lives was willfully blind.

“All the more reason for us not to rush into pups,” Michael said. “You’ll never get to med school with them.”

“You want me to…”

“Follow your dreams?” Mikey said. “Absolutely. I can use my benefits to send a spouse to university instead of me.”

This time, Adam was the one that started the kiss and he put his full effort into it, his full passion, every bit of the want and desire that had been growing since he laid eyes on his Alpha. Mikey answered back this time, not just with his lips, but with hands that were roving over Adam’s body, up and down his back, down his legs. Mikey’s hips were moving, insinuating themselves between Adam’s thighs, thrusting despite the damn pillow being between them still.

Adam caught sight of the box of condoms and the artificial slick on the bedside table. As Mikey started a line of kisses down Adam’s neck, Adam reached out for the box. Retrieved one of the little foil wrapped packages from it and handed it to Mikey who set it aside.

“No, I’m going to make you come first,” he said, sliding down Adam’s body, touching, kissing, sucking a while on the mating gland, hard enough Adam thought he might be leaving a hickey there, a preliminary claim of sorts.

The utter need and ache that Mikey brought out in him was a revelation to Adam. The want for more of his touches became overwhelming and yes, that was him making those whiny sounds. When Mikey put his mouth on his right nipple, teasing it with circular laps of his tongue, Adam thought he might fly right off the bed. He wrapped his legs around Mikey’s torso but his hands didn’t know what to do, where to land. It was awkward and amazing and the best feeling ever, especially when Mikey squeezed and caressed the other breast with his hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mikey murmured, working his way leisurely down Adam’s chest, then to his navel, dipping his tongue in that for a little while. And why did that feel so good?

Somehow, in the midst of things, Adam’s undershorts got pulled off. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, Mikey kissed the tip of Adam’s cock, tenderly, and even just that that slight touch caused Adam to swear, to scrabble to hold something with his hands as Mikey took the full length of his cock in his mouth, down to the root. Adam ended up with his hands tangled in Mikey’s hair. It was already overwhelming, an electric build up all over his body when Mikey slipped a finger into the folds between Adam’s legs, the parts hidden normally behind Adam’s small cock and balls. He pressed something inside and it was like an explosion, a white out bliss that expanded to fill his whole universe, every bit of control lost, leaving him panting and feeling empty and yet whole and filled at the same time when it was done.

“Oh! Wow,” Adam said when he found words again.

Chapter Text

It was probably Cas. No doubt it was. Dean had bolted without explanation. It was about an hour since then, about the amount of time a normal person would give their mate to cool down when things had gotten to be too much. So Cas would have come looking for him. Dean would go back to him and they would have a conversation, but not yet. His inner Omega was bitching up a storm about how he shouldn’t be here, he should be with Cas. He needed his Alpha, even ached for him. He wasn’t ready to talk to the man, so he was going to pretend for now that there wasn’t a problem, this was just Dean trying to catch up on things that got left by the wayside yesterday. He and Sam had work to do, snow day or not. So, no, he didn’t want to go answer the door just to find out it was Cas. If Sam answered it, he could send Cas away until later.

Dean wasn’t a coward. He didn’t know why he was being like this.

Meanwhile, the knocking continued.

“You gonna get that?” Dean asked.

“No, why I do always have to get it?”

“Because I’m the big brother.”

“No, screw that. We’re going to settle it the old fashioned way,” Sam said, holding up his fist.

Oh, they were going back to rock paper scissors. Dean sighed but held up his fist. He didn’t know why, but even when he meant to throw down something different, his hand went to scissors. It was stupid. Maybe it’d be different this time. He meant to do rock and he did. But this time, Sammy threw paper and paper wrapped rock, so Dean was still shit out of luck.

“Fine! I’ll get the door,” Dean said and huffed off to the front to get the door.

It wasn’t Cas. It was Bobby. Better than Cas, Dean supposed, but still not someone he was ready to talk to. Though he could admit to himself that he felt a massive sense of relief just seeing the man. This was Bobby. Whatever was the problem was, he’d get it figured out in an afternoon and still have time for a beer and to watch the game on the TV. He’d probably call you an idjit ten times while doing it though.

Bobby walked in when Dean pulled the door open, stomping and knocking snow off as he went. He’d swapped his usual puffer vest for an actual coat- a Carhartt so worn it looked older than Dean. Even this blizzard hadn’t gotten Bobby to swap his usual cap for a winter hat though. Soon as Dean had the door pushed closed again, Bobby rounded on him. Dean thought Bobby was coming in for a hug or something, which seemed a little over the top considering that Dean had been out of communication for only a day, but instead, Bobby grabbed Dean’s chin, turned his face a little and caught sight of the mating bite he was obviously expecting to see on Dean’s neck.

“Damnit, Dean!,” Bobby said, releasing Dean’s chin. “With a Shurley?”

“Not like I had any say in who Fate sent my way,” Dean snapped back.

Bobby’s touch had been somehow both agressive and oddly tender. Dean knew Bobby’s fury came from a good place, a place of concern. Bobby was the closest thing to a real parent Dean had, what with Mom and Dad both gone. It didn’t mean Bobby’s care couldn’t feel suffocating sometimes, given that Dean was a thirty year old man with his own house and own business and maybe, now, a pup of his own inside of him. Probably coming next fall, maybe a September pup, like Adam had been.

“I saw that spell you used,” Bobby said. “I tried my damned hardest to keep you out of the life but I also taught you enough to know real witchcraft when you see it.”

Dean tried to remember why, exactly, he’d used the spell recipe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, that a mate had been exactly what he’d wanted so bad it hurt. He might not have admitted it at the time, but not having a real mate until so late in life hurt deep down, and this pup he might be growing was something he’d been plain hungry for, any minor issues with his Alpha and him giving up bakery work not withstanding.

“I didn’t think it was real. I thought it was wishful thinking,” Dean said, which wasn’t quite the truth.

“Well, where is this mate of yours?” Bobby asked. “However you got that way, shouldn’t you be canoodling with him right now? Making yourselves scarce.”

“Heat’s over, Bobby,” Dean said. “You know what that probably means.”

“You took your post heat care, right?” Bobby asked. “It’s not too late. If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t have any on hand. With the snow, there’s no way I can get to someplace that sells it in time,” Dean said.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got some on hand at home,” Bobby said, tone implying that he expected Dean to have been the kind of idiot he’d been, like he didn’t understand why Dean didn’t have it on hand for himself, but he wasn’t suprisded that he didn’t. “I’ll get it for you while there’s still time for it to work.”

Dean thought Bobby was done with Omegapause, so it wouldn’t be for himself, but Bobby was like a Boy Scout- always prepared. That was the moment that Sam came out from the back, wiping his hands on a towel.

“As for you, you mind telling me why I had to chase Lucifer Shurley off your front porch when I came by to check on you?”

“I don’t know. No idea why he’s here,” Sam said. “I didn’t stop to ask him on my out the back door. What did he say to you?”

A timer went off in the kitchen and Sam turned on his heel, saying, “Croissants!”

Dean knew damn well that it wasn’t actually an emergency that Sam get them out of the oven. Sam set two alarms for high effort items like croissants. This was the one minute warning, not the actual time. He’d have plenty of time to get them out. He followed Sam into the kitchen though with Bobby at his heels. Dean sniffed. The croissants had filled the kitchen with their warm bready, buttery scent, reminding Dean of why he’d gotten into this business in the first place- at least partly it was the comforting scents of the stuff he made. Dean headed to the closest oven. Once Bobby saw that they were working in synchrony to get the croissants out of the ovens in plenty of time, he started in on them again.

“Also, I’d really like to know why I heard from Ellen who heard from Jo, who heard from Ash why Adam was checking into Big Dick’s No-Tell Motel out in Harrisburg,” Bobby said. “With Michael Shurley.”

Adam? Was at Big Dick’s with Mike Shurley? The hell? Was that what Sam had been dancing around, the answer that he was sure Dean wouldn’t like? He was at Big Dick’s with an Alpha? As Dean knew all too well, there was one and only one reason to check into Big Dick’s and that was to get laid. There was no good reason that Dean could think of for Adam to be checked into that place. Mike Shurley was old too. Like he’d graduated high school when Dean was still in grade school. And Sam? He knew that. Dean hadn’t pressed because he’d thought Adam was off with that boy from high school and he could admit, when pushed, that he’d gone off too hard on Adam’s prom night.

“You knew!” Dean accused Sam. He let the sheet tray of croissants he’d just taken out of the oven slam down a little too hard on the bench, but that was only because he’d been holding it a little too long with only a hand towel as a pot holder. “You knew. And you didn’t even try and do anything about it.”

“By the time I knew, it was too late to do anything,” Sam said. “With the storm. I didn’t get a call until late at night and the state had already closed the highways. And he’s not a pup any more. Am I supposed to ground him?”

“A Shurley? A Shurley is taking advantage of our pup. Haven’t they done enough to us?” Dean asked.

“Says the man who got mated to one minutes after meeting him,” Sam said, grabbing another tray from the oven.

“You got a call from him?” Bobby asked Sam. “And he didn’t sound like he needed rescuing?”

“Not at all,” Sam said. “I’m not thrilled who he chose to go with, but I don’t think it’s my place to stop him if he wants to check into a motel with someone.”

“It’s not your place? That’s our baby brother and you were on watch.”

Dean couldn’t believe what Sam was saying. This wasn’t his pup getting felt up on prom night by some teenage dirtbag who was at least the same age. If Dean remembered Mike Shurley’s age correctly, he was old enough to be Adam’s father. Brother to the asshole that had nearly killed Sam when he’d broken’s Sam’s heart, no matter what Sam said about it now. Son to the man that basically had stolen Singer Salvage and the old house from Bobby. The only thing stopping him from getting in the car and heading out to Big Dick’s now was that he’d been out in that storm. No way Baby could drive through that. Maybe Sam’s Bronco? Or Bobby’s wrecker?

“I was on watch. I was here, running your business while you were off getting a mating bite from a complete stranger on your neck.”

“Enough,” Bobby snapped. “I didn’t stop by to referee your cat fight. I found some news about that spell and the witch who wrote it.”

“Her name’s Rowena,” Sam said. “She stops by on Thursday afternoon for a pain au chocolat. I don’t think she lives in town. I’ve never seen her around otherwise.”

Bobby seemed a little deflated a Sam stealing the thunder like that.

“Rowena? How do you know her?” Dean asked. The memories of meeting the witch at the Happy Holistic Holiday fair were kind of sketchy and faint in Dean’s mind, though how much of that had been sheer exhaustion and how much was witchy shit, Dean didn’t know.

“She came by the bakery late yesterday. I think to check up on you. You’d recognize her. Short, about yeah high,” Sam said, holding his hand to about mid chest height on him. To be fair, almost everyone was shorter than his giant brother. Even Dean, a solid six feet, which was enormous for an Omega, looked short in comparison. “Red bouncy hair. Bobby, she said she made some kind of promise to Dad, a deal. He spared her life, so she made a promise.”

“I don’t know about any kind of deal John would make with a witch,” Bobby said, suddenly thoughtful. “He had good enough reasons for his hate.”

Something got Dean thinking. When he slid the last tray of croissants into the rack, he went to the cooler where he would expect to find the leftover cookie dough that he’d made from the spell, the scraps that he’d balled up, as if they could be re-rolled. If you wanted the dizzying, overwhelming kind of mating he’d gotten that was. The dough was where he expected it, flattened into a thick disc, which wasn’t how Dean had left it.

“Guys,” he said, showing the dough to Bobby and Sam. “There’s a lot less cookie dough than I had left. You didn’t make one, Sam, did you? Maybe that would explain Satan Shurley on our doorstep.”

“No, no witchy baking on my part,” Sam said.

Dean had a very, very bad feeling about who might have used the missing dough. There were, after all, three brothers at this bakery, one of who had recently taken up with an Alpha suddenly.

“You don’t think…” Dean started.

“Balls!” Bobby cursed.

Chapter Text

Mikey was looking at him with such unbridled lust but also a tenderness so sweet it could hardly be endured that Adam almost felt shy again, an odd sensation when his cock had been inside Mikey’s mouth just moments ago. And that nickname. It seemed too childish, too informal for the marvelous Alpha looking down at him. It was a nickname for a pup, not the powerful man who’d ripped an earth shattering orgasm from Adam’s very cells, or at least that’s what it had felt like. Not a name for the warrior who flew jet fighters through the sky and commanded a squadron.

“Michael,” Adam said. It wasn’t quite a plea, not begging, though maybe it was. Michael suited this man better than Mikey.

“Michael?” He asked, tilting his head as if confused a little.

“Suits you better at a time like this,” Adam explained. “Mikey is the adorable Alpha goof who feeds me pizza flavored Combos in bed and watches bad Yule specials from when he was a pup. Michael is you right now.”

Michael was pulling his black knit shorts off, a slow reveal that made Adam ache to see how his lower abs cut in, a tight v that made a path to a bush of blond pubic hair and the magnificent cock that curved upwards from it, fully erect. It bounced a little, rebounding after it was freed from the waistband of Michael’s shorts. What a gorgeous cock. Not that Adam had seen any in person before, at least not erect like that. Funny how ugly a limp dick was, but this one, when ready for action was so beautiful, the curve of it graceful, even elegant.

“Are you still sure about this?” Michael asked.

Adam nodded and when Michael didn’t move, the look in his eyes still an ask, Adam added, “Yes. I want you. Do I have to be more obvious? Do I have to say that I want your cock inside me?”

Michael grabbed one of the little foil packs from the bedside table and tore it open. He took the rubber circle from it, pinching the tip a little, then slowly, deliberately, rolled it down his cock, like it was some kind of show. Was it strange that Adam found Michael getting ready for sex to be so damn hot? It wasn’t just that it was clear Michael was so turned on, but it was like it was part of Michael taking care of him.

Michael taking responsibility for not putting a pup into Adam too soon. Because while there was still that ache for a pup, when Michael had said he could send Adam to university, Adam had a sudden hope reappear that had buried hard once it was clear he was Omega. That was hot, wasn’t it? An Alpha taking care of you.

And more than that, making sure that Adam was still on board with this. Yeah, he was more than ready. More than certain.

___

Castiel was wandering around through a residential neighborhood, fighting his way through snow that drifted to hip deep in places. He was miserable in the cold, driving snow hitting his face so hard it hurt. He was wondering why when he’d decided it was time to leave Chicago, he’d chosen South Dakota instead of someplace more agreeable, like Florida. Gabriel had encouraged him, but to be fair, he’d been thinking about home long before he’d called to talk to his half brother.

He’d given up searching for his mate’s bakery. He knew it had only been less than a block from his own office, but he’d gotten turned around with the low visibility and his sense of direction was never good to begin with, especially now in a basically new town. Now he was trying to find he way back to the little downtown strip where both were and he was making every wrong turn you possibly could in such a small town.

In Chicago, at least you always had ‘lake sense’. You could always sort of tell where Lake Michigan was and that inland freshwater sea was always to the east. You could orient yourself that way. Here, though, he was far from anything that gave him a sense of geography.

Also, he thought he’d was prepared for the cold. He wasn’t. Chicago had more than it’s fair share of cold, snow and winds, but this was on a whole other level. He had the lining zipped into his trench coat and he’d was wearing a wool suit. His hands were jammed into his pockets for warmth and he had the collar flipped up to protect his neck a little, but he was still freezing cold. He wore boots with his suit, but they were city boots, not meant for snow at these levels and he was genuinely starting to worry about frostbite in his toes.

More than any discomfort from the cold, his whole self ached for lack of his new mate. He didn’t know what had happened. One minute, they were talking about the future and a possible pup, something he had been cautiously joyful about. The next, Dean’s scent had turned angry and sour, his whole aspect bristly like a porcupine. He’d said he was going to go, that he needed to think, that it was a lot. Well, that was true. It was a lot, but shouldn’t they be thinking about it together? He’d forced himself to give his mate some time to cool down, maybe an hour. Only then had he gone out looking only to get turned around.

A snowplow passed him in the nearby street, a hulking, noisy beast of a truck that threw up a spray of snow that hit him right in the face. A big SUV, maybe a Yukon, hard to tell in the low visibility, was following the plow, not far behind, but it stopped in front of Castiel and a door opened.

From inside, a familiar voice called out, “Get in loser, we’re getting hot chocolate.”

He got in, because it was his best option at this moment. His older half brother Gabriel was at the wheel. In shotgun sat a petite red head Castiel didn’t know. And in the back passenger seat was another half brother, one of Gabriel’s full brothers. Lucifer. They were age mates and in the same grade during school, which had been particularly awkward considering that meant that his father had still been married to Lucifer’s mother when Jimmy and Castiel had been conceived. Lucifer had been a little bully in early grade school and made his life such hell that their mother had moved them to a different school district. Things had been patched over, more or less, helped by the fact that Castiel had gone to the private religious high school twenty minutes away in Ogdenville while Lucifer went to the public school in Sioux Falls. That and the fact that their shared father had already moved on to his fifth partner by then and there were another dozen or more half siblings to worry about at the big family gatherings that their father insisted on. He’d seen Lucifer only at the solar holidays during their school years and not at all since late high school. Castiel sat warily next to him, not sure what he was worried about. That was childhood days and Lucifer had offered a sincere apology long ago.

The redhead taking shotgun turned around in her seat and said, “Hello, boys. Let’s get you to Gabriel’s home. It’s not fit for man nor beast out here.”

He squinted at her, not certain what he was seeing. She was amused, but Castiel wasn’t sure why this should be. The redhead was decidedly not dressed for the weather, wearing a red sleeveless garment with a black snake shaped belt. She was beautiful in a sinister kind of way and she scented of nothing else that Castiel had ever come across though Gabriel’s sweet scent was all over her in a way that suggested wet, messy coitus had happened recently. She wasn’t a rare female Alpha like his friend Meg, but he couldn’t pin down her subgender in any way. It puzzled and bothered him, but inside the SUV was warm and out of the wind. He was now with family. So he was grateful for that.

“Hey, Cassie,” Lucifer said. Castiel was handed a small white towel that was already a little damp, but he wiped off his dripping face anyway. “Long time no see.”

“Luci,” Castiel answered. “You wouldn’t have seen me in the audience, but I have seen you recently. My friend Meg is a fan of your musical group and when you played in Chicago last, she dragged me to the show.”

She’d shown up on his doorstep without prior warning, with two tickets she had paid way too much money for and a fantastic story about how the lead singer of this Ladyheart band was actually his long lost half brothers Lucifer, who’d changed his name. And she wanted to know why he would have picked the stage name of Vince Vincente when he could have just chopped off the dumbass last Shurley last name and called himself Lucifer Morningstar, much better for the music. Castiel hadn’t believed her at first, but she showed him pictures and it was, without a doubt, his half brother. He’d ended up going to the show with her though he had an early meeting the next day, half from curiosity, half because the ticket had been so expensive and half because she was his oldest friend.

“What’d you think of it?” Lucifer asked. “Chicago was an awesome show.”

“It was certainly the loudest show I’ve ever seen,” Castiel said. He’d humored Meg in going, but he preferred light pop music rather than the screaming hard rock Lucifer’s music was known for. Ladyheart had been so loud it had been painful even with ear plugs for hearing protection. Then realizing this was probably not the answer he should have given, because he was working on his rusty people skills, he added, “Meg said it was the best show she’d ever seen in her life.”

That seemed to satisfy Lucifer. “Meg Masters? You’re still friends with that hellhound that broke my nose in first grade?”

“I seem to recall that you richly deserved it,” Castiel said.

“I probably did,” Lucifer said, ruefully. “I was a little shit back then.”

That was the moment that they pulled into a driveway. Gabriel went in for Yule decorating in a big way. There were candles in every window as well as little twinkly lights on the eaves, still visible even though it was nominally daylight, inflatable lawn decorations, though most of those were buried under the snow. Gabriel parked near a side entrance of the big Victorian house and led them inside and up a short stairs to a big kitchen with an attached sitting room, complete with a fire place. It was a gas fireplace, because flames sprung up when Gabriel flipped a switch. He and Lucifer were directed to the small sofa opposite the fire place while Gabriel and Rowena went off to the kitchen side of the room. Like promised, it looked like Gabriel was starting to make hot chocolate, because he was fussing with milk, cocoa powder and sugar.

“You should have stopped by with your friend after the show,” Lucifer said. “I’d have been happy to see you.”

“I don’t have your number,” Castiel pointed out. “I don’t think anyone in the family does.”

“True,” Lucifer said, shaking his head. “Last time I tried to call dear old Dad, he hung up on me then blocked me. I guess he’s still mad I escaped his big plan for my life.”

“So why come back then?” Castiel asked.

“My therapist told me to,” Lucifer admitted.

“Therapist?” Castiel asked, intrigued.

“Yeah. So, I guess I’m an asshole,” Lucifer said. “I thought it was all Daddy issues, but turns out it was a me problem. Dorothea, my drummer, told me that she appreciated that I was the band’s talent, but that I’d be kicked out if I didn’t deal with my bullshit. So I went to talk to someone and I’m trying to learn to not be an asshole to people. Mia, that’s my therapist, said I needed make amends to certain people.”

“Like Father?”

Luci chuckled a little, then said, “No, not him. I’m in the clear to keep no contact with him. You remember Sam?”

Castiel tried to remember. Honestly, they might have been half brothers and close in age, but Castiel always did his best to keep out of Luci’s way. He’d always assumed that any friends that Lucifer had would be of similar mindset, wanting to speak with fists before words and most of all, wanting to punish Castiel for existing.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Castiel admitted.

“Doesn’t matter,” Luci said. “Point is, I owe him a lot of explanation.”

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure why he should hesitate. This moment had been building since the moment he’d laid eyes on Adam. In some ways, the foreplay had started the moment Adam had gotten into the old truck he’d borrowed for running around town until he was certain he would be staying in town for good.

Adam wasn’t like any Omega that Mikey, no, as Adam had said, at this moment, he was Michael. The childhood nickname that had never fit quite right could be laid aside. Adam wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. There was a sharpness to the look in his eyes. Michael hadn’t been surprised to hear that Adam would have been Valedictorian except for stupid prejudice.

More than anything, there wasn’t the slightest bit of fear in Adam’s eyes, just eagerness and lust. Michael, since he was much younger, had made a point not to sleep with Omegas, even though a male Omega was a strong preference for him, because even when they said yes and there was eager want and desire, there was always a little big of fear too. He knew all too well that as an Alpha, he could break an Omega without meaning hurting them accidentally with his outsize strength. He kept himself under control always but found himself, over time, growing to loathe that frisson of fear in his partner’s eyes, no matter how small. It wasn’t there in Adam, not at all.

Michael had heard, across the room, when Adam was leaving that message for his brother, about how it might have been a bad idea to get a room with Michael, but what his tone had given off wasn’t worry, but hunger. He seemed to crave the whole experience that much more because it was a bad idea. It shouldn’t be that way. Michael knew that he should have eased back on the throttle far sooner than now. He should have turned the truck around the instant he realized he’d been heading in the wrong direction. But what was he if he didn’t take on speeds and forces that would cause others to collapse?

Adam’s eyes twinkled, even though they were lidded, half closed. He was so damn beautiful, Michael thought. The taste of his come lingered in Michael’s mouth and the phantom feeling of fading pain from when Adam had pulled on Michael’s hair as he came. It should have been too short to get a good grip on even though Michael had let it grow longer since retirement. However Adam had done it, Michael found himself wanting his hair pulled again. For now though, what Adam wanted wasn’t just another orgasm.

Adam was waiting for his cock.

Michael didn’t like condoms, no one did, but he rolled one down his cock anyway. He had a responsibility to use it, to make this encounter safer for his Omega. He added a squirt of the artificial slick. In his experience, that helped make the condom experience better. Michael climbed onto the bed, got between Adam’s spread legs, intending to get on top, missionary style. Adam’s eyes twinkled with a wicked gleam though. Adam locked legs with Michael and he pushed and pulled, then Michael suddenly found himself on his back. It was unexpected. It would never have worked if Michael had anticipated the move, but he hadn’t. Adam was climbing onto top of him immediately, lining up their hips.

Oh, that was what was happening. Michael was more than on board for that. It started out awkwardly. Adam was having difficulty getting their parts to line up exactly and it was more of a glide of his cock along Adam’s folds, but then Michael angled his hips a little and guided Adam’s hips with his hands. He slid into the hot, tight warmth. Adam groaned, a strangled sound and Michael was afraid he’d hurt his partner, but Adam kept pushing his hips down and down. They locked eyes. No, that wasn’t pain, or not entirely.

“You’re huge,” Adam said, but he kept sliding down, trying to bottom out.

“Maybe we should…” Michael started to say, thinking maybe he should roll them over, that they could try a different position.

“No, I want it this way,” Adam said. “I said it was huge, I didn’t say I didn’t want it all.”

____

A short while later, Gabriel set a tray full of steaming mugs with a bowl full of those mini marshmallows and a can of spray whipped cream on the coffee table in front of them. Rowena followed a close distance with a blue cookie tin, the kind that normally was filled with sewing supplies, in Castiel’s experience. She opened it when she got close and inside were cookies. Ginger cookies, the kind that you rolled in sugar before baking and the surface got crinkly as they baked. The kind his mother used to make during the Yule holidays. They must have been made very recently, because a sweet spicy smell wafted into the room when Rowena opened the tin. Castiel was suddenly very aware that he was hungry, that he’d engaged in a lot of…vigorous physical activity recently and only had snacks to eat in the last twenty four or so hours. That he’d tried to microwave some breakfast that morning, but had gotten distracted from that. He didn’t permit himself more than one though. Too much sugar would make the hunger worse rather than better.

Castiel had spent most of his time since he’d gotten back from Chicago with Jimmy and his little familiy, but Castiel had seen Gabriel, briefly, when he’d first gotten to town. Mostly that was only long enough for Gabriel to inform him that their father was in a snit and no, Castiel would not be getting the family rate on the office suite he’d been intending on renting after all. Castiel hadn’t noticed it then, maybe it had been hidden by the layered tops Gabriel had been wearing, but Castiel saw it now. There was a certain thickness to Gabriel’s middle that wasn’t weight gain. It was round and firm in a way simple weight gain wouldn’t be. Castiel didn’t ask anything about it though, because despite his rusty people skills, he knew enough not to ask if someone was pregnant when it fact, it just might be too many cookies. But when Gabriel took the arm chair to the left of the fireplace, Rowena perched on the chair’s arm, hovering protectively if not possessively. If Gabriel was carrying a pup, it would appear Rowena was the father.

“So, Cassie, mind explaining why we found you wandering the neighborhood, half frozen to death during a blizzard?” Gabriel asked. “Maybe you got soft in Chicago, but these South Dakota blizzards are no joke. You know that.”

“I was looking for my new mate,” Castiel explained, realizing it was a weak explanation. “And I got turned around. You know my sense of direction has never been very strong.”

Those were the facts but it didn’t really feel like much of an explanation to Castiel. How had he let Dean go like that? How had he he gotten so turned around so quickly that he’d been utterly lost in a town as small as Sioux Falls? Sitting here in Gabriel’s snug sitting room next to the fire, it seemed like some kind of fever dream. The whole last twenty-four hours seemed that way.

“New mate? You didn’t say anything about planning to get mated when I saw you a couple weeks ago,” Gabriel said. Rowena just smiled, as if she knew something very amusing.

“It was very sudden and very recent. Jimmy didn’t let the family know at the party?”

“Dad decided last minute that there wasn’t going to be a party, that everyone should go home because of the snow. I think Jimmy and Samandriel didn’t make it back to Harrisburg, that they’re staying with Balthazar. I’m sure Baltie will be telling everyone else soon enough.”

Balthazar was the family gossip, but Jimmy was not known to be close lipped either. Honestly, Castiel was surprised that the story of his sudden mating wasn’t making the rounds of the family already by telephone and group chats. The Shurley family facebook group. For all Castiel knew, the younger half siblings had probably made their own Discord server or something. The story of his true mating should have gotten around the family and the town by now.

“Well, it was a true mating. We met yesterday morning and triggered each other, his heat, my rut,” Castiel explained. He puzzled for a moment about what else to tell them, partly because he wasn’t sure how much to share, but also, he didn’t have a lot else to share.

There hadn’t been a lot of talking, honestly. The last twenty-four hours had been filled with a lot of more or less wordless intercourse. He knew his mate’s name and that he’d gotten prickly when Castiel had paid the large bill for the supplies they’d bought. He knew that his mate was tall and strong for an Omega, but that his scent was perfectly Omega. He knew that his mate was a vocal, appreciative lover and very, very receptive in a way that went beyond what could be explained by him being in heat. Castiel knew that his mate worked in a bakery, because he remembered waiting outside of it, hoping he could buy coffee to sooth his aching head and that Dean had opened the door like he was opening the gates of heaven. He knew that Dean’s eyes were a beautiful mossy green and that they seemed to look at Castiel with love when they were having intercourse, when they were tied together with a knot especially.

“His name is Dean,” Castiel offered. That seemed to be the only thing else that they would be interested in knowing.

“Wait? Dean Winchester? About yeah high?” Gabriel said, indicating with his hand about four or five inches above his head, Gabriel being more average sized for a male Omega. “Hottie with the body? Has an even taller brother?”

“I don’t know anything about his brother,” Castiel admitted. “But yes, he is very tall and attractive. And he works at a bakery.”

“Bro!” Gabriel said. “He doesn’t work at Three Brothers’ Bakery. He owns it with his brothers. He’s the best baker in the state maybe. He was even on a TV show. You remember that Great Midwest Bakeoff show that was on the Food Network? Dean won the third season last year.”

“He’s a business owner?” Castiel asked. He hadn’t had any idea. He’d assumed that Dean was just an employee at the bakery. He’d never seen the show that Gabriel mentioned, but winning a whole season of any kind of reality show was an impressive achievement.

“One of the most successful in Sioux Falls,” Gabriel said.

“Wait? You? Sad sack Cassie the nerd snagged Dean Winchester?” Luci asked, sounding appalled. “I don’t know about now, but in our high school days, Dean was the hottest Omega in town. Way out of your league.”

Castiel attempted to give Lucifer his best withering glare. “I thought you were in therapy to learn not to be an asshole to people.”

“I’m trying,” Luci said. “It doesn’t always work. I’m just saying that Dean was almost every Alpha’s dream. His high school boyfriend was Lee Webb.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Castiel. During their high school days, Castiel had been living in Harrisburg and attending school in Ogdenville. He definitely didn’t know what Dean had looked like in his high school days nor could he picture the kind of alpha that this Lee Webb might have been. Castiel knew that during high school, he had been nerdy and awkward, the sort of student who joined AV club rather than a sport, but since graduating, he thought he’d had what the pups these days called a glow up. He didn’t play a group sport, but he’d taken up running and turned himself into an athlete that way. He’d even run a marathon every year. His face was not bad looking, despite his unruly hair, and his financial acumen had turned him into an eligible Alpha, he thought. Perhaps Dean was still out of his league but perhaps he wasn’t.

“Lee Webb? The country music star Lee Webb?” Gabriel asked.

“That’s the one,” Luci said. “I ran into him at the Grammy’s last year.”

That still didn’t bring a face to mind for Castiel, but it was clear that even on his own, Dean was not the Omega that Castiel had first thought he was, possibly glad to escape a low paying job at a bakery.

“Sorry, Cassie,” Gabriel said. “But maybe Dean is out of your league. He’s had hit songs written about him.”

“What’s this talk of leagues and who is in and out of them,” Rowena said. She pushed the tin of ginger cookies at Castiel again and he took another out of politeness and hunger though he desperately wanted some food that wasn’t sweet. Maybe a bowl of bean soup or something.

“Just that Dean is amazing and Cassie is an accountant,” Gabriel said.

“If it was a true mating, then Fate does as Fate means to,” Rowena said. “And Cassie the accountant is rather handsome. Now, Angel, tell Auntie Rowena why you’re here and not with this marvelous Dean, making sure your mating bond takes.”

He hadn’t meant to talk about it. It felt like failure on his part that Dean had fled during their discussion about the future.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I truly don’t. One moment we were talking about the future and the possibility that we had conceived a pup during our mating. Then he said that he had to think, that it was too much for him, and he fled.”

“Huh,” Rowena said.

“What, exactly did you say to him, Cassie?” Gabriel asked. “Right before he ran away. What kind of future were you planning? Were you planning it with him or for him?”

“I just said that I would buy a house in town for him and our pup and that I could easily support him from my investments.”

“I’m going to tell this to you gently,” Gabriel said. “But does the Dean Winchester you just heard about sound like the kind of Omega that wants to be supported by an Alpha?”

“Put that way…no,” Castiel said, looking down at his uneaten ginger cookie. It was dark brown from molasses and a little sparkly from the sugar. He hadn’t meant anything. He was not that kind of Alpha. There were some Alphas that thought Omegas should stay at home, not work at all. He didn’t think that, but he also thought it was the place of an Alpha to provide for any pups he had.

“That’s not what I meant,” Castiel said. “I would never. I’m not.”

“Did you tell him that?” Gabriel said. He sighed heavily, as if he was tired of dealing with someone’s foolishness, got up from his armchair and walked back over to the kitchen part of the great room. He had left his cell phone on the counter next to the stove. He picked it up and called someone.

“Hey, Samshine,” Gabriel said into the phone. “Is Dean around and can you put him on the horn? Yeah. I’ll wait.”

A moment later, Gabriel said, “Hey, Deano. I’ve got something that belongs to you. No, it’s a surprise, but can I drop it by in a few? Think of it as an early Yule present.”

Chapter Text

As Gabriel and Rowena hustled Castiel out of the kitchen and back outside, Lucifer said, as he was putting on a big, black parka, “I wouldn’t worry too much about Lee Webb. Yeah, he wrote songs about Dean, but they all have titles like, ‘You Don’t Have to Die to be Dead to Me.’ Pretty sure he’s over Dean.”

“You’re coming?” Gabriel asked Lucifer at the door. “Sam’s there.”

“I know. Kind of the point in me coming to town, seeing Sam,” Luci said. “I’m trying to make amends.

“Your funeral,” Gabriel said. “Sam’s not little Sammy any more. He’s probably not like you remember him.”

It had been briefly explained to Castiel that Sam was Dean’s taller brother, one of the co-owner’s of Three Brother’s Bakery, that there was also a younger brother named Adam. Whatever conflict there had been between Sam and Lucifer, it must have run deep. Gabriel had also explained to Castiel that he was being taken to Dean and he should prepare to put on his best groveling suit. Rowena had added, “Just use your words, Angel, and it will all come out right. You’ll have your happy ending yet.”

“He didn’t take up with some Alpha after I left, did he?” Luci asked as they reached the SUV’s doors. “I’m not going to be stepping on anyone’s toes, am I?”

“Oh, no, definitely not. Never dated anyone even,” Gabriel said. “And it’s Sam you ought to be worried about, not some Alpha.”

Outside, the snow was slowing down, the wind no longer whipping it around, more snow showers than blizzard conditions. The streets were getting plowed as they drove to the main strip, which it seemed was only three blocks from Gabriel’s home, so close that Castiel wondered again how he had gotten so thoroughly lost in such a short time and distance. The snow plows had even cleared the diagonal parking spaces in front of the town square and courthouse. They’d parked. Castiel could see that he must have turned left instead of right when he’d left his office and then at the next cross street must have made a turn or something. He’d gone in the opposite direction he’d needed to go.

The bakery, now that he could see it, was a small brick building with plate glass windows taking up most of the frontage. There was a black and white striped awning, but that had been folded up and secured. The plate glass window had been painted with the business’s sign in black and gold paint- Three Brothers’ Bakery. Inside, front of the shop was dark, the cases empty, but you could see just beyond a swinging door that lights were on and people were in the building. Castiel remembered the shop a little more than he’d thought. The small black and white hexagon tile of the floor was familiar, so was the curved glass and carved oak of the main display case. He’d stood in front of that case while holding onto Dean’s wrist. There were a handful of small round tables with red painted, curly wrought iron chairs. That seemed familiar. A chalkboard menu covered the wall behind the main display case. All in all, it was a pleasant looking bakery, clean and the sort of place you’d naturally want to look in, even if you hadn’t had a pastry on your mind. If it were in Chicago and if you had the right person doing the social media accounts, there would be lines outside the door and down the block.

Gabriel knocked on the door and a moment, a man came out from the back. Not Dean, nor Sam, because the man was older, worn looking. Castiel was surprised to scent that this man was an Omega, because he certainly didn’t look like one.

“Hey Bobby,” Gabriel said after the door was opened. “Dean still here?”

___

He should have known. He should have guessed. It had been easy enough to figure out that Gabriel had Castiel, Dean’s new Alpha, and would be bringing him to the bakery. Sam approved of that idea, because it would get Dean’s situation figured out. Why hadn’t he known that Lucifer had been picked up along the way and brought along too?

Sam was putting several sheet trays worth of the chocolate roulade cake into the ovens when there was a knock at the door. Bobby had gone to answer it. Dean remained silent as he worked, weighing his pie crust dough into the portion for each pie. He hadn’t said anything since letting the black wall phone’s handset crash heavily, making the whole phone jingle. He was looking down only at his work, as if he were thinking hard. Sam couldn’t help but think about the old saying about mating in haste and repenting at leisure. A small group entered the bakery, led by the red headed witch and Gabriel behind her. After that, Lucifer, in the flesh and still with his stupid brown dyed hair. No eyeliner today, but he did wear all black. He walked right up to Sam as if the last eleven years had never happened and said, “Hey, Sammy, good to see you.”

Some force beyond Sam’s conscious control took over. Sam’s fist formed and rose up all on its own. Before he could even think about it, he swung, a forceful right hook that connected with Lucifer’s jaw. It threw Luke off his feet, twisted him around, and sent him right to the floor. Luke wasn’t knocked out, but he stayed down, rubbing his jaw. Sam wasn’t normally violent, wasn’t given to punching people, but Dad had taught him how to throw a good one, if he ever needed to.

“You’ve been waiting eleven years for that chance, haven’t you?” He asked. Sam didn’t answer, just stood there, breathing hard, wondering what the hell was next. Lucifer wasn’t wrong. Sam had been waiting.

“Can’t say I don’t deserve it,” Luke said, still rubbing his jaw. A red mark was left where Sam’s fist had connected.

“No, no you didn’t,” Sam said.

Yes, he’d been waiting over a decade to throw that punch but it didn’t feel anything like he ever thought it would. He’d imagined it sometimes among the other scenarios that had plowed through his head night after night, whether those scenarios were a tearful, happy reunion where Luke had a perfectly good, perfectly logical reason for his absence and he had finally overcome the obstacles separating them or if the scenario had been someone tipped Lucifer into a volcano and he immediately crisped up into a cinder. The punch to the jaw day dream wasn’t a particular favorite but Sam would be lying if it wasn’t on semi regular repeat.

The actual punch felt like nothing. Or rather, it felt like he’d been stupidly, needlessly violent for no good reason, like one of his contagiously bickering fights with Dean that turned out to be over nothing. He thought he’d feel vindicated, but he just felt ugly inside and mean. It felt like there’d been no good reason to hit Lucifer, because while he knew the name and face, he didn’t know this man in front of him. They’d been teenagers when Luke had disappeared and Sam was a man now. The Alpha in front of him was a stranger. Known to him since he was a pup and in someways, foundational to his life history, but still a stranger.

Maybe Rowena’s candle had worked. He was over the Alpha that had haunted his life so far, wasn’t he? He could have his new beginning.

He turned away from Luke and over to their ice maker. He grabbed a plastic bag and filled it with ice, then tossed it to Lucifer along with one of the white terry hand towels.

“There,” he said to Lucifer. “That ought to help with any bruising. You can see yourself out. I’ve got work to do and thanks to your brother Gabriel, I don’t have any help.”

He glanced meaningfully over to the other side of the kitchen. In the time it had taken him to sucker punch Lucifer, Dean and Castiel had glommed on to each other like you would expect the newly mated to do. They were hugging each other, but before long, it broke out in kisses, even full on spit swapping and tonsil hockey. They really needed to get a room before they forgot that there were others around them. That might happen sooner rather than later, because Dean had pulled Castiel into a full on clinch, complete with grabbing Castiel’s ass.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, hoping to get through to his kiss dazed brother.

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Take your mate home and you do whatever with him there, but make sure you take time to talk about your issues,” Sam said.

“Sure,” Dean said. He sounded a little drunk, but mating hormones could be like that.

Chapter Text

Sam wasn’t convinced that Dean and Castiel could keep their tongues out of each other’s mouths long enough to talk about their issues, but at least they were getting out of his hair, moving to the door. Well, even if they weren’t talking, bonking each other silly was a kind of bonding too and there would always be time to do the talking later. Or maybe they could talk to each other while they were tied together, literally unable to separate. That would be a good time for the kind of discussions they would need to have to form a life together that wasn’t just based on hormonally induced bone jumping. Hopefully if they made it to the house on Washington St. they would make it up to Dean’s bedroom before they shed their clothes again

“Bobby, can I stay with you for a few days?” He asked.

“No need to ask, Sam,” Bobby answered.

Once, Dean and Castiel were out of the way, Gabriel and Rowena started making their way to the door as well, maybe considering their mission accomplished. Or maybe they were just going to offer the new couple a ride home? Gabriel did drive that outsize SUV, which would be about the only thing that could get through the snowy streets.

Sam wanted to have a private word with Rowena at some point soon, because while he thought maybe he would be getting his new beginning, there was the fact that Lucifer was still here, still on his kitchen floor, looking at him with eyes that reminded Sam too much of the way Lucifer always used to look at him. Rowena had said that if Sam wanted to break the bond, Lucifer would be gone. He wasn’t gone yet. He looked like he didn’t want to go anywhere.

Bobby got to the swinging door before Rowena and Gabriel could make their exit, planting himself firmly in front of them. Bobby pulled a big bottle out of some inner pocket of his Carhartt. It was filled with Sam didn’t even know what, but he thought he saw a chicken foot in there. There was a cloth stuffed into the bottle neck and Bobby was also suddenly holding a light Zippo lighter in his other hand.

“Whoa, Bobby. What’s going on here?” Gabriel asked, holding his hands up.

“Did you know your lady friend there is a witch?” Bobby asked. He capped the Zippo, so the flame went out, but he still held the lighter in his hand, at the ready.

“Robert, there is no need for these…theatrics,” Rowena said, calmly, as if she wasn’t at all afraid of whatever potion that was in the bottle. Bobby was clearly prepared to Molotov her. Sam couldn’t help notice how she stepped closer to Bobby, so that she was fully between him and Gabriel. Was she Gabriel’s ‘lady friend’ he’d mentioned earlier?

“There’d be no need if you kept your witchcraft to yourself.”

“A witch keeps the promises she makes with a blood vow,” Rowena said. “And no harm has or will come to your boys.”

“Some might say a casting a spell of any kind on someone is causing harm,” Bobby said.

“I didn’t cast any spells on anyone,” Rowena said. “If I provided the materials and directions for one, it was their own free will to do the casting on themselves.”

Sam thought about the set of candles she’d given him. That had definitely been his own choice to use one, no matter that it hadn’t turned out so far anywhere near what Sam had imagined would happen. Lucifer, still sitting on the kitchen floor with an ice pack on his jaw. He was watching the situation with cautious interest, as if someone threatening a witch with a Molotov potion was a normal Sunday morning activity. But he also seemed…watchful, as if he thinking about what he would do if someone actually attacked someone else rather than this awkward stand off going on.

“I think that’s more or less true, Bobby,” Sam said, hoping he could diffuse the situation. “I don’t think anyone was forced to do anything. Both Dean and Adam baked their own cookies. No one else was in the kitchen when I saw Dean pull his out of the oven.”

“If anything, that foul potion you’re threatening me with is more harmful than my little biscuit recipe. I’m certainly not consenting to you using that witchcraft on me.”

“Live by witchcraft, die by witchcraft,” Bobby said.

The front door opened with a jingle from the bells attached to it. A deep voice called from the front, “Yes, hello, are you open today? The door wasn’t fully shut.”

The accent wasn’t quite British, maybe Scottish? But it had something sly and arch about it too. Everyone in the kitchen froze, except for Bobby who tucked his spell Molotov away in his jacket again. There were steps towards the back. Maybe Dean and Cas hadn’t shut the door properly when they had left? Sam should really go and see who it was and get them sorted out and out the door again but before he could, a man dressed all in black stepped through the swinging door.

He was familiar but Sam couldn’t remember where he might have met the man. Sam had definitely seen his face before though. His hairline was slightly receding but he had a well trimmed beard. He was handsome, but more than that, his eyes instantly went to Sam, looking him up and down, giving him the silent ‘how you doing?’ But in a way that seemed appreciative and not at all creepy. Not that Sam had been looking for someone to look at him like that, but it was a bit of an ego boost. Especially when Lucifer glared at the intruder, death in his eyes. Luci didn’t say anything because he seemed to get that he shouldn’t dare, not after being gone so many years.

Only the moment was ruined when the intruder turned a little and caught sight of Rowena.

“Mother! What are you doing here? You said you and Gabriel were wintering in Boca Raton.”

“Not now, Fergus! I’m busy,” she hissed.

Then he turned to Gabriel, nodded and said, “Stepoma. Hope you and the half sib are doing well.”

Gabriel was pregnant? With Rowena’s pup? Now that he knew, Sam wondered how he’d missed it. Gabriel was glowing and yes, that was a bump. That certain implied that she was far more than the casual girlfriend that you would think of when someone said, ‘lady friend’. But Rowena wasn’t an Alpha female, was she? Gabriel seemed quietly furious, though who knew if that was from the whole situation or just because his pregnancy was revealed.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, stepping forward. “The store front is closed today due to the weather.”

“It is frightful out there, isn’t it? You can’t blame a man for trying though. I just heard from Balthazar Shurley that Three Brothers is the only place in town you can get a decent croissant and cup of coffee. I’ve been saying for months I don’t know who I have to murder to get a decent croissant and here you are.”

He used a pronunciation close to the French- kwae-san, not the usual krah-sant that Sam was used to hearing. There was a certain rough charm to the man that Sam found himself enjoying and finding he wanted to get to know better.

“So, I don’t have the till open today to sell you one. I didn’t start the coffee maker, but I did pull a batch from the ovens and they’ll be about perfect now,” Sam found himself saying. “I could give you one. A sample.”

Sam went to get one of the crescent shaped pastries and put it in a little bag for the Alpha. He grabbed one from the only tray that he’d let bake completely. The other trays he’d deliberately under baked. When they were fully cooled, he would freeze them and finish baking them later, on a future day.

Standing closer to him, Sam realized the Alpha was a good six inches shorter than he was, but he hadn’t noticed until they were standing closer to each other. Fergus smelled like nothing else Sam had ever smelled, like the best parts of freshly laid asphalt, but also like really good whiskey, leather and sex. Like a new car, a little. And old books, the kind that were crumbly old.

“My card,” Fergus said, holding out a little rectangle of card stock. “I’ll be by to pay the next time you’re open. Tomorrow?”

Sam took the card though he said, “It’s no problem. We’ll probably have waste out some of these to make bread pudding anyway. We’re closed Mondays.”

Sam took a quick look at the card and discovered why the man seemed familiar. He was Crowley McLeod, king of the deal. One of the only real estate agents around that was in any kind of competition to the Shurley Real Estate Trust. You couldn’t say his face was on ads all over town, but there were a few billboards around advertising Crossroads Real Estate and Crowley, mostly on the roads south to Harrisburg.

“Rowena’s really your mother?” Sam asked, then wished he hadn’t.

“She is remarkably well preserved, isn’t she? Yes, I’m afraid she is my dearest Mum. I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

He wanted to ask Crowley if he knew his mother was a witch, but it didn’t seem to be the time or the place for that.

“No, not at all. I was just curious.”

“You’re off tomorrow?” Crowley asked. “Perhaps you’d care to go out? Lunch? My treat.”

The fact that he could feel Lucifer’s death stare boring into his back just made it that much better.

“I’d like that,” Sam said. Then he turned to Bobby. “I’m sorry, Bobby, but you can’t kill Rowena, even if she is a witch, because I’m going on a date with her son.”

____

Michael’s cock wasn’t the first thing Adam had had in his pussy. He’d experimented with his own fingers and with a knot toy that he’d bought secretly and kept hidden, but it was definitely the largest thing so far. It was an almost painful stretch and when he’d first pushed himself down on Michael, there’s been something deep inside him that was painful when the cock bumped it. Adam thought maybe it might be his cervix, based on what he’d read in that sex ed book that Sam had pushed into hands right after they’d let him out of the room he’d been locked in during his first heat. The most embarrassing but useful book he’d ever been given.

For now though, he and Michael were experimenting with angles and adjustments. And Michael’s teasing touch on Adam’s much smaller cock was a welcome distraction from what was going on inside. Michael seemed experienced at helping someone deal with his trouser monster.

“Try leaning back a little,” Michael said. “You don’t need to take it all in at once. Just hold still for me right now and it’ll get better. Let me make you come again.”

Michael’s teasing touches grew steadily longer and more rhythmic. His hips stayed still and he was using only his hand to stroke Adam’s dick. Sometimes, he cradled Adam’s balls in his fingers, squeezing gently or rubbing the sensitive underside, reaching behind to touch Adam’s folds. He played Adam’s body like it was an instrument or something, slowly building Adam up until it was hard to hold still. Until those soft, whimpering sounds came out of his lips again. Sometimes Michael pulled his hands off Adam’s cock and reached up to caress Adam’s breasts, thumbing the nipples for a while, then trailing his hands down Adam’s flanks to rest at his hips, holding him there while he thrust up, just a little deeper each time.

That was the best part. His cock filling up Adam inside, so full, rubbing and sliding with electric sparks of pleasure. It went on and on, until Adam was hot and sweaty, until he couldn’t bear it an minute longer, every nerve singing with fire. Michael touched his cock again, rubbing fast, the base of his thumb covering the head of Adam’s cock, so Adam kept bumping into it again and again. He finally spilled, came with a shout. Adam slumped down, hardly able to keep himself upright after that. Michael pulled out, something that felt like a terrible loss. He belonged inside Adam. Michael helped Adam down to the mattress, prompting him to lie on his side. Michael was still fully hard.

“You haven’t come yet,” Adam said as Michael snugged up against his backside, taking the big spoon position.

“Omega comes first,” Michael said, sliding his cock between Adam’s legs. “And second. And third.”

“I don’t know if I can come again,” Adam said. He was pleasantly limp, relaxed in a way he’d never been before. It was like every other orgasm he’d had before had been a practice run for this, like Michael had taken everything that Adam had to give.

Michael held his hips still and it felt like he might pull out completely, but he wrapped his arms around Adam’s body, kissed the side of Adam’s neck. Even if Adam didn’t think he could come again, he wanted more than anything for Michael to put his huge cock inside again, to fuck in forcefully. To do that until he came inside Adam, to complete the moment. Even though Adam was done, it wasn’t finished. Not until Michael came too.

“Want to give it a try?” Michael asked, softly. “Or we can be done for now.”

“We are definitely not done yet.”

Michael shifted his position slightly, lifting Adam’s upper leg, and then he was thrusting, slowly but powerfully. He was back inside Adam again, where he belonged. He turned Adam’s face a little so that they could kiss. Oh, this was lovely, kissing while Michael was sliding in and out. Leaning back, on top, like he’d been was hot, had given Michael plenty of access to all of Adam’s most sensitive parts, but they hadn’t been able to kiss. Adam liked this so much better, the way Michael’s lips brushed his, the way it all felt so much more intimate and close. And easy. He could lie like this and let Michael make love to him this way for hours, it felt like. On top had been a gallop, but this was a nice easy lope. When he wasn’t brushing Adam’s cheeks tenderly, Michael could stroke Adam’s sides or delicately tease nipples or even just run fingers up and down Adam’s neck. All the while, Michael kept up a slow, relentless pace thrusting in and out. Strange how he could be so powerful and so gentle all at once.

Michael was right. Adam came a third time. And a fourth time as Michael finally let himself come, silently, but his arms clasped tightly around Adam’s chest and his thrusts grew harder, deeper, powered from somewhere deep in Michael’s torso, until there was one last shuddering thrust and Michael huffed and softened. He pulled out right away, not letting his knot get buried deep inside Adam.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said when Adam couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lips when he pulled out. “If I let us tie up, the condom is so much less effective.”

Michael rolled over on his back and skinned the condom off his still hard cock. He wrapped it up in a wad of tissues, wiped off his cock too. Then he pulled Adam back into the little spoon to his big spoon.

“You are a treasure, Adam Winchester,” Michael said as he nuzzled the back of Adam’s neck, sounding sleepy

“Milligan,” Adam said. “Dad never married Mom. I guess I’m a Winchester, but the name on my birth certificate is still Milligan. No one ever changed it.”

“Adam Milligan,” Michael said. Then he yawned, which was contagious, because Adam was yawning soon too and following Michael into sleep.

Chapter Text

“Let me take you to your home,” Castiel said. His voice was deep, rumbly and rough to his own ears. They were standing outside on the sidewalk just one door down from the bakery. They’d been kissing inside, which had been bliss, when someone shouted at them and more or less forced them out into the cold again.

After being teased by his half siblings about Dean and how much more attractive of a partner Dean was, he’d been worried. That worry had been added to his anxiety that he’d said exactly the wrong thing again, to his mate. He’d implied that he was the kind of antediluvian Alpha that expected an Omega to stay in the home, not have any kind of independence or means of their own. He might have made Dean think that he intended to financially abuse his mate even, when nothing could be further from the truth. As a certified financial planner and accountant, he’d helped more than one Omega get back on their feet after suffering that kind of abusive control. Not that he would do such a thing, but he would make sure that Dean’s business was safe from him before they filed any official mating paperwork.

Assuming they would begin a shared life together.

A true, fated mating wasn’t always a successful pairing. Sometimes mates found they had to live apart, despite a mark on the neck that never faded and a heart that stayed forever empty and bereft. The profound bond of a mating didn’t always mean a happy ending and a happy home.

But the instant Castiel had stepped into the bakery kitchen, Dean had dropped the hunk of dough he’d been working with and abandoned his project. The dough was stiff and pale and Dean had been weighing it out on a scale, then shaping it into thick discs, wrapping each in a sheet of plastic wrap. Dean had stopped what he’d been doing instantly and come over to Castiel who found himself with an armful of Dean Winchester. Dean wrapped himself around Castiel as if trying to smash their bodies into one entity. It had been natural and reassuring to turn his head a little, so that their lips met. They were kissing like they’d never stopped, never had a disagreement that had sent Dean running. Yes, Dean was marvelous, amazing. As gorgeous as you would expect from an Omega that had been on television and had had hit songs written about him. At this moment at least, Dean did not seem to find him wanting. This marvelous person in his arms desired Castiel, at least if the rising scent of aroused Omega was true and the questing tongue in Castiel’s mouth spoke accurately. Yes, he wanted Dean and Dean wanted him, just as much now as they had desired each other at first sight.

The snow had been lightening even more, falling slowly now in big, fluffy flakes that danced in the air before dropping. People were starting to come outside. Was that Garth pushing an enormous snow blower, clearing the sidewalk in front of his grocery store? The snow blower must have weighed far more than the lanky string bean of a man. A fountain of powdery snow showered in an arc from the chute. It was quickly becoming a day that was more winter wonderland than winter hellscape. Even the sky was brightening a little. Perhaps it would be sunny later and they could go for a walk. Castiel always thought the best conversations were had while you were walking. Maybe that was what was needed to talk about how Dean saw his future going and if Castiel could see how it would be his own future too.

“Nah, let’s go back to your office,” Dean said. “It’s closer even if our nest there isn’t the greatest. Though who knows which has the least chance of sibling interruption.”

Castiel chuckled awkwardly, thinking about how Jimmy had let himself into his office yesterday. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to give Jimmy one of the spare keys. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jimmy hadn’t just stood there, talking, as if he couldn’t see that Dean and Castiel had recently been engaged in coitus. He could be forgiven for not smelling it. Jimmy didn’t have the disability of full anosmia, but a childhood accident had damaged his sense of smell significantly. He should have seen two naked people under a trenchcoat and come to some reasonable conclusions, then made a quick exit.

“I’m sure Jimmy will know better than to drop by again without calling first and no one else has a spare keys, besides Garth,” Castiel said, as he put his key into the keyhole for the street entrance to his office. “I should warn you that Jimmy and I are twins and closer than average for siblings.”

“Me and my brothers are crazy close to each other too,” Dean said. “We live together, work together. Do everything together really.”

A sudden impulse hit Castiel. Maybe he was still feeling a little inadequate from his siblings’ ribbing him about the quality of Dean’s former boyfriend. Maybe he just wanted to show off a little. He scooped Dean up into a bridal carry, one arm under Dean’s knees, one under his back and he mounted the flight of steps up to his second story office. A small show of Alpha strength wouldn’t hurt his case, he thought, especially since Dean was slightly taller than himself and only a little less heavy. One thing he had, due to a quirk of genetics, was that he was stronger than you would even expect an Alpha of his size to normally be. His marathon running had given him an enviable stamina.

Instead of protesting, Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and held on tightly, letting himself be carried up the steps while he nuzzled into Castiel’s neck. At the top of the steps, they faced the other office suites. His own suite was 2A. Across and to the left was 2B- with a sign on the door for “Flying Wiccan Press- Sera Seige, publisher”. Then, in front of them was 2C, the unoccupied suite that Garth had given them the keys to temporarily. With a full bathroom and shower.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Castiel asked Dean. It had been more than forty eight hours since Castiel had last had a chance to shower or do more cleaning than could be done with some baby wipes. Maybe longer than forty eight hours. In the time since his last shower, there’d been a rut and sex. So much sex. And wandering around lost, getting wet in the snow. His suit was still damp from that.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dean said.

“I’m going to have to set you down to get my keys,” Castiel said, but instead of getting ready to be set down, Dean wrapped himself even more tightly around Castiel’s chest and neck. After an awkward few seconds patting himself down, Castiel finally found his keys and the extra keys to office 2C.

The office itself seemed like a much nicer office than the one he’d rented, though that might partly be due to the lack of broken sofa and all the dozens of cardboard boxes scattered around, some partly unpacked. He’d picked his office because the view was nicer, looking out to the county courthouse rather than the alley and the buildings behind. Once the door was pushed closed and locked, Dean attacked Castiel’s lips again as he started walking them to the bathroom. Castiel attempted to run his fingers through Dean’s hair only to discover that he couldn’t. Something was in the way, a brown mesh object. Castiel tugged at it and finally freed it from Dean’s head.

“My hairnet,” Dean said with a shrug. “I think the cap I normally wear got lost along the way. You can’t work around food without something on your hair. It’s not sanitary.”

Castiel tossed the hair net onto the vanity counter, contemplating that his mate was so beautiful that even hairnets could not detract from his beauty. Between kissing and the fact that Dean would hardly let go long enough to pull clothing off, it took a long time until they were both undressed. While Dean fussed with the water temperature in the shower, Castiel looked through the vanity drawers in hopes of finding toiletries they could use. There was an assortment of things that looked like leftovers from a previous tenant. He found some toothpaste but no tooth brushes. Hand lotion but no shampoo or conditioner. Luckily, there was a bar of soap. And a box of condoms.

“I don’t know if it’s like shutting the barn door after the cows have come home, but should we think about using these?” Castiel asked, holding up the box.

Dean got serious. He swallowed. Then said, “Bobby said he has the after heat care preparation. We still have a couple of hours for it to be effective. If we’re not ready to be parents.”

“It’s not ideal, is it?” Castiel said. “We hardly know each other.”

“People get true mated all the time and have pups right away,” Dean said. “I want pups and I’m not getting any younger. And if you’re the one fate sends my way, I don’t see why we should wait. Unless that’s what you want. Not gonna puppy trap you.”

Now was the time to say it, to clear up the misunderstanding that had sent Dean running before. He hoped he could say it without sticking his foot in it. Meg had told him any times before that he had no idea how to read a room.

“What I said before, about being able to support you and our pup, I meant I was capable of paying my part, not that I would expect you to remain at home. I’ve been informed you and your brothers run a very successful business and I would not interfere with that in any way.”

“Damn straight we do,” Dean said. “You couldn’t interfere with it. It’s all locked up in an LLC that’s owned by a trust. My house is in a trust too.”

“You’re already a homeowner?” Castiel asked. He silently approved that Dean’s property was safe. “That is something I haven’t been able to accomplish yet.”

“Easier in the middle of nowhere than Chicago,” Dean said. “We might have to get another house if we have pups. No way I’m kicking my brothers out of their home, but it’s only a three bedroom place.”

“I’m certain I have savings enough for half a down payment,” Castiel said. “I can run the numbers, set up a spreadsheet so we can determine what would be equitable. I suppose it matters if you draw a salary from the business or you rely on profits from the LLC. For myself I was planning on drawing a small salary to start and returning most of the profits to the business to take advantage of the growth potent…”

Dean laid his hand lightly over Castiel’s lips.

“Enough of the boring talk, Mister Accountant,” Dean said. “I know two things for certain. One is that Bert is Omega and Ernie is an Alpha and two is that I’m getting laid again sometime today, but not if you put me to sleep with that money talk.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Yes. I can think of much more interesting things to do with our time.”

Dean took the box of condoms and tossed them back into the drawer that Castiel had found them in.

“I vote we get on with the fucking,” Dean said. “And that we get on with making a pup and figure out the details later.”

It wasn’t wise. It didn’t make sense. A careful analysis would certainly lead to the conclusion that you shouldn’t start a family with someone you’d met only yesterday, even if fate itself had thrown you together. But he looked at Dean, not just at the beautiful Omega in front of him, but at the beautiful person he saw when he looked deep into Dean’s eyes. Castiel saw a wonderful future when he looked at Dean. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith, kind of like he’d made a leap of faith returning home from Chicago.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “To all of that. Yes.

Dean threw himself at Castiel again and said, “Well get busy putting a pup into me.”

_____

Bobby had watched his son walk out hand in hand with one of the Shurley boys, after playing tonsil hockey with him earlier, then Sam had just told him that he couldn’t eliminate the witch that was causing all of this possibly deadly ruckus, that he intended to go on a date with her son. As if being witchy didn’t run in family through the blood. Then there was the fact that Gabriel, the only Shurley that was a stand up kind of guy, was with the witch. Like with with. In the family way by her from the looks of it. Certainly it had been implied by Crowley calling him Stepoma and mentioning a half sibling.

It wasn’t that anything she’d done was so particularly bad. He’d gone over that gingerbread spell and while it was real magic, especially that spelled spice mixture, it wasn’t a spell to compel or transform or rob life energy. She wasn’t killing anyone, not he’d been able to discover. For all Bobby knew, his boys would have run into the Shurley boys eventually with the same results. The spell didn’t have anything to do with triggering a true mating. That said, it rankled him. Just looking at her put his back up. Did she deserve to die just because she stuck in his craw? When he’d called around, he’d heard some stories about the woman. A death in Bettendorf that couldn’t have been accidental. An Alpha in Red Cloud that said she’d turned him into a newt, though he must have gotten better because he was still around to tell the tale. Add in this story that she’d had some kind of run in with John, and he didn’t like how it all figured. Being a witch wasn’t a crime, but sometimes witches did crime and crimes that couldn’t be prosecuted by the regular law. Jody did a pretty good job finding a way to get witches put behind bars for legal reasons but plenty of them slipped through the long arm of her law.

“Bobby, let’s go discuss this somewhere else,” Gabriel said. “Whatever you think Rowena did, she has her reasons. I know for certain that she only has your boys best interests in mind. You know me, right?”

Bobby had known Gabriel since he was a snot nosed brat, even before John Winchester had dumped Sam and Dean on him, a move that seemed dickish at the time but had been the best thing that ever happened to him. Gabriel hadn’t had much attention paid to him as a pup, so he tended to run wild around town too young, the ignored Shurley pup. As far as Shurleys went though, he was the best of a bad lot in Bobby’s mind. Especially after he silently slipped Bobby some copies of certain documents that, while they didn’t save the old place from eminent domain and redevelopment, made sure that Bobby could fight for the money that the land had really been worth, not the pittance he’d been offered for it.

“We’ll talk at my house,” Bobby said. Then he turned to Sam, “You going to be okay here with these two.”

Bobby glared at the two Alphas still left in the kitchen, both who were looking at Sam like he set the moon in the sky. He didn’t like either of them but one thing he knew for certain was that his middle boy deserved someone who looked at him like that. Karen used to look at him like that and he her. He didn’t worry about Sam alone with Alphas, especially considering that Satan Shurley was still icing his jaw after that sucker punch Sam had landed. It’d been a good one and made Bobby proud to see. You couldn’t say much good about John Winchester but he could teach you how to knock a man down ten different ways before breakfast.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam said.

“I’ll be on my way,” Fergus said. He stepped close to Sam and whispered something up into Sam’s ear that brought a sudden, genuine smile to the boy’s face. Then he turned to the witch and said, “We’ll talk later about Yule plans, since it seems you aren’t cozied up with Stepoma in Boca Raton after all.”

Chapter Text

Sam found himself alone in the kitchen with Lucifer who was still sitting on the floor with the ice pack, but not holding it to his face. What right did he have to be even more handsome now than he’d been back then? He still had the just above the shoulder length hair he had back then, but it clearly had an expert cut and style. Teenage Luci had been a little goofy looking in a cute kind of way, but he’d grown into a handsome man.

“You can see yourself out. I’m busy,” Sam said, turning back to his interrupted roulades. He had to get them out of the oven soon and that also meant getting them rolled up in a sheet of parchment paper so they could cool that way, setting them into the roll shape. You couldn’t over bake them or they’d crack. That was part of why Dean thought they were a pain in the ass. When he did them, he wasn’t as careful about the baking time and then complain when they broke during roll up.

“I can help you,” Luci said, finally standing up, keeping himself more than an arm’s length away from Sam, obviously not wanting to find himself at the business end of Sam’s fist again. He took off his big black parka and found a vacant hook for it by the back door. “I’m not a baker, but the road from nobody to rock star is long and paved with a lot of terrible day jobs. I can work a dish room with the best of them.”

As he grabbed an apron from shelf of fresh linens, Luci looked over meaningfully at the big three bowl sink where stacks of bowls and other dishes had been accumulating. That might actually be useful but honestly, a lot of other things needed to happen today too if he was going to have a day off tomorrow. Luci didn’t seem like he was going to skedaddle any time soon. Sam might as well get some useful work out of him.

“You think you could portion something with the scale?” Sam asked. Dean had abandoned his pie crusts mostly unfinished but he’d be pissed if the dough was wasted. This part of making pie crusts wasn’t hard, just tedious and Sam had better stuff to do.

“How hard can it be?” Luci asked.

So Sam got him set up with scale and box of plastic wrap. And tried to get him to wear a hairnet, because of sanitation. You couldn’t work around food with your hair out. To Sam’s annoyance, Luci pulled a black paisley print bandana from a pocket and got his hair put back and away. He couldn’t argue that the bandana was tied effectively, but Sam had kind of wanted to subject his stupidly handsome ex-boyfriend to the humbling of a hair net, just a little. Even the apron had only emphasized Luci’s broad shoulders and tapered waist, making him look even better as his grown up self than he had as a slender, sleek teenager. After a bit of instruction, in between Sam taking the cakes out of the oven and rolling them up, Luci got it.

“Twelve ounces dough. Pat into a circle. Don’t touch the dough too much. Wrap in plastic wrap,” he said. “I think I can handle it.”

He did. He wasn’t nearly as efficient as Dean was at the same task, but he was getting the job done while Sam checked on the ovens, then got the par cooked croissants from earlier packed up for the freezer. One of those ‘terrible day jobs’ must have been some kind of food prep because Luci wielded the bench scrapper with ease and after a bit of practice, he had a good eye for approximate portions. He worked silently in the face of Sam’s silence. After a little bit, Sam almost relaxed, the silence becoming easy, like it did when the work was going well.

Then it started reminding him of high school years when he and Luci would sit in the library, each working on their homework. Or rather, Sam would work on his homework and Luci would doodle notes and scribble phrases in this notebook he carried around everywhere and not do his homework. Whatever. It had been one of his favorite times of day back then, not having to be home with Bobby’s grouchy moods or fearing it’d be a day when Dad was back home. Or worse, when Dean was being all hormonal all over at everyone during the time after he’d run away with Lee.

Sam thought about how Luci would look up from his notebook and grin at him and then look back to his notebook, but then Luci’s foot would hook around Sam’s under the table. Puppy love stuff. More than anything, more than boyfriends, more than soul mates, they’d been friends. Best friends. Sam found himself wondering if Luci still wrote songs the same way, half assed scribbles in a red notebook that had a heart shaped Luci + Sammy 4EVA in black permanent marker on the cover. Did he still have that old notebook? Luci had guarded it zealously and not let anyone, even Sam, look inside.

Since their work was getting into grove, Sam decided it was time to add some music. He turned on the blue tooth speaker, got his phone synced up. If his music app happened to have Lee Webb’s hit song paused, that was just a coincidence, but he could have skipped forward to the next song. He didn’t. He started the song and Lee’s twangy, deep voice, accompanied by acoustic guitar, started at “…I'll just say, ‘Adios, sayonara, well, bye’. You ain't gotta die to be dead to me…”

If Sam was satisfied when Luci flinched at the song, he would never admit it. Luci kept working though. The younger Luci that Sam remembered might have slammed something down and stormed away at that kind of dig. Maybe Luci had changed a little with the passage of time?

Luci did eventually break the silence.

“So, what’s the deal with Gabe’s puppy daddy?” Luci asked. “She’s a witch? A real one? That’s a thing?”

“Real enough,” Sam admitted. “Most of the people calling themselves witches aren’t, but Rowena’s the real deal.”

“And she’s casting spells on people?”

“It’s more self service. Providing stuff so people can cast them on themselves,” Sam said.

He finally got the last roulade rolled up and resting. Lucifer had finished up with the pie dough discs and gotten them into the cooler, then started some clean up. Sam thought about his next step, which filling he was going to use for the Yule logs. Traditionally, you used stabilized whipped cream, but he hated it. He decided on Italian meringue buttercream because it was light and fluffy but still stable. Or at least so long as the cake was chilled completely. He thought for a moment he might put Luci to work cracking and separating the dozens upon dozens of eggs he would need for the meringue, but decided it was too risky, that Luci might let some yolk slip in on accident. It only took a tiny bit to end up with egg whites that wouldn’t whip up into the needed fluff. Instead, Sam pulled several large blocks of chocolate and a huge bowl and dumped them on the work bench in front of Luci. He grabbed the chocolate breaking fork and handed it to Luci.

“We need to make a crap ton of ganache,” Sam said, while he went to the cooler to get the pasturized egg whites. “Which means you need to break up this chocolate.”

“What kind of spells?” Luci asked as he got to work, attacking the chocolate awkwardly with the wicked sharp tines of the breaking fork. It took a bit of practice to get nice sized chunks off with ease. “Did they work? You say it’s real, so where’s the evidence?”

Sam was tempted to just dump the cartons of egg whites into the big Hobart mixer and crank it to max so he didn’t have to answer. But he had to weigh the sugar and get the simple syrup going first. If you got the timing wrong, it was a pain in the ass and might lead to your meringue breaking.

“Were the spells really that bad that Bobby was going to end her over them?”

Yeah. He supposed Luci had seen that, the whole Molotov spell bottle and heard Sam say Bobby couldn’t kill Rowena. Bobby had his reasons for hating witches, as had John. Sam wasn’t sure what got into him. He really should have kept his lips shut. Bobby kept him and his brothers out of the life as much as he could, but they couldn’t avoid learning at least some things, Sam more than his older and younger brothers. One of the first rules you learned was that you didn’t tell the normies anything that they didn’t have to know. You explained away and you elided the truth and you misdirected, but one of things you definitely didn’t do was say, “That recipe card on Dean’s workbench? That’s one of them.”

Luci dropped his chocolate fork and grabbed the recipe card. He looked it over quickly, raised an eyebrow.

“How to bake yourself a man?” He asked. “Did you use it, Sammy? Did you bake yourself up that balding real estate agent?”

“I absolutely did not use that spell,” Sam said, sharply, hoping Luci was going to drop it quickly. He wasn’t going to say he’d used some candle magic she gave him instead and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to explain that Rowena had told him the cookie spell wouldn’t work anyway because he hadn’t been over Luci. He felt a sudden, bitter clench in his chest, an ache borne from over a decade of desertion. From not hearing from this asshole in front of him, not a phone call, not a text. Not a scrawled post card from some city far away where he’d been touring. Hell, Ladyheart had played Omaha in the spring and that was a quick day trip to here. He could have come then.

“Why the hell do you even care?” Sam demanded. “Eleven years you’ve been gone. Maybe you never thought we were what I thought we were to each other, but you do not get to stroll in here and say a damn thing about me going on a lunch date with someone.”

Luci was silent, even looked down at the stainless steel work bench for a moment.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” he said, eventually. “But you can’t blame me for a bit of jealousy. I tried to get over you. I did. I even went to one of those shamans that say they can break a soul bond. He said he couldn’t.”

“Then why?” Sam demanded. He slammed the big metal sugar scoop on the stainless steel work bench. It sounded like an explosion through the whole kitchen and sugar did explode everywhere, scattering all over. “If you weren’t over me, why be gone for over a decade?”

“Because I’m an asshole!” Luci shouted back. “Because I spent eight years fucking furious at you for shit that had nothing to do with you and the last three trying to get my broken head together. I’m so fucking sorry. I really am. Fuck! Shit! I spent forever trying to get this apology right. I even fucking rehearsed it with my fucking therapist and I’m still screwing it up.”

______

Dean found himself naked again soon after that, clinging to Cas’s torso like some kind of monkey. Dean had been a little surprised when Cas had carried him up the steps like it was no big thing, but he wasn’t so much surprised when Cas had hoisted him up again as soon as Dean had dropped his pants. His Alpha was strong, like strong even for an Alpha, even though he wasn’t muscular. He was lean and sleek and with endurance and a stamina that Dean had appreciated already on their previous trips around this particular block.

Cas carried him into the walk in shower. The water temp was just right, the steam rising around them. It was a nice shower, complete tile surround, glass doors. Even a bench seat built into the wall, one of those little niches for shampoos and such.

“You want me to put a pup into you?” Cas asked. “If I haven’t already that is. Me filling you with my come all yesterday wasn’t enough for you?”

Cas’s voice must have dropped a full octave. It was deep and rumbly, like a thunderstorm at a distance. There was a ferocity that hadn’t been there before, an intensity that would have been frightening if it hadn’t been so damn hot. Like there was a direct pipeline from Dean’s ears to his pussy, making him feel empty and needy. This Alpha had what Dean needed and it sounded like he was going to give it to Dean. It was like every bit of the buttoned up accountant had fallen away and all that was left was the inner Alpha, the fierce animal self.

“Cas,” Dean murmured as Cas pressed him, still hoisted, up against the wall, even while he was pressing his cock inside Dean. It slid into Dean deep, right to the root. Dean reflexively wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist to pull him tight, holding on tight for this ride. Their lips met, Cas’s tongue asking for entrance too. There wasn’t a lot of talking after that, just the sound of Cas’s body slapping against Dean’s again and again. Each thrust of Cas’s cock rubbed against Dean’s inner O-spot exactly right, something about the position lining the head of Cas’s cock at the spot that sparked electric bursts, charging Dean up like a battery, like some great potential energy building through Dean’s whole middle. It wouldn’t take long for everything to explode.

Dean kept thinking that in a little bit, Cas would set him down, but Cas didn’t. He pinoned Dean against the shower wall, not flagging, not weakening. The couple of times Dean had tried shower sex before, it’d been ridiculously complicated, worrying about slipping, where to position every limb so that neither partner was off balance. It made great foreplay, time in the shower, but they’d always have to stop eventually and leave the shower, go finish in the bedroom.

But this was simple. One Alpha who was strong enough to carry his Omega for as long as it took, even though they were hot from the shower, even though the Omega was as big as any Alpha and should have been too heavy for this. One Omega who clung to this comet of an Alpha for dear life. Dean had this random thought, some half remembered thing from a school science class, about how comets were random celestial bodies captured into orbit. Had he captured this Alpha the same way?

“Going to come soon,” Cas said into the side of Dean’s neck. “Going to fill you up with my come. Going to put a pup in you. You’re so greedy for it, aren’t you? I am too. Want to fill you up so bad.”

“Do it, Alpha,” Dean said.

It was already too late if he didn’t want this, because the both of them were shuddering and moaning. Dean’s arms and legs tighten as everything broke out in whiteout pleasure. Cas’s knot had been pushing in and out, already inflated, the stretch and release on Dean’s lips its own kind of pleasure, but now Dean’s inner parts grabbed on, spasming and locking it in place. He could feel the hot liquid flooding his pussy as Cas came. They locked eyes too and as he stared into Cas’s deep blue eyes, this tremendous feeling of joy welled up inside Dean, finding an outlet, somehow, in laughter, but an a giddy laughter answered by Cas.

They clung to each other like that a long time, until Cas finally said, “I need to set you down. I’m going to try for the shower bench.”

Cas turned and began lowering himself down. There was one of those metal safety bars and they both grabbed it for support. It was never meant to hold nearly four hundred pounds of human on the way down, so it creaked, then pulled out of the wall, taking a couple of tiles with it. Dean and Cas fell down hard onto the built in shower bench. Dean’s hand got between Cas’s head and the tile, getting a good smack. Probably better than Cas getting a concussion on the tile, but it smarted instantly. They were both still holding onto the safety bars and you could see how the toggle bolt was still intact, the wall itself having given way. There was cracked tile on the shower floor and two holes in the wall. The damn shower was still going.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “We’re gonna owe Garth a lot of cash to fix that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas said. “It was my idea to take you in the shower. I’ll cover it. Just relax and enjoy the moment.”

Chapter Text

Bobby followed Gabriel’s SUV to his house. The middle Shurley pup had done okay for himself if the house was any indication. It was a big old Victorian, the kind with gingerbread trim painted in bright colors on the ‘rich’ street of town, the kind of house you’d see in storybooks or whatever. Bobby knew Gabriel worked for his old man in real estate now and that he’d done the best he could for Bobby back when the whole eminent domain thing had gone down. Did the witch live here with him? Sam had said he thought she didn’t live in town, but she must have lived nearby if she was in town as often as he’d said.

He didn’t park in their driveway, but on the street next to one of the plowed snowbanks, walked up Gabriel’s driveway, looking at all the holiday lights that lined the eaves and windows. It was like a house out of one of those Hallmark holiday movies he was secretly so fond of and he found himself wondering just how Gabriel had ended up with the witch. Had it been a whirlwind romance like one of those? How had Gabriel fallen for her?

Bobby had thought about buying himself a house on this street after the old house and the salvage yard had been taken. There was one that had been for sale at the time that reminded him of the old place. He’d been flush with plenty of cash, thanks to Gabriel making sure Bobby was able to fight for the full value of it. It’d been a lot of land. In the end, he’d bought himself a small house close to his boys and a new business where he fixed old cars, only worked as much as he wanted and enjoyed a semi-retirement, both from regular work and hunting work. It wasn’t a bad life, not at all, maybe lonelier than he liked, what with his boys now grown up.

He worried for a moment about Adam out in Harrisburg but there was nothing to be done about that yet. Maybe Sam had been right, that maybe it wasn’t their place to say anything about that. The pup was nineteen, as hard as that was to believe. It seemed like just yesterday that John had brought the boy home. Hadn’t that been a hard adjustment for everyone.

Not that Bobby had ever been in love with the man, but at that time, he’d thought they’d worked themselves into something like a stable family for their boys. He and John, they’d both been broken in different ways by losing their mates, but their broken bits had fit together in a rough way that had made something close enough to a whole that the boys could be raised outside of the life. Then John had come home with the boy and told him that there’d been a woman and a whole other family in a different state. Bobby had sucked it up for the sake of his boys, but any scrap of tenderness he might have had for John withered in an instant. He’d known John didn’t love him but at that moment he’d realized that John didn’t even like him, had just been in it for what Bobby could do for him. Before he knew it, John was dead too. Bobby had had him cremated to be safe, but it was by the local funeral home, not a hunter’s funeral. John hadn’t deserved that.

Now some more of those bad decisions John had made as a hunter were coming back to bite Bobby in the ass. Again. Typical of him. What the hell had he gotten into with Rowena for her to talk of blood vows and promises made. Some kind of deal for her life? And supposedly she didn’t mean his boys any harm. Of course that didn’t mean she didn’t mean other harm.

It figured that he was cleaning up John’s mess again. Whether it was the man’s socks on his bathroom floor or patching his sons’ broken hearts, the man left destruction in his wake.

Before long, Bobby was seated inside Gabriel’s big kitchen, at an oak table, the kind that had fancy carved legs. The kitchen was old looking, like it might have been the kitchen that had been built into the place, with brown oak cabinets and floors out of little tiles. but there had been an addition put on the place, or some kind of renovations, because Victorian houses didn’t have an open concept sitting room with a fire place. Rowena was sitting at the table but Gabe was fussing in the kitchen, filling a kettle, and asked, “Hot cocoa or tea?”

“Neither,” Bobby said. “No offense but I’m not eating or drinking anything in her house.”

“No offense received,” Rowena said. “You have little enough reason to trust me.”

“It’s not her house,” Gabriel said, firmly. He left off his kitchen fussing and came to sit at the table. He pulled out the head chair and sat down using the arms to lower himself. Maybe he was a little more on in his pregnancy that it seemed. “It’s mine.”

“How’d you take up with a witch anyway?” Bobby asked. Maybe he should be worried about Gabriel too. Gabe wasn’t his boy, but he felt a small sense of responsibility for this Shurley, and even for the youngest- Lucifer, though it was to feel charitable about him given how he’d broken Sam’s heart. Could it be that Rowena had taken up with him for the advantage of a foothold in Sioux Falls? Gabriel wasn’t family, but he was a friend.

“I was wintering in Boca Raton and my darling was there checking in on his father’s properties there,” Rowena said. “Our eyes met over the charcuterie board at a gallery opening. I tried to resist, but how could I say no to an angel like him? He melted my heart.”

“And you know she’s a witch and what her kind is capable of?”

“Like knows like, Bobby,” Gabriel said. His eyes flared a moment. Not Omega gold, but electric violet.

Gabriel was a witch? How? That ran in families and if there was one good thing you could say about a Shurley, they weren’t witchy in the slightest.

“And I know that she’s done bad things in the past but she’s changed. She’s reformed. You know me. Do you think I would let her into my house, much less plan to have a pup with her if she meant any harm to anyone? Believe me I know what our kind is capable of, but doesn’t everyone deserve a redemption arc?”

Maybe the boy had a point but Bobby wasn’t sold yet.

“Let me tell you about the deal I made with John” Rowena said. “I know that both you and he lost mates to one of my kind. Let’s say his revenge rampage was well known. He was attempting to end a very powerful witch, one that saw humans as not only not the same as witches, but utterly inferior, fit only for use. I happened to be in conflict with her as well.”

“Enemy of your enemy made you John’s friend?”

“Well, useful ally for a time anyway,” Rowena said. “The man didn’t have friends.”

“That’s true enough,” Bobby said.

“She was a powerful one and she had me backed into a bit of a corner when he showed up on the scene,” Rowena said. “With him as distraction, I was able to weaken her enough that we could both escape. After making it to a safe distance, we came to the conclusion that neither of us could end her alone, but perhaps working together we could.”

“I still don’t see him trusting you long enough to spit at you much less making a deal with you.”

“The witch was Agatha Heston,” Rowena said. “The same witch that killed your Karen. She’d bound my full powers. There was a spell book she had. It had the spell I needed to release them. With John’s help, we found the spell book, but he bound me with a blood oath and exactly a promise from me before he let me have the spell I needed.”

Explained that way, it made more sense. He hadn’t made a friend of the witch, he’d used her like he used everyone else around him. Agatha was the witch that had killed Kate Milligan. Bobby could see John making a deal to get her.

“What exactly did you promise him?”

“That I’d see his boys grow up to have happy families of their own,” Rowena said. “No more, no less.”

“And Agatha Heston is gone for good?” Bobby asked. Karen was gone these twenty-five years but he still missed her, still grieved her at the quiet moments. Ached that his boys hadn’t been with her but adopted from John Winchester. John had said he was hunting the witch but never that he’d gotten her.

“Dead as the proverbial doornail,” Rowena confirmed. “John’s final act.”

It took the wind out Bobby’s sails. The promise that she’d made to John was exactly the promise Bobby would have extracted too. The best thing he could wish for. Those kids had been his salvation, his cause. They’d become the reason he got up in the morning and the reason he didn’t fall into the bottle. What more could he wish for them than what they’d given him- a happy family of his own?

____

“You were angry at me?” Sam asked. He was about ready to throw Lucifer out of his kitchen, by force if necessary. He would have already except he looked so damn miserable. Sam also wanted to hear this story out, no matter how bad it was. He deserved to know after all these years why he’d been wrecked the way he had. Why Luci had never come home to him, if only to explain.

“What did I ever do to you, besides fall in love with you?”

“I said it had nothing to do with you,” Lucifer said. “Look. My dad had this whole plan for our lives.”

“He secretly hated me. I knew it,” Sam said, thinking of how Chuck had been sickly sweet to Sam before Lucifer went missing and so coldly angry afterwards. It was the only explanation.

“No, not at all. I think he liked you better than he ever liked me,” Luci said. “You were going to be his perfect son in law. That was before you grew up so tall.”

That stung a little. Sam knew he was a giant of an Omega. He’d gotten all kinds of attention from Alphas when he was fifteen, sixteen, got called pretty, beautiful, even more than Dean ever did. Then that growth spurt hit at seventeen, when he’d grown eight inches in two years. It had been brutal and suddenly he was no longer the pretty one. Not that he had cared. He’d been too busy dealing with the fact that the only one who mattered wasn’t there any more.

“Your dad wanted us to get married young?” Sam asked. That was kind of the opposite of how it normally was.

“That was the plan. You and me getting hitched as soon as I turned eighteen. He had a house picked out for us. I was going to work in the family business. I was supposed to start on the real estate licensing education right after Yule so I could pass the test by graduation and we’d get mated in the summer. You’d start giving him grand pups right away. It would have looked really good for the family business. Next generation on the way. He didn’t have any yet and he thought he should. Mikey was off flying planes and Gabe didn’t count because he’s Omega.”

“And you thought I would want that too? You thought I was going to puppy trap you or something? Is that why you were mad at me all those years?”

That was never anything they’d talked about. Not something that Sam ever wanted. They’d talked, lots, about what they were going to do as soon as Sam graduated high school. They were going to California. Sam was going to get scholarships, go to school, go to law school even. Luci was going to study music and then do exactly what he ended up doing- become a famous rock star. Sam ached at the thought that Luci hadn’t needed him to do that. Instead, he followed Dean’s lead, ended up here in this kitchen, stuck. Living in Dean’s house, no real life of his own.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Luci said. “He said that you wanted that. He said that no matter what an Omega said, what they really wanted as soon as they started having heats was to get knocked up. He said that if I asked you you’d deny it, but that if I put my bite on your neck, you’d be more than on board.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been.”

“I know that now,” Luci said. “He was trying sell me hard on a bill of goods and then he tried to force me. People say I got disowned but I ran away. From him and any thing to do with his whole plan. The whole plan just felt like a living death to me at the time and I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

Sam couldn’t believe he was hearing this. That Luci believed his lying, conniving son of a bitch father and for that reason, he ran away and didn’t come back until now.

“I got confused and angry and maybe part of me believed him and maybe part of me got angry that you didn’t prove he was wrong by finding me in California. I thought for sure you’d prove him wrong by starting at Stanford like you were planning too, but you never did. I looked for you there.”

Yeah that had been the plan but life happened. Once Luci was gone, Stanford kind of became a non starter.

“That didn’t happen and it had nothing whatsoever to do your father’s plan and everything to do with you,” Sam said. He wanted more than anything at that moment to have a big ass batch of bread to knead. Something to throw around as hard as he could, but that it wouldn’t hurt it.

“How did I stop you?”

“So, I never finished high school,” Sam said. Most people assumed he did. “When you left, I got sick and almost died. I couldn’t finish. Dean made sure I got my GED through Sioux Falls Community College, but once you left, there was no way I was getting to California on my own.”

Chapter Text

When Adam woke, sun was glowing around the margins of the motel room curtains, like it was actually sunny out there, no longer blizzarding. He checked the alarm clock, one of those old digital clock radios with the fake wood grain case, and it was now well into the afternoon. He’d have to get up soon, check if the roads were open again yet, so they could get back to Sioux Falls. He’d have to call home. Probably Sam. No doubt Adam’s phone had blown up with messages and texts over night. He’d asked Sam not to crash out about the spending the night with Michael thing but in his experience, that rarely resulted in Sam and Dean not crashing out. He figured he was maybe safe from the total freak out that could have resulted because Bobby hadn’t shown up to retrieve him.

Michael was still spooning him, poking him in the ass with a big old hard on. Oh, yes. That had happened and it had been awesome. It would happen again, sometime soon and then hopefully on a regular basis for the rest of his life.

“Hey babe,” Adam said, snuggling back into Michael’s warm furnace of a body, feeling loving and content and more than a little horny. And hopeful of getting more of Michael’s cock very soon. “So, when are we getting married?”

It might seem to be a precipitous question. They’d met just yesterday and didn’t even have the excuse of triggering each other’s heat or rut, but yesterday, Michael had been talking like it was a foregone conclusion. They weren’t mated yet, Adam didn’t have a bite mark on his neck, but Michael had all but promised to send Adam to university using the benefits he’d earned during his years in the service. That meant legal marriage even if they weren’t yet mated. Most Alpha-Omega couples did a wedding some months after the mating, coinciding with the filing of the government papers. You could, of course, do one without the other, or neither at all. Adam sometimes thought he’d rather have the legal marriage without the mating. It wasn’t forever. You could get divorced, but a mating and soul bond was until death do you part.

“Does a spring wedding seem too soon?” Michael asked. “It’s just that when I always pictured getting married, it would be in the spring at that pavilion in Falls Park, the one in the middle of all the gardens, near the big waterfall.”

Adam could picture the place. In the spring, there were all kinds of flowering bulbs everywhere- tulips mostly, but those little blue bell shaped ones and all the other spring flowers. It would be perfect. You know, assuming you didn’t get a last minute spring blizzard or cold rain or tornado. What the weather could be like in South Dakota during the spring was anyone’s guess. Adam had seen days in the 90s in May and days in the low 30s. But in an ideal world where the weather cooperated, Falls Park would be utterly perfect for a wedding in May.

“Why Michael Shurley, you are an incurable romantic,” Adam said.

“Guilty as charged,” Michael admitted. He smiled, eyes a little dreamy. He must be picturing his wedding to Adam in the park, surrounded by tulips and friends and family.

“Are you going to wear your dress blues?” Adam asked, thinking about that picture of him that went with that article and how handsome he’d looked. Adam was pretty sure Michael could still wear the uniform after retirement. That was a thing. He’d honestly never put much thought into his wedding, thought maybe he and his intended would just run away to Vegas to get the paperwork on file. If Mikey had had a dream from when he was a pup about how his wedding would be, Adam could grin and bear it. However, if he was going to have some romantic wedding and the whole rigamarole required by that, he was getting his beloved in dress blues.

“I was thinking more tradition…”

“No. Absolutely not,” Adam objected even before Michael could finish. “You will never talk me into having a sky clad handfasting. I don’t care how religious you are or deep you are in the circle of your Unified church.”

_____

Luci collapsed. No, not falling onto the floor, but suddenly he was propping himself against the stainless steel workbench, head down. It was like he was shrinking into himself. Like he’d lost ten inches of height in an instant or something.

“I am a great big bag of dicks,” he said, shaking his head. “The biggest bag of dicks ever.”

Sam kept quiet, hoping he’d continue with this bit of truth telling on himself. He was prepared to listen to whatever Luci had to say. He didn’t talk though, not even in the face of Sam’s silence, when others would have started babbling just to fill the space. Or at least, when he spoke again, it was long, long minutes later and only seemed to be when he was ready. Luci brushed a hand across his cheek. Was he wiping away a tear?

“Look, can I maybe start at the place I wanted to start? Because I’m not here with excuses and reasons. No excuse I could make would be good enough. I’m not trying to justify myself for being gone for so long. I can’t even get this apology right it seems. Look, I was an asshole for leaving without a word. I was terrible to you when I didn’t try and get in touch at all. I screwed up and then I double downed and triple downed on that. And then I let shame keep me from making it right. I didn’t come back here to try and win you back. I came back to say I’m sorry and I’m not asking for your forgiveness because that’s something for you to give of your own free will and not for me to expect to receive.”

Did he actually sound remorseful? This was an actual apology Sam was getting. Not a ‘I had my reasons and I’m sorry you feel that way about them’ or a ‘if you only saw things my way, we wouldn’t be arguing’ kind of non-apology. One he never thought he would get.

It was confusing. On one hand, looked at strictly objectively, they were high school boyfriends and if they hadn’t ended up together as adults, they didn’t owe each other anything. How many puppy loves got no further than the end of high school? Not many. Maybe Sam wasn’t even owed an explanation.

But he thought that they both acknowledged that they were more than that to each other. Hadn’t Luci just said that he’d gone to a shaman to get the soul bond broken and been told it couldn’t be. Hadn’t Rowena told Sam that he was the one keeping Luci tied to him so tightly? All those years ago, they’d been told by Missouri Moseley that she couldn’t sever the bond, but maybe that was because Sam hadn’t wanted to.

Sam had always pictured Luci living an amazing life without Sam. A rockstar life. Going where he wanted, doing what he wanted. And who he wanted. Any Omega who was willing to do whatever wild thing Luci wanted. A different Omega every night. Maybe Luci had been living just as much a miserable life as Sam had. Didn’t he say that he’d been going to therapy? You didn’t do that if you were happy and had your life together. Maybe Luci felt as much stuck and trapped and paralyzed as Sam did. Didn’t he owe Luci some kind of apology too? No, Sam couldn’t have gotten to Stanford after how sick he’d been and how he’d crashed and burned out of high school, but in eleven years, he’d never tried to find Luci. He wasn’t sure how, but maybe he could have asked Bobby. Wasn’t Bobby an expert at finding things out? He’d never tried and at least at this moment that seemed unforgivable.

If they forgave each other, the bond could be severed and they could move on with their lives. They could fall in love with people. Maybe. Hadn’t that been what he wanted? Why he had picked the ‘new beginnings’ candle from the set Rowena had given him.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sam said, feeling like something was draining out of him, some poison that had always been with him, or so it felt. He felt weak, maybe a little giddy. Like he’d been spun around and around for a while and then put through one of those old washing machines with the rollers. “It’s a lot. I have to think about this.”

“Mia said you’d probably say something like that,” Luci said. “That it’s not no, just not yet.”

“Who’s Mia?” Sam asked. For a moment he was picturing that Luci had made the being with someone else work for him somehow.

“My therapist,” Luci said.

“Oh,” Sam said, more relieved than he would admit to anyone ever.

He looked around the kitchen. He was exhausted by a night of too little, poor quality sleep and by this big conversation he’d never thought he would have. He wanted to go home and nap or maybe just go to bed for the day. The croissants had been dealt with and there was nothing else in the proofer for now. The roulade cakes still had to be dealt with though. He had to make the filling at least and roll them up again before they could be stored, but the ganache could wait. There was sugar everywhere that would have to be dealt with. He could just picture Dean bitching at him about it. (“Do you want ants, Sam? Because this is how you get ants.” Never mind it was winter). He wanted Luci to leave so he could think but he also didn’t want to have to deal with this himself. He wanted to blast Celine Dion and wallow. Her songs were good for that.

It figured that Dean had his free pass out of this work, what with his understandable need to be with his new mate as much as possible, at least for a little while. Adam was still out in Harrisburg as far as Sam knew. The snow might be stopping but that didn’t mean the roads were clear. He could have gotten mated too, was sporting Mikey Shurley’s bite mark on his neck already. He couldn’t even ask Bobby for help, because one boundary Bobby always had was that he’d help them with anything except the bakery. That was theirs to handle.

While Sam was leaning against the counter, wishing he had someone to help him, Luci had found a broom and was starting to sweep the kitchen, cleaning the sugar away. He wasn’t talking. He worked fast and efficiently. He probably wasn’t lying about the day jobs in the dish room. When he was done sweeping up the sugar explosion, Luci moved on to the dishes, filling up the three bowl sink set up as if he knew what he was doing, soap and hot water in the first bowl, warm water and santizier in the third bowl, middle bowl for rising. He didn’t talk as he worked but got down to it.

After a long while, Sam sighed and got back to work weighing out sugar for his Italian buttercream.

First though, he switched the music. The algorithm had taken him to Jo Dee Messina singing about how her give a damn was busted. Apparently, his give a damn wasn’t quite as busted as he thought. He switched over to his Celine Dion playlist that he’d labeled ‘Boring Shit Dean doesn’t like’. The music swelled, her voice dramatic but soothing as it always was. Dean gave him endless shit about his love for her as a singer, but Sam didn’t care. Something about her voice had always been a balm to him.

Celine sang “Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you. That is how I know you go on…” as he started scooping sugar again after checking his recipe notebook for the quantity.

Luci passed behind him, looking for more rags from the linen shelf. “Celine still your favorite?”

Chapter Text

“Yeah, always. It’s my kitchen,” Sam said. His kitchen at least until Dean got back to work. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy,” Luci said.

“It’s Sam. Sammy’s….”

He didn’t want to finish. The truth was, no one was allowed to call him Sammy without a comment, not even Dean. Only Luci got away with it back in the day, but not even him any longer. Sammy was a chubby twelve year old with a much cooler but still goofy best friend. Sammy was a fourteen year old with pimples and a boyfriend that played Led Zepplin badly on the guitar and sang ‘Stairway to Heaven’ way too many times in a row. Sammy was the sixteen year old who thought he might get a promise ring as a Yule present but left the Yule season so shattered he thought he might die. Sam was who he was now, the person that had patched himself together eventually and made a life in service to his family. Sammy had died with his dreams and he was just plain Sam.

“Okay, I get it. Sam it is,” Luci said.

He’d grabbed what he’d needed from the linens shelf and got back to the dishes, working as quietly as you could washing big stainless steel bowls and sheet pans. Was he humming along to Celine though? Sam got his Italian meringue going, sugar and water bubbling along to become a simple syrup. Yeah, it would have been better to use fresh egg whites to make the meringue, they whipped up higher, fluffier, but egg whites from the carton with a bit of cream of tartar were good enough for this use. With long practice, he had the egg whites whipped to soft peaks just as the sugar syrup had reached 240F. Poured it in slowly as the egg whites were shipped slowly. Then kept the big Hobart spinning as he got his butter chunked and ready. Only was it was cool enough could Sam add the butter in small chunks. Then the flavorings. He liked almond extract for the Yule logs, but you had to use a little bit of vanilla too. A little bit of salt made the sweet taste sweeter.

Before he knew it, Sam had the roulades filled, rolled back up again and wrapped for the freezer. Next Tuesday, he’d finish with the ganache, cutting and icing them, then decorating. Hopefully at least Adam would be back in the kitchen with him. No idea if Dean would be through enough of the honeymoon mating phase to be back at work. Luci had most of the cleaning done by the time Sam was wrapping stuff up. They had the kitchen put to bed before it was dark even.

“Can I walk you home?” Luci asked, respectfully, like he was asking a teenage Omega’s Alpha father if he could.

“I’m going to Bobby’s, not home,” Sam said as they stepped out into the cold. A cold front had followed close on the heels of the snow storm and the temperature was already dropping. “Dean’s probably at home with your half sibling, Castiel. Doing things I don’t want to think about.”

“I owe him some apologies too,” Luci said. “I bullied him when we were little. That was before you and I met. I was a little shit back then. In my defense, he and I are about the same age but have different mothers and I didn’t know that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my dad. I said I was sorry at a family Yule party one year. I think you made me, remember?”

Sam did kind of remember. Not Castiel specifically, but when he’d gotten to Sioux Falls Elementary, Luci had been feared by a lot of kids. He didn’t beat up a lot of them but he didn’t have to. Luci was bigger and stronger than anyone in the school and had the richest dad in town, one who spoiled him to make up for a broken family. He was the little king of Sioux Falls Elementary. Luci had immediately crushed on Sam. Or at least he had right after he’d tried to bully Sam too and Sam had stood up to him. Sam wouldn’t give Luci the time of day at first. He had started in on a reformation campaign though.

“Being around you always made me a better person,” Luci said.

“If you pull that ‘you make me want to be a better man’ crap on me, I’ll sock you again,” Sam threatened as they turned left at Washington, not right. The snow crunched under their feet as they walked.

“Even if its true?”

“Even if,” Sam said. “Why Vince Vincente? I get why you wouldn’t want to use Shurley. That’s not a rock and roll name, but Lucifer Morningstar would be great for a stage name.”

“Vince like Vince Neil,” Luci said. “Vincente for Dorothea Vincente. My drummer. She took me in. I spent a lot of my early twenties smoking too much pot and drinking too much. She talked me into getting clean. Saw through my bullshit to my talent and handed me the shovel. Made me go to therapy. She became the big sister I never wanted.”

“Family don’t end in blood,” Sam said.

“Doesn’t even start there most of the time. I think you’d like Dot.”

They walked on in a not quite comfortable silence.

“Funny how one of my sibs ended up with one of yours,” Luci said when they’d gotten to the little park at the corner of Washington and Campbell.

It was a tiny park, just a town block, surrounded by ornate wrought iron fencing, with paths that led in and out to the tiny gazebo at the center. In the summer there were plantings. It had been a gift to the town from some long ago founder and it was pretty but not real useful. There were a couple of benches, mostly unsat on, including one with a commemorative brass plate that said “In Memory of Marv Shurley who hated this park and everyone in it.” Pups and people with pups ignored it because there was no play equipment. People who wanted solitude didn’t come because it was too small to provide it. People walking dogs didn’t visit because it was plainly posted at the gates that no dogs were allowed in the park. No one flew kites there because the trees were too close and tall. No one tossed balls or frisbees because there were too many flower beds. Why go there when you could go to Falls Park? The only people you really saw there was a small crew of volunteer gardeners in the summer.

Sometime, he and Luci would go there in the early evenings, because it was close to the library and they could sneak in a few, furtive kisses in the gazebo. Now though, even if the gates were open, they couldn’t have gotten in because snow drifts covered the whole park. No one would bother shoveling for the whole winter.

“Two of my sibs,” Sam said. “Adam has hooked up with your oldest brother.”

“Boy Scout Mikey has hooked up with the kid? Is that even legal? Did you call the cops?”

“Adam is nineteen now,” Sam said, though he couldn’t keep the unhappiness out of his voice. “He’s not the kid any longer. Nothing I can do if he wants spend the night with an Alpha.”

The kid. That was what Sam had called Adam for a while, especially during that first unhappy year. It had been a rough adjustment for everyone, but wasn’t proud of the resentment he’d held against his youngest brother, especially during the first months. Dean, he’d slipped into the role of half Oma, half big brother like a duck into water. Dad had told him his job now included watching out for Adam as well as Sam, so Dean did. Sam should have been old enough to know better, but he’d been too used to being the pup in the family for too long.

They’d gotten to the big oak tree on the corner, or rather at the pruned shadow of the former tree that still grew there. They both stopped and looked at it but didn’t say anything. Their first kiss had been under that tree, when Sam was fourteen and Luci had just turned fifteen, during the Yule season. Back then, there’d been a big infestation of mistletoe growing in the tree and that had been their excuse, that you had to kiss under the mistletoe. Their eyes met and Sam could see the memory coming over Luci just like it had him. Did he remember it the same? The way that Luci’s lips had been chapped and rough or that Sam’s probably tasted of the cherry chapstick he used to wear all the time. On the way back to the library, where Sam would be picked up by Dean, Luci had said he was going to write a song about it one day. Had he ever?

“No more mistletoe,” Luci said, finally, looking up. The branches of the oak tree were bare, maybe a few tenaciously clinging brown leaves. The winter of their first kiss, there’d been been so many bushes of green mistletoe on the tree.

“I guess it’s parasitic and invasive,” Sam said, remembering the day the town crews had cut it out of the oak tree despite the protest of many in town. “And poisonous. Did you ever write that song?”

“You mean Cherry?” Luci asked. “Track five on Serpentine.”

“I’ve never listened to any of your albums,” Sam confessed. Sure, there were a couple hit songs that had been everywhere and you couldn’t avoid them but mostly he hadn’t listened. Even Dean took mercy on him and would change the radio station in the Impala when Ladyheart came on. But track five on an album was one of the deeper cuts, so, no, he hadn’t heard it.

“I understand,” Luci said. “Too painful. But I did write it that song. And rewrite it. I had to. It was in the notebook.”

“The notebook?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to the notebook? Did you lose it?”

“Dad burned it,” Luci said, flatly. “And my first guitar.”

No wonder Luci had run away.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Your dad is bag of dicks.”

“‘S okay,” Luci said. “All the best parts live in my head. And elsewhere.”

Then Luci unzipped his parka a little. Once he had access, he pulled the neck of his t-shirt down. On his upper right chest was a tattoo. In a heart, Luci + Sammy 4 EVER, just like Luci had drawn on the cover of the notebook all those years ago. He’d gotten it tattooed on himself. Sam both loved and hated him for it. It was too much. That was one of the best parts of that precious notebook to Luci?

“Hey, so Bobby’s is right across the street here,” Sam said. Then his phone rang. As he turned away from Luci, he checked. It was Adam calling.

_____

Michael snorted as if he was about to laugh, but caught himself. Adam could see him put on a serious face, his whole demeanor changing.

“I say traditional and that’s where your mind goes?” Michael asked, not quite able to disguise the amusement in his voice. “Dancing naked in the wood with the wiccans? In the spring in South Dakota?”

“So what were you thinking then?” Adam asked, feeling a little deflated. Besides, Michael should want to be naked with him on every possible occasion. Shouldn’t he?

“Yes to the hand fasting,” Michael said, taking Adam’s right hand in both of his. “White ritual robes for the both of us. Conservative Unified Church ceremony. Traditional but not regressive. You really want me in my dress blues instead?”

“And that arch of swords thing too,” Adam said. “You can do that, right? Or is the religious thing more important to you, ‘cause I’d kind of prefer not to wear a dress.”

“Robe, not dress,” Michael said. “It’s not a gender or subgender thing. Or rather, that’s why the robe. All dressed equally before the eyes of the spirit.”

“Your family is really religious?”

“No, not particularly,” Michael said. “But I attend. All full and new moons, not just the solar holidays.”

Chapter Text

“So, if you’re so religious and all,” Adam asked, “What are you doing here, getting down and dirty with me in this motel room?”

Michael looked at the beautiful naked Omega in his temporary bed and thought that the purest, most holy prayer he’d ever seen had been that second time that Adam had come. Adam’s eyes might have been closed but he was definitely seeing God at that moment. He had been overcome by the Holy Spirit, so to speak.

“To quote the scriptures, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals,” Michael said.

All acts of love and pleasure didn’t just imply sex, though it was definitely included. Eating pizza flavored Combos could be just as much a holy act as sitting in a church pew, as was making love to someone or walking through grass barefoot on a dewy morning. So long as you approached the moment with intent and mindfulness. He’d be lying though, if he didn’t say sex wasn’t his favorite form of holy acts.

He’d come relatively recently to religion after a different kind of crisis of faith when he suddenly could no longer reconcile the joy and peace he felt at the controls of his F-35 with the destruction his government was raining down using him as a tool. He’d always thought he’d been fighting the good fight, protecting his country. He followed his orders, been proud to be an airman and a warrior. And he’d been so very, very good at it. Then something had changed in him and he couldn’t fight anymore, no particular incident had incited it, just a gradual change in him, until one day he couldn’t stomach it anymore. Not long after, he’d found his church, a woman he’d been dating invited him to come with her. The girlfriend hadn’t lasted but going to church had. Around that time, his superiors had had the conversation with him. Most pilots of his rank retired after their twenty years, but he should consider staying, a higher command could be waiting for him if he wanted, full colonel, maybe higher eventually. He didn’t want. He started making his retirement plans instead and trying to find a different kind of peace.

So, if he was hesitant about wearing dress blues at his wedding, it wasn’t that he was necessarily ashamed of his past. It was his past and Adam was his future, he was certain of that much. Time to leave his past behind and embrace a future that didn’t include so much destruction.

“All acts? Even this one?” Adam asked, then he nestled in close so their hips were lined up, grinding his cock against Michael’s still erect cock slowly and with obvious, welcome intent while rooting for scent at Michael’s neck, grazing it with his teeth gently, a teasing act, trying and succeeding to get Michael aching to push inside. Two could play that teasing game though. He reached a hand between them and gripped their two cocks together in his fingers. Adam thrust into his grip, against Michael’s cock, already starting to pant and moan so prettily.

“Especially that one,” Michael answered.

Michael grabbed the bottle of artificial slick from the bedside table. The cap popped off with a click and he drizzled the liquid as best he could over their cocks, spreading it with his hand so everything slid smoothly over each other, the perfect amount of friction. Michael loved frotting with an Omega, maybe even more than intercourse and knotting. Something about feeling the smaller cock against his larger one, and how his sensitive knot felt against a smooth cock. He loved the smoothness of skin against skin, the way slick and come would spray all over his body. But especially, it was because his pleasure became his Omega’s pleasure and vice versa. He loved the motion of Adam’s lithe, muscular body again his own

“So, you do worship sky clad then,” Adam said and nipped Michael’s neck, ever so lightly, then went back to nuzzling and kissing.

“Let’s just say it’s only at certain, very small, very private prayer groups,” Michael said. “Two worshipers only.”

“I think if every worship service is like this, I could be willing to give your god a try,” Adam said. “It’s a good prayer group.”

After that, they didn’t speak much, only groans and panting, until they were painting each other’s bellies with come.

_____

Adam woke up from his second nap of the day feeling disoriented, like he’d slept too much and yet somehow, not enough at all. He was hungry too. There’d been nothing but junk food and sex and sleeping all day and yesterday afternoon and evening. He thought that would be his perfect day off, but he found himself wanting regular food, something more substantial. He was sticky and in need of a shower. Michael’s hand between them earlier had been magic, but yeah, an Alpha came a lot and it felt like it was all crusty on Adam’s belly now.

Michael was still sleeping when Adam slipped out of the bed. Adam made his way to the bathroom with its lime green tile and single stall shower. He didn’t have to strip down, having been naked all day. The water pressure was great and the hot water plentiful. He scrubbed himself down as best he could with the tiny bar of soap the motel provided. No little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, so he massaged his scalp with only hot water. He could shower properly at home. This would do for now, make him feel a little fresher. He wondered if he and Michael were forming a scent bond, their scents becoming more like each other. It happened between Alphas and Omegas.

He heard a noise in the bathroom and peeked out of the shower. Michael was waiting, standing just inside the room, looking at his face in the mirror, feeling his chin and cheeks as if checking if it was time for him to shave. Adam didn’t need to check to see that he didn’t need to shave. Sam and Dean to a lesser extent had picked up some of Dad’s hairiness, but Adam hadn’t, hadn’t ever needed to shave his face or elsewhere. The mild stubble burn Adam felt on his own face from all the kissing told him that yes, it was time for Michael to shave. Or maybe grown a full beard if he could. That would be awesome, to have a bearded Alpha.

He was gorgeous, Adam thought. His ass alone was a work of art, full and muscular. Rounded. Michael was like one of those Roman marble statues that he’d learned about in school, perfection brought to life in the flesh. Michael turned away from the mirror and faced Adam full frontal. His cock, even soft, was beautiful, his balls were full, huge. All resting in a nest of fuzzy blond pubes.

“Hey, there’s probably room for you in here with me,” Adam said.

“If I get in there with you, we’ll never get out of here,” Michael said.

“Kind of the point,” Adam said. “We’ve got the room until tomorrow morning.”

“I think we ought to get back. The roads have been cleared. I don’t know about you, but my phone’s blown up,” Michael said. “Not just my family. Jody Mills from the Sheriff’s office says she wants a word with me. She made it clear that it’s not in her official capacity, but she’d appreciate a call before too much longer.”

Adam turned the hot water off and reached for one of the rough, stiff terry towels.

“She’s one of Bobby’s best friends,” Adam said, scrubbing his hair dry. “She’s kind of a bonus mom to me and my brothers.”

“I don’t even know how she got my number.”

“She is the sheriff,” Adam said, hurrying to get himself dry. Jody was the best, she really was, but Adam was suddenly picturing her knocking on the motel room door to check in on him, make sure Adam was okay. Adam was completely legal, but that wouldn’t stop the people in his life from worrying about him. Adam started worrying about that for the first time since yesterday. He hadn’t heard from anyone, but that was because he’d turned off his phone to conserve the battery. Dean, he was probably still busy with Castiel. Doing the same kind of stuff Adam had just been doing with Michael, but if Dean was lucky, there was knotting involved. Sam, on the other hand, was probably freaking the fuck out.

“She’s probably got the number from your cousin Balthazar though,” Adam said, walking around the motel room, gathering up their various pieces of clothing that had been scattered all around, discarded at various times. Adam pulled on Michael’s underwear. They were a little big on him, but he liked the deep scent of his Alpha on them, the one that smelled like home and warmth and everything good.

While he was pulling on his jeans and t-shirt, Adam faced the ticking time bomb that was his powered off phone. Not as bad as it could be. Maybe eighteen missed calls, ten voicemails. He scrolled through the missed call log. Sam. One from Jo. Four calls from Bobby. One from Ellen. Ten from Dean, but all within a few minutes of each other, like Dean had impatiently tried again and again for a little while then given up. One from Jody. One from Donna, Jody’s…wife? Girlfriend? Just friend? Two of the voicemails were from Sam, the one he’d ignored yesterday and another. Well, he’d deal with Sam’s first. He skipped over the ignored one from yesterday. Knowing Sam, he’d recap anything important in his second message. Adam played the message on speaker while getting dressed.

“Hey, whatever did or didn’t happen with Mike Shurley, I want you know we’re not mad,” Sam said over the phone.

That was a Sam lie if Adam had ever heard one. He was the classic middle child, just trying to keep the peace. He said he wasn’t mad but his voice had that tightness and control. Dean was undoubtedly furious even though he didn’t have room to talk if you asked Adam. Michael was listening intently to the message too as he was pulling his unfortunate ugly holiday sweater over his magnificent torso. It was a sin to cover beauty like that with acrylic awfulness. Adam wondered if he could get away with burning it in Bobby’s fireplace or if the thing would even burn. Probably turn into a melted, black plastic mess before it would burn.

“Look, come home and talk to us before you do something like run off to get married or something like that. Whatever happened, you have a home here with us, okay? Bite on your neck or not. Whatever that Alpha has to say about it. Whatever happened, we’ll get it figured out.”

“Do you think he thinks we’re running off to Vegas to get hitched right now?” Adam asked. “I mean, not that I’m opposed to that, but you want your spring wedding. With white dresses for both of us.”

“Ceremonial robes,” Michael protested. “And we are not eloping.”

A little while later, they were ready to be checked out of the motel, the few leftover snacks gathered up in their plastic bags. All clothes accounted for. The poinsettia in Adam’s arms.

“I’ll go warm up the truck,” Michael had said while Adam was making last checks around the room for their stuff. He’d come back a few moments later and said, “It won’t start.”

“Let me take a look,” Adam said. “Dean and Bobby taught me a few things.”

That took a moment of fussing, because Michael insisted on giving Adam both the stupid, awful Yule sweater and his coat, because it was so cold outside. Luckily, Adam was able to argue that it didn’t make sense that he got both the coat and sweater. It was almost dark by now and they weren’t in a part of the parking lot that got lit by the overhead lights. Still, it was pretty easy to see the problem with the truck right away- it was a piece of crap that hadn’t been taken care of. Or more specifically, the battery terminals were corroded to hell. Like hardly anything left to clean up and tighten even. It was a wonder it was running before. Probably there were other things too, but that was just the most obvious one. It could be fixed, but not in Big Dick’s parking lot without any tools or new parts.

“We can call Bobby and he could come out with the wrecker,” Adam said, slamming the hood down. He jammed his hands into the pockets of Michael’s jack for warmth because his fingers were already stiff and aching with the cold. Michael was standing there with the poinsettia, looking a little helpless and useless, but Adam supposed that he flew planes and didn’t fix them.

“I am not ready to face Bobby Singer yet,” Michael said.

“I’ll call Sam. We can walk to the Roadhouse and you can buy me something to eat while we wait for him to come,” Adam decided. “No point in avoiding it now. Ellen knows. She left a message and they have the best food in town. But you’re going to have to face Bobby soon enough because you’re going to have to ask him and Dean for permission to marry me.”

Chapter Text

Bobby had gone back to his place after finishing up his talk with Gabriel and Rowena. He was cleaning up a little knowing Sam was coming over. He’d let things slip slowly over the years since the boys were grown, because he no longer needed to be a good example for them. Not badly, but the books stacked up higher, the dust grew thicker and he had a bad case of dishes procrastination. He tackled that first with a sink of hot water and soap, easiest thing to handle, worst thing when ignored.

Rubbing a dishcloth over stained coffee mugs, he thought about the last thing Rowena had said to him.

“Robert,” she had said. “When John extracted that promise from me, when he said ‘my boys’, I believe he meant you too, and even if he didn’t, well, it’s my own business if I choose to believe he did. Not that you aren’t grown with a happy family, but I feel he wanted you to have a happy ever after.”

Well, that was a load of bull crap. John wouldn’t have been concerned about Bobby having a happy life any more than he would have been concerned about the stove having a happy life. Bobby had been a slightly more complicated, more demanding appliance in John’s eyes. If a witch thought he deserved some kind of present for taking care of his own boys, well, he didn’t need one, so he’d get that gift horse’s mouth under a microscope if he could. When he shot her the ‘don’t try and con a conman’ look, she’d nodded in understanding and said, “Well, think about it.”

He was thinking about what kind of happy ever after an old man like him could have when Sam walked right in. Sam was rosy cheeked from the cold and there was something about him that looked lighter than he’d looked in a good long time. Like he was happier maybe? Healthier?

“Hey, so get this,” Sam said, not taking his coat off. He held his phone in his hand and didn’t look like was was settling in. “I guess Adam is stuck out in Harrisburg. Mikey Shurley’s old crappy truck broke down. Adam thinks it’s because the battery has gone to shit. That’s a quote.”

“I’ll get the wrecker,” Bobby said, abandoning the undone dishes. They could wait. If the battery were that bad, a simple jump wouldn’t help most likely. Best they just get it towed back to Sioux Falls. There wasn’t any place they could get a new battery and/or connectors in Harrisburg, especially not on a Sunday night. In any case, it sounded like a better time that doing his back log of dishes.

“Adam said I shouldn’t bring you unless you could be nice to Mikey,” Sam said.

“I’ve never been nice to anyone a day in my whole life,” Bobby said, grumpily. “I don’t know why he’d expect it now.”

While he didn’t like his nineteen year old pup spending the night in a motel with him, Bobby remembered Mike Shurley more or less favorably. Though there’d been that one time when Mike had been in charge of driving Sam and Lucifer somewhere, to some movie Sam had really wanted to see, but the closest place it’d been playing was Sioux City. Mike had had a freshly minted drivers license and had gotten into a little fender bender on the way home. They hadn’t made it home until very late. Bobby hadn’t kept a lid on his temper like he probably should have and he’d read the kid the riot act. Mikey had been very respectful after that, for the couple of years until he’d gone away to be an airman.

Bobby wasn’t a fool enough to think that Adam was going to keep his pants on until he found a perfect Alpha to mate and marry. When he was about thirty, by preference and the Alpha that same age. Bobby didn’t like that the Alpha was near old enough to be Adam’s father. Not one bit.

“I just think we should keep open minds and shut mouths for now,” Sam said. “He called home when he needed help. That’s what matters. Anything else, we can figure out later.”

Bobby didn’t disagree, just got his boots on, like he always did. That’s what he did, whatever his boys needed. He wondered what his life would be like without them and concluded he didn’t want to think about that. What could his life be like now though, that they needed him less and less? Dean had texted him earlier, a simple message saying ‘post heat care not needed’ with a thumbs up emoji. So it sounded like Dean was getting himself that family of his own. Not wanting the post heat care was basically signing himself up for a pup. His oldest pup was having a pup of his own.

“So, how’d your talk with Rowena go?” Sam asked as they walked out the back door of the still messy kitchen.

“Well, you’re not going on a date with her orphaned son tomorrow,” Bobby said. “I’m supposed to believe she reformed her ways and I guess I have to until proven otherwise. How’s Satan Shurley doing? You didn’t break his jaw, did you?”

“No,” Sam said. “I didn’t. I don’t think I even bruised him. So get this. He apologized. A real apology. Admitted that he fucked up and that he was sorry. Really sorry.”

“You going to forgive him?” Bobby asked. He wondered if the reason why Sam looked better, happier, than he had since he was a teenager, if because Lucifer had done that.

“I don’t know. I’m still thinking about that. Let’s get Adam home.”

___

They made the short trip to the Roadhouse on foot. It was a rough, single story building with one of those wavy galvanized roofs as an awning, set far back in a crushed gravel parking lot. It’d been plowed by now, though there were only a handful of cars parked there. That was normal, it being quiet on a Sunday night. Inside, it wasn’t much less rough, the kind of bar the decor was mostly beer mirrors and taxidermied deer heads. Adam led them to one of the small tables with the diner style chairs. A few people were scattered around the room, a couple at the bar, more at other tables, most of the people were giving off the usual ‘leave me alone and let me drink’ vibes.

Jo, Ellen’s daughter, came out from the back with two menus, single laminated pages. She was pretty and blonde, about five years older than him and she teased him a lot when they were both a lot younger. She wasn’t exactly like big sister, more like an annoying cousin he couldn’t get rid of. Bobby was good friends with Ellen and Jo had grown up with Sam and Dean, something like their little sister and she hadn’t like losing her spot as youngest to him, in his opinion.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” Jo said. She didn’t put one of the menus in front of Adam, but that was okay. It wasn’t like it had changed in the eleven years since he’d been coming here or that there was anything worth eating besides the cheeseburger.

“Is Ellen going to ground me or something?” Adam said. “Cheeseburger. Fries. Michael wants the same. I suppose you could have a beer if you want one. You’re not driving.”

“No, I’m good,” Michael said. “Menu maybe? Is there anything healthier?”

“There is, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Jo said. “Two cheeseburgers, fries. No beer.”

They waited a long time, to the point where it seemed like maybe their orders had been ‘lost’. Each of them spent the time tending to their various voicemails, returning calls- to Jody and Donna. He dropped a simple text to Dean saying he was okay. Adam started to feel guilty, a little, for the first time. He had more people than he thought that worried about him. Michael had stepped away from the table for his call to his father, explaining that it probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

A little while after that Sam appeared, carrying Adam’s winter parka. He loomed like the giant he was for a moment, looked like he was going to say something, even opened his mouth and closed it again. In the end, he handed the parka off to Adam and sat down at the table.

“Bobby’s talking to Mikey for a few minutes,” Sam said.

“Giving him the shovel talk I suppose,” Adam said.

That had come out a little more bitchy than he’d intended, a little more bitter.

“So get this. I know you don’t appreciate it, but there are people who care about you and worry about you. Especially Bobby. He didn’t have to step up and make sure we were taken care of but he did. If he wants to put the fear of god into the Alpha you spent a night with in a skeezy motel, you owe him that. And later, he’s probably going to want to give you a talking too and you should let him.”

“He yells because he cares?”

“That’s kind of Bobby in a nutshell,” Sam said.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Adam said. “For yelling at you like a whiny little bitch and storming out. Leaving you to finish up Saturday with just Kevin. And the things I said. That I called you a spinster.”

That had been a nagging thought that had been on the back burner of his mind since the moment he’d stormed out of the bakery yesterday, a moment that already seemed like a whole world and years away. His life had changed so much since then. It was like he’d started a whole new life the instant he’d laid eyes on Michael. He’d left responsibility behind though. Sam and Dean counted on him to pull his weight with the family business and they’d treated him like an equal partner in the business always, even at times when he clearly was not.

“Look, there are some things you don’t know, about me and Dean,” Sam said. “Some of them, maybe you were just too young to pick up on at the time, others, we kept them from you because you had enough to deal with. We all did. Your mom dying, then a couple of months later, Dad. The year you came, maybe you remember I had a boyfriend?”

No, not really, but Adam didn’t remember a lot from his first year here in Sioux Falls. His therapist had told him that was normal, that grief really messes with your head and memories don’t always form like they’re supposed to when you were in the early stages of it. His whole life had been ripped to shreds that year- his mom died, then he’d been shipped off to another state to live with supposedly with Dad, but basically with strangers because Dad was never there. Then Dad had died and Adam was left with strangers that were supposedly his family but it hadn’t felt like that then.

Even so, he said, because he’d been told yesterday, “Luke Shurley, right? Mikey’s little brother. Then something bad happened between you two.”

“Lucifer. We were in love. More than that. We had a profound bond early, even before I presented, even without a bite. Then he was gone. I guess he had troubles with his family and ran away, didn’t come back,” Sam said. “It nearly killed me. If I’m single now, it’s not because I wanted to be. I couldn’t be with anyone else. That bond was never broken and it derailed my whole life. I wasn’t that much younger than you are now. So if I warn you to be cautious about who you make a bond with, it’s because I know what it can be like, what can happen. And maybe you were messing around with things you don’t understand, like love spells.”

Damn. Sam had somehow noticed that he’d used that cookie recipe. That he’d cast a love. Well, it wasn’t really a love spell. It was more of a love wish. No, Adam didn’t really understand it, but it had worked for Dean. It wasn’t like it had really changed anything that wouldn’t have been changed anyway. Possibly it had sped things up but Adam was certain he’d still get with Michael one way or another. Love will always find a way.

“I love him, Sam,” Adam said. “We fell in love before I did the cookie thing. Love at first sight for both of us. He stopped by the bakery looking for Castiel while you were out looking for Dean.”

Sam looked like he was going to say something more, but he closed his mouth. In any case, Bobby and Michael walked into the restaurant. Michael looked… not exactly weak kneed but like he’d faced some danger and just barely walked away from it. That was saying something considering Michael had made a life out of sitting at the controls of some of the fastest machines on earth.

Bobby looked satisfied as he sat down at the table. “We’ll get some dinner here and then Sam will take Mikey back to wherever he’s staying. I’ll take the truck back to the shop and Adam back home.”

Adam was going to say that he was going to spend the night with Michael, but something in Bobby’s face made him shut the hell up about that. Michael didn’t protest either.

“Tomorrow night, Mikey’s coming for family dinner at my house,” Bobby said. “He can pitch his woo in the living room afterwards.”

About to protest that they didn’t need a chaperone, Michael nodded at Adam. He’d come to an agreement with Bobby that didn’t involve a sawn off, someone’s back forty and a shovel. Adam decided the better part of valor at this time would be going along for now and figuring out how to get around imposed limitations later. He had faith in Michael but he understood that not everyone did.

“I’ve agreed that Mikey can court Adam, for now, with an eye to a church wedding in late Spring,” Bobby announced.

____

Sam still woke up when it was still dark because why would he get to sleep in on a day he would have off? He considered his options, like maybe reading. He didn’t have his current book but he had some stuff on the kindle app going. He pondered going for a run, but checked the weather app and decided that while he was masochistic, he wasn’t that masochistic. Or suicidal. With the wind chill, the feels like temperature was well under zero Fahrenheit.

The bedroom he was in wasn’t his childhood bedroom, the one he’d shared with Dean. That was gone. When the old house out by the salvage yard had been taken from them, he’d moved in with Dean to the apartment they’d shared before the Washington St. house. This was just Bobby’s guest room, but it was warm, cosy and comfortable, with old wool blankets on the single bed and a new memory foam mattress. No, he remembered. It wasn’t a twin, it was an XL twin, so it was long enough for him to stretch out.

He tried to roll over and, if not fall back to sleep, at least enjoy the time being warm and lazy and sleepy. It didn’t take though. Soon he was feeling restless and decided he might as well get up, get some coffee. He yawned, stretched and wandered out into the dark, quiet house. Bobby was snoring a little as he slept, nothing new there. Adam was in his room. He always slept with the door to the room open for some reason. He was still fast asleep, face smashed into the pillow, blond hair all over the place. It was his room, he’d moved here with Bobby and not in with Sam and Dean until Dean had bought the house on Washington.

Sam skipped the second step from the top because it always creaked loudly. He knew Bobby never fixed it because it could be useful to have a creaking step. He walked slowly to avoid the numerous piles of old books that had never made it onto a shelf. Downstairs, he thought about maybe making a fire in the living room fireplace and drinking his coffee next to it, but before he could check and see if there was firewood in the bin, there was a knock on the front door.

Sam peeked through the curtain on the door’s sidelight to see who it was. Lucifer, standing there holding two big stainless steel insulated mugs. Out on the street, a big black SUV was waiting, still running. What was Luci doing here? Sam thought about just not opening the door, but when a man stands at your door so early in the morning when it was this freaking cold out, he must have something he thought worth saying. Sam opened the door and motioned him inside, shutting the door as quickly as he could to keep the cold outside where it belonged.

“Hey,” he said.

Luci held out one of the two tumblers to Sam and said, “I brought you coffee. I assume you still like it with cream and sugar even though your asshole dad taught you that real men drink it black.”

Yeah, that much was true. These days, he still mostly drank it black but more because cream and sugar was an indulgence and he’d prefer to keep his sugar intake limited, considering there was certain amount he couldn’t avoid working in the bakery.

“Thanks,” Sam said. “But you didn’t come here on a day like this just to bring me coffee.”

“Yeah. I have to skip town for a couple of days. There was a cancellation on Colbert and they asked Ladyheart if we can sub in. Super last minute. I can’t not go, the opportunity is too good. But I didn’t want you to think I’m leaving again. I’ll be back soon as I can, tomorrow maybe. I rented the old Wolcott mansion until February.”

The Wolcott mansion was one of the oldest surviving homes in the town, also one of the grandest, one of big brick Queen Anne style houses with the round turrets. Big windows and deep wrap around porches. It’d fallen into disrepair for while but recently been restored. It was between the little park and the library so they’d walked past it many times. Luci always used to stop in front of it and proclaim confidently that he would buy it and they would live there when he wasn’t touring the world as a famous rock star.

“You rented the Wolcott mansion?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, it’s an air bnb now,” Luci said. “Kinda disappointing. They painted the woodwork white and made it all modern farmhouse, but you know, childhood wish fulfillment. So, I gotta go, like now, if I’m getting to New York in time, but give me your phone.”

Without thinking, Sam handed his phone over. Luci tapped on it for a moment.

“You’ve got my phone number now,” he said, handing the phone back. “If you call, I’ll answer right away.”

Then he was gone, rushing off to New York. Sam stood there a long while with his insulated coffee tumbler, staring at his phone. At the new contact that had been added to his list. Luci- direct, it said, an area code Sam didn’t recognize. While he stared, a message from Dean popped up on screen.

“You working today?”

“It’s my one day a week off,” Sam typed back.

“Doesn’t stop you most weeks.”

“Am going on lunch date today.”

“A date? With who? Satan Shurley? You punched him now you want to kiss and make up?”

It was tempting to shoot back the middle finger emoji and then be done with Dean for a while.

“His name is Fergus McLeod,” Sam typed back.

“The real estate guy?”

Dean must be familiar with the billboards, but then he had driven to Harrisburg every week for a while, until Adam stopped going to therapy there.

“Yes.”

“He’s like forty and going bald.”

Says the man that got mated to an accountant in a trench coat, Sam thought.

“Blocking you now.”

Sometimes, he had to block Dean temporarily. They were together too much of the time, living and working together. Hanging out together when they weren’t working. He should at least get some time away from him on the phone. He didn’t actually block Dean this time, but sometimes the mere threat was enough to get him to put a lid on it for a while. Instead, Sam opened up Luci’s contact again. Not sure what gremlin in his brain prompted him, he started tapping on the glass screen.

“So, you’ll answer right away? No matter what?”

A second later, the little dots came on the screen. Luci had read his message and was typing a reply. Sam’s stomach leaped right up into his throat. It didn’t make sense that he was this nervous. He was never this nervous, not for anything.

“I don’t have my phone on me when I’m performing,” Luci wrote back. “But otherwise, yes. Right away. Soon as I see it. You and maybe six other people have this number.”

“It’s good coffee,” Sam wrote.

He took a sip to make sure hadn’t just told a lie, but he hadn’t. The coffee itself wasn’t bitter, nicely rounded flavor profile. It was sweet, exactly the right amount of cream too. Maybe it was a bit too sweet for his current tastes but teenage Sammy would have thought that the coffee was perfect. Sam found his way back to the living room only to discover that Bobby was up already and was starting a fire. If Bobby had noticed Luci dropping off the coffee, he didn’t say anything now. He nodded at Sam and got back to adding a split log to his crackling pile of flaming kindling.

The fireplace wasn’t original to the house. Sometime in the seventies most likely, it had been added or whatever was there had been replaced by this massive wall of river rock with a wood stove insert. Sam kind of liked it better than the one at the old house with that dark tile and carved wood mantel. Sam took one of the chairs near the fireplace and checked his phone again.

“I always travel with stuff for coffee,” Luci texted. You can’t count on having drinkable coffee on the road.”

So, Luci hadn’t just gotten Sam coffee. He’d made Sam coffee himself. He’d taken time out of what must have been a hectic morning, trying to get to New York early enough for this show, to make coffee and bring it by on the hopes that Sam or at least someone would be awake to accept the coffee and his message.

“We have pretty good coffee at Three Brothers,” Sam wrote. “Or at least we do now that Dean trusts me order the beans for it.”

“I’ll give it a try when I get back.”

Luci had asked what kind of beans Sam ordered, then gave his approval at Sam’s choice of a small roaster out of Milwaukee rather than anything from Seattle. They chatted a little about Summerfest there and how Sam and Dean had road tripped there once, to see Metallica, that was before they’d opened the bakery. They talked a while about the travesties committed on the Wolcott Mansion, which included ripping out the grand staircase and rebuilding it with modern steel railings. And somehow, despite everything in their past, they started just talking again. Conversing. Sam found himself enjoying this person he was talking with.

It was a coffee date, Sam thought suddenly. At a long distance and over text, but it was kind of a date. They were even drinking the same coffee from the same French press pot that Luci always travelled with. He didn’t hate it, he decided, but it reminded him that he had another date today and the morning was slipping away faster than he thought could be possible.

Sam set the phone down and retrieved the business card from his jacket pocket. A moment later he’d sent, “Hey, this is Sam. I wasn’t sure where or when we’re meeting for lunch.”

The message went right to read and a few seconds later he received the reply, “I thought I might pick you up at noon. Stepoma Gabriel says he can tell me your address if that works for you.”

That worked. Sam would have to brave going out in the cold and into a house that might contain a mating couple doing their mating stuff anyway, at least if he wanted be any kind of presentable. He’d borrowed a pair of too short pajama bottoms from Bobby, but the rest of his clothes were from yesterday, which was to say, from the day before, because he’d run out of the house without changing his clothes yesterday morning.

“Hey, I’ve landed in New York and I’m off to the studio. I’ll probably be out of communication for next several hours,” Luci texted. “Wish I didn’t have to be.”

Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t wish that too. Instead of texting more with Luci, he had to go get dressed for his date with Crowley

Wondering yet again why he lived some place where the air was actively trying to kill him or at least put him into deep freeze, Sam managed to make it the few blocks to home without dying of exposure. The snow now squeaked under his boots instead of crunching, it was that cold. As he passed the little park he found himself looking at the old oak tree and wishing that yesterday it would have still had mistletoe. Would they have kissed under it like they had all those years ago? It probably was too soon for that anyway, but the person he was now might want to someday kiss the person he’d spent the whole morning texting with.

He let himself into the house on Washington and was surprised to find it quiet and dark. Empty. Dean and Castiel weren’t here. Simplest explanation was they’d gone to wherever Castiel was staying. Sam didn’t worry. Dean had sounded fine this morning. Figured that Dean hadn’t bothered to tell them that they didn’t need to avoid home. Sam was showered and changed into nicer clothes- he had a red wool sweater that looked nice over a collared shirt with a pair of regular pants, not jeans. Once that was taken care of, he dug back into the kitchen cabinet where he’d stashed the package and the extra, unused candle. He just wanted to check that he hadn’t burned the wrong candle in his exhaustion. No, he hadn’t. The ‘return to me’ candle was still untouched and clearly labelled. He’d definitely burned the ‘new beginnings’ candle. As he puzzled over what that meant, there was a knock at the door. He dropped the candle and box on the counter and went to answer it.

Crowley was waiting on the porch, dressed in a suit, black wool overcoat over it rather than a more suitable puffy down coat. He carried a bright red poinsettia, just like the one Mikey Shurley had given to Adam.

He held it out when Sam opened the door.

“Apologies,” Crowley said. “Apparently this hideous thing is the closest thing to flowers that one can obtain in this town on the Monday after a major snow storm. From an establishment called Garth’s Pretty Good Groceries.”

Sam smiled and took the plant, setting it on the little hall table that was mostly used for mail. He wasn’t sure what else to do with it. He wasn’t a plant guy. Or a flower guy for that matter. He couldn’t help but think about the coffee that Luci had brought him this morning.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing his coat and stepping out onto the porch. “Where are we going?”

“I forgot that any decent restaurant in this town is closed for Monday lunchtime,” Crowley said. “I was planning to take you this little bistro in Ogdenville, but Stepoma Gabriel suggested I cook lunch for you in his kitchen.”

“Gabe thinks I need a chaperoned date?” Sam asked as they walked down the steps. A big, black Mercedes SUV waited in front of the house. Crowley was doing better in real estate than Sam had pictured if the car was any indication.

“Mother thought it was advisable to not leave Sioux Falls given the weather,” Crowley said. He opened the car door for Sam and shut it for him once Sam was inside. “They promise they’ll stay upstairs for the duration. Not chaperoning us.”

It was really only a few blocks to Gabe’s big Victorian house, but given how cold it was, Sam was grateful for the ride and before much longer, they were there. Despite their supposed promise to make themselves scarce, Rowena and Gabe were waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the big oak kitchen table with mugs of something.

“Samshine,” Gabe said. “Welcome to the casa.”

Though he’d known Gabe for years, Sam had never been to Gabe’s house. It had a beautiful kitchen, looked like it would be a pleasure to work in, not like the utilitarian kitchen at the bakery or the decades old and not in a good way kitchen in Dean’s house. As Sam looked around and thought that maybe he was in the wrong business, that baking definitely didn’t pay like real estate did.

Crowley offered to take Sam’s coat and stepped away to hang it up. Sam walked a little further into the room and stopped under an arch that divided the cooking space from a beautiful little sitting room with a fireplace. Sam happened to look up and hanging from the arch was a branch of mistletoe. Artificial, not real, but the superstition was the same regardless. Tradition said that he couldn’t move out from under the branch until someone had given him a kiss. Crowley had looked too and he’d frozen at the coat rack, not moving. Rowena took pity on Sam and walked over to him.

“Oh, Samuel, you poor giant, bend down for me,” she said. Even on her tip toes she couldn’t reach kissing height on him. Sam crouched down and she placed a quick, delicate kiss on his cheek. “There. All freed. Now, my angel and I heading upstairs for a nap while Fergus feeds you a lovely lunch.”

“He cooks a better meal than anything that’s open in town today,” Gabe said.

Then they were gone upstairs, leaving Sam feeling awkward. He sat down at the vacated table, mostly because he felt like he was looming over Crowley.

“Is that a nap or an actual nap?” Sam asked as Crowley started taking things from the fridge. There was a big bunch of kale and a bowl full of deep orange squash or maybe sweet potatoes that had been cut up earlier.

“Oh, there’s obvious evidence they’ve been doing their fair share of the first,” Crowley said as he started to mince a couple of shallots. “But this is an actual nap. He’s four months pregnant and she’s over four hundred years old, so her beauty sleep is not optional.”

“Four hundred…”

“She is a witch,” Crowley said. His knife skills were impeccable. The big chef’s knife flashed rapidly as the shallots were deconstructed into tiny pieces.

“So you’re a witch, since it runs in families.”

“Sadly, no,” Crowley said. “The trait is recessive and sex linked. Gabriel’s child will be, but as for me, I’m just vaguely witchy. I could learn magic and spells like anyone else, but I’m not a natural witch. So, you’re in the life, being raised by Bobby Singer?”

“No, he kept us out of it. I’m just a baker.”

“Shame,” Crowley said. “Your croissant was one of the best I’ve had, but it seems like a man like you should be meant for more than that.”

Chapter Text

“I was supposed to,” Sam said. “Go to college that is. I had the grades. The test scores. The extracurriculars. People were saying I could have gone to almost anywhere I wanted to go.”

“What happened to make you pick pastries instead?” Crowley asked. He’d switched from cutting board and chef’s knife to a big Le Creuset on a six burner stainless steel professional range. He heated olive oils and started to saute the shallots. Sam wondered what he was making, because any number of dishes started with sautéing onions or onion adjacent vegetables. The cooking aroma filled the kitchen reminding Sam that there were things to cook that weren’t sweet.

“Life got in the way,” Sam said, deciding he didn’t want to get into the whole ‘nearly dying from loosing Lucifer and never fully recovered from it’. Except now he finally might be. “I got sick and ended up not finishing high school. Then Dean opened Three Brothers, so I learned to bake.”

“I trained to be a master tailor,” Crowley said. “Saville Row apprenticeship. Ten years at it, very nearly a master. Then Mother moved to the middle of the United States and she needed me to follow, for complicated reasons.”

“That’s how you ended up in South Dakota?”

“We were here there and everywhere for a while, but yes, that is how I ended up living in a state where denim without stains or holes is considered formal wear,” Crowley said.

Crowley had put on a clean white apron to protect his black suit as he cooked. That made sense to Sam. It was a very well tailored suit, cut perfectly for him. He wore it with a black shirt and black tie. The fancy clothes as every day wear made sense suddenly, holding on to the vestiges of a life he’d left behind. After a little while of stirring while complaining about the general casualness of society as a whole these days, Crowley added the pre-cubed squash and continued to saute.

“How’d you end up in real estate then?”

“Well, the call for bespoke suits was very low in South Dakota, so one pivots,” Crowley said. “Selling a house is very much, oddly, like selling a suit. You’re not selling the object itself, but the aspirational dream. The life you’ll live inside it. What you want people to think about who you are from what they can see on the surface.”

“In the bakery, you have to have both. Style and substance,” Sam said. “If it doesn’t look good, no one is going to try it, but if it looks good and doesn’t taste good, no one is coming back.”

As Crowley made what looked to be soup out of the squash cubes, they talked a little while about running a business, the boring things- margins, overhead, marketing. It was oddly enjoyable, because he hardly ever got to talk about the nuts and bolts of it. Dean was creative with his recipes and made the best damn pie you would ever eat anywhere. Dean was normally the hardest worker you would ever find anywhere and the business was absolutely kept afloat on the back of his labor, but if you tried to talk to Dean about efficiency and expenditures and spreadsheets, his fingers went in his ears and he was singing ‘La, la, la, I can’t hear you.’

Before long, Crowley put a small bowl of yellow soup, speckled with fresh green herbs in front of Sam and a little spiral of white on top, cream maybe?

“That should hold you until the lemon butter chicken and rubbed kale salad are ready,” Crowley said.

Sam sipped cautiously. The soup was delicious- rich, creamy, warm and slightly spicy with fresh ginger, but still tasting of mostly of the squash. No one had ever cooked him something that tasted better, not even himself. Bobby’s cooking was utilitarian, serviceable. Dean made amazing food unless you wanted more vegetables than the lettuce on your burger. Sam did well with baking, when it was precise, measured with your scale in grams, serviceable when it came to things for dinner. Adam’s cooking and tastes in food were pretty much exactly the same as Dean’s.

“This is amazing. Can I get the recipe?” Sam asked.

“Of course, darling. I’ll text you the link,” Crowley said. He was busy pounding chicken breasts thin with one of those meat tenderizers. “Mother thought I should make you my ‘Marry Me Chicken Pasta’ but I thought it was a little soon for that, don’t you?”

Sam just about choked on his soup when Crowley said ‘marry me’, before realizing that was the name of the recipe. Once he got control again, Sam cleared his throat, then said, “Definitely too soon for a first date.”

It was a very nice first date though. Everything he thought he could have wished for. Good conversation, someone cooking for him. Not just cooking for him, but things he would have wanted to eat. Crowley was well read, was even reading one of the books on Sam’s to be read list. They could even talk freely about the supernatural. Crowley was witchy without being a witch, Sam knew about the hunting life without being in the life. Crowley was relating a story about his mother.

“So it turned out we had to leave Red Cloud in rather a hurry. He claimed Mother had turned him into a newt and turned more or less the whole town against us. Mother couldn’t have turned him into a newt. Witchcraft still has to obey some basic laws of physics. She would have had to turn him into about seventy five hundred newts. The mass remains the same whether its man shaped or newt shaped.”

Sam laughed and then Crowley added, “In any case, it’s much easier to cast a spell that makes someone think they’re a newt for an afternoon and mostly harmless.”

It should have been a perfect date.

Except there was no spark. It was comfortable. Enjoyable. Companionable. More like a book club meeting than a date. Towards the end, after the lemon butter chicken was gone, after Sam had chased every bit of rubbed kale salad onto his fork and into his mouth, Crowley even commented on it obliquely.

“Well, this has been lovely,” he said. Sam could read the tone.

“Yes, I’ve enjoyed myself,” Sam said.

“Your heart already belongs to someone else, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked, delicately.

“It’s complicated,” Sam answered, thinking about Luci, wondering what he was doing now and how soon he might make it back to Sioux Falls. If he did come back. Maybe since he’d made his apology, there wasn’t any more reason for him to stay in the middle of nowhere and he’d realize that once he got to the bright lights of the city. It was kind of unreal that his high school boyfriend was going to be appearing on national television tonight, on the Late Show. Maybe chatting with Stephen Colbert. Sam didn’t watch a lot of television, but he liked to catch the Late Show sometimes, if he was ever up that late. Definitely unreal that Luci would be performing on it.

“It always is, isn’t it?” Crowley said. “I made some poached pears for dessert. Would you like some?”

___

They were in bed again, not sleeping but just resting between the bouts of absolutely amazing sex. Dean was looking through real estate listings on his phone, hoping to see something they could move into more or less right away. Cas was at his side, doing more or less the same thing, looking at house listings. They could probably get away with squatting here in the office for only so much longer. It was never meant to be living quarters anyway. Dean could get by on snacks and shelf stable food only so long. They needed a home for the two of them, asap.

“Hey, what about this one?” Dean asked, showing Cas his phone screen and the five bedroom rambling ranch on an acre and a half with a separate four bay garage and workshop, in addition to the two car attached garage. It was perfect.

“That one is nearly all the way to Ogdenville,” Cas said after puzzling over the listing for a moment. “Are we really willing to commute half an hour on country roads every day?”

Dean wasn’t sure how he’d manage pulling his weight in two different mortgage payments, but he’d make it work somehow. He wasn’t throwing his brothers out of their home but the house wasn’t really big enough for them and Cas and Dean starting a family. They had to get something soon too. Sam and Adam would be scarred by the sounds Cas had been getting out of Dean in the past two days. The man had stamina and knew how to use it.

He wondered vaguely how Sam was doing on his date with Crowley the real estate agent. What had set that off anyway? Sam didn’t date having been hung up on Lucifer for over a decade. Now he was dating someone else? It could be useful though, knowing a real estate agent when you wanted to find a house and did not want to go through the Shurley’s.

As for his other brother, Adam. He was back from the skeezy motel room and on lockdown. Not exactly grounded again, but back living with Bobby for the time being, at least that’s what Sam’s text from last night had said. Bobby has it under control, Sam had said. They hadn’t bothered him with much more than that, not any of the details. Bobby had sent a text telling him there was a family dinner tonight, bring Castiel. He tried not to think about Mikey Shurley spending the night with Adam too much. Doing things to his pup.

“What do you know about Mike Shurley?” He asked Cas. “He is your half sib.”

“I don’t know him much. He’s the oldest of my father’s children. Military man. Air Force I think. My full siblings and myself don’t speak much to the children of my father’s first wife, other than Gabriel. There was some overlap between his first wife and my mother.”

“Bad blood. Gotcha,” Dean said.

“You’re worried, about Michael and Adam,” Cas said, cautiously.

“Adam says they’re in love,” Dean said, thinking about the brief text Adam sent, telling him not to worry. As if telling Dean not to worry about one of his brothers had ever, in the history of worry, ever gotten Dean not to worry. It was like people didn’t know him. “Which seems pretty damn quick considering I don’t think Adam had met the guy before.”

“Sometimes love surprises us,” Cas said. “We met the day before yesterday and we’re already trying to have a pup together. They might have found they were true mates as well.”

“Or maybe they’re hopped up on hormones and horny. And Adam at least is young and that means stupid,” Dean complained. “Winchesters do stupid things when we’re young, especially when it comes to what we think is love.”

“You’re thinking Lucifer and Sam?”

Sam’s whole life had been wrecked by Lucifer, but that probably wasn’t either of their fault. Their deep bonding had happened even before it could have been about sex. They’d been best friends and the love part had come after. He was thinking about himself.

“I was thinking more about Lee and me,” Dean said. It kind of slipped out. He wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to tell Cas this and maybe he didn’t have to. Did Cas really have to know about the mating part of it? That mark had been taken off Dean’s neck and it was like it had never been there. Few people knew it ever had been. Sam. Bobby. Lee, of course. Missouri. Dean didn’t know how many people Lee told, but as far as Dean could tell, it wasn’t enough for the story to get around generally.

“Lee Webb, the country singer,” Cas said. “I was told he was your high school boyfriend and that he went on to write songs about you.”

Dean shook his head at the thought of that. “I don’t know why he’s so bitter about how things ended. If I hadn’t dumped him, we’d be six pups deep in a double wide in Oklahoma. He’d be working construction or something and I’d be making his life a living hell.”

“You were planning to get mated to him?”

Chapter Text

Dean knew he had to walk carefully here. It was widely believed that a mating bond couldn’t be broken, not ever. There were some magical practitioners, like Missouri Moseley and a few others, that said they could do it, but not always. Missouri didn’t advertise that she could, she was too busy running her business, getting her heat helpers and rut tonics to as many people as she could. Point was, not even she could break a bond every time. Nothing she’d done helped Sam get over Lucifer.

It was real tempting to just say yes, they’d planned on getting mated, they’d run away together, but that he’d come to his senses before he’d let Lee put his teeth on his neck. It’d be simplest. After all, it was like the mating had never happened, wasn’t it? There was no trace of the scar on Dean’s neck, no pups from that union. He hadn’t seen Lee since and it wasn’t likely he ever would again, even if he wanted.

Cas kept looking at him though, wanting an answer to his question. He wasn’t frowning, at least not with his mouth. His head tilted a little and his brows were starting to furrow. He wasn’t upset, not yet, but he was getting there in the face of Dean’s non-response. Dean had a feeling that if he went to Missouri, this time unlike last time, she’d tell him that she couldn’t remove the mark, that this was the real deal, for once and for all time. He wouldn’t want the mark gone. He wanted this, he wanted this Alpha and he wanted whatever kind of future he could have with him. It was looking like to get that, he’d have to spill out the uncomfortable truth. He should tell Cas everything, about the cookie witchcraft and all. Maybe Cas wouldn’t believe him about the witchcraft, but he needed to tell it the way he thought it had happened.

“Yeah, so it wasn’t a real planned thing,” Dean said. “We were making out in the bed of his dad’s truck down at the river by Elgin Road. I guess I was a little closer to a breakthrough heat than I thought. I don’t think I had the dose for Missouri Moseley’s heat helper dialed in yet back then. I was eighteen, just graduated high school, so was Lee. Things got hot and I was suddenly in heat. The fangs came out, and uh, you know.”

Cas’s head definitely tilted this time, pure puzzlement on his face. “You got mated to him?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “I was young and dumb and I thought I loved him. When it was done, we knew our parents would go crazy, so we drove off in his dad’s truck. I was a couple of weeks out and three states away by the time I came to my senses.”

“But there wasn’t a scar on your neck before I placed my own there,” Cas said. “I couldn’t have put my own there if there had been.”

“Sometimes, in some circumstances, you can break a bond, you know that, right?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Cas said, flatly. “I can’t believe you can dissolve a mating like that.”

“How can you say that?” Dean asked. He leaped up from their camping mattress nest, started looking around the room for his pants, or at least his underwear. He found his jeans under Cas’s trench coat and pulled them on, wincing a little because he realized this was the third day in a row he was wearing them. Yeah, they’d showered since, but it was definitely getting time for a change of clothes. He needed clothes for the rest of this conversation though. It was too vulnerable to be naked right now.

“Dean, don’t,” Cas said. “Don’t leave. If you run away every time a hard conversation comes up, how are we going to have them?”

“I’m not leaving,” Dean said. “I’m just putting pants on. You know, I never said I loved him. I said I thought I loved him.”

Cas nodded. He didn’t start to get dressed. He just sat there then dropped a bombshell of his own.

“Since we’re disclosing our pasts, I have something of my own to share,” he said. “I never mated, but I have a couple of ex-wives.”

“Couple of them?” Dean asked. One was understandable, especially in an Alpha. They didn’t always wait until they found their mates and a lot of Beta women insisted on legal marriage for the protections it offered. A couple implied that Cas made a mistake then made it again. And possibly again, because sometimes people used a ‘couple’ to mean ‘a small number’ rather than specifically two.

“Technically three if you count the marriage that was annulled seventy-two hours later,” Cas said. “Though I have been reliably informed by multiple sources that what happens in Las Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Dude! You had a quickie Las Vegas wedding and an annulment just as quick and I’m the bad guy because I let my hormones get the better of me with the boyfriend I thought I loved and thought better of it later.”

“I’m no angel,” Cas said. He got out of their nest but did not get dressed. “There were copious quantities of alcohol involved and I was at a particularly low state of mind after my first marriage failed. Mistakes were made. Dean, I don’t think you understand. I’m not judging you for acting on love and then later making a better decision for yourself. I literally don’t understand how a bond like that can be broken. I always thought that impossible.”

“Do you believe in magic, Cas?” Dean asked.

That was when Cas scooped him up again. That in itself was like magic somehow, that someone out there was able to lift him up into their arms like it wasn’t any big thing.

“I have to, don’t I?” Cas said. “I can’t explain any other way how someone as wonderful as you came into my life.”

____

Dinner had been awkward as hell. For one thing, Michael had been seated at the opposite side of Bobby’s table, like literally as far away from Adam as he could be. Castiel and Michael had greeted each other awkwardly, as if they were acquaintances rather than family. They’d talked in a stilted way about this and that, as if catching up on small talk at a company Yule party. Weren’t they family?

Then there was Cas and Dean practically in each others laps. Well, not literally but they were connected at the everything. Before dinner, after Bobby shooed Dean out of the kitchen, they sat side by side on the sofa, glued to each other, shoulder to hip to thigh. Then Sam had taken it onto himself to be Adam’s chaperone or something. When Adam had given Michael a look and tried to sneak out under the excuse of getting more firewood, Sam had said, “I’ll go. We need to split more logs. Mike, maybe you could help me?”

Michael had gone outside with Sam and they were gone for at least half an hour before returning with full arms of split logs for the fire. Adam had been left with Cas and Dean who didn’t say much to him. With Cas, it just seemed like awkwardness but Dean was in one of his simmering temper builds, as if he was going to explode at Adam any minute. Those were half being ignored by him, then half the time, you’d turn and see that he was struggling to to say something. Or rather, not say something.

Finally, when Sam and Michael were out dealing with the firewood, Adam snapped at Dean, “Can you just get the shouting over with? Lay it on me. I’m not sorry, but know I fucked up.”

“Bobby said I can’t,” Dean said. “Not that I don’t think you deserve it, but Bobby said I was given grace when I fucked at your age, so I’ve got to give it to you now. Not admitting that I’m wrong, but Bobby’s almost always more right than anyone else.”

That wasn’t the weird thing about the evening. He’d expected all of that. What was weird was how different Michael was. It was like his sweet, tender Alpha had disappeared and a Michael shaped robot had taken his place. He sat up so straight you’d be forgiven for thinking he had a whole oak tree shoved up his ass. He called Bobby ‘Sir’. Adam had never seen anyone call an Omega sir before. There were brief moments when no one seemed to be looking, that he saw his Michael again, in short but burning stares at each other. And had Michael stealthily adjusted things downstairs before standing up when Adam had entered the living room to find him waiting? But mostly, it was like Michael had been warned his hands would be cut off if he dared to touch Adam. Part of it had to be the military thing, right? That had to have left something in Michael that left him inclined to hard assery. The soft, funny, passionate Michael might be someone that he only let Adam see.

“You’re working early with me tomorrow?” Dean asked after a moment of quiet standoff time. “We’re giving Sam the day off tomorrow.”

It wasn’t one of Sam’s normal days, but when did Sam normally take a day off at all?

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Adam said. “No reason for me to be out late I guess.”

___

When Sam Winchester asked him outside to chop wood for the fireplace, Michael wasn’t at all surprised. He figured he would be having words with both of the older Winchester brothers sooner or later. The strangest thing was how Sam was literally a foot and a half taller now than he’d been the last time Michael had seen him. He was taller and broader than Michael. Sam had been a tiny pipsqueak when Michael had left and now he was this giant, the tallest Omega Michael had ever met. Sam hunched and made himself small most of the time, but even so, he was intimidating.

Outside, in the bracing cold, it was clear that Bobby didn’t really need more wood chopped, but Sam grabbed a splitting maul and set up to chop anyway. He put a round piece of oak about a foot and a half in diameter on top of a larger log. Sam took the maul, swung back, then forward with sudden, graceful force. The blade buried itself deep into the log, one mighty blow. The whole log cracked as a straight line across the middle, deep and wide enough for Sam to set the axe aside and jam his fingers into the gap, then tear it in half, each half flying away to the other side of the small wood shed with a clatter. Sam was huffing with the effort, but it was impressive. Also, a message Michael understood. There wouldn’t be any talk about shovels or anything like that, but there wouldn’t need to be.

“Did you know Luke is back in town?” Sam asked as he retrieved a half log from the concrete pad the shed was built on. “Well, he had to leave again for something but he’s going to back soon, he says. He rented the old Wolcott Mansion until February.”

Michael was regretful. He’d told himself too often that there was nothing he could have done to find his young brother and no way he could have helped even if he had found him. He’d put his career and the service over all else during those years. He’d had tunnel vision. All that had mattered was time in the air and the squadron. He’d lost track of his littlest full brother. How had he let that happen? Their father had more or less abandoned them in favor of the lastest, newest families he’d made, but Michael should have been better than that. He looked at Sam and saw only the two pups that had been so inseparable. Sam had sounded so angry and bitter when he’d first spoken with Michael, in the bakery, but he didn’t now.

“Luke’s back?” Michael asked. Back and able to rent out the fanciest house in town for a couple months apparently. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“Your dad. Anything more is really Luci’s story to tell,” Sam said. “You remember that time when you took us on the day trip to the state fair and there was that guy that was harassing Luci about his name and wouldn’t quit?”

Yeah, he remembered that. The guy had been a much older Alpha and drunk, but also one of those monotheist cultists. He’d been huge, bigger than Sam was now. He’d somehow picked up on Luke’s full name and had been acting like Luke was the devil. Luke had been ten, Sam nine. He’d been seventeen and scared shitless that he’d have to tell Bobby Singer that something had happened again while he’d been trusted with the pair. Even so, he’d somehow got himself between the pair of them and the aggressor, somehow holding him off until fair security arrived.

“I feel about Adam how you felt about Luke that day,” Sam said. Then he swung back with the splitting maul again and tore the log half into chunks small enough for an indoor fireplace. Then did it again and again. The Omega was like a machine.

Chapter Text

After the meatloaf and mashed potatoes were done, Adam got his chance. As the youngest, it was pretty much his duty to clear the table and at least get the dishes started. Bobby had a dishwasher but it didn’t really work. As Adam started to stack the plates, Michael stood up and started gathering the plates in his reach.

“I’ll help,” he said. No one protested when Michael followed him through the swinging door into the kitchen, loaded down with dishes.

Adam set his pile on the counter as soon as he could and about ran to Michael who had to set his pile down on the table in order to have free arms by the time Adam reached him. Adam wrapped himself around Michael in every way he could, even throwing one leg around the back of Michael’s leg, squeezing so hard it would be a wonder if Michael could breathe. Michael squirmed and managed to free his arms so that Adam was the one held, arms around his upper shoulders. He rested his head on Michael’s shoulders, burrowing for the scent gland at Michael’s neck. Michael was scenting him back. Finally back in Michael’s arms, Adam felt warm, really warm for the first time since they’d left that motel room. Hard to believe it had only been yesterday since they’d been alone together, because it felt like forever.

“I can sneak away later, when everyone is asleep,” Adam said. “Where are you staying?”

“At my father’s house,” Michael said. There was something hard and flat about the way he said it that let Adam know there were would be no sneaking Adam into his bed tonight. Despite the hard tone in his voice, his body softened. How could such a muscular, powerful Alpha feel so soft in his arms? “I know. I’m sorry, Babe. I’m looking for my own place in town already.”

“We’re playing by the rules.”

“For now,” Michael said. “Definitely for tonight. I’m talking to someone tomorrow. He’s looking for a pilot for a regular charter he runs between Sioux Falls and Omaha. It’s a milk run, but any time in the sky is better than almost anything I can think of on the ground.”

“Better than time with me?” Adam teased.

“Better than almost anything but not better than time with you,” Michael said. “We should probably get on with the KP before anyone checks in on us.”

KP. Right, kitchen patrol. They were nominally in here to wash up after dinner. If it was the slowest Adam had ever washed dishes, could you blame him? Michael stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder, drying the rinsed dishes and putting them away at Adam’s directions. Adam almost didn’t mind the dishes this time, not if they meant getting to bump his shoulder against Michael’s and quick touches of their hands as Adam handed washed, wet dishes to Michael. It was sweet to think that maybe someday soon, they’d have a kitchen of their own and they’d be doing this there.

“What did Sam say to you outside?” Adam asked as they worked.

“Not much,” Michael said. “Most of the time he was splitting wood. He’s…very good at that.”

“He is. I told him he ought to do TikToks. There’s got to an audience for an Omega chopping wood. He didn’t say anything about shovels or not finding bodies?”

“He didn’t need to, the message came across clearly without any of that. With as wonderful as you are, it should come as no surprise to me that you are very much loved by your family.”

____

“So, when are you putting up the Yule tree, Bobby?” Dean asked.

The evening was getting late but no one seemed eager to end it, despite the early morning tomorrow. Dean had assured Sam that tomorrow he and Adam had the bakery covered and Sam would get the day off, for a nearly unprecedented two days in a row off. Sam felt inclined to stay up for a while, but Dean and Adam were going to feel it tomorrow if they stayed up too much later.

“Since you all are here, why don’t we get it down from the attic now? You can do the hard work.”

Most people liked to get their Yule trees fresh and put them up the day of or just before solstice. Bobby was on the practical side and liked an artificial tree and no particular date to put it up and decorate. Well, that had led to getting down the two big green plastic storage bins from the attic and a lot of fussing with plastic and wire branches, with tangled strings of lights and with ornaments. And other decorations. Dean tried to hang up Dad’s wreath- the old beer can one that Dad had bought one year, dragged back to the motel room they were staying in on solstice. That had been before they’d settled with Bobby, but somehow the wreath had ended up at Bobby’s house.

“Dean, no.”

“Yes. We have to. It’s traditional,” Dean argued. “Dad bought it.”

“I thought we threw that piece of garbage out,” Adam said, finally coming out of the kitchen, Michael in tow. If Adam’s cheeks were a little flushed and his hair was a little messy, no one was going to say that much. Or at least Sam wasn’t expecting the pair of them to live like monks until Bobby approved a spring wedding.

“Heads up, Kiddo,” Bobby said as Adam was about to step out from under the arch between the living room and the dining room. Earlier in the evening, while Sam was assembling the fake tree and Cas had been assigned to untangling lights, Dean had hung the big branch of mistletoe there in the arch where it always hung. Their version of traditional wasn’t like most families but they always had the fake branch put up. Mostly it meant that everyone used the other kitchen door for the month, the one that led into the front hallway rather than the one to the dining room.

Adam stopped and looked up. So did Michael. It was too late for Adam to avoid the mistletoe but Michael stepped forward under it, facing Adam. Adam was happy, smiling, even glowing, for the first time since he’d been brought home from Harrisburg. Michael gently brought a hand to Adam’s cheek and they both leaned into a kiss. They were a matched pair, really, about the same height so Michael didn’t need to bend down or Adam to look up. The kiss wasn’t brief, but it was tame. Or rather, gentle and sweet. Something in Michael melted for the duration of it and his eyes were full of adoration directed only at Adam. Sam had believed from the start that Adam loved or at least thought he loved Michael, but for the first time, it was clear that Michael already felt a tender devotion for Adam. Maybe, if that was the real Michael, what the Alpha really felt, Sam could be mostly okay with this all.

When the kiss was over, Michael said, looking up to the fake branch, “I thought you said your family wasn’t religious.”

“We’re not, but we’re superstitious as hell. It’s a good superstition though.”

The tree slowly got decorated with the lights and the usual tacky decorations. Dean, in particular, seemed intent on emptying both big containers of everything and hanging it up somewhere. At the bottom of the second container, Dean pulled out an old, kind of ratty looking ornament. Two small red cardinals made out of feathers and glued to fake pine branch. Sam recognized it immediately and if he hadn’t, glued to the branch under the birds were little wood ovals with names wood burned on them. Sammy, said one. Luci said the other. A gift Luci had given him the Yule he was thirteen and Sam was twelve. It been on the tree for three years and then not up since. Dean almost put it back in the storage bin but Sam reached for it, feeling nostalgic for the stupid, grubby thing.

“We can put it up,” Sam said. He took the ornament and he tried to straighten out the bent feathers and fluff up the faux pine needles. If he put it towards the lower back of the tree, that was his business. He wondered if Luci still had the little silver coin shaped amulet Sam had given him that year. Sam had found it in one of Bobby’s many junk drawers and put it on a black leather cord. Luci had worn it constantly until he’d run away. Maybe afterwards. Sam didn’t remember seeing it on Luci that afternoon at the bakery, but it might have been tucked into his t-shirt.

At about the time all of the decorations were up, even the old crumpled “Merry Yule” banner, Sam realized that the Late Show was on, had been going for a while. People were settling back onto the sofa and the chairs anyway, so Sam flicked on the TV and changed the channel.

Luci and his band were already playing on the screen, in the middle of a song. The music was less metal screech than Sam expected it would be. Heavy electric guitars and crashing, thunderous drumming from a middle aged blond woman who didn’t look like the woman you’d expect to produce that kind of driving sound. Luci was at the microphone, but also playing lead guitar. He’d never seen Ladyheart perform before and it was…good. Really good. Like the kind of music that young Sammy would have eaten up with a spoon as a teenager.

“What the hell is this hair band bullshit?” Dean complained, trying to grab the remote out of Sam’s hand. Sam solved that problem by standing up and holding the remote up as high as he could, putting it out Dean’s grasp by several inches.

Then Michael looked closer at the screen and asked, confused, “Why is my baby brother on the television?”

“Holy crap! Your Luke is Vince Fucking Vincente?” Adam asked.

Between the general clamor, Sam only heard a few lyrics of the actual song Ladyheart was playing. There was a bit about ‘Walking out way too late…’ and another about ‘The taste of cherries on your lips…’ and another about ‘….just kids when we fell in love…’

That had to be the song Luci said he’d written about their first kiss. That song had to be “Cherry”.

Also, he had no idea that Luci was so damn hot, at least he was when he picked up his guitar and performed on stage. Gone was ever last bit of the goofy sweet boy that Sam had known and in its place was this sex god or something. Luci wore form fitting leather pants, low rise enough to reveal a slutty bit of well defined abs whenever he lifted his arms, just about an inch of bare skin. His shirt was a black, short sleeved button up, but he had maybe three buttons done up, so it showed a deep v of skin at the neck. He wore some kind of coin shaped amulet on a black cord around his neck. It might be some other necklace but it sure looked like the one that Sam had given him. As he sang and moved around the stage, it bounced in an almost hypnotic way. The shirt revealed his heart shaped tattoo. Luci’s voice wasn’t deep, but it growled and soared and sometimes eased into the sweetest melodic tones. Sam really didn’t know enough about music to understand what the guitars and drums were doing, but he knew they spoke to something in him and it was all over way too fast and the last chord stopped ringing in his ears.

“Well, that didn’t suck as much as I thought it would,” Dean conceded.

On the screen, Stephen Colbert stepped up and said, “Ladyheart, everybody!”

A moment later, Luci and the other three band members were brought up to the main part of the stage and sat down on the chairs next to the desk. A couple extra had been added to the usual two to accommodate the whole band. Luci took the chair closest to the desk and the drummer was on his other side.

“Welcome to the show…” Colbert started and for a little while, it was the usual kind of banter for a guest on a talk show. Sam learned that Ladyheart had just ended a world tour, that they were headed back to the studio soon to record a new album. There was talk about there was a missing band member, that they were supposed to be on vacation and someone named Tommy couldn’t get back from Paris in time to make the show. Sam watched raptly. Luci was charming, funny. Made Colbert laugh a few times.

“Is that a new tattoo I see there, Vince?” Colbert asked for some reason. Not the sort of thing he normally did.

“Oh, no, I’ve had this since eighteen,” Luci said, tugging his shirt aside just a little more to partly reveal the tattoo. The ‘Sammy’ was kept hidden still. “I’m just normally a lot more buttoned up.”

“And Luci is a very lucky lady, I presume.”

“Luci is me. Or was me,” Luci said. “My father named me Lucifer, Luci was a nickname, but I changed my name legally to Vince last year.”

Sam wondered if that meant they should be calling him Vince now, not Luci, not Luke. Definitely not Lucifer or Satan Shurley. He’d always been so defiantly proud of going by Luci, but maybe he’d changed, wanted to distance himself from his father even more. Sam would ask as soon as he could. The chat on the screen moved on from the tattoo to the fact that the band was subbing for Celine Dion. Then Colbert said, “You’ll give us another song?”

“I hope Celine doesn’t mind,” Luci/Vince said. “This was my high school boyfriend’s favorite song and I always wanted to play it for him but I didn’t have the chops when we were together.”

Once the band were back in their places, Luci/Vince’s guitar tore through the introduction of a song that Sam knew all too well. No. They couldn’t. No way. Then Luci/Vince started in with “A new day has come….I was waiting for so long, For a miracle to come, Everyone told me to be strong. Hold on and don't shed a tear. Through the darkness and good times

The song was…surprisingly effective as a stadium rock anthem with a powerful male vocalist and those driving drums and guitars behind it. It wasn’t soft, lyrical and beautiful like when Celine Dion sang it. It was an anguished prayer, a cry sent up to heaven. A desperate plea for a new day, not a gentle hope for it. Luci/Vince’s voice was rough and it brought an ache to Sam’s chest like he hadn’t felt in ages. Sam had to retreat upstairs, to the guest room, to compose himself because the TV was turning blurry. Or someone was cutting onions somewhere close.

He thought he remembered that the show was taped in the late afternoon for later broadcast. Luci/Vince should have his phone on him by now. He’d said he did unless he was performing.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sam texted.

“Did what?”

“I watched the Late Show.”

“They wanted us to do one of her songs if we could. It was their idea. I picked the one I knew best. I’ve been practicing it since I was sixteen. Just glad to have a chance to finally perform it.”

Sam thought about what he should say next. Thank you? Or that it sounded really good. No, not that. It sounded like he was a fan girl or something. That he was forgiven?

“Should I be calling you Vince and not Luci? I don’t want to call you something that isn’t your name anymore.”

The little dots blinked for a long time, as if he didn’t have an answer to that question. Finally, the answer came, “Almost everyone out in LA calls me Vince, but you can always call me Luci if you want.”

Chapter Text

It had been really damn stupid of him to stay up so late but he’d gotten his four hours, so he should be good. Or at least good enough. Adam had ignored his first phone alarm but that didn’t save him from the consequences of his own actions. He’d agreed to go in to the bakery early with Dean. Dean always went at four thirty. At four thirty, while Adam was still pulling the pillow over his head and trying to grab a few extra minutes of precious oblivion, Dean came upstairs and stole Adam’s blanket and the pillow over his head.

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” Dean said, hearty and obnoxious. He had no respect for Adam’s hearing or common decency or anything. “Time to make the donuts.”

If Adam had muttered ‘Fuck the donuts’ under his breath while throwing his remaining pillow at Dean, he could definitely be forgiven for that.

At least Dean had the decency to shove a travel mug of coffee in Adam’s hands before he frogmarched Adam off to the bakery kitchen in the dark cold early morning. The negative ten degree air hitting Adam’s face did more to wake him up than any amount of caffeine could. It was brutal, bitterly cold, so pretty much the usual and Adam was wondering why he hadn’t tried to talk Michael into running off for that Las Vegas elopement. They could be all snug in some honeymoon suite somewhere. They could be someplace where the air wasn’t a bludgeon and it wasn’t literally too cold to snow. He could ask Michael to not take the charter job but look for commercial aviation where he could be based out of San Diego maybe. Or Florida. Lots of planes flew into and out of Florida all the time.

Once they were in the kitchen, it wasn’t too bad. Adam could operate on auto pilot, doing what Dean told him to do, listening to the Led Zeppelin Dean put on. He got into the groove. He’d been set to Sam’s usual list, so he did the regular donuts first, sending them through the fryer and glazing them. Then the danishes, all the laminated stuff, sending endless batches of it through the sheeter, folding, sending it through again and again, so that the layers created would lift and rise and flake when they were baked and the moisture in the butter turned to steam in the heat.

Adam was knocked out of the groove when out of nowhere, Dean asked, “You used protection, right?”

If Adam’s cheeks flushed a little when he thought about how hot it had been when Michael had rolled the condom down on his cock, Dean at least didn’t tease him about it.

“I had my butterfly knife on its belt sheathe,” Adam snapped.

That was true. He knew damn well it wasn’t the question Dean had been asking, but it wasn’t a lie. Adam hadn’t kept up his practice with the blade once he was over eighteen, but when he was younger and Dean could still tell him what to do, he practiced with it. It was kind of a pain to keep concealed all the time, but Dean had hammered the point in that it made no sense to keep a concealed carry unless you concealed all the time. Adam had also been taught how to shoot but he refused to carry a handgun like Sam and Dean did. Still, you couldn’t doubt the utility of carrying at least something sharp to fend off a dangerous Alpha, if you had to.

“Look, I can see you didn’t get mated but you could still be making me an uncle way too soon,” Dean said.

Adam had moved on from the laminated doughs and on to this Swedish rye bread they made during the holidays. Dean had made the dough first thing and had the batch in the proof box. It was Adam’s job to shape the loaves. He had been getting it out to punch it down when Dean had asked his question. He let the big metal bowl slam down on the workbench and pictured Dean’s face on the smooth, domed dough before punching it. That was not as satisfying as it could have been. The dough was soft, puffy inside and it collapsed back to half its size like normal without much of a blow.

As Adam dumped the dough out onto the workbench and grabbed the bench scraper, he said, “It’s fine. I made sure he wrapped up his dick in an Alpha specific condom before I let him stick it in my vagina, okay? I made sure he used it correctly and didn’t knot me. Is that enough about my personal life for you or do you want to hear about how massive his…”

“Enough,” Dean said. “I’m just trying to look out for you. It’s my job, looking out for you. Dad gave me one job to do, to look out for you and Sam.”

“Well Dad sucks for parentifying you like that,” he said. It was a story he’d heard so many times over the years. In fact, Dean used that story as a reason he took so much time and money to haul Adam’s ass to therapy every week. The same therapy where Adam complained about how much their dead dad had parentified his older brother and how suffocating he found Dean’s parenting. He’d told Dean that answer many times. They’d talked about it so many times and Dean knew how Adam felt, even though Dean couldn’t help the way he felt. Adam tried to forgive Dean his codependent ways even as he tried to unmesh himself from them.

“And would it kill you to let me listen to Radiohead sometimes while we work?”

“Maybe not, but you can’t be too careful,” Dean said. “Anyway, oldest picks the music and youngest shuts his cakehole.”

That meant in practice that Adam almost never got to pick the music. A few Wednesday afternoons a month. Still, he’d rather have Dean’s Led Zeppelin playlists than Sam’s mix of Celine Dion and eighties hair bands. Maybe he’d be allowed to play Ladyheart around Sam now. He’d never really understood that before, why he coudln’t.

“I wonder if Lucifer ever met Thom Yorke,” he wondered out loud as their argument was more or less forgotten and they both got back to their work. He started shaping the loaves of bread, tucking them into their baking pans. The dough was brown because they put molasses into it and the loaves would be fragrant with caraway seeds. It was a weird, sweet rye bread but they sold tons of it during the holiday season. “Did you know? That Sam’s ex boyfriend was a rock and roll star?”

“Yeah, I knew,” Dean said. He was running pucks of dough through the sheeter, until they were the right size, then fitting them into the disposable aluminum pie tins, trimming and crimping the edges. “What good would it have done to tell you? It wasn’t like Lucifer was coming home. At least not until now.”

“So, I got the Air Force hero fighter pilot, Sam got the rock star and you got the accountant,” Adam smirked.

“I don’t think Sam’s got the rock star,” Dean said. “You probably don’t remember what it was like for Sam when he left. I don’t know if he’ll forgive the rock star that easy.”

“Did you hear those songs on the Late Show? If Sam’s not in love again after that, he’s got a heart of stone.”

After that, it was easier. They worked. The main issues had been breached and exploded at. Adam could proceed to pick up little truth bombs and lob them Dean’s way, small enough they snuck in and didn’t rouse a huge, negative response from Dean. He assured Dean that a pup wasn’t on the agenda, though he didn’t explain that was more Michael than himself. He thought about how he was going to explain that next year, most likely, he wouldn’t be working the bakery full time. Not because he was married, but because he’d be going to college.

He’d decided it was going to happen anyway, even if the marriage to Michael thing didn’t happen. He didn’t try applying to any place away from home, but at the end of high school, he’d applied to USD, been accepted and ended up deferring his acceptance. He’d never told anyone he’d done that. Yesterday he’d looked into it and he could still start classes next fall. Worst case scenario, he’d start at Sioux Falls Community college. Even if he couldn’t be a doctor he could do something with his life that wasn’t following Dean’s dream and plans. There were other things he could do in the medical field. Physical therapy. Be a nurse like his mom had been.

“What’s the hurry with getting married anyway?” Dean asked a while later. The bakery had been open a few hours by that point and Kevin was up front, handling the foot traffic while Dean had moved on to the wholesale orders. Adam had been set to cake decorating.

“It was, what, a couple of hours after you met him that you had a bite from Castiel on your neck?”

“Not even,” Dean said, shaking his head. “But I’m nobody’s role model.”

That was when Kevin called from the front, “Adam, you have a visitor.”

He hurried up front in time, Dean following, to see Michael taking off aviator style sunglasses. He’d ditched the gray utility jacket in favor of an leather bomber jacket with a shearling collar, plain brown, no patches. Thankfully he wore a blue and white plaid shirt today, not the ugly Yule sweater. He carried a big bouquet of sunflowers, maybe a replacement for the poor poinsettia that hadn’t survived all the toting around in the cold afterall. The instant Michael’s eyes met Adam’s, he grinned.

“Hey, Top Gun, no bothering Adam when he’s at work,” Dean said, obnoxious as always. Was he really going to stop Adam from seeing his fiancé?

“I was hoping I could take him to lunch,” Michael said. “He does get a break, right?”

Sadly, Adam didn’t. He wasn’t hourly, he was an owner, so labor laws didn’t apply to him. In practice, most days, he’d make time to duck out in enough fifteen minute chunks to total an hour. Dean usually took the time to scarf down a burger or something in the middle of the day, but Adam just waited to the end of his day to have lunch.

“Not…” Dean started.

“Really a problem,” Adam finished, and started untying his apron. “You can take me to the Red Wagon. It’s just across the street.”

Before Dean could even get in a proper protest, Adam was walking out of the bakery, Michael and sunflowers in tow. Before long, he was seated in the window booth in the Red Wagon across from Michael. He liked the Red Wagon, with its black and white checkered floors and all the little toy cars and trucks in red on the display ledges. He reached out with his foot and hooked it around Michael’s ankle. A little, bitchy part of him that he’d been ignoring all day relaxed when he was able to get some contact with his Alpha.

“Any word from Bobby on the truck?” Adam asked while they were waiting on the waitress.

“It’s up to my father if he wants to fix it. I’ve started shopping for my own car,” Michael said. “Something newer and reliable. I talked to my friend Rafe earlier today. I’ve got the bus route to Omaha if I want it.”

Adam was a little confused by ‘bus route’ but decided Michael just must mean the charter job, and was calling it a bus route because it was the same trip every time on a regular basis.

“It’s not the most exciting job around but I’d be home every night,” Michael added. “Which wouldn’t be true if I was working for one of the big airlines.”

“I like that idea,” Adam said. “You being home at night.”

He didn’t get further because their waitress appeared and took their order. Michael ordered a salad, which Adam thought was a bad idea but better to let him figure out his mistake on his own. Adam got his usual. When their food appeared, Adam prepared to inhale the cheeseburger. Took a first, slow bite to savor the fatty, flavorful beef. If there was one thing in this life almost as good as an orgasm, it was this- a perfect burger eaten when he was hungry for it.

“You know that stuff will kill you, right?” Michael asked.

“Worth it,” Adam said. “Anyway, what was that you said? All acts of love and pleasure are sacrements. Busy praying here, Angel.”

Michael shook his head, speared some of his lettuce with a fork and took a bite. Did it again.

“How’s that salad working out for you?” Adam asked.

“It tastes like good intentions and like I’d rather have a burger,” Michael said. He reached for one of Adam’s French fries or tried anyway. Adam brandished a fork in what he hoped looked like a dangerous way. Michael risked it anyway, but took only one fry. “Anyway, I guess my father has rescheduled the big family Yule party for Friday. I thought I could bring you and introduce you to the family.”

“Yeah, sure,” Adam said. “Have to meet them sometime anyway.”

______

Sam was contemplating a run. It was slightly warmer than yesterday and one degree and sunny on a still mid day was a very different beast than one degree in the dark morning with wind. Even if not everyone shoveled their sidewalks, the streets had been fully cleared. He got dressed in the right combination of layers, found his running shoes. He was tying them on in Bobby’s living room when there was a knock at the door.

Vince/Luci was at the door, dressed for running too. It was strange seeing him in tights and a day-glo green light jacket, with chunky Hokas on his feet after seeing him last night on the TV in tight leather and a shirt open to nearly his navel. Sam ushered him into the house before Bobby could shout from the other room about shutting the damn door.

“You still like to run?” Vince/Luci asked.

Back when they’d been in high school, the only team sport they could both participate in on the same team was cross country. As an Omega, Sam couldn’t do most sports- no football, that was an Alpha only sport, maybe a few of the burlier Betas made the team. Wrestling had a separate Omega team, same for most of the sports. His growth spurt came too late to make basketball a viable option. But running? They could do that together and no one could object.

“Yeah, I was just about to head out now,” Sam said. He pulled his beanie on, wondering if Vince/Luci had kept up with his running or if he just thought to come back to it because of Sam. “The five mile loop to and around Falls Park?”

Back in high school they were about equally matched, because Sam worked harder, even though being short then, his stride was much shorter than Vince/Luci’s. Luci had it easier with his longer legs but he was a lazy athlete and could have been much faster if he tried. He just wasn’t driven like Sam had been. Now would be anyone’s guess if they were equally matched. Sam’s height disadvantage had reversed but Vince/Luci’s had a sleek, conditioned body, he had to be working out at least some to keep it that way. They set off at an easy pace, a warm up. Sam wasn’t going to push hard so he could talk with Vince/Luci.

“You must have got in late,” he said, their feet sounding unnaturally loud on the pavement. Midday in Sioux Falls could be so quiet, everyone already at work or school. The sun reflected off the snow so brightly he had no choice but to put on his sunglasses or it would be blinding. Even with the cold, it felt good to move his body and breathe in fresh air.

“More like very early,” Vince/Luci said. “Five am, so I look and feel my best after about three hours of sleep on the plane. A run will help though. I would have got back earlier but I ended up making a last minute stop at my favorite tattoo shop.”

It was kind of a rock star cliche, having a ton of tattoos, but Sam didn’t remember seeing any others besides the Luci + Sammy tattoo on the chest. His arms hadn’t had any, nor more on his chest, but having a favorite shop certainly implied there were more than the one from when he was eighteen. That still left plenty of skin on his legs, back or flanks that could be inked up. As they ran along, Vince/Luci tugged down the zipper of his jacket and his shirt, revealing a tegaderm style bandage covering the old tattoo. It’d been reworked, touched up so it was darker, but more importantly, the “Luci” had been crossed out and “Vince” had been tattooed over the heart in bigger script and red ink, the same handwriting with the big swooping V as had been on the album covers that Sam had looked up last night before sleeping.

Not that Sam was going to admit to anyone he’d stayed up way too late catching up on Ladyheart’s discography. He’d been planning on running to Serpentine, their latest album, before Vince/Luci had shown up on Bobby’s door.

“You got me thinking,” Vince/Luci said, zipping back up quickly until he was covered back to his chin. “I don’t want to be known as Lucifer at all. That’s not who I am now.”

“Okay, Vince,” Sam said. “Are you ready to be done with the warmup and on with the real workout?”

“Bring it on, Sam,” Vince said and put on a burst of speed.

Not that Sam couldn’t keep up, but it was no longer a slow, easy lope. It felt so good though. Dean always made fun of Sam for the running, but nothing would have gotten Sam to give it up. It made Sam feel good to run, made him feel strong, in control of his body or as much in control as he could be. If there were lingering effects from his teenage pining sickness, they faded when he ran. Running was the best way he’d found to kick the chronic depression in the ass.

“You’ve kept up with your running?” Sam asked as they reached the archway at the entrance to Falls Park.

“More like got back to it a few years ago,” Vince said. “This rock star body doesn’t make itself. And it’s hard work being on stage. I have no clue how the old school rock stars did it on a steady diet of heroin and weed. You kept it all along?”

“Yeah. It feels good,” Sam said. “And good to have an hour or two a day that’s mine without Dean in my face.”

“I think he’ll probably be a lot more distracted going forward,” Vince said. “Busy with things and with my half sib Castiel.”

As if by coincidence, as they set foot on the main loop through the big park, someone came up behind them. It was Castiel. For a minute Sam thought he might want to join their little running group, but he only waved at them as he passed at a pace Sam would have found hard to keep up for sprint work.

“The weird little guy’s pretty speedy for an accountant,” Vince said.

They were quiet for a while, just focusing on the run, and maybe a bit on the spectacular beauty that was Falls Park. The rocks broke through the earth here, chunky, layered blocks revealing the geology of epochs long past. The river that flowed through the park had frozen, turning the falls into white churned ice. The curved paths had been cleared, to a point, but you couldn’t get too close to the waterfall itself. They’d soon be passing the place where they’d shared that last kiss before Vince had run away. The place itself had been long stripped of emotional impact with familiarity. Falls Park was the best place in town to run, so he’d passed the spot many, many times. Vince hadn’t had that chance. He stopped dead when they got to the place closest to the falls, just a few feet from the place that they’d last kissed.

“We lost so much time because I’m an idiot,” Vince said, looking around. “A proud, melodramatic idiot who didn’t trust the person he should have trusted most in the world. You’d be right to never forgive me.”

Sam suddenly realized that even though he hadn’t said it, he already had.

“We were pups back then. We might have been able to grow up together, but maybe it was better this way,” Sam said. “We had a chance to grow on our own. I don’t know about you, but I’m proud of who I became. I raised a brother and Dean couldn’t have built the business without me. I make the best damn croissants in South Dakota. And I don’t think you’d be who you are now if you hadn’t left.”

“You’re right,” Vince said. “Doesn’t mean I can’t regret the time we lost. I think our story would be different if I’d stayed, but we’d still be us. Let’s get going. It’s cold as fuck just standing here.”

“It is,” Sam agreed.

Chapter Text

Castiel passed them two times on the loop before he either finished or gave up, or maybe he’d slowed down enough that they completed their loop and a half before heading out of Falls Park onto Bismarck St. If you turned left there and took the long way around downtown, that was more or less five miles when you got back to Bobby’s house.

Sam didn’t know why, maybe he just didn’t want the run to end, but he asked Vince, “Do you want to head to the Red Wagon and get lunch or whatever before you head home?”

It was different ownership now, but they’d gone to the Red Wagon so many times after school, but before the library, and sat in that booth by the window. They’d load up on caffeine by way of bad coffee and sometimes share a piece of cake from the spinning display case that used to be up by the front counter. The waitresses must have hated them for taking up the prime table in the place and spending so little, even though they always tipped a hundred percent, but a hundred percent of four bucks was still pocket change. Of course, any pies or cakes served at the Red Wagon these days came from right across the street, made by Dean at Three Brothers.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Vince said. “Is the coffee any better now?”

“Not by much, but some,” Sam said. “Race you there.”

He stepped up his pace, starting to run like something was chasing him and Vince fell behind, only a few steps as first. Sam found himself laughing because it felt so good to push himself like this, feeling the cold sting his cheeks. He turned his head around to look and see Vince who was now huffing and breathing hard to keep up, his breath turning into white vapor in the cold, but only about five steps behind him. Sam turned from Bismarck to Fulton and suddenly looked up for some reason.

On the corner, there was a big oak tree, one that had enormous low sweeping branches, big enough that the sidewalk cracked and buckled up at its base, pushed by its roots. The whole tree was still green, or at least it seemed that way. He realized it was already too late. He was under a massive bush of mistletoe growing in the oak trees branches, in the middle of it. There could be no plausible deniability that he wasn’t really under it or that you could hardly tell if you were or not because it was so high up in the tree. It was huge and low growing. He stopped dead in his tracks. It was a stupid superstition. It really was. He knew that it wasn’t really a thing the ancients had done, that the Victorians had invented it based on stories they’d heard about the ancients. Yes, mistletoe represented fertility, but so did a lot of things and you didn’t have to get kissed under them. And somehow, it wasn’t bad luck not to get kissed under it during November or late October but it was three, four weeks after that?

“Sam?” Vince asked when he caught up.

“Look up,” Sam said.

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

It seemed, for a moment, like a sign from the universe. From the spirit. It wasn’t awkward at all. He turned around and Vince stepped forward. Sam’s arms found their way around Vince’s shoulders and Vince’s arms wrapped around Sam’s waist. Vince’s body was warm, even through his jacket. It was like something that had been sleeping inside of Sam for so long was waking up. Sam only had to tilt his face down a little bit while Vince looked up and then their lips touched. Just for a moment. Not long at all. It wasn’t like they deliberately cut it short or one of them backed away from the other. It was exactly the right length of kiss for now, long enough to thaw something in Sam’s chest that had been frozen. Warmth suffused through him and both of them were grinning like idiots as they backed away from each other. Sam knew that there would be much more kissing in the future, that this was just the start. He knew that they should take it slowly. He was standing there feeling the glow of the kiss spreading into every fiber of him when Vince said, “Bet you can’t catch me!” And bolted off as fast as he could. Sam took off after him, knowing that absolutely he could catch him if he wanted to.

____

Bobby had just gotten off the phone after a very unpleasant conversation with Chuck Shurley about who would be doing what with the rusty old truck they’d hauled back from Harrisburg along with Adam and Michael. The truck was titled to Chuck but he wasn’t willing to pay to get it back to driveable condition, insisted that Bobby haul it away to the junk yard, Bobby could have the scrap value for the trouble. But since there was no salvage yard in the county, thanks to Chuck’s real estate ventures, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Bobby’s future son in law had paid for the tow and for a new battery to see if that would be enough, but wasn’t willing to sink in the kind of money the truck needed to get it roadworthy. Or at least he hadn’t once Bobby might have mentioned what he thought about Alphas who drove Omegas around in such cars in the winter without so much as a blanket, a full tank of gas and other emergency supplies like a basic toolkit. He might have explained his expectation that any Alpha marrying his youngest boy would have reliable transportation available to him, didn’t have to be new, but reliable wasn’t negotiable. Bobby didn’t want to be getting any more calls that Mikey couldn’t make it home on time with one of his boys. Bobby might have laid it on a big thick, but it wouldn’t have stuck if it weren’t truth.

Bobby could keep the truck, turn it to a project car and do a restoration, but he had enough of those going and he wasn’t sure the juice would be worth the squeeze if he did. The issue still wasn’t settled by the time Chuck had hung up on him and for now, the truck was cluttering up Bobby’s small lot.

That was when the big Mercedes drove up. Bobby knew the car, had seen it drop off Sam yesterday after his lunch with the witch’s son, Crowley. Bobby walked out, planning to let Crowley know that he couldn’t service his car, that he didn’t have the right tools or the stuff for computer diagnostics. He could maybe put air in the tires and Bobby wasn’t even inclined to do that.

Like always, the Alpha was dressed in all black, along black overcoat this time, not a coat suited to the bitter weather. Even so, the man didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He was short, about four inches shorter than Bobby, but somehow, you never really noticed that until you were standing right next to man and could tell he only came up to about your nose. He was an attractive enough Alpha despite the height. Nice smell to him too. It reminded Bobby of long summer afternoons driving the high ways on a road trip, but also an old bookstore or library, that smell of moldering books that shouldn’t smell as good as it did, and of better whiskey than Bobby ever got to drink.

McLeod walked over to Bobby carrying a baking dish covered in a plaid dishtowel. He held it out to Bobby with an expectant looking grin that looked maybe a little odd on with his all black look. The beard didn’t help. Call Bobby a paranoid bastard but he didn’t immediately reach out for the dish.

“Hello, Robert.”

“McLeod,” Bobby said. “I’m not set up to work on your G-wagon. Gotta take that one to the dealership.”

“I’m well aware. It’s a very impractical car. I have to take it to Omaha if I want to add windshield washer fluid. No, I just wanted to thank you personally for not ganking Mother. I know she has a…not entirely positive reputation in the hunter community. Our relationship is complex to say the least but I am very fond of her,” he said. “My famous ginger peach cobbler. Take a whiff.”

He held the dish out a little further so Bobby folded the towel aside. It was a nice real linen towel from the feel of it. The cobbler top had been baked to a nicely golden brown and a fragrant, sweet and spicy smell rose off it and took the pipeline direct from his nose to his stomach, making it rumble and complain. The cobbler smelled good. Too good. Suspiciously good. He raised an eyebrow and looked into McLeod’s brown eyes.

“Oh, no, there’s not a smidgen of witchcraft in it. It’s just that good,” Crowley said. “I’m just that good.”

Bobby hesitated for a moment, but then accepted the dish. He could test a small sample for witchcraft later at home. Sam had said that Crowley wasn’t a natural witch himself and didn’t seem to have made the effort to learn any of the spells that anyone could learn with enough effort. It was odd that he’d chosen to bring Bobby a cobbler though. It was almost like a courting gift. You sometimes got an Alpha who brought you food, sweets mostly, instead of flowers. You in the general sense because Bobby hadn’t had an Alpha bring him anything like a courting gift ever. John’s ‘courting gifts’ had been cases of beer which he mostly drank himself. Hadn’t Crowley just had a date with Sam?

“How’d your date with Sam go?” Bobby asked.

“I’m not sure it was a date so much as just lunch,” Crowley said.

That more or less matched with the story that Sam had told Bobby after the ‘date’ as well. Bobby got the feeling that Sam had only accepted the invitation because Satan Shurley had just shown his face for the first time in over a decade. Now, that was a conundrum, why he’d shown up in the first place and if Bobby should try and chase him off again for Sam’s sake. His boy had barely survived the last time Lucifer had gone off and Bobby couldn’t bear to see his heart broken again. Bobby would almost rather have Sam be dating this Alpha who at least seemed stable and well off. Or at least he did if his overpriced vehicle was an accurate representation of his prosperity. Might be all hat no cattle like they said in Texas.

“Well, I should be going. It’s cold enough out here to freeze the unmentionables off a brass monkey,” Crowley said. Bobby suddenly realized they were still standing in his parking lot outside. It was dark already and the already basement bottom temperature was dipping lower.

“If you want to come in, I think I’ve got some paper plates in the office,” Bobby said, gesturing towards his shop with the baking dish.

“Oh, no,” Crowley said. “That’s all for you. Though perhaps you might come over to mine for supper some time. I could make you my even more famous ‘Marry Me Chicken’. Ta.”

Crowley climbed back into his ridiculous car and was gone while Bobby stood there stupidly wondering what that all had been about. Bobby finally realized he would freeze to death just standing out in the cold like some kind of idjit. He walked back to the shop, turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’, since it was time. Normally, he’d work an hour past official close to catch up, get things done, but today, he decided to go home. He set the cobbler down so he could lock up. Instead of counting the drawer in the till like normal, he threw it into the safe as it was. That was a problem for tomorrow Bobby now.

He walked the few blocks home carrying his cobbler. He was surprised to see the lights on, because he was pretty sure he’d turned it all off when he’d left in the morning and there was also the pungent smell of wood smoke in the air. When he looked up, he could see a little bit of smoke coming out of the chimney. Someone was having a fire. Bobby let himself into the house and discovered he had all his boys at home. Not just that, but each of his boys had someone with them, their Alphas.

They’d brought out a card table and set it up in the living room, near the sofa and the Yule tree. Castiel, Michael and Sam were playing cards, poker from the looks of it, using the contents of the candy dish, including those strawberry candies that always just seemed to appear in the candy dish, and assorted pocket contents as well- pennies and assorted coins, one black button and the metal end of a spent shotgun shell. Sam was in the middle of triumphantly sweeping back his winnings and the other two were discovering how much of a card shark Sam really was. Michael was seated at the sofa and Adam was stretched out, leaning against Michael’s side, completely sacked out and someone had thrown an afghan over him. Satan Shurley was on the other end of the sofa, slouched down and similarly sacked out. Dean was missing but a moment later, he reappeared from the kitchen, carrying serving plates to the dining room table, including one piled high with pancakes.

“Hey, you’re in time for dinner,” he said. “I figured it was time for breakfast for dinner again. What’s that? Did Marcy Holt make you tuna wiggle hot dish again?”

“This is none of your business,” Bobby said. “It’s all mine. Why’s everyone here?”

“Well, Adam’s staying here and he wanted Michael to stick around, so obviously I had to supervise because the kid’s on lockdown. And where I go, Cas goes. Then Sam showed up with Mister Hair Band following him like a lost puppy.”

He might have been a little grumpy to realize he didn’t have the house to himself. He’d been planning to test the cobbler for witchcraft, then if it was clear, slam a big plate of it with a tall glass of milk while watching Tori and Dean on Netflix, but looking around, he found himself glad that his boys, when they could have gone elsewhere decided they were coming here, coming back home to him.

“Yeah, okay,” Bobby said. “You didn’t make an unholy mess of my kitchen did you?”

“I’ve been cleaning as I go, I swear it,” Dean said.

Chapter Text

It was surprising how easy it had been to slip into a new routine. Or at least it felt like a routine even though it had only been four days since their first kiss.

He couldn’t go running in the morning most days, due to the bakery hours, but Vince was happy to run with him in the early afternoon instead. Up at four, at the bakery at four-thirty, work hard until one or two in the afternoon, then meet up with Vince. They went running. They’d take that big loop around Falls Park and they’d stop under the tree with the mistletoe and have a brief kiss. Then a little afterwards, they’d meet up at the Red Wagon, showered and in fresh clothes. Sam was reminded of high school days and yet, not at all. Sam mostly read, though sometimes he got out his laptop and did paperwork for the bakery- ordering, the bookkeeping, the kind of stuff that Dean wouldn’t or maybe couldn’t do. Back in high school, it was all studying for Sam. Vince, he was writing, mostly songs, like he used to all the time in high school. He even had the same kind of spiral notebook like he’d used back then, but he hadn’t drawn the heart on the cover.

Sam wished it would go on forever, this comfortable way they’d slipped back into being with each other.

He didn’t know what would happen in February. Vince was planning to go back to the studio to record, or so he’d said when he’d appeared on the Late Show. That almost certainly meant heading back to LA where Vince lived, where the rest of Ladyheart lived. It wasn’t like there was a recording studio here or Vince could get the rest of the band to follow him here. It wasn’t like Sam could just pull up roots and go to LA. His home was here. His family was here. It might not be the career he’d wanted, but his work was here at the bakery. What would Dean do without Sam? Especially if Adam was going to marry Mike in the spring. Sam couldn’t give up his life here, could he? Not on the strength of an apology and four very nice afternoons spent together that a couple of times had stretched into an evening and once, to Sam spending the night, not in Vince’s bed, but in one of the twelve bedrooms of the Wolcott Mansion. They weren’t even dating. They hadn’t defined what this was that they were doing yet and Sam thought it was too soon for that anyway. They could be fated to be friends only this time around. They hadn’t scented each other properly. But it soothed something in Sam’s soul to sit here at the Red Wagon, his ankle touching Vince’s ankle under the table. Yet he worried about getting attached again. Would it break him for good to be abandoned this time?

“Hey,” Vince said, closing his notebook at about three. “I have to head out early. I’ve got a zoom appointment with Mia.”

Vince’s therapist. Sam kind of wished he could be a fly on the wall of that call, but it was none of his business. He’d be talking about Sam though, for sure. He had to be, right? Or maybe he’d just be talking about his continuing issues with his father.

“Sure,” Sam said. “I’ve got a couple of errands I should run.”

He didn’t or at least nothing that couldn’t wait, but it was something to say.

“Have you thought any more about Friday?” Vince asked.

“Crashing Chuck’s Yule party? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked.

It was fated to not go well if you asked Sam, but Vince was set on it for some reason. Sam was going, but mostly because Adam and Dean were set to go with their respective Alphas. Adam, in particular, needed someone to back him up, Sam thought. Who knew what Chuck might say or do. Sam didn’t trust Mike to have Adam’s six, not against his father. Not yet. Adam had full faith in Michael but Sam did not.

“Gabriel told me he thought I should go. I even had an ugly sweater FedExed to me. You’ve got something, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an ugly Yule sweater. Your place at six thirty?” Sam said. There was a while where everyone throwing a Yule party had that as the theme, with contests for the ugliest, the most clever, funniest and everything.

“I’ll pick you up at Bobby’s,” Vince said.

Vince got up from the booth with his notebook. This time, the first time he’d done it, he stopped by Sam and bent down. He placed a brief kiss on Sam, not on the lips, but on Sam’s lower cheek. It wasn’t so much a kiss as an excuse to get close enough to scent Sam. You couldn’t miss the sharp inhalation, then the soft sigh he exhaled when he stood upright. It still wasn’t a proper scenting, but was long enough that Vince would have gotten a good pull on Sam. Sam, in turn, got one on Vince. He’d never been able to fully quantify what Vince smelled like, just warm and spicy and like home. These days, he didn’t smell quite exactly like Sam remembered. There was a lot more of a sexy beast kind of quality to the spice. Musky? Animalic, like leather? It made sense that it wasn’t exactly the same. They’d both finished growing up in the years they’d been parted so their scents would have matured as well.

“Your hair smells amazing,” he said. Were his eyes dilating, a sign of a not so innocent interest in Sam? A sign that this was more than the rekindling of a friendship?

“That’s not my hair,” Sam said. “Every hair product I use is unscented. That’s all me.”

That wasn’t uncommon to use all unscented products. You wanted people to be able to smell who you were. Lavender or vanilla or rose or whatever stopped your own scent from being recognized. If you wore perfumed stuff, they would think you were hiding something. That you weren’t sincere or genuine.

Vince swallowed hard before saying, “I’d better get going. See you at six-thirty.”

A few minutes later Sam tucked his book away in his bag and got up from the booth to find out Vince had paid for both of them already, like he did every time even though Sam told him he shouldn’t. Paid and tipped generously. Sam thought about stopping at the bakery and checking up on Adam and Kevin and decided not to. If Adam was old enough to be thinking about married life, he could handle the bakery by himself for a part of an afternoon. Sam turned the other way and found himself outside of the library.

Rowena was walking out, carrying a small stack of what looked to be romance best sellers, the sort of thing you read by the side of a pool on vacation with pink and blue covers and curly, swoopy typeface on the cover. Not exactly the witchiest of titles.

“Hello, Samuel,” she said, stopping at the top of the steps. “I’m just picking up a few serious books about human relationships. How have you been?”

“Are you sure you didn’t label those candles you gave me wrong?” He asked. “I burned only one. The one for a new beginning. Not the ‘return to me’ candle.”

Rowena smiled a sly, arch smile, “And yet here he is, returned to you. Or is he? They say you cannot step in the same river twice. Perhaps this is your new beginning.”

“But wouldn’t the other candle been the one to bring him back to me?”

“Perhaps if you’d burned that candle, what would have returned to you was your own heart,” she said. “Or perhaps not. Intentions and will matter more than any little bit of spice or wax.”

“You’re saying it’s me who brought Vince back here?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said. It was hard to tell exactly where she was putting the emphasis. _I_ didn’t say that or I didn’t say _that_. Or I didn’t _say_ that. “I said intentions matter. Especially with you, Samuel. You’ve got more than a little of the witchy in you. Think, what matters more, the ingredients or the skill of the baker?”

He was about to say that you couldn’t say that either was more important than the other, because what was a pile of butter and flour without someone knowing what to do with them. On the other hand, the most skilled baker couldn’t do anything unless he had the correct ingredients.

“Or how about this? You have flour and sugar and butter. Do you have a pie? Or do you have a cake? Depends on what the baker sets out to do, doesn’t it?”

At that moment, a bright red cardinal settled on the huge holly bush that grew next to the library entrance, calling out the usual ‘wheet, wheet, cheer, cheer, cheer’ sound that they made. Cardinals were common to see around town, but lately, it almost felt like they were following him everywhere. He’d never recalled seeing them on his runs, for instance, but lately, he’d seen at least one every time and usually more like six or seven. It made him think about the ornament Vince had given him all those years ago, back up on the Yule tree for the first time in a long time. Just as he was about to answer Rowena that it wasn’t that simple, that there was a lot more too it than that, another cardinal, a red male, also landed on the holly bush. That wasn’t normal. They were territorial, you didn’t see two males on the same tree normally.

“What does it mean if I’m suddenly seeing cardinals all over?” He asked, not meaning to, but the words escaped him.

“Oh, possibly nothing, or possibly many things. Love, devotion. Renewal. New beginnings,” she said. One of the cardinals cried out again, a sound suprisingly loud for its tiny red body. “They are cheeky little devils, aren’t they?”

The cardinal answered her with its song.

“Why don’t you come over to Gabriel’s with me? I could teach you a few little tricks I have to help you clarify your intentions and direct your will.”

“I don’t have time,” he said. “I’ve got things to do.”

That was just an excuse. What the hell would Bobby say if Sam was caught learning witchcraft? Being taught by Rowena of all people. What did she mean, exactly, when she said that he had ‘more than a little of the witchy’ in him? He wasn’t a natural witch. It would have manifested long before now if he was. Was there a spectrum? He wished he could go to her to learn some of those things. If he was lighting candle magic and the outcome was the exact opposite of his conscious wishes and desires, he needed to fix that. Not that he intended to use witchcraft again.

“Will I see you at the Shurley Yule party, then?” She asked.

“You’re going?”

“Gabriel will be attending,” Rowena said. “I wish he wouldn’t but what kind of partner would I be if I let him walk into enemy territory alone?”

______

The dress code was Ugly Yule Sweaters, of which Dean had precisely none.

He didn’t know why he’d agreed to this craziness, but he had. A few days ago, Gabriel had let Cas know that the family Yule party had been rescheduled and that his attendance was requested and required along with his new mate. Dean didn’t know, couldn’t puzzle it out from the oral invitation that had been conveyed to them if Chuck knew who Cas’s new mate was or not. Dean wondered if the invitation would have been forthcoming if Chuck had known. Not a lot of love had been lost between the Winchesters and Chuck Shurley. Dean didn’t say that though. He said that he didn’t think he should go and anyway, Dean didn’t have an ugly sweater.

“Of course you’ll come with me,” Cas had said. “You’re my mate now. If my father objects to your presence, we’ll leave together. I think I have an extra sweater that should fit.”

So with no further reasonable excuses to get out of going, Dean got ready to go. Besides, once Adam had let him know that he was going with Mikey, that meant that Dean didn’t have the option of not going. Someone had to be there to protect and supervise. Then Sam heard about Dean and Adam going, which meant that Lucifer. No, strike that. The guy wanted to be known as Vince these days and Sam had let them know that they’d better use the name, at least to his face. Vince/Lucifer decided he might as well crash the party too, and he was going to bring Sam along. So all three of the Winchesters were going.

Cas walked into the bathroom, sweater in hand. They’d wound up more or less moving into Dean’s house on Washington, not camping out in Cas’s office any longer. Or at least Cas had brought over some of his clothes, then a suitcase, then another. Most of his stuff was in storage and he’d brought over only the stuff he’d been keeping at Jimmy’s place.

“I knew I had an extra sweater for you,” Cas said, holding out something limp and acrylic looking. It had faux fair isle patterns printed on it with a big cat printed on the front. Not just any cat, but the ‘Grumpy Cat’ internet meme cat, the one with the frowny little mouth and eternally pissed off expression. Under the cat it said, “Ho, Ho, No.” Well, if Dean’s thoughts about attending this shindig could be expressed in sweater form, this would be the sweater.

“I got it at the Hot Topical,” Cas said as Dean pulled the sweater from his hands.

Cas wore a zip up cardigan that looked like something a kindergarten teacher would wear, in white with gingerbread men, bright plastic buttons sewn on in the places where there would have been gumdrop decorations with red and white trim around the edges like candy canes.

“I don’t think that’s the name of the store,” Dean said.

He tugged the sweater on. It fit, more or less, and it fit the dress code for the evening. It was enough oversize with a stretchy bottom band, that it bloused out at the bottom some. Dean felt uncomfortable. His jean’s waistband was cutting into his belly just a tiny bit. He’d been a little bit bloated since yesterday. It was too soon, by far, for him to considered actually pregnant yet, even if sperm had caught up with an egg right on that first day he’d been with Cas, somehow. There was, if Dean remembered his scanty sex ed lessons well enough, still days for the little cluster of cells to divide and divide and to travel down the fallopian to the uterus, then set up shop there, before he could be considered pregnant. It’d be at least another week before anything would show up on a pregnancy test. Despite that, something in him felt it.

“This sweater makes me look like I’m a couple months knocked up,” Dean complained as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“I know,” Cas said, looking at Dean with that certain lustful intensity. He put a hand on Dean’s lower belly, right where the sweater bloused out. He looked like a man thinking seriously about the consequences of missing a social engagement in order to drag his lover back to bed. “Can you imagine how amazing you’ll look once you are into your second or third trimester?”

“Dude! I didn’t know you had a pregnancy kink,” Dean said, but he didn’t move Cas’s hand from his lower belly.

“Is it kinky to love all aspects of your mate whether they’re carrying your pup or not? Is it kinky to desire him when he’s showing the natural consequences of the lovemaking you been sharing? It’s a shame we have to go now.”

Cas then pulled him close and whispered all kinds of wonderful filth into Dean’s ear about how much he’d love to bend him over the sink right here and what they could do to each other if they just took a little time. It wasn’t that it wasn’t tempting, but then Dean took one look at Cas’s sweater.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “I’d take you up on that if you were wearing just about anything else. Whatever that sweater is, it’s the opposite of hot.”

“After the party then. This will have to wait,” Cas said. He took Dean’s hand and guided it to his cock. Cas’s cock was rock hard, not hanging to left or right, but so hard it was practically fully upright.

“Yeah, hold that thought for later.”

___

Adam had found an ugly sweater that Sam had never seen before. It was fitting, considering where he found Adam wearing it. Sam had come down downstairs dressed for the party to find that Mike Shurley was already there. He and Adam had been standing near the mistletoe on the dining room arch, not actually under it. Sam didn’t see anything, but they were smoothing down hair, flushed of cheek and generally flustered. They were standing apart enough to, as they said, leave room for the Spirit, but they looked like they’d just leaped there seconds ago, possibly as soon as they’d heard Sam’s feet on the steps. He made a point of stepping on that one creaky step any time he thought they might be downstairs alone together. It was a reasonable compromise, he thought. Let them have enough time alone together to get a little innocent canoodling in, but not so much time they could sneak in the horizontal tango.

Mike was wearing that ugly sweater he’d worn on the date of the first, canceled party, the one patterned with holly and ivy and cats, but Adam’s was bright red and it said in big white letters, ‘Meet me under the mistletoe’ with an overall pattern of sprigs of mistletoe scattered all over.

There was a knock at the door and Sam went to answer it. Vince was waiting. He had on a black leather jacket, but worn open and under that was a red and white sweater. Sam wasn’t sure it fell strictly under the rubric of ‘ugly sweater’. It looked like it was real wool and kind of a Norwegian style ski sweater but it was patterned with Yule trees and moose. Moose? On his head, Vince had a Santa hat, the classic style in plush red and white. He was holding out a wrapped gift to Sam, about the size and shape of a book. When Sam took the gift, it was definitely a book. You could feel the shape of the spine and cover under the green and white paper.

Sam stood there, stupidly silent, a least long enough for Bobby to shout from the kitchen, “Ask him in and close the damn door. You think I got money to heat all of Sioux Falls?” Vince stepped inside enough for Sam to shut the door. Sam was torn, wanting to rip open his present and wanting to wait until the proper celebration on Solstice night. Was it a Yule gift or a courting gift? Or neither?

“You know that afternoon we went to the book section at Garth’s?” Vince asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said.

Sioux Falls was small enough it didn’t have a bookstore of its own, but apparently Garth felt strongly enough that one of the things you couldn’t get along without was books. He devoted a twelve by twelve food area of his store to books, crammed it as full of bookcases as he could, crammed those bookcases full of new best sellers, of used books, of just about anything really. One afternoon, after the Red Wagon, they’d dropped in. Sam just wanted to see if Garth had anything new. The rumor was he’d bought out all the books at the sale Donatello had when he moved to Florida. Garth had. The book section was jam packed with new stock. Sam had found what looked a first edition of the Wizard of Oz. Maybe not, maybe just a really old one. He couldn’t justify getting it for himself, not at the price Garth had to charge.

“I went back for that book you were geeking out over,” Vince said. “It’s still your favorite book after all these years?”

“It’s a classic,” Sam said, as he started to carefully rip the tape off the paper, revealing the old book. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.”

Chapter Text

The party was the biggest Adam had ever been to, even including that one wedding of his Mom’s cousin when he was a little kid. Chuck’s house was huge, one of those open concept McMansion style places. Everything was either white or gray with a little bit of black. The massive all white kitchen was so immaculate that Adam would have been surprised if anyone had actually ever cooked in it. Then someone mentioned that it was the ‘show’ kitchen and that there was a second working kitchen in the house. The show kitchen had two islands that each had ten stools pulled up to them and one of those fancy stoves with ten burners and one of those faucets to fill pots directly on the stove.

Michael was escorting Adam around for introductions, even as Adam was wondering how anyone could keep track of that many half siblings, much less the cousins, aunts and uncles. The only cousin Adam still remembered even five minutes later was Balthazar, who he already knew because he stopped in at the bakery so often. Adam hadn’t even been introduced to Michael’s father Chuck yet.

By the count Adam was keeping in his head of everyone and their relationships, Chuck was a manwhore. He’d had kids with at least nine people, including six different legal wives, that Adam had heard mentioned and he had close to thirty children by those various people. Michael was the oldest at thirty eight and if he hadn’t misunderstood, that one year old pup being carried around, the one named Tia (short for Tiamat, what a name for a cute, curly haired girl pup) was Chuck’s youngest. How could anyone, even as rich as Chuck supposedly was, afford that many children? The only way Adam could figure it was that he’d wriggled out of pup support payments for a lot of them.

Most of the half siblings were in their twenties, but Chuck was also really making the rounds around town about twenty to fifteen years ago with the large contingent of teenagers as evidence of that. Adam had been at high school the same time as Sariel, Tamiel and Zadkiel, not knowing they were Shurley’s. They’d called themselves Sara, Tammy and Chip, respectively and all had different last names. He hadn’t been friends with any of them and Chip, in particular, was the Alpha asshole who’d been named valedictorian instead of Adam. To add insult to that injury, Chip hadn’t even gone off to university. He was taking a ‘gap year’ and not even working.

“That’s why you didn’t get valedictorian. Everyone knew you’d just end up barefoot and pregnant anyway, Milligan. Typical Omega,” Chip sneered when Adam had been introduced to him as Michael’s fiancé.

Michael bristled immediately and looked like he was ready to deliver a beat down to his much younger half sib. Not that Chip didn’t deserve it, but Adam didn’t need any kind of Alpha to come to his defense, even his own fiancé. Adam had been raised by Bobby and the Winchesters and that meant something.

“Huh, last I heard, I was one third owner of one of Sioux Falls most successful businesses and you spent most of this year playing video games and smoking pot in your Oma’s basement,” Adam said.

Even though it was a good comeback, Adam felt a dizzy kind of sick for a moment. Except for Michael’s insistence, maybe Chip would be right. Adam had been led by his Omega hormones and he’d wanted to get pregnant with Michael’s pup. Part of him still wanted it, though that was his inner Omega complaining about not having a pup. He’d convinced his brain at least that he was absolutely not ready for a pup. Not that he really cared what the Chips of the world thought about him, but that was that they thought, that he didn’t deserve the things they got naturally because they were Alphas. Last Adam had heard, from the rumor mills around town, Chip had only got accepted by his safety schools.

“Is that true, little brother?” Michael asked Chip, putting on his military hard ass face, the one that you would believe made it to Lt. Colonel. “That you’ve wasted the opportunities afforded to you by the privilege of your life circumstances? That you didn’t pursue education, employment or military service in any way? That’s the least I would expect out of one of our father’s Alpha children.”

Adam wouldn’t have dared to say it so plain to an Alpha, but this was Chip’s oldest brother, the one who would have had the responsibility to say it if their shared father hadn’t. Probably Chuck didn’t even know that this child of his hadn’t gone to college, how could he keep track of that many pups? It used to be that a big family group like Chuck had made himself would form into a pack. That kind of thing had faded out of society long ago. Families mostly were smaller. But if the various Shurleys had been a pack it would have been Michael’s responsibility as oldest son to keep order in the family pack.

“I’m suffering burnout,” Chip said, on the defensive. “I’m working on my mental health. I’m going to school next year.”

“See that you do, pup,” Michael said. “And learn to be respectful of the Omegas around you. An Omega is every bit a home to the Spirit as an Alpha.”

“Yes, sir,” Chip said.

A woman walked up to them, her stride elegant and smooth. She had long brown hair, curled at the bottom, and unlike everyone else at the party, she did not wear a sweater of any kind, ugly or not. She wore a long black dress with a deep v-neck, the kind of dress you’d wear to a regular party.

“Mikey!” She said and held out her arms as she got close to them.

“Aunt Amara,” Michael said, stepping into her embrace for a brief moment. She was the first person at the party Michael had accepted a hug from. It was brief, a quick moment before she stepped back, the both of them smiling at each other.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard from Gabriel you’re going by Michael these days. It’ll take me a little while to get out of the habit. And this must be Adam. Here let me scent you.”

She stepped close to him but didn’t touch him. She leaned in close and pulled in a deep breath and it was weird, because normally, the only one that would scent you deeply in just that exact way was when you were a pup and it was your mom or dad. And yet, it wasn’t maternal at all. Also weird, because at that close, he should have been able to get a good read on her as well and he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell if she was Alpha or Beta. Definitely not Omega. It was like she was something else entirely. But what? If she smelled like anything, it was rain. Like just before a big storm.

“Oh, you are so perfect for my nephew,” she said. “Exactly what he needs. You both have my blessing. Make sure I get an invitation to your wedding in the spring.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you off our guest list,” Michael said.

“If Charles gives you a hard time, send him my way,” she said.

She got up on her tip toes and kissed first Adam’s cheek then Michael’s. Then she left without another word. Chip had used the opportunity to escape further being called out by his oldest sib. Adam noticed him across the room, but didn’t point it out to Michael.

“Aunt Amara is an odd one,” Michael said. “But she’s really the glue that keeps the family together, no matter what our father thinks. Her blessing means more than his to me.”

Then Michael steered him over to the kitchen part of the great room again and Adam found his plate loaded up with a bunch of different finger foods. Again. This was the third time, all Michael’s doing. Little quiches filled with spinach and cheese. Small barbecued meatballs. Tiny slider burgers. Little disposable cups of macaroni and cheese with pulled pork. Mini caprese salads on long skewers with tiny cherry tomatoes and mozzarella balls, not the sort of thing Adam would have picked for a winter party, but whatever. Most of the things available were stuff Adam recognized as being available at the Costco in Omaha, not fresh, mostly frozen and heated up. Still, you couldn’t find much fault in the frozen section at the Costco. The amount of that ended up on his plate was too much though. It was like Michael was trying to prepare him for a famine or something, but maybe it was all his Alpha instincts trying to protect Adam in this weird hothouse of a party. He caught sight, at times, of his brothers, being brought around by their Alphas for introductions. Vince/Lucifer seemed to be getting hugged by everyone, as if he’d been really missed.

Adam finally was able to nudge them away from the kitchen and the vast spread of finger foods. They turned at the sofa and suddenly they were face to face with the one other party goer that wasn’t wearing an ugly sweater. Somehow, Adam knew this man was Chuck Shurley, even though he’d never met him, nor was it like the other real estate guy, Crowley McLeod, who plastered his face on every ad. Chuck wore a burgundy sports coat over a blue chambray shirt. He had a beard and though he was obviously old enough to be Michael’s father, his hair was still dark, an auburn, not yet grayed.

“Son,” he said to Michael. “Mikey.”

“I prefer to be called Michael now, Father,” Michael said, voice as neutral and flat as you could get.

There was no answer on that from Chuck. The man just went on as if he hadn’t heard. He gestured to an older looking Alpha, a tall, almost bald one, had one of those little fringes around the lower part of his head. One wearing a sweater that instantly made Adam regret his choice of ugly yule sweater. The sweater said, “Kiss me under the mistletoe” but instead of having an overall mistletoe pattern, there was a big bunch of it on the lower front edge of the sweater. Right over where his junk would be. Gross. Adam felt kind of ill to look at it. The Alpha smirked as he noticed Adam looking at his sweater.

“Zachariah!” Chuck said. “You remember my oldest son Mikey don’t you? He hasn’t been home for the holidays very often. Mikey spent the last twenty years in the chair force and he just got out.”

Michael instantly stiffened, though his face stayed calm. Stoic.

“Oh, a flyboy,” Zachariah said and he reached out as if he was going to punch Michael on the upper arm in ‘good old boy’ kind of way. Michael somehow wasn’t where the punch would have landed though. Zachariah laughed a fake hearty laugh at his miss, then said, “Good for you. If you can’t serve in the military, I guess that’s the next best thing.”

“Since Uncle Sam booted him out, Mikey’s been staying with me while he figures out a little job or something,” Chuck said.

Michael silently simmered or at least it was clear to Adam that he was pissed, but said, voice firm, in control, “I thought I had informed you I am now employed. If it is inconvenient for me to stay, I can make other arrangements.”

Adam wanted to whisper into Michael’s ear that they didn’t need to stay to put up with this bullshit from Chuck even if he was Michael’s father. Booted out? Like Michael had been fired instead of reaching his full retirement and choosing to separate even though he could have had a promotion instead. Chair force? That alone would have made Adam turn on his heels, walk away and not look back. This wasn’t up to Adam though. This was Michael’s circus, Michael’s monkeys. It was his family and he was an Alpha, so it was up to him to deal with it all.

“No, there’s plenty of space,” Chuck said. “You know I love to have my family all around me. This must be the future Mommy of my first grandson. I will admit, you know how to pick the pretty ones, Mikey.”

Chapter Text

Once his boys were off to the Shurley party, something he’d told them was a bad idea, Bobby went upstairs to clean himself up a little. He was torn between dressing in something nicer than his usual or doubling down and wearing his rattiest cap, see if Crowley was willing to take him as he was. He wasn’t even sure why he’d agreed to go to supper at Crowley’s, but once he’d tested the cobbler for witchcraft and found it was safe, he’d tried it. Best damn dessert he’d ever had and no, he wasn’t telling his boys that. They might be professionals, but Crowley had a touch of genius or something because that piece of cobbler disappeared into Bobby’s gullet so fast it might have been magic and the whole baking dish of it was gone almost as fast. If Crowley cooked supper even half as well as that cobbler, it’d be worth going for the food alone.

Somehow, he’d run into Crowley every day since they’d met at the bakery. The cobbler had been Tuesday. On Wednesday, they were both getting gas at the same time, Bobby pumping regular into his old rust bucket Chevelle, Crowley pumping premium into his Mercedes. Bobby might have yapped a bit more than he usually did, but it was just a few minutes before they drove off in opposite directions. Then later in the day, they ran into each other at the Man-icure out in Ogdenville. They didn’t talk that much, but apparently McLeod appreciated a foot massage every bit as much as Bobby did. Nhung Phuong worked her usual therapeutic magic and somehow just massaging his feet released every dang muscle and bit of tension in Bobby’s body. She was so good that when she left Hand and Foot in Sioux Falls to open her own nail salon, he’d followed her to Ogdenville despite the drive. When Bobby got up to the front desk, he’d discovered that McLeod had paid his bill and a generous tip to Nhung as well. Which didn’t quite sit right with Bobby. He could pay for himself, always had, but McLeod was already gone, so he couldn’t protest.

On Thursday, they were both at the book section at Garth’s and they both put their hands on the same copy of “The True and Honest Grimoire of Agnes Nutter, Witch”, which was a fake, written a good century and a half after her death by witch burning and explosion, but it still had one big ass heap of real spells and witch craft of the real nasty kind, part of how you could tell it wasn’t by Agnes. Agnes was an odd duck for a witch in that she didn’t go in for spells at all, just prophecy. Her name had been exploited long post mortem for name recognition. Bobby had heard a rumor that Donatello had a copy, which turned out to be true. Not that he needed a copy, he already had five, but Bobby bought up or otherwise acquired every copy he could find, so as to keep them locked up in a curse box in his basement and out the wrong hands. He was pretty sure he could talk Garth into giving it to him for safekeeping once Bobby explained what he’d accidentally bought in his job lot from Donatello’s garage sale.

“What do you need a copy of this for, McLeod?” Bobby asked, not taking his hand off the flaking black leather cover. “I thought you weren’t a witch and didn’t use witchcraft.”

“Yule gift for Mother,” Crowley said, not moving his hand either.

“Did she ask for it?” Bobby asked. “Because her having this book’s not exactly going to convince me she’s fully off the naughty list.”

“She likes to remove copies from circulation wherever she finds them. I gather she knew Agnes personally and takes offense,” Crowley said. “I don’t condone book burning normally, but according to Mother, the pages do make a nice little fire starter for the Solstice bonfire.”

Something in his scent made him seem sincere, like he was telling the truth

“You understand I need an invitation to this particular bonfire if I let you have this book,” Bobby said. He supposed destroying this particular book might be the better choice and he had enough different editions for research if he needed it.

“Nothing would make me happier than having you over for the solstice,” Crowley said. Bobby wasn’t sure if that was sincere or sarcastic. “You’re certain there isn’t a big Winchester celebration you’d be missing out on?”

“We’re not very religious,” Bobby said. “Dean makes a big pan of cinnamon rolls and we spend the next morning eating those. Watching the games.”

“Huh, I would have thought,” Crowley said. “Well, I’m sure Mother will be glad to have you as a guest of the coven.”

That was when Garth wandered their way.

“Hey guys!” He said. He always looked like he was on the verge of giving you a bear hug. That didn’t mean he’d give you one, but it was just how Garth was. Bobby didn’t mind so long as he didn’t actually give you the hug. Garth might be an actual werewolf, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good people. “Are we having problems deciding who gets the book? You know everything is first come first served.”

“I don’t think you can sell this one, Garth,” Bobby said. “It’s a copy of the Agnes Nutter Grimoire.”

“Oh, no!” Garth said. “Well, I just bought ‘em all, didn’t look in every box. You going to take care of it for me in the usual way, Bobby?”

Garth took the book out of both their hands and handed it directly to Bobby before walking away, probably back to the register. Garth probably should have spent more time in the office running things and less time at the registers, but he seemed to like talking and ringing up a lot more than organizing the store. It wasn’t that it wasn’t stocked up, it was just that you were as like to find the packages of socks in the same aisle as the ketchup as with the personal care items. You might be forgiven if you thought he did that deliberately to make sure you walked all aisles of the store every time.

“Guess you’re going to have to find another Yule gift for Mother,” Bobby said.

Crowley sighed. “I suppose I am. The problem with having a four hundred year old witch for your mother is what can you get her that she doesn’t already have? Or had two hundred years ago and decided she didn’t want it anymore. Perhaps you could come to the Red Wagon for coffee with me to brainstorm gift ideas?”

“You asking me out on a date, McLeod?”

“Finally he recognizes I’ve been flirting with him all week.”

“Just because you drop a ball in front of me, doesn’t mean I’m going to bend down to pick it up,” Bobby said. “I suppose a free cup of coffee is a free cup of coffee.”

They left Garth’s, Bobby carrying the grimoire. The Red Wagon was just a few doors down. McLeod held the door for him at both places. John Winchester hadn’t held or opened a door for Bobby once in all the years he’d known the man.

The Red Wagon was a pleasant kind of place, light and bright. White walls and white blinds over the big picture windows. Little red model cars and trucks on the ledge that went all around the dining room. Bobby wasn’t too surprised to see Sam and Satan Shurley, uh, Vince, that was going to take some getting used to, but Sam had made it clear that the man went by Vince Vincente now and they had to honor that. Bobby couldn’t blame him, changing his name. Bobby would have done it too with a name like that. Bobby Singer was about as generic a name as you could get and he was kind of glad John hadn’t talked him into changing it. Nothing wrong with Winchester, but it wasn’t his name, wasn’t who he was.

Sam and Vince were talking intensely, heads leaned close to each other, looking in each others’ eyes. Sam didn’t look up when Bobby and Crowley walked across the room to a booth on the other side. Bobby wasn’t sure what to think about all of that going on. On one hand, his middle boy was looking happier than he had in a decade, like genuinely smiling, even when Vince wasn’t around. But what if Vince fucked back off to La La Land and left Sam on the breakers again. It might be the end of Sam this time. Sam was grown, he could take his chances with his heart, but that didn’t mean Bobby wasn’t going to worry about it. Worry was what he did. Maybe he ought to go have a talk with Vince about his intentions, what with the way Vince kept looking at Sam like he was the morning sun and the brightest star in the evening sky.

After they sat down and cups of coffee were put in front of them, Bobby kept looking over at Sam and his beau to the point where Crowley looked over as well.

“Ah, young love is grand, isn’t it?” Crowley said. “I’m glad to see our Moose seems to be happy. Mother put me up to asking him to lunch. I owed her a favor.”

Now, that was news to Bobby, but it fit the facts of the case better than the conclusion Bobby had come to that Crowley was just flirty and putting himself out there, that he would ask nearly anyone eligible for date. Figured that Rowena would have her fingers all tangled up in the matter.

“What if he’d liked you?” Bobby asked. “What then?”

“I’d have let him down easily. He’s lovely, but way too young for me,” Crowley said. “Anyway, why have a real estate agent when you could have a rock and roll star? Did you know he’s house hunting here in town? I’m not sure why he came to me instead of Daddy, but I suppose I’m the only other game in town. I showed him a few things. The Rainbow house on Clinton. That Italianate Revival on the next block down from yours on Washington. He wanted to buy the Wolcott Mansion, but that’s held tightly in the grips of his Daddy’s LLC.”

The Rainbow house was a big Victorian that had been bought for cheap by hippies back in the early seventies and been painted all the colors of the rainbow. Frank and Juanita, the old hippies, still owned it, but they were getting to the age they couldn’t keep it up. They were selling and heading down to Boca Raton, last Bobby had heard.

“Oh, and that monstrosity across the street from third Unified, the one designed by Frank Lloyd Wrong.”

“Are you supposed tell me this, McLeod?” Bobby said, even though he was somehow glad to hear that Vince was thinking about planting enough roots to buy a house. “Isn’t there some realtor code of ethics or something you’re trampling all over?”

“Undoubtedly, but he’s all but your son in law,” Crowley said. “It’s practically my duty to gossip to you about it. Small town code of ethics.”

A moment or two after Crowley said that, Vince stood up. He paused to bend down, giving Sam a kiss or something like that, possibly just scenting him. Something intimate. They spoke softly to each, so softly that Bobby didn’t hear a word, even though he was a pretty dedicated eavesdropper. Vince left, then a bit after that, Sam did too, not looking around the Red Wagon, so he didn’t see Bobby and Crowley on the other side of the room.

“Well, he’s practically been my son in law since they were both pipsqueaks,” Bobby said, remembering the lanky, lazybones teenager playing Stairway to Heaven way too many times in Bobby’s living room with his guitar bought at Sears and his AC/DC ‘Highway to Hell’ t-shirt and grubby jeans. Or the obnoxious Alpha bully of a pup that Sam brought around in elementary school and slowly tamed. Vince’s hair had been blond back then, nearly towheaded. He probably shouldn’t have let them run around the junkyard like they did, but Sam at least had always had a good head on his shoulders.

Sheriff Jody Mills walked in, still in her tan uniform, dark brown jacket on. Donna was with her, looking more pregnant than ever, wearing a plaid shirt and brown shearling jacket that couldn’t even come close to closing over her round belly. Jody was leading her across the room, hand touching her back. They saw him at the same time and looked at each other. They shared an all but silent laugh. Jody whispered something at Donna who said a ‘You betcha!’ That Bobby barely heard across the room. Jody nodded at Bobby but they didn’t come over. Bobby returned the greeting with the two finger wave, like he was driving.

“Are you and I going to be the subject of town gossip?” Crowley asked, faux scandalized.

“Well, maybe we oughta give ‘em something to talk about,” Bobby said. He took a sip of his coffee, wished he had a little tipple in it, because by his reckoning, the sun was over the yardarm somewhere and he could have used a little Dutch courage. “When’re you having me over for Marry Me Chicken?”

“Tomorrow evening? My home in Ogdenville at Seven? You might want to pack your toothbrush,” Crowley said.

“The chicken is that good you think I’m spending the night?” Bobby asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

And that was how he wound up driving out to Ogdenville in the Chevelle on the Friday night of the big Shurley party. He had, in fact, packed a small bag with a toothbrush and a change of clothes. He’d left a big note on the kitchen table saying, “Out for the night. Don’t wait up.”

Ogdenville made Sioux Falls seem like bright lights, big city. There was a grain elevator, a religious grade and high school school, an odd Unified church that made Third Unified in Sioux Falls seem outright boring and mainstream, a handful of bars and a post office that also served as a Gas and Sip. You couldn’t forget the Man-icure, closed at this time of day. Oh, and a little Asian fusion restaurant where you could get pad Thai, Pho and General Tso’s Chicken.

Crowley’s house was a white carpenter style Gothic cottage with a Gothic arched window. Not much fancy about it except that window, just board and batten siding, no gingerbread on the eaves. It had a broad wrap around porch. Bobby liked it instantly, the way it was surrounded by tall, bare branched trees and had a big lawn all around it. Out here in Ogdenville, the houses had a little room to breathe. He’d moved into Sioux Falls because of his boys, but it had always felt cramped after a life on a lot of acres outside of town.

He left his overnight bag in the Chevelle but grabbed his gift. After his coffee date with Crowley, Bobby had put the Agnes Nutter Grimoire in the curse box with the other copies, pondering if a bonfire might not be good idea. Then he’d gone back to Garth’s. He’d made an inquiry with Garth, to see if Garth sold Crowley’s favorite tipple. Garth had gone into the back, been gone a while, but returned with a bottle of Scotch with an eye watering price. Bobby had bought it anyway. If an Alpha was going to pay for his time with Nhung Phuong’s therapeutic hands, he was going to have to put up with an expensive courting gift handed to him, even though he was the Alpha.

He’d been told to go around to the back of the house, to the enclosed porch there. That apparently was the real front entrance. Bobby didn’t have to ring the door. Crowley was waiting for him, must have heard Bobby’s Chevelle coming up the driveway. Crowley stood in the open doorway. Magical smells were coming from the kitchen that Bobby could see through the doorway, garlicky and savory smells. If the chicken tasted half as good as it smelled, Bobby would marry the man.

“Look up, darling,” Crowley said.

There, tacked to the plain wood header over the porch door was a dark green branch with fake white berries. Mistletoe.

Chapter Text

It was a pretty terrible party when you got right down to it. The house was big, like the great room they had the party in was probably more than double the square footage Dean’s and Bobby’s houses, combined, but it was all in that white and neutrals color scheme that people chose when they were trying to have ‘quiet luxury’ and elegant design. Sam was pretty sure that he’d seen the sofa in a Restoration Hardware catalog that accidentally appeared in their mail once and it cost more than he and Dean had invested into their bakery. Sam preferred the scruffy, plaid chairs and sofa that Bobby had had ever since Sam could remember. Probably decades longer. It was warm and comfortable at Bobby’s. Comforting. Not like this place. There was something that looked like a big fireplace, but when he’d stood next to it because he was cold despite his sweater, he’d felt no warmth radiate off of it. On a closer look, it was a fake, an LED flat screen set into a mantel that showed a picture of a fire, something convincing when you didn’t look at it too closely. He might have scented that there wasn’t a real fire in the room except the room was so crowded, you couldn’t get a real read on anything, just a mishmash of people scent. That was only one part of the reasons he hated big parties.

Vince had loaded up a plate with party food for Sam earlier, but it was all kind of bland and unappetizing to Sam, the kind of stuff you took out of a freezer box and heated up in a microwave. There were a lot of finger foods wrapped in bacon and/or puff pastry. Sam had abandoned the plate long ago.

Vince was talking with Gabriel. Gabriel was announcing he was expecting by way of his ugly sweater, which had a gingerbread men pattern over most of it and a picture of an oven towards the bottom hem. It read, “Baking more than cookies this Yule”. Rowena was close by Gabe’s side. She wore a long plaid gown with a green shawl collared cardigan over it. And a reindeer antlers headband. When she had been asked about where her ugly sweater was, she swept a hand down the green cardigan and said, “This is the ugliest item of clothing I own. I don’t think I could bear to wear anything uglier.”

Sam had been thinking about getting something to drink. There was a bar set up on the far side of the kitchen and Chuck was paying someone to bartend. Most of the adult guests walked around with glasses of white wine, a few with whiskey or bourbon on the rocks, but there was beer available. A beer would be nice right about now. Something to hold in his hand, maybe take the edge off a little. Sam didn’t drink often, but he appreciated one every now and then. But Gabe, for obvious reasons, didn’t have a drink, and nor did Rowena or Vince. Rowena, the reason was obvious. If Sam were pregnant, he’d be pissed if his Alpha were drinking. As for Vince, Sam remembered something Vince had said, something he’d touched on only once. He’d said that his bandmate Dorothea, the one he called the big sister he’d never wanted, had talked him into getting clean, that before that, he’d spent most of his twenties drinking too much. It occurred to Sam that Vince hadn’t had a single drink since he’d gotten back.

At a opportune moment, Sam touched Vince on the wrist to get his attention and asked, “Hey, I was thinking about getting a beer, but is that cool with you? I don’t want drink around you if that’s a problem for whatever reason.”

“I’m good. My sobriety is my own responsibility,” Vince said. “If I were going to break it because people around me were using or drinking, I’d never have gotten very far with it in LA.”

“If you’re sure,” Sam said. He could definitely get by without a drink but he wanted one.

“I’m sure,” Vince said, then he pulled Sam into a quick but close embrace.

Not just a hug, but a scenting. Vince was making sure that Sam was marked up with his scent. Sam should probably say something. They hadn’t discussed yet where they were, if they were at the scent bonding stage yet. Sam didn’t say anything because his inner Omega was a whiny little bitch that had been screaming for just that scent all over him for eleven years. He did, however, make sure that he got his own scent all over Vince in return, which was something that Omegas didn’t do so quickly, usually not until a mating had happened. It was forward. Not something a respectable Omega did. All that happened was Vince melted against him for a minute longer and he sighed happily. Sam bumped his forehead against Vince’s and for a moment, the party faded around them. They were in a little island of their own scent and warmth.

“You’re cold,” Vince said. He started pulling off his own sweater and handed it to Sam. It was, like Sam thought, real wool and would probably be warmer than the thrift store find Sam had worn. More importantly, the wool picked up scent better, so the sweater was saturated with Vince’s scent.

“Maybe we should leave early. I’ve seen almost everyone I actually wanted to see. The only person I haven’t found yet is Auntie Amara.”

So far, no big confrontation between Chuck and any of his children had happened. Chuck was holding court off on the other side of the great room with some of the Shurleys that Sam recognized- Hannah and Hester, his two oldest daughters, Mirabel and Ishim who were cousins. It could be that Chuck just hadn’t seen Vince or it could be that Chuck was choosing to ignore him and not make a scene at the big party. Sam would have put money on the former over the latter.

Sam was about to say that maybe they should when a cute young woman, about Adam’s age, with long dark hair and glasses, stopped and just about threw herself at Vince, squealing with happiness. Her curled locks bounced around and she wrapped herself around Sam’s boyfriend.

“Luci! Luci? do you remember me?” She asked. “It’s me, Ambriel.”

Vince smiled, “Weren’t you like five the last time I saw you? Just a pup and like this tall.”

“I was,” she said. “I’m surprised you remember me at all. My Oma was never one of Dad’s favorites. Wait, you’re going by Vince for real, right? Not just a stage name. It’s so wild to see you. Maybe you could come meet my friends sometime. None of them believe that my big bro is Vince Vincente. C’mon, you have to say hi to Anna and Ion and Akobel…”

She grabbed Vince’s hand and led him away from Sam who took it as a sign from the universe that it was time for that beer he wanted and then he would track down Dean. He didn’t mind when one of his half siblings stole Vince away for a bit, it was just that he had so many of them. Sam wandered to the bar and after a bit of negotiation to assure the bartender that he was not, in fact, pregnant no matter what the heavy Alpha scenting seemed to imply, he got his beer.

Sam turned around and he came face to face with Chuck. Or rather, neck to face, because Sam was now a good eight inches taller than Chuck and at least a foot taller than he’d been the last time he’d seen Chuck.

Chuck was holding a rocks glass that had the remains of one of those big ice cubes meant for whiskey, but it was otherwise empty. He was heading up for a refill obviously. He shook the ice in the glass and handed it to the bartender, who poured brown liquid into the glass in a long pour, at least a triple. Chuck didn’t wear an ugly sweater to his own ugly sweater party, but an ugly maroon blazer over a work shirt.

“Well, well, well, little Sammy Winchester grew up tall, didn’t you? Long legs and all,” He asked, looking Sam up and down in a way that was kind of gross, flaring his nostrils as he looked, to try and get Sam’s ambient scent. This was his teenage boyfriend’s Dad, not some random Alpha creeper. Sam was reminded a little of the years when he was fifteen and sixteen, before his growth spurt, when he’d been ‘pretty’ and hit on by just about every unmated Alpha and too many of the supposedly mated ones. It wasn’t surprising that he was ignoring that Sam had another Alpha’s scent all over him. That was just a scent, not a claim, not a mark. But didn’t he recognize the scent of his own son all over Sam? Sam didn’t answer, so Chuck doubled down and said, “You know, we ought to catch up some time. Get a drink or two. You were cute back when, but you’re stunning now. With your height, you could walk the runway. I have contacts, you know.”

Uh, no. Gross. “Well, it was nice to see you again,” Sam said as formal as he could make himself. “I should be getting back to Gabriel. He was the one who invited me.”

“Oh, sure, I always tell Gabriel the more the merrier,” Chuck said. “It is awfully nice to see you again, Sammy. You really were one of my favorites. I’d love to see you around more often.”

“You must be excited to have another grandpup on the way,” Sam said, hoping to take refuge in boring small talk and at the very least remind the man that he was more than old enough to be Sam’s father.

“Pfft, as if my Omega pup’s pup counts,” Chuck said. “He’s not even married to that…”

That was when Rowena came up to rescue Sam, taking his arm with a “There you are Samuel. You simply must come along.”

She led Sam away from the kitchen by the arm, without waiting to be dismissed by Chuck, off to the white puffy sofa from Restoration Hardware. Anyway, in a moment, Chuck was joined by Zachariah, an Alpha Sam knew too well from around town. He’d been the high school principal when Sam was flunking out, moved up to the job of superintendent before Adam had gone to school there. Zachariah was buddy-buddy with Chuck. Zachariah had refused to consider any accommodations that would have allowed Sam to graduate and told Sam that it wasn’t like he needed the high school degree anyway, he’d get over the pining sickness as soon as he let another Alpha take him to bed and put a pup in him.

“You looked like you could use a bit of rescuing,” Rowena said. “What a loathsome little man. I ought to turn him into the toad that he is on the inside.”

Sam did the math in his head and said, “Don’t you mean you should turn him into approximately thirteen hundred toads?”

Rowena cackled. “I take it Fergus told you about the newts then. I never understood what all the fuss was about. It really only lasted an afternoon and then the man was as right as rain. It takes more power than even I have to turn a man into a newt or a toad permanently. Matter has this distressing tendency to revert to its original form, or to entropy.”

“I think that’s just physics,” Sam said.

“Have you thought about it more? Letting me teach you a few things? It’d be for your own safety,” she said. Then she suddenly sniffed the air around him. “You might want to up your dose of Miss Moseley’s, dear, I think you’re about to have a breakthrough heat. Not tonight. A few days from now perhaps.”

That couldn’t be right. He was broken. He didn’t have heats, ever. He hadn’t had one ever before. He hadn’t had one before Vince left and decidedly not after. Besides, wouldn’t he be getting hot if he were about to have a heat? Weren’t sweating and hot flashes top symptoms? He was about the opposite of hot. He felt cold. So cold in this lifeless, gray and white box of a house. Even with Vince’s sweater on he was cold.

“I’m good. Got the heat thing locked in,” Sam said.

He set his beer down undrunk because after dealing with Chuck, he felt kind of nauseated. The way Chuck had been hitting on him. He got a better, more evil idea about what do do with his unwanted beer. He was sitting in the corner seat of the big, cloud like white sectional. The cushions were soft, floppy, like they were filled with feather. Sam looked around to see that no one but Rowena was looking at him then lifted one corner of the cushion. He dribbled the beer onto the sofa base in the crack, so there wouldn’t be a visible stain. Not the whole bottle, just enough that Chuck would be constantly wondering why his precious fancy sofa always smelled like a brewery. He deserved it after talking to Sam like that.

Something subtle in the atmosphere of the party changed.

When you were one of the calmer ones in his family, you got a second sense of when a Winchester temper was building up to an explosion. Sam looked around and there, just outside of the kitchen, Adam and Michael were talking to Chuck, along with Zachariah. Adam was giving the guy a bombastic side eye and yep, that was an Adam about to unleash verbally.

Sam looked around for Dean first, but he was nowhere in the great room. Sam’s first thought was the food, but no, no Dean there. Sam had seen a den/man cave room off the great room, one with a pool table, so maybe Dean was in there, working the table. If so, there probably wasn’t time to get him looped in.

By the time he got back, Rowena had moved on, probably and Vince was busy talking to guys who looked vaguely like Castiel, with bright blue eyes, but a bit younger. Both with longish, brown floppy hair. Sam remembered hearing Castiel say that besides his twin Jimmy, he had two younger, full brothers named Inias and Alfie. These must be them. They both wore sweaters covered with tinsel garland, looked to be about the same age. They might be twins, or just very close in age, they didn’t look more or less identical like Jimmy and Castiel did. Once Sam caught Vince’s attention, he jerked his head a tiny bit in the direction of the powder keg that was about to go off.

“Hey, Sam needs me,” Vince said. “I’ll be around for a while. We’ll catch up more later. Cas has my number.”

When he reached Sam, Vince said, “Does Adam have a temper anything like Dean?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said as they started walking over to the small group. “Not as explosive, but sharper.”

They reached the group just in time for Adam to start saying, “First of all, I’m not going to be anyone’s Mommy, ever. When I have a pup or two, when I’m ready, it’s going to be Oma…”

Chuck was obviously not used to being talked back to, especially not by an Omega. He was pretty much used to having his way with them. Not, you know, violently, though obviously he could be pretty persuasive when it came to getting someone’s pants off, but more in the sense that he expected an Omega to sit down, shut up, look pretty and not speak unless spoken to. Be obedient. The usual type of Alpha entitlement but more so because he’d been used to getting that from Omegas for fifty, sixty years. Sam wasn’t really sure how old Chuck was; old enough to have a thirty-eight year old son. Quiet fury was gathering in Chuck’s face, along with a bit of surprise that someone would dare speak to him that way. It was about five or six seconds away from being unleashed. Sam was going to say something, maybe put himself between Chuck and Adam.

“Second, you’ve got at least one grandpup already, her name is Clare and Gabriel…”

Vince decided to fall on the sword. He was the one who stepped up. He walked right up to Chuck as if he hadn’t been estranged from the man for over a decade, and said, “Hey Pops, long time, no see.”

Sam’s heart broke for Vince in that moment because he could see the hope there, that this might be a reunion. That he might be welcomed back with open arms and if not an apology, then a promise that things would be different in the future. Or even just an acknowledgment that he’d been missed. Everyone knew that when he’d been a pup, Vince had been the favorite, the golden child. Not that being the golden child wasn’t also a kind of abuse if the parent was a narcissist like Chuck was. If people got what they deserved, Vince would have gotten every bit of that and more. When did people get what they deserved. Maybe he got a little bit of it at first. Chuck immediately turned to Vince, the look on his face changing to something like wonder and joy, like he’d been given a gift, a marvelous gift he’d never hoped to get.

“Lucifer?” Chuck asked, holding out his arms. Vince took the hug offered, for a brief moment, even let Chuck pound him on the back in that Alpha way, as if two Alphas could never dare to be tender with each other, but had to turn even a hug into some kind of almost violent contest.

Vince stepped back after that moment and said, “I’m not Lucifer any more. I’m going by Vince these days.”

“No, you aren’t,” Chuck said. “Sure, take a stage name if you have to but that’s not your real name. It’s a father’s right to name his pups. I gave you the name Lucifer for a reason. It’s a beautiful name with an important meaning.”

Everyone knew Chuck’s bullshit reason for naming his son Lucifer, the devil of the monotheists, one of the many gods of the Unified church. Lightbringer, the name was supposed to mean. The morning star. To some in the Unified church, the Lightbringer was the aspect of the divine that brought humanity out of dumb obedience into wisdom, the aspect of the spirit that gave humanity fire and thus, to be able to take their first steps into technology, into being modern humans and away from the Werewolf ancestors. Whether you saw Lucifer as devil or gift bringer, it was still a bullshit name to give to an actual person.

“Vince is my real name now,” Vince said.

“It’s not. It will always be Lucifer. I named you. Only I have that right.”

“The State of California court system says you don’t,” Vince said.

Chuck seemed to get, at least, that this particular battle wasn’t one he was going to win, that Vince was right. But being Chuck, he couldn’t let it fully rest. All around them, the rest of the party grew quiet. Like a ripple spreading from a stone thrown into a pond, people stopped their conversations and turned to watch the conversation. People started gathering closer, coming in from other rooms. Was Dean still carrying a pool cue as he walked into the room? Cas followed at a close distance and stopped Dean with a touch on the shoulder. A moment of conversation between them and Cas took the pool cue from Dean and returned it to the other room.

“Fine. Call yourself whatever you want. I guess if Samandriel can become Alfie, why not call yourself Vince,” Chuck said, bitterly. “And if Mikey would rather have the stick up his ass name of Michael, sure, use a stupid name like Vince. I gave everyone of you beautiful names and half of you have changed them.”

That was when Adam muscled himself back into the conversation.

“Says the man who claims to love his family being around him, but won’t respect something as simple as their chosen name,” Adam said. “C’mon, Babe. As much as I’d love to stay here at this touching family reunion, we gotta go. We got a thing.”

“You’re right. We do,” Michael said, wrapping an arm protectively around Adam’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Maybe this chapter wasn’t as good as I thought. Imma work on it for a while and probably put it back later.

Chapter Text

Dean was having a pretty good time at the party, even though he couldn’t have so much as a beer, because there might be a microscopic speck of a pup floating around in his internal junk, making ready to implant itself. He’d looked on line and general advice was to not drink if there was even a small chance you were knocked up. Some people thought that no person, Omega male or female of whatever subgender, should drink ever, like if there was even an infinitesimal chance you could get pregnant, hooch of any kind or amount should be off the table. Even Omegas like Bobby who were at Omegapause, because what if they really weren’t? Or something. It was kind of ridiculous to take it to that kind of level, but Dean thought with how good a chance he had to have a pup, it was reasonable for him to lay off.

Cas kept bringing Dean little plates filled with things that were wrapped in bacon or puff pastry. Or in one extremely delicious case, both. There was also this flaky, crispy mini chicken pot pie that got Dean thinking about if they could safely do savory, meaty pies at Three Brothers. He’d have to think about the food safety aspect first, because you couldn’t just let a chicken pot pie sit at room temperature in the case like you could a cherry pie, but he couldn’t store them in the cold case either, because who’d want to eat a cold chicken pot pie? That’d be completely unappealing. In any case, he’d sent Cas back for more of the mini pot pies more than once. Cas was more than willing to oblige. Must be some inner Alpha wanting to be the provider thing. Maybe mixed with a little of that getting off on Dean being knocked up. He almost wanted to tease Cas about wanting to make Dean fat. Not that Dean thought he could get fat. His metabolism was just too high. Working in one bakery or another since high school and stuffing his face with as much of whatever he wanted had failed to do that. He wouldn’t have minded even if he had picked up some weight. Being lean was kind of a disadvantage. Who trusted a skinny baker?

Besides the chance to stuff his face, Chuck’s house had a pool table and none of the Shurleys seemed to know that Dean could shoot pool. The Roadhouse had a good table, but all the regulars there knew Dean, so the game just wasn’t as good. Not that he was hustling for money, but the hustle was a big part of the fun. They weren’t playing for money, but he was in the middle of shaking down Ezekiel Shurley when he heard a familiar voice call his name. Charlie was here?

He turned around and there she was, about ready to throw herself at him for a hug. She was wearing a blue and white cardigan with a mix of Star Wars and Yule motifs and had her Santa/Satan hat on, with the little red horns. Somehow, she had to fix her eyes on it right away.

“Winchester? What is this?” She said as she squeezed around his chest with one arm and pointed to his neck with her free hand. “This is new since last Friday. Who? Why didn’t you tell me? You could have called or updated your Facebook or anything. Who’s the lucky Alpha?”

“Well, hello to you too,” he said. He figured he didn’t have to say because, as expected, within seconds, Cas was there, behind him, standing protectively close, as if he needed protecting from Charlie who, while average height for a woman, seemed tiny compared to Dean. “This is Cas. Cas, Charlie, my best friend and the little sister I didn’t know I needed until I had her.”

They didn’t really have a chance to say more because they were joined by the tiniest Alpha woman Dean had ever seen. It took a moment to recognize that he’d seen her before. Meg, the pretty dark haired girl Charlie had been chatting up at the Happy Holistic Holiday Fair. The one with big dick energy, who’d hosted a party with Fireball whisky and charcuterie. She was wearing a black and white sweater with Krampus on it.

“Babe, I’ve got your beer,” Meg was saying, looking only at Charlie as she approached, bottle of Margiekugel in one hand, whiskey on the rocks in her other. That was definitely a look of adoration on her face as she was looking at Charlie. Like, they had definitely been getting up to some fun times together since he’d last seen Charlie kind of look. Dean probably should have checked in with Charlie since they’d last seen each other at the holiday fair, but in his defense, he’d been busy and mostly with Cas doing new mate stuff like boinking each others brains out.

The dark haired girl stopped up short as she got close. “Clarence? What are you doing here?” She demanded from Cas.

“It is my family’s Yule party,” Cas said. “I could ask the same of you.”

Why was she calling him Clarence?

“Wait? This is the new mate you texted me about? You snagged Dean ‘hottie with the body’ Winchester?”

“Yes, why does that always surprise everyone?” Cas said. “Dean, this is Meg Masters, my best friend since grade school and ex-wife.”

Wait, what? He and Cas hadn’t talked that much about his exes, but it had been implied that they were both back in Chicago and that he wasn’t in communication with either of them since he’d left the city. Dean had kind of put the thought of them on the back burner since he figured he wouldn’t have to deal with them, but there was one here in town?

Meg snorted. She was the only one that seemed to pick up that Dean was getting agitated by the idea of her being his mate’s ex wife. “Easy, Tiger,” she said. “It was only for seventy-hours. I’m not sure I count as an ex-wife since it was an annulment, not a divorce. Besides, that pretty little scar on your neck means you’ve got a lifetime lockdown on him now.”

“Hey, are you playing or what?” Ezekiel asked from the pool table.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said. It was his turn, Ezekiel had failed to sink what should have been an easy shot and still had about five balls on the table. Dean had two, nicely lined up to be sunk with a single shot. He found his angle, and announced, “two in the left far corner, five in the right far corner and the eight ball in the left side.”

Dean put just the right spin on the cue ball and they all rolled and danced around the green felt just like he knew they would, banking off each other and generally obeying the laws of physics. The balls he’d called out dropped into their pockets in the order he called them, the eight ball dropping last, the cue ball coming to rest against the bumper. The game was over. Dean racked his cue and said, “Good game.”

“You chea…” Ezekiel started to say, walking like he was about to get up in Dean’s face.

Cas stepped close to him and said, before he could finish that ugly word, “Brother, you should consider how you speak about my mate.”

So Ezekiel shut his trap and stalked off. That was the problem with pool, even when you weren’t playing for cash, which they hadn’t been. Some Alphas thought that like with most athletic endeavors, they would be the natural winners against the other subgenders. Even though it had nothing to do with strength or speed and everything to do with understanding the angles and making your body make that happen. What Dean didn’t understand was how Cas had gone from nerdy guy in a Yule sweater covered with gingerbread men to scary Alpha that seemed to intimidate everyone around him with just a glare. It wasn’t that he had really threatened anything. His words had been quiet, low with a soft rumble, like thunder in the distance. They talked about people writing checks they couldn’t cash, but in this case, it was like Cas had gotten out the checkbook and you knew there wasn’t any amount he couldn’t cash. He wasn’t the tallest around, in fact, was shorter than Dean. He wasn’t the most muscular around. It wasn’t an obvious kind of Alpha juice, like Michael had, or even a glowing charisma that shined out from Lucifer/Vince. And it was all kinds of hot. Dean wanted to blow this party right now and take Cas home to bed. Well, to bed after throwing that damn sweater away.

“I guess he’s gone,” Dean said, starting to rack the balls up again. Meg had dragged Cas to the other side of the room to talk to him about something, so leaving the party would have to wait. “You wanna knock some balls around for a while, Charlie?”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

She was only middling good at it, but she’d picked up some skills with Dean’s help, but it wasn’t a competition with them, just fun. Besides, she beat his ass every time they played Mario Cart or any other video game. She picked a cue from the rack on the wall and her long red hair swung away from the side of her neck just long enough for Dean to see the big, dark bruise there. Not a bite scar, but a preliminary claim from an Alpha. Or maybe just a hickey. But Charlie was a Beta, right? They didn’t do the mating thing, did they? At least Dean assumed she was a Beta. It could be kind of hard to tell the difference between an Omega female and a Beta female, if, like Charlie did, they used a lot of scented personal care products. It was rude to ask for clarification, generally speaking. Female Omegas were kind of rare, so if it was a girl, you assumed Beta.

“Charlie? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“It’s just a hickey,” Charlie said. “Unlike someone I know that got a bite on the neck in less than a week, Meg and I are just seeing how things are going. And mostly things are going to bed.”

“You’re using protection, right? You know the lady Alphas can get you just as knocked up as the guys.”

“Bold of you to assume she’s topping me,” Charlie said as she lined up her shot. “Anyway, we haven’t even gotten to fifth base yet.”

Fifth base? Charlie sank one of her striped balls, but scratched on the next shot, so it was Dean’s turn.

“There’s no such thing as fifth base,” Dean said.

Charlie grinned, “Oh, you sweet summer child. So, your new Alpha? Tell me about him.”

“Didn’t you meet him already? At that party Meg threw. With the charcuterie?”

“Yeah, but I want know about him from you.”

That kept them busy a while, playing pool and shooting the breeze about Cas mostly, but a little about Meg, though Charlie was way more close lipped than she should be about her new girlfriend if you asked Dean. He thought he should know some things, given she’d been married to Cas. Even if it was only seventy-two hours, married was married if you asked Dean. Had they done the deed during their brief marriage? Or before? They were still in the corner, yapping at each other as if no one else were at the party, looking at each other fondly, with big smiles on their faces. He was trying hard not to imagine them doing each other, but thoughts kept asserting themselves. How did two Alphas get down to business? Like anatomically, you’d assume the man would top, but in Dean’s limited experience, female Alphas were as assertive as hell, which that would mean they’d want to top, wouldn’t it?

“Just ask him about her, Winchester,” Charlie said, when Dean missed what should have been a super easy shot into the side pocket and then kept staring over at the corner where the two were still talking to each other. “I’m sure he’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Dean didn’t get a chance, because there was a, not exactly a disturbance, but something was happening out in the great groom. The opposite of a disturbance? Everyone out there had stopped talking and it was unnaturally quiet. He looked out to see what was going on and all attention in the room was focused on a small group of people that included Chuck Shurley and his two younger brothers. That couldn’t be good, not in any way. Nothing was loud but everything seemed to be on the verge of it. You couldn’t miss, even from this distance, the cloud of rage stinking off of Chuck. Dean, like he always did, acted before he thought and headed for the little crowd surrounding Chuck. There was a hand on his shoulder and he stopped because he knew it was Cas.

“You should let me put that back,” Cas said, holding his hand out for the cue. “We don’t want anyone to get any wrong ideas. Whatever the disagreement, I’m sure it can be solved with words alone.”

Dean hadn’t even realized he was still gripping the cue tight in his hand like some kind of weapon. Yeah, Cas was right, so Dean let him take the cue. Once he covered the distance from pool table to the small group, Chuck had gotten a civilized veneer on himself and his scent. You couldn’t miss the anger simmering under it but there was definitely a smiling face now and an attempt to smooth things over happening. The little circle around Chuck had expanded. Adam and Michael were there, Michael’s arm around Adam’s shoulder. Vince was standing in front of Sam protectively. As if Dean’s gigantic brother needed protection from that minnow of an Alpha. The expression on Sam’s face was clearly pissed, not scared. To the left of Chuck, the old principal of their high school, Zachariah Fuller, watched the proceedings with a smirk. Sam probably could have graduated high school on time if that asshole had just allowed Sam to make up some work a bit later than the rules strictly allowed.

“There’s no need for you to go,” Chuck said. “This is family time. I’m sure we can put aside our differences for a little while for family. Think about how it would look if my oldest sons stormed out of here and over what? Nothing really.”

____

Vince wasn’t as shocked as he thought he’d be at the sheer, unmitigated brass neck of his non-apology. His Dad had been getting away with shit like that for as long as Vince could remember. He’d kick you in the teeth and then apologize just enough that you were the one that looked like the asshole for not accepting his supposed contrition.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Gabe suggested he come to the family party, but. Yeah, no. This was exactly what Vince had been expecting when he’d agreed to come. He’d actually been having a great time until he was drawn into his father’s direct orbit. He’d been around family, lots of them, and that wasn’t something he got often enough. The band was family, but they were a small family of five and most of them had their own families. This family, here in the town he’d grown up in, it hit different. These were the people who knew him when he was a pup. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say it was a stroke to his ego that most of the younger sibs looked up at him like he was some kind of hero or something, though one of his younger half sibs, Jophiel, had just looked up from his tablet and said, “hey, Unc,” then gone back to his game.

But then Dad had turned his ill temper at the kid, so Vince decided to step in and that was when the party had turned sour. Dad was drunk, something that apparently hadn’t changed much in a decade or maybe it had gotten worse in Vince’s absence. Dad had been a pretty functional alcoholic when Vince was a pup, functional enough to expand his real estate fortune and father a big bunch of pups with an assortment of people. He’d learned that evening he had at least three older half sibs he never knew about before as well as at least a dozen younger half sibs that hadn’t yet been born when Vince had left town, including two Dad had fathered on an Omega a couple of years younger than Vince. Dad was the only fish in the pond of Sioux Falls big enough to get away with that kind of behavior, but Vince had experienced it often enough in his world, even on a personal level, including a couple of record executives who thought access to their connections could be bought by Vince on his knees. He’d only punched one of them.

People were looking to him, to see if he was willing to he was willing to accept the non-apology. Even his big brothers, Gabe and Michael were looking to him at this moment or so it seemed. He wasn’t sure if he should stamp down the hurt and suck it up or stand his ground and continue the argument or just follow them out the door. Mike definitely looked like he wanted to make an exit, but Gabe had a hopeful look, like he wanted the reunion still. Cas, the half sib he’d been compared to so often, the good son, the one who did what he was told, was more or less unreadable, face stern and maybe a little stormy. Torn between his brothers, he turned to his North Star, his map. Sam.

He’d spent so long denying that he still loved Sam. He’d tried to hate Sam, because if he didn’t, that would have meant that he wasn’t the wronged one. It would have meant that he was the one who screwed up, who’d fucked up all the promise of their early love. He was fortunate beyond measure that Sam had decided he got a second chance. Of course it’d taken years of digging around in his own heart and head with a paid professional before he’d been ready to ask for that second chance, before he’d been ready to take accountability for how he had fucked up.

Turning around to face Sam, he asked, “What do you think, Babe? Should we blow this popsicle stand or hang around for a little while?”

Before Sam could answer, Dad spoke up. “I’d love to have you stay, Sammy.”

Was Dad creeping on Sam?

For half a second, he wished he had the powers of his original namesake, that he was the devil himself and could smite his father, send him down to the infernal fires Lucifer was supposed to preside over. It could be an innocent enough thing to say to an Omega that was technically unattached. An innocent enough thing to say to the Omega who’d been your son’s teenaged boyfriend. But there was a look of nauseated disgust that passed over Sam’s expression before it was hidden again. The Winchesters were good at that, hiding what they really felt, keeping it packed away. Yeah, maybe what Dad had just said could be innocent enough but there was more than enough evidence that this was creepy, that Dad had said or done other things in the past that turned what could be an innocent invitation into a come on. It was obvious that the age difference meant nothing to Dad given the age of some of the people he had pups with, but did he not remember that there was a time that Vince had Sam’s heart? Or was this some kind of weird jealous competition on Dad’s part?

Before Vince could announce that, no, they weren’t going to stay, Sam said, “No one gets to call me Sammy but him.”

Sam wasn’t looking to Vince, but to Dean. Well, a Winchester was going to Winchester. Couldn’t expect them to change their spots. Sam had always been Sammy to Dean and always would be and being jealous of that was pointless. He had a momentary thought that he hoped Mike and Cas knew what they were getting into with their chosen mates. Neither of them knew the Winchesters like he had.

“Really, you’re just going to stand there, undressing him with your eyes?” Dean said, brushing past everyone else to come right up to Dad and grab him by the collar. Figure that even if Sam didn’t need it, Dean would be the first at Sam’s defense, before any Alpha, before anyone else. “Did you forget that Sam’s already got a true mate? Your son?”

Vince heard a loud sigh from behind him. The sigh of someone who was very much done with a situation. Suddenly the room was just weirdly calm and not in a ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ kind of way, but like there just wasn’t anything interesting going on in the room. Vince had been doing a good job keeping a lid on his inner Alpha, keeping his impulse to sock Dad right on the chin checked and in control. Mike was obviously doing the same, like, he was standing still, arm around the kid, but his eyes were flaring white blue. Then, the aggression, it was just gone. Like, completely, totally gone. Not under control. Gone. Mike’s eyes were their regular blue. Vince felt neutral. Not particularly happy, but drained of all anger and weirder still, he wasn’t even getting upset about that the aggression was gone for no reason.

Cas stepped up and laid a gentle hand on Dean’s hand where Dean had Dad’s shirt collar gripped in his fist. Dean released Dad and stepped back, but only after they shared an intense but silent conversation. It was funny how Dean was still furious. Keeping it check, but still looking like he was about to throw hands. Only the Alphas around the room seemed to be affected by the calm.

“Dean, if you give me a moment to talk to my father, I’ll meet you outside in your car,” Cas said. Then he turned to Vince and said, “Would you be able to host those of us who don’t want to stay at this party? Only if it wouldn’t be a bother.”

Vince thought about the state he’d left the rental in and it would be good enough to have people over, at least. Regardless of what people thought about the rock and roll lifestyle, trashing hotel rooms and all that, he’d learned to keep his living quarters tidy. Easier to find stuff when you needed it, easier to pack up for the next room down the road. Not to mention the cost of paying for damages.

“Sure,” Vince said. “Why not. It’ll be fun.”

He hadn’t seen Auntie Amara all evening, but she was there, saying, “You and Sam go on ahead. I’ll make sure everyone who should gets there.”

That was how the Shurley family Yule party was ended up at his house. Or rather, his rental. He wasn’t sure if the terms and conditions of the Air BnB allowed for a big party, but since Gabe was the Air BnB manager for the place, he wasn’t too worried. He didn’t have anything to feed his guests or drinks for them, but he figured that could be overcome somehow. He didn’t have the place decorated for Yule, at least other than earlier today, he’d seen a display of faux mistletoe at Garth’s. He’d grabbed one and tied it up on what used to be the grand arch between the parlor and the dining room but was now just a drywall covered header. There’d been a nail there, so it was obviously the place for the mistletoe, the most essential holiday decoration. You could get by without the tree if you had the mistletoe.

As he and Sam were getting into his rental car, Sam said, “I’ll call Garth. He can get some stuff together, drop it off at your rental. Sodas. Frozen pizzas. I’m sure everyone will chip in.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Vince said. “Sam, I’m sorry about Pops being such a creeper to you. I had no idea when I asked you to come with me.”

It was honestly mortifying and affirmed his decision to stay no contact with his father. He wasn’t even sure he understood why he had tried again. Maybe hope that old dogs sometimes did learn new tricks.

Sam shook his head, smiling for some reason. Really, it wasn’t fair that he should be as damn beautiful as he was. The way his gorgeous locks moved as he did, his brown locks all shaggy like they were. His nearly irresistible dimples. The way his hazel eyes lit up when he looked at Vince. He glowed when he smiled, like a torch or something. Vince had been around some of the most objectively beautiful people in the world but no one measured up to Sam. And the way Sam smelled- like heaven, like home. Like you walked outside on a sunny summer morning before it got too hot and there was dew everywhere and the grass had just been cut. Like anything might be possible with this new beginning again. He smelled so good right now that Vince was kicking himself that everyone would be coming over, because he didn’t want to start the car and drive back to the Wolcott Mansion. He just wanted to take Sam’s face in his hands, pull him close and kiss him properly. Not one of the brief, chaste kisses they’d been having, but something long, something that wasn’t him restraining himself but expressing how truly madly deeply he fallen in love again. He wanted to make out in the car like a teenager. He wanted to make up for so much lost time. He wanted to marry Sam in front of a big crowd and the whole world.

“Really, it’s not on you,” Sam said. “It’s far from the worst thing an Alpha has said to me and I could hold my own against Chuck if I had to.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have to, but you know, reality is what it is. We’d better get going if we’re going to be there to let people in.”

“Yeah,” Vince said, pressing the button to turn the car on, regretting that he’d agreed to let the party move to his temporary home but deciding that at least he’d kiss Sam exactly like he meant to, under the mistletoe and in front of everyone.

___

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked as he turned the Impala’s key. She roared to life with her usual throaty growl, ready to take on almost anything. Cas was still settling himself in the seat, clicking the lap belt closed when Dean backed her out of the parking spot and onto the road. Chuck’s home was just outside of town, not that far from where the salvage yard used to be. They’d be downtown in just a few minutes. Probably made sense to park the Impala in his own driveway and walk the two minutes to the Wolcott Mansion where the party was regathering. Dean thought he might stop at Three Brothers and get some pies and a few of the Yule logs that Sam had made earlier today. It was kind of rude of his mate to more or less unilaterally decide that a Yule party was going to descend on Vince/Lucifer when the guy probably had nothing in his fridge.

“What was what?” Cas asked, playing innocent.

“One minute, your Dad, Michael, Vince and like half the Alphas in the room were ready to take each others heads off. The next, nothing,” Dean said. Cas had done something to cause that. He wasn’t certain how he was certain, but he was. It wasn’t anything Cas had said or any posture he’d taken. But Dean’s gut said that was all something Cas had done.

“Oh, yes,” Cas said. “I don’t know exactly how I do it. I suspect it’s pheromones. I try not to use it because I don’t believe I should interfere with anyone’s free will, but I can calm an Alpha down just by willing it to happen. It can be a very useful deescalation technique. I can’t be the only one who can do it but no one really talks about it. It’s not a very Alpha way to settle conflict.”

No, it really wasn’t, but to make even powerful Alphas like Michael and Vince just calm the fuck down? That was kind of stealth bad ass. Kind of like how people assumed that Baby was an old family sedan instead of a secret baddie with a 502 V8 under the hood. It would definitely level the playing field for an Alpha like Cas who wasn’t the tallest or most muscular. It didn’t matter how hard someone could punch if you were facing off someone who could make it so you didn’t want to punch anyone at all. Cas could then use his brains to talk his way out of any conflict. A very different kind of Alpha badassery, but definitely a kind of it. Adam had teased him a few days back about how he’d gotten Top Gun and Sam had gotten the rock star, but Dean was starting to wonder if he’d mated an Alpha more powerful than either in a quiet kind of way.

“Huh. It doesn’t work on Omegas or Betas at all?” Dean asked. He’d seen it happen but it hadn’t calmed him down a bit. The only thing that had was seeing Cas lead Chuck away to another room like a lamb to the slaughter, knowing that he would be dealt with in some way.

“No, it has only ever worked on Alphas,” Cas said.

“So what’d you say to your dad?”

“That I was disappointed in him,” Cas said. “That he had been drinking too much and that he was wasting a valuable opportunity to reconcile with the son that he hadn’t seen in many years and was pushing away those of us that have been here until now but may not continue to be if he acted like this.”

“What about Meg?” Dean asked, admittedly a breakneck change of topic, but she hadn’t not been on his mind since he’d learned that she was one of Cas’s ex-wives. He shouldn’t be jealous. Afterall, Dean was the one with the bite scar on his neck, not her, but the way they’d smiled at each other so warmly, the way she’d casually dragged him to the other side of the room to whisper at each other, as if they were in cahoots about something.

“What about Meg? I am an open book on Meg,” Cas said. “Anything you would want to know.”

“Did you ever. You know. Bump uglies.”

“By that, you mean, have we had sexual intercourse?”
Cas asked. “Once. Sort of. We attempted it on our wedding night. It was not particularly successful. It felt very….wrong and we gave up soon after we started.”

Dean thought about that. Sometimes you had a friend that felt more like a sibling. Never mind that Charlie only went for women, he couldn’t imagine even starting something with her. He got caught under mistletoe with her once and they kissed each other on the cheeks.

Taking Dean’s silence as the request for more information that it was, Cas added, “I don’t remember not knowing Meg. We lived next door to each other when we were toddlers until my mother moved us to Harrisburg. We have always been friends. I never really wanted to marry her. It was all a very large mistake. I have no doubts at all that you are the only one for me.”

Chapter Text

Just like Sam thought, Garth was happy to gather up a bunch of stuff from his store and deliver it to the Wolcott Mansion. He even stayed to help set it all up as people started arriving. The four Shurley brothers made the arrangements between themselves to pay him. The Winchester contribution to the party was that Dean had raided the Three Brothers back stock and stuff that was supposed to be for tomorrow, mostly pies but he’d brought three of the Yule logs.

As Sam was helping Dean set out the baked goods, Dean made a quick sniff at him, then a funny face with scrunched nose.

“Dude, you reek,” Dean said. “Did you not shower today after your run?”

“What? Of course I showered,” Sam protested. He definitely had showered, an everything shower including washing his hair. There was no way he was going to a party after sweating like he had on today’s run.

“No, that’s not BO,” Dean said, taking another, deeper sniff. “You’d better take an evening dose of heat helper. You’re about to go into heat. Breakthrough heat or something.”

“I’m not going into heat, Dean,” Sam said. “I don’t have heats, ever. I never have.”

Sam was pretty sure Dean knew that. The doctors told him because of the strong bond and how early the pining sickness came, he might never have a regular cycle. He was in the middle of a crucial stage of his full presentation as Omega when Vince had left. That was part of why he’d ended up so tall and broad, a broken endocrine system not doing what it was supposed to do. He might never be able to have a heat or pups, he’d been told. That was okay. He’d never wanted that. Dean kept pushing the heat helper supplement at Sam so maybe he didn’t understand that never was never. Sam pretended to take them because it’d been easier than having that talk with Dean. Strange though, that two people were telling him they thought he was going into heat now. What did Dean really know about it though compared to the doctors that Sam had gone to?

“Sure, because the heat helper’s been doing its job,” Dean said. “But with Vince back in town and you letting him get close, maybe you need a bit more of it to work properly.”

More people were arriving than Sam thought would he. He’d kind of figured it would be Gabriel and Rowena, Cas and Dean, Michael and Adam, Jimmy and his family, maybe a handful of others, and Amara, but it was almost everyone that had been at the original party except for Chuck, Zachariah and a handful of the older generation. Once the sweets table was fully set up, Sam found Vince who was near the front hallway, greeting people. Sam had met most of them already, either knowing them from around town or had been introduced to them at the party. He found himself standing side by side with Vince, as if he were co-hosting the party with Vince, almost as if he were sort of recognized as Vince’s partner already. Vince wasn’t introducing him that way. Vince just said, “of course you know my Sam.”

The first time he said that, said “My Sam”, something in Sam’s belly went all melty. Was it true? Was he Vince’s? Was Vince his? Had something shifted without Sam knowing it yet? All he knew was that he was happy to be standing here beside Vince, greeting people like they were a real married couple or something. Vince’s arm slipped around his back at the waist and pulled Sam close. His body was warm, hot even, and it made Sam realize just how cold he still was, even though he was still wearing Vince’s wool sweater with the moose pattern and there was one of those gas fireplaces in the front hallway. Someone had turned it on to fight the cold as the door kept opening and closing with new arrivals.

“Hey, you’re shivering,” Vince said.

“Yeah, it’s weird. I just can’t get warm,” Sam said, wondering if he could push closer into Vince’s body for the heat rising from it.

“Are you feeling sick? I could take you home or you could lie down upstairs.”

“No, not sick at all,” Sam said. It wasn’t actually a lie. He did feel pretty good despite the cold. “Just cold. Maybe if we got away from the door way.”

But Sam didn’t want to join the party either. It was loud, too loud, something that didn’t normally bother him. People were chattering and something about this house seemed to magnify the noise. Sound had been hushed, dampened in Chuck’s house, but here, contained in a smaller space, with a happier vibe, the sound was a joyful cacophony. To add to the noise, someone had taken a seat at the baby grand piano in the corner of the parlor and was playing some holiday music. Vince winced as he heard. Even Sam could tell that it wasn’t so much that the player was bad, but the piano itself.

“Remind me to tell Gabriel that the piano needs to be tuned,” Vince said, leading Sam away from the front hall towards the center of the house, heading to the sofa in front of the fireplace, Sam thought, but Vince diverted to the right. They were heading back to the food set up maybe.

“People seem to be having a better time here than at your dads at least,” Sam said. He realized where Vince had been gently guiding them, because there was a branch of mistletoe tacked up to a ceiling header. Under it, Dean’s friend Charlie was kissing a short, dark haired woman, enthusiastically, though stopping short of tonsil hockey. There seemed to be a handful of couples lingering in the vicinity, as if waiting their turn at the kissing spot. Vince seemed a little disappointed. Oh, yeah. He would be.

“You know, you don’t need the excuse of mistletoe, not anymore,” Sam said. “You can just kiss me if you want.”

Sam found himself with an armful of Vince, lips touching, bodies close like they hadn’t been since that last night at Falls Park when they’d been so much younger, the night before everything went wrong. Could this be the moment when everything started going right again? It was like the crowd faded into the distance and they might as well have been alone in the big room. Vince kissed just like Sam remembered, kind of awkward, maybe with a little too much tongue too soon. Just like a teenager, all passion, no practice. Like he’d never kissed anyone else before, but that he really, really wanted to make it good for Sam but didn’t know how. Not that Sam was much better, but he let himself soften and open his mouth to Vince, sighing happily as the kiss went on for a time that was a little unseemly considering all the people around them. It wasn’t fair that in half a moment, Sam was going to have to pull away so that they didn’t find themselves firmly in the territory of ‘making out’.

The kiss ended sooner than that. Dean was tapping Sam’s shoulder before they could get there, so Sam turned to look at him.

“Don’t mean to interrupt, but you need this. Take a double dose now before you get too carried away and double in the morning. That should do it,” Dean said, holding out an unlabeled amber pill bottle and shaking it. Sam grabbed the bottle and Dean walked away, not out of the room. He was keeping an eye on Sam but giving him space.

Sam frowned as he opened it and as he expected, the little white capsules of the heat helper supplement were inside. Sam capped it again right away. Vince looked confused, so Sam said, “Dean thinks I’m about to go into heat, so he gave me heat helper. But I can’t be.”

Vince buried his nose in the crook of Sam’s neck and sniffed deeply, in a way that was even more intimate somehow than how just a moment ago they were all but making out in the middle of the party. Vince made a sound like a cut off moan, silenced himself. He looked up into Sam’s eyes and he was biting his lower lip, just a little. He pushed Sam back to arm’s length away.

“I think he’s right,” Vince said. “I think you’re about to go into heat. You smell too damn good. I think you should take the pills so we have time to talk about stuff.”

“Can we go somewhere more private to talk about this?” Sam asked.

The party might have melted away to the distance for their kiss but right now, Sam was aware every little bit of the dozens of people that were in hearing distance, viewing distance. Smelling distance. It was embarrassing, the thought that they would all be able to hear about his medical history if this conversation was had out in the open. Vince looked over at the stairs, silently asking Sam if he wanted to go upstairs. Not necessarily to Vince’s bedroom. There were several empty, unused bedrooms up there besides the one Vince was using. But no, they couldn’t go upstairs.

“If we go upstairs, after that kiss, people will think we’re going to be getting it on,” Sam whispered. “Not that I don’t want to get with you really soon. I just don’t want to do it with this many people in the house. And there are things we need to talk about first before we can.”

“Good point,” Vince said.

He took Sam by the hand and led him across the parlor to another sitting room, one with those glass double doors that had all the tiny panes of glass. Vince had been using it as a music room. He had a couple of guitars on stands, a portable amplifier, that kind of stuff. It was perfect, actually. The glass doors should block enough sound that no one else could hear, but other people would see that they were just talking. Sam took the big arm chair closest to the double doors and the fireplace. Vince, the smaller, upright wooden chair closest to the acoustic guitar in its stand. Just a few days ago, they’d sat here in these chairs, Vince playing “Cherry” for him on that acoustic, the song he’d written about their first kiss. It was a little room, no space for anything but the two chairs, an upright piano and another fire place, this one also converted to gas. Vince flipped the switch that ignited it and Sam felt a little warmer, again not realizing that he was shivering until he felt the warmth on him.

“I don’t have heats, I never have,” Sam said once they were both sitting. He held up the amber bottle with the heat helper. “I’ve never used heat helper before. I didn’t need it. When you left, I got sick.”

“You told me,” Vince said. “I’m sorry. I would do anything to change the past if that were possible.”

“It wasn’t just pining sickness,” Sam explained. “That was bad enough. But you know I hadn’t completed presentation when you left. Almost, but not entirely. I hadn’t had my first heat yet. Late bloomer, everyone said. I still haven’t had my first heat. When I was at my most sick, the doctors said my presentation was disrupted at a crucial point. According to the doctors, I wouldn’t ever have a heat or be able to have pups. So I think I have pretty good reasons to think I’m not going into heat now.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Vince said. “It’s not like I’ve ever been with someone while they’re having a heat. Not like I’ve ever been to bed with anyone.”

“What? Never? No one?” Sam asked, shocked.

Rock and roll star sort of seemed like it would come automatically with the debauched lifestyle package. Groupies, maybe even models and actors, the most beautiful men and women around. It made sense to Sam that he’d never even been able to kiss someone else. He was Omega but Vince was Alpha. Alphas were supposed to all be genetically programmed to spread their seed far and wide, like Vince’s father had. Shouldn’t he not have been affected by their separation in the same way Sam had been? Vince hadn’t mentioned having pining sickness.

“Never even been kissed by anyone but you,” Vince said. “Never wanted to. So, maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about and you’re not going into heat. But would it hurt if you took the heat helper anyway, just in case? Maybe things changed for you in the years since I went away?”

How could they have? Wouldn’t he have gone into heat before now if they had? He hadn’t seen a doctor since he’d been a teenager, but there’d never been time or money for that. It hadn’t been like he was in pain or unable to function. Why would he have scraped together the money to see one only to be told that nothing had changed, that there was no hope for him.

“You really are a virgin like me?” Sam asked. That was the hardest thing to believe, more than this idea that he might be going into heat. Sam supposed, if you believed in true mates, soul bonds as deep as the one he had with Vince, you might look at the situation and say that Sam’s inner Omega had just been waiting until Vince was back on the scene. Could Vince have been waiting the same way, not wanting anyone but Sam this whole time?

“Yeah, really,” Vince said. “Fuck. I wish there wasn’t that party out there. I wish I could take you upstairs and show you what waiting for eleven years for you and you alone looks like.”

If anyone out there was watching them or trying to listen in, you couldn’t tell. No one was obvious about it anyway. Sam wished that the sitting room had a small sofa instead of the two chairs. What he wanted right now was just what Vince had said, for them to go upstairs together. Second best would be sitting side by side, close, touching shoulders. As if Vince were reading his mind, Vince got out of his wood chair and crossed the small room.

“Scoot,” he said when he reached Sam’s chair.

Was Vince planning to try and share it? It was a big chair but Sam wasn’t sure it was up to the challenge of being shared by both him and Vince. Together, they probably weighed close to three eighty, maybe even closer to four hundred pounds. Vince wedged his narrow hips into the small space left between the armrests somehow and the chair didn’t collapse. They were touching all along the sides, thighs, flanks, calves. Vince’s arm insinuated itself along Sam’s back. Sam felt better than he had all evening and he was starting to wonder if there might be something to this ‘going into heat’ theory, because feeling better when in close physical contact with your mate was exactly what a heat symptom would look like. There could probably be a pseudo heat something for people like him who had presentation problems, right?

Vince pulled a phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen a moment. He looked at the results and said, “Dr. Google says that a bad case of the chills and loss of appetite are two uncommon but known symptoms of pre-heat.”

He handed the phone over to Sam who scanned the page and handed the phone back. Just like Vince said chills were a symptom. Sam wasn’t sure if you could count not eating the party food as loss of appetite, because it had been kind of gross, but he suddenly realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since that kale and pineapple smoothie he’d made right after work. Sam popped the cap to the amber bottle and dry swallowed two of the heat helpers, wishing he had a bottle of water or something. He thought about sending Vince for one, but the thought of losing body contact with him seemed far worse than the acrid, herbal taste of the heat helper.

“Look, maybe you’re right,” Sam said. “This is a heat or something like one and I want you so bad, but there are things we have to decide, things we have to talk about before we can have sex. I almost died the last time you left me. I don’t think that’s your fault and I don’t think you could have possibly known what would happen, but that doesn’t change what would happen if you leave me again.”

Chapter Text

“Good. I think I just saw Sam take the heat helpers,” Dean said.

Adam looked quickly over through the French doors to the music room. Sam and Vince had wedged themselves into a big armchair and were cuddled up close in a way he was envious of. Long legs were tangled up around long legs. Sam was practically in Vince’s lap. They were touching forehead to forehead, not kissing. Hand was holding hand. Vince had his other hand tangled up in Sam’s hair. Sam had put the pill bottle away or something, because it wasn’t in sight anymore. It was oddly hard to look at because it was so intimate. They shouldn’t be in a glass doored music room off a big open spaced combo living room dining room, but in a bedroom away from the sixty or so people that had gathered for the second phase of the Shurley Yule party. Not because anyone was getting naked or even putting hands under clothes, but because it looked liked they were having a life changing conversation. Not that anyone could hear what they were saying, but it was obviously emotionally charged. Also, the heat helper hadn’t started working yet and from the bit of stank escaping from the music room, Sam was still on the verge of being in heat. Adam could see the evolutionary benefits of your close genetic relations getting smelly to you when they were in heat, but that didn’t make it enjoyable to be around.

“I didn’t think it would come on so strong so soon,” Rowena said. “I should have told him to go home while we were at Charles’s house. Though I wouldn’t have picked the home of Sam’s true mate for this hoolie regardless.”

Rowena addressed that accusation to Cas. Dean and Cas, Rowena and Gabe and Michael were gathered in a loose circle to figure out what to do about the Sam and Vince situation. Adam had been included, he assumed, more or less only because he’d been attached at the hip to Michael at the time it had gathered and he wouldn’t let himself be separated. He didn’t think of himself as one of the real grown ups.

“I had no idea that Sam would be on the verge of a heat. He didn’t smell particularly interesting to me. It seemed the most expedient location,” Cas said. “The only house one of us was occupying that would be large enough for the amount of people I anticipated following us from my father’s house. Gabriel’s home is beautiful but not large enough for hosting this many. Dean’s home isn’t even close to large enough. Michael, as the oldest son, should be the host, but he wouldn’t be able.”

“It’s true,” Michael said. “After tonight’s confrontation with my father, I’m not even sure where I’m sleeping tonight.”

They’d gotten to the party late enough to avoid helping set up here because Michael had taken the time to pack up, not leaving so much as a stray sock at Chuck’s house. Michael said he hoped one of his brothers would take him in until he could get some kind of lease signed or buy a house. They’d done a little house hunting this week already and Adam was pushing for a rental so they wouldn’t be tied down long term to Sioux Falls, but homes for sale were more plentiful than vacant apartments at this time of year. Adam would be starting at USD but he’d decided he was going to transfer as soon as he could to the best university he could get into, especially after running into Chip tonight, to remind him of what he could have accomplished if he’d fought for it.

“It’s just a couple more hours at most,” Adam said. “Families with pups are going to start clearing out in an hour or so, to get everyone to bed.”

“There’s going to be a bunch of people that expect to party until the early morning,” Gabriel said. “There always are at the Shurley Yule shindig. Last year, there was a small group that went to breakfast at Jimmy’s in Harrisburg before heading home.”

“Does Vince have to be here, just because we’re partying in the house he’s renting?” Adam asked. “Why not send Sam and Vince off somewhere else? They don’t need a whole ten bedroom mansion, just one bedroom.”

Adam was hoping he could arrange things so Michael and he stayed at the party so late, until it was inevitable that it was too late to go home to Bobby’s and he could just crash here. With Michael. It’d been too long already since they’d had more than a few stolen moments alone together. Michael, like you would have figured, played by the rules and also cared more for the long term results than anything. He was the type to pass up any immediate gratification if it meant progress to his ultimate goal. Not that Adam didn’t see the value of a deferred gratification, but he was definitely on the lookout for any chance to grab a momentary pleasure even if the ultimate goal might get a bit of a set back. Also, he wanted a chance to jump Michael’s bones before too much longer. He was horny. Just regular horny. Adam had been taking his heat helper every morning, same time like you were supposed to. He was not going into heat if he had anything to say about it.

“Adam has a point,” Cas said. “Michael and I could be the official hosts. I don’t believe Vince has attached himself to the rental in a way that would activate his territorial instincts. It doesn’t scent that way.”

The doorbell rang. There shouldn’t have been any more guests showing up. Everyone from Chuck’s that was likely to show up had, according to what Gabriel had said earlier. Everyone froze because despite talk of someone taking over hosting, this was Vince’s temporary home and he was hosting. He should be the one opening the door and admitting any guests. Speculation about his possible territorial instincts was just speculation until it was tested. Etiquette said you didn’t test that kind of thing. The doorbell rang again.

Michael’s Aunt Amara walked up to their group. “Is anyone going to get that?”

She didn’t wait long for an answer. She glanced over at the music room where Vince and Sam were still cuddling and talking. They must be at some crucial point in their talking because it looked like they were both crying. It was pretty damn obvious you couldn’t interrupt them right now, not unless you were prepared to execute a total dick move.

“I’ll get the door,” Amara said, decisively. “Someone needs to be the host and I don’t think my nephew will mind. He’s obviously busy with more important things.”

Their little group followed her across the big room to the front hallway for some reason. Adam felt almost drawn, like a duckling following a Mama duck. She just had this something about her. You’d walk into traffic if she told you, Adam thought. Amara stepped into the front hallway and threw open the big door without hesitation. A man and a woman Adam didn’t recognize from around town stood on the porch with a pair of little girls. The man seemed vaguely familiar though, with floppy blond hair in loose curls. It took a moment for Adam to recognize him because the man had always worn a bandana as headband when playing and otherwise being photographed for the band.

This had to be Tommy Jeffrys, Ladyheart’s other guitarist. He’d been missing the night Ladyheart had played on the Late Show. Hadn’t they explained he’d been in Europe for Yule though? But Tommy was here, in person? Honestly, it hadn’t seemed quite real that the Vince Adam had been getting to know, Sam’s Vince, was the same Vince that headed up Ladyheart. Vince had slipped easily into the role of Michael’s little brother when he’d been around Michael. It’d been really easy not to freak out about Vince being a star when Adam had the big brother and the physically more impressive Alpha. But Tommy was standing on the porch and that was just surreal.

Adam had had to be a stealth Ladyheart fan. He’d always figured they couldn’t play the music because of Dean’s irrational hatred of any music more modern than Led Zeppelin. Because it was like Coldplay or Radiohead- new music that Dean had determined was for ‘douchebags’. Adam never would have guessed it was really because the lead singer had broken Sam’s heart. Either way, Adam had listened only on earbuds. He’d couldn’t have a poster taped up on his wall like his school friends could, but he might have had some celebrity magazines tucked away, hidden under his bed. Most of his high school friends that were Ladyheart fans too had freaked out about Vince, but Adam never really had. For some reason, he’d crushed on Tommy when he was in high school. It didn’t matter now, because he had Michael, but it was really weird and awkward.

Especially because Tommy, in real life, without his leather jacket and custom Telecaster, bandana securing his long, loose curls, looked more soccer dad than rock star. He wore a black parka and jeans. The woman standing next to him was an ordinary, tired looking woman, gripping the hand of the older girl pup, looking like she was at the end of a long travel day. Tommy had the littlest of the two girl pups propped up on his hip. Admittedly, the parka looked like an authentic Canada Goose expedition parka and the boots he was wearing looked similarly expensive, but overall, he was definitely giving more ordinary family man than anything else.

“I’m sorry. I thought Vince was staying here,” Tommy said, looking into the after an awkward, silent second. “Did I get the wrong address?”

“He’s in Vince’s band. That’s Tommy Jeffreys,” Adam said to no one in particular. Amara heard him.

“Come in, come in,” Amara said, stepping out of the way. “I’m Vince’s Aunt. He didn’t let us know you were coming.”

Tommy walked in with his family and they were finally able to shut the door again, keeping the dropping temps and wind outside where they belonged. He looked around the house and at the party going on. Near the fireplace in the living room area, someone had pushed the sofa back to clear some floor area, because Twister had been found and a group was playing. Garth, who had come to deliver drinks and food with his mate Benny, seemed to be the ring leader of the Twister game. The piano playing had stopped, thankfully, but someone had found a small Bluetooth speaker and holiday music was playing about as loudly as you could push the little speaker. A couple of pups were running around the room, chasing each other. One of them was Jimmy’s pup, but it was weird to think that the others were some of Michael’s youngest half sibs.

“Sorry. We didn’t mean to crash a party,” Tommy said. “Vince’s invitation was kind of open ended. He said come any time and it was kind of a last minute decision. I thought we’d surprise him.”

“It’s just a family party,” Amara said, leading them all back into the thick of the party, away from the front hall. “And if you’re in Vince’s band, you must be family too.”

“Daddy! You promised we were gonna see Uncle Vince,” the girl pup on Tommy’s hip complained as she tugged at Tommy’s parka.

“I’m sure he’s around somewhere, Lanie,” Tommy said, then turned back to Amara. “Where’s Vince?”

The group following Amara had made it back to where they’d been standing previously, near the music room. Tommy looked at where everyone was trying to casually look at the pair in it. Something in his face softened when he caught sight of Sam and Vince cuddling in the big chair, still talking. Everyone who was a fan of Ladyheart knew that while Vince had a special relationship with Dorothea, the drummer, that Vince and Tommy were best friends from before the band formed even.

“That’s his Sam that he’s with?” Tommy asked, right as Sam and Vince started kissing. Someone said yes, that was Sam. Tommy’s face softened more and he smiled. So, he had to know at least something about Sam. Vince had to have told him something and from that smile, it was something good.

“What’s everyone staring at?” Tommy asked. “Give them some space. There’s got to be something at this party going on more interesting than that.”

Then Tommy turned to his daughter and said, “Looks like Uncle Vince is busy, sweetie, but we’ll see him later. Right now, there’s some other pups you can play with. Run around and get your wiggles out, okay? Sound good?”

Tommy’s pups went off to find the other pups their age. Amara seemed to have taken over as the party host without any further discussion because she handed Tommy and his wife’s coats off to Adam to take to the room upstairs they were using for everyone’s coats. She led Tommy away to the food or possibly just around for introductions.

Upstairs, Adam sniffed Tommy’s coat, out of curiosity. He wouldn’t have given Michael up for anyone, not even his rock star crush from when he was younger, but you couldn’t fault a guy for being curious if he had a chance like this. Tommy smelled…nice. Pleasant. Safe. The scent was heavily overlaid with a woman’s scent. Tommy’s wife, Adam hadn’t caught her name, but it was definitely hers, from the scent of her coat. Curiosity satisfied, Adam tossed the coats onto the pile on the bed. His crush on the rock star had vanished completely since he’d met Michael, Adam thought.

When he turned around, Michael was waiting in the door frame.

“Do you want to sneak away?” Michael asked, walking into the room. He dug into a smaller pile of coats on one of the room’s side chairs and pulled out his brown leather bomber jacket.

“Looks like Aunt Amara has decided she’s in charge of everything and we won’t be missed. We could get a hotel room for the night. Go back to Harrisburg.”

“I don’t think we could get away with that, but I like the way you think,” Adam said, looking his handsome Alpha up and down, holding back from walking over to him. Who said Adam couldn’t do deferred gratification? He thought about Michael’s scent how intoxicatingly perfect it was, the best thing Adam had ever smelled. “There’s, like, what, ten bedrooms here though.”

“Twelve,” Michael said. “There’s a couple small rooms in the attic space. We could borrow one for a little while. I don’t think anyone would ever know.”

“Did you bring condoms?” Adam asked hopefully. “Because I really want to get laid.”

Michael pulled a small box from the pocket of the bomber jacket. Condoms, a box of six. Not that they would have time for six rounds, but it was nice to think optimistically. They’d have to be quiet. Stealthy.

“You know, people talk about you like you’re a Boy Scout. If they only knew,” Adam said.

“What? I’m prepared,” Michael said, pulling out a small bottle of artificial slick from the same pocket that had the condom box. “Let’s go upstairs and have some fun.”

Chapter Text

“Who says I’m going anywhere?” Vince asked. “No one’s dying. No one’s getting pining sickness. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

“February. That’s when you go back to LA, isn’t it?” Sam said, remembering the Late Show. Ladyheart was going to be back in the studio, working on a new album. Sam knew that Vince had been writing songs while he’d been here, scribbling lyrics and music notation in his notebook while they’d sat at the booth in the Red Wagon. Trying them out on guitar in this music room. That was what Vince’s real life was- the music.

“February is when I’m hoping to get back into the studio. I don’t know when I’m going back to LA next,” Vince said. “And what does that have to do with us being together?”

“I used to think I would do anything to get out of Sioux Falls. That my life had been ruined when I got stuck here and couldn’t go to California,” Sam said. “But since you came and it seemed like it might be possible I’d get you back, I wondered what my life with you might look like. And I realized, for good or bad, my life is here. I can’t leave. It’s not just Dean’s bakery. It’s just as much mine. I built it with him. My family is here. My friends are here. I can’t live in your world.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Vince said.

“But your work…”

“Is making music and I can do that anywhere,” Vince said. “I can make music in Sioux Falls.”

“But everyone knows this is nowhere,” Sam said, thinking about the small town he lived in.

It wasn’t like the small towns in TV shows and movies. Most of the time, it was boring. Small town gossip could be toxic. He had to drive a couple hours to see a movie in the theater unless it was some huge, big-budget hit. For a bookstore, he got whatever made it to the book section at Garth’s. There was mostly nothing to do at night, no where to go. He knew almost everyone in town, if not by name then by sight. If the processing plant closed down, the town economy would be screwed and the town would probably die like so many small towns in the middle of the country had. Hell, if the Walmart decided to close, a statistically significant portion of the jobs in town would disappear.

“When we were on tour for so long, I got so fucking homesick,” Vince said. “Waking up in a different city every day sounds glamorous until you wake up and you don’t know where you are until you turn on the TV. It wasn’t LA I missed. It was here. It was Sioux Falls I was homesick for. I wanted to come home and you have always been my home even when I denied it.”

“You’d uproot your whole world for me?” Sam asked. His heart felt like it might explode, hearing Vince say that Sam was his home and alway had been. It was like it grew into a huge glowing warmth that expanded far beyond the size of his body, but like all things that grew so fast, it wasn’t stable. It might blow up for good at any minute. “I can’t leave my world and I can’t ask you to leave yours.”

“To paraphrase the old song, I’d rather live in your world than live without you in mine,” Vince said. “We can make this work if you give us a chance.”

“How does it work? I just don’t see how,” Sam asked. In the three years since Ladyheart had become a big name, if Sam had done his math right, they’d spent more than two of those years on tour. There’d be what, five, six months maybe and then he’d be back on the road by the summer. Vince took his therapy appointments by zoom call. Would their relationship be mostly zoom calls?

“I guess I can’t live here in the Wolcott Mansion when I’m not on the road, like I always said I would, but I’m buying a house in Sioux Falls,” Vince said. “I’ve already been looking. I’m recording the next album here. A recording studio is just a room with some equipment. I don’t need it to be in LA.”

“But…”

“We can figure out what will happen when I’m on tour. You can tour with me or be with me some of the time. Whatever you want. I could stop touring. Take a leap of faith with me, Sam. Because now that I’m back here with you, there isn’t a thing in this world I would put before you. Not the money, not the fame. Not even the band.”

He couldn’t mean that. Sam had never, not once, been someone’s first choice, not even Dean’s. Not since Luci left him all those years ago to go to LA and become Vince, proving that Sam hadn’t been the first choice after all. If the story he’d told was true, Luci had chosen freedom over Sam back then. Sam forgave that, he really did. He understood why. But here was Vince, saying that Sam was his first choice over everything else, now. It was hard for Sam to believe that he deserved Vince making that choice, giving up all those things. Not a thing in this world? Giving up the dreams he had since they were pups for Sam?

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Sam repeated.

“You’re not asking,” Vince said. “It’s what I want to do and where I want to be.”

“You always wanted pups,” Sam said. “What Alpha doesn’t? But I don’t think I can give you any. The doctors said. I’m broken and I can’t saddle you with that.”

“Those doctors said you wouldn’t ever have a heat either and you’re having one unless those little pills start working soon,” Vince said. “Maybe that part of you was just sleeping. Not broken. I don’t believe you were ever broken.”

He nuzzled his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck and breathed in deeply. Being so close, Sam couldn’t help but breathe in Vince’s scent in return. It was so perfect and strong. It didn’t smell like long afternoons in the woods or evenings by the fireplace, but it reminded him of those things. It was peace and the feeling of sun on his face after a long winter. Something inside Sam settled as he breathed it in. The big glow he felt in his chest stabilized, seemed to suffuse through his whole body, felt like it became part of him, strengthened him. He’d spent so much of his life, his whole adult life really, feeling broken. It wasn’t Vince that was fixing him, he thought, but knowing that what he’d been told might be wrong, that he might not be broken at all, but just like he’d been placed on a long hold. His body hadn’t been broken but just asleep and now he was waking up again.

“You are perfect to me exactly as you are, but if you want pups, we’ll take you to other doctors,” Vince said. “See if anything can be done. If we can have pups together, I’d love that for us but if we can’t, then that’s not what fate has in store for us. Hey, hey, no crying.”

“I’m not crying. You’re crying,” Sam said.

He touched Vince’s cheek with a finger, tracing the line where one big tear was dripping. Another drop joined the first and another down Vince’s other cheek.

“Shit,” Vince said. “If you’re getting your first heat, does this mean I’m going to get my first rut, like some teenager. That’s gonna suck.”

“You’ve never had a rut? Never?” Sam asked. He didn’t remember it happening before Vince had left, but that wasn’t unusual. An Alpha’s rut might not hit until they were eighteen or even later.

“Nope,” Vince said. “I hope I don’t get the acne thing with them. Mikey’s ruts used to be terrible for him before he left for the Air Force. I remember. He’d break out in zits and then they’d have to lock him up in the basement. Once a month right on the full moon.”

“We’ll get you Missouri Moseley’s Alpha Tonic,” Sam promised. He could feel the amber bottle of the heat helper where he’d tucked it into his jeans pocket. “As soon as I can, I’m going to take the next dose of the heat helper. I want our first time to be with clear heads. Part of me thinks maybe I should just let the heat come, to be sure I can. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I want to be all here when we have our first time. To make sure it’s all me that’s picking you now. That it’s not just because we’re still all tangled up in the emotional and hormonal mess from when we were pups.”

“Babe, that’s not selfish,” Vince said. “You always were the smart one of us. Damn. I wish I could kick everyone out of the place and take you up to bed now to make some noise.”

“Do we have to kick them out?” Sam asked. “Everyone out there looks like they’re having a good time.”

The noise from outside had started to filter through the glass doors. The piano music had started up again along with a guitar maybe. People had pushed the dining room table to the side and rolled up the big gray and white rug that had been underneath it. They’d turned the dining room area into an impromptu dance floor and people were dancing far more enthusiastically than Sam would have figured from the Shurleys. Vince looked out at the crowd and squinted.

“Tommy’s here,” he said. “And his family.”

“Tommy?”

“From the band,” Vince explained. “I invited him but I thought he wouldn’t be here until early January. Tommy and his wife decided they don’t want to raise their kids in LA and I talked him into considering Sioux Falls.”

“You should go say hi to him,” Sam said.

He took a look out at the big room again and standing next to the baby grand piano was a blond guy Sam recognized from Ladyheart publicity photos, playing an acoustic guitar along with the piano. The music wasn’t what you’d expect, not rock, but some kind of country music tune, something you could do two step dancing to. It would appear Tommy was a versatile musician and maybe, though it hurt Sam’s heart to admit it, a better guitar player than Vince.

“Hell no,” Vince said. “That is Tommy trying to do the wingman thing for me. Distracting everyone from us. You notice how no one is staring at us now, trying to look like they’re not staring. I wonder if we could sneak upstairs.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea,” Sam said. He looked over at the big windows behind them. The music room was also kind of a sun room and the windows went floor to ceiling almost. It was a six foot drop to the ground at most. “We know that Dean and Cas are busy here. That means no one is at my home.”

Just like Sam thought, it was easy to open up the window and crawl out. They didn’t have the full drop to the ground. There was a big planter thing right outside the window, so he could land on that, help Vince crawl out and drop to the ground, then shut the window behind him. It felt like being a pup again, sneaking out without Bobby knowing and he laughed giddily as his sneakers hit the snow covered patio pavers even though he was up to mid calf in freezing snow. Sam led them through the side yard to the back gate. If you went down the alley it cut a good block and a half off the trip from the Wolcott Mansion to Dean’s house on Washington. They kept unnecessarily quiet as if they were pups out when they shouldn’t be, as if they weren’t both adults who could have just walked upstairs or out the front door.

“Are you going to write a new love song for me now?” Sam asked once they were well clear of the Wolcott Mansion’s gardens.

“All my songs are love songs,” Vince said.

“Even Bloody Messiah?” Sam asked. “Bow down to the overlord doesn’t seem too romantic.”

“Oh, Dot wrote the lyrics to that one,” Vince said. “It’s about growing up in a monotheistic cult.”

“And ‘Excavate My Chest’?”

“Sometimes love makes you feel like shit,” Vince said. “I was going through some stuff when I wrote that. I’d just started working with Mia. Digging up stuff I thought I’d buried pretty deep.”

“Fair,” Sam said. “Sometimes nothing else in the world can hurt like love does.”
Another moment and they were walking through the back door of the house on Washington. Sam thought about how only a week or so ago, he’d walked out that same door to get away from Vince who’d been knocking at the front door. So much had changed since then, his whole world had been uprooted and turned on its end. That morning he’d woken up thinking that his heart would be empty forever, that he would always be nothing but broken. That he would always hurt. He’d still be in pain except he’d taken a chance on forgiveness and giving himself a new beginning. The kitchen he’d let them into felt just the same but all different. It had some of Cas’s scent now. Different mugs, ones that they didn’t normally use, were sitting in the draining rack. Sam grabbed a glass of water because that acrid herbal taste from the heat helper was still lingering at the back of his throat. Sam’s stomach felt very empty the moment the water reached it.

“You want something to eat?” Sam asked. “I’m hungry.”

“Let me cook something for you,” Vince said, crossing the room, making for the fridge. “You didn’t eat anything all evening.”

“You cook?”

“Day job. I started out in the dish room, worked my way up to line cook. I can cook,” Vince said, digging through the fridge. It was kind of empty, but none of them had been home much this week, especially not Sam who normally kept it stocked with things that weren’t beer and stuff for burgers. Vince set the carton of eggs on the counter and a second later, added the package of bacon. “Do you have spaghetti and a big pot?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, wondering how that went with the eggs and bacon. He got out the pasta pot and the box of spaghetti.

“Looks like Parmesan will have to do. Pecorino would be better,” Vince said, putting the plastic wrapped chunk of it next to the eggs and bacon.

Vince shut the fridge and started looking critically at the knife block, which admittedly was kind of sparse. All the good knives were at the bakery. Sam opened up the drawer where he kept the utensils. He had one of those in-drawer knife blocks that he’d labelled ‘Sam’s- don’t touch! That means you too Dean!’ Sam pulled out his best chef’s knife out of the ones he kept at home.

“Sit,” Vince said, filling up the pasta pot in the sink. “You are going to love this.”

Chapter Text

Well, Crowley was standing right under the mistletoe. Trapped there if you believed the superstition. It’d be a simple kindness to give him a quick smooch and set him free. If you believed. Of course, even if it was simply a fun tradition, festive and all, why shouldn’t Bobby come collect a kiss? It wasn’t like he had ever gotten many of those in his life. Karen was gone far too soon and John wasn’t the kissing type, except sometimes when they were in bed together and sometimes not even then.

Now, here was a handsome enough Alpha, dressed in his usual black suit, with a pristine white apron over it, standing under a bit of fake greenery, smirk on his face, waiting for a kiss. If Bobby hadn’t misunderstood and he usually didn’t, Bobby had already been invited to spend the night. Was McLeod only interested in getting in Bobby’s pants though? Or was something more? Afterall, Crowley was making ‘marry me chicken’ and not ‘lets have a one night stand chicken.’ Most likely, the name was just hyperbole, but the man could have called it something else. What were his intentions? Not that Bobby couldn’t guard his heart well enough to avoid it breaking, but it would be nice to have someone around who looked at him like Crowley was looking at him now- not with the hopeless moonchild awe that their mates directed at Bobby’s boys- like they hung the moon and stars. All Bobby hoped for was someone that could look at him with genuine fondness and like he actually might be worth spending time with. Becoming mates was out of the question. Mating was a young person’s game. Bobby was past that nonsense; heats were a long time in his rear view mirror. Didn’t mean Bobby was dead yet though and if he could get a bit of fun, he was going to.

Bobby stepped up but didn’t close the distance.

“Be a man, McLeod,” he grumbled. “You want a kiss, you come and take it from me. Don’t use the excuse of a bit of shrubbery. That’s not even the real thing.”

“So, not a traditionalist or the staunchest of traditionalist?”

“Traditions are just peer pressure from dead people,” Bobby said. He’d always put up with the decorating and the celebrating because his boys enjoyed it, especially Dean. He’d do almost anything for them, so some nonsense with greenery in December was a small enough thing.

“Very well,” Crowley said. “I’ve never needed an excuse to go after what I want before now.”

McLeod walked out from under the faux branch and closed the distance between them, until they were touching chest to chest. Direct. Bobby liked that. The man moved smoothly and with a certain neat elegance. Crowley’s hand came up to the back of Bobby’s head and pulled Bobby’s face down to meet his own. Lips pressed against lips. Crowley kissed like a man who knew what he wanted. The scent rose off him as they kissed, the summer highway driving scent, making Bobby want for the first time in a long damn time, making him wonder what it would be like to be with someone that held the door for him. Bobby couldn’t help softening, letting his mouth open up, letting Crowley’s tongue in. Just a little. The kiss lasted not quite long enough, leaving Bobby wanting more when Crowley released his head.

“Come along, Darling,” Crowley said. “I don’t want to burn our supper. Welcome to my humble abode.”

Bobby followed Crowley to the little, white house like a puppy bribed with a bone. He walked through the door that Crowley held open for him. The back porch was set up like a mud room with a bench and boot rack, a coat tree that held Crowley’s habitual black overcoat. The floor was covered with big flagstones, the walls with real wood paneling. And it had an enormous dog bed. Filled with an enormous black dog. An enormous hairy black dog, but a lazy one. It looked up from the dog bed when Bobby entered the room, though you couldn’t see the eyes through all the hair. It sort of half assed sat up in the bed but didn’t leave it. Was it some kind of Newfoundland dog? They weren’t normally that curly though. It was like someone had supersized a standard poodle, given it a blockier, sturdier build.

“Juliet, this is Bobby,” Crowley said to the dog, like she would understand him. “He belongs here.”

Juliet sighed, a big humph sound, then dropped back down to rest on the dog bed, head on her paws. Wagged her tail exactly once. Bobby couldn’t help but like the beast. She seemed friendly enough, but mostly reticent, not like she was going to overwhelm you with affection. She reminded him of Rumsfeld, his old Rottie, but like, crossbred with a mop or something. He’d never gotten a replacement dog when Rumsfeld passed. It didn’t seem fair to keep a dog that big in town.

“Robert, this is Juliet, my best girl. It seems she likes you,” Crowley said. “May I take your coat?”

Bobby surrendered his old grubby Carhartt to Crowley who hung it on the coat rack right next to the tailored overcoat, like it belonged there or something. The door separating the mud room from the kitchen had been left open, so they just stepped through. Red cabinets lined the walls of a compact room, almost claustrophobic, but it skewed to cosy as soon as Bobby noticed a small nook to the left with built in table and benches. The flagstone flooring continued from the porch and Crowley had picked red gingham for curtains and the cushions on the benches. Bobby saw a small dining room in the next room but Crowley had set the table in the nook, complete with lit candles in silver candlesticks and a matching gingham tablecloth.

Holding out the bottle that he hadn’t wrapped, just taped a red bow to, Bobby said, “Got you a little something. Garth said he keeps it in stock for you.”

“There’s no need,” Crowley said. His eyebrows rose a little as he took the bottle from Bobby, but he said, “But far be it from me to not accept a gift graciously. Thank you, Robert. Please, sit. Supper will be ready in just a moment.”

Crowley set the bottle carefully on the counter then went back to the stove, which was a red Aga. The cabinets had been matched to it perfectly. It was funny how the house hadn’t looked that impressive from the outside, just an small, old farmhouse at first glance, but everything inside was solid, custom work or just plain expensive. That stove had the look of a stove that cost more than most people’s cars. If Bobby hadn’t figured out before, he’d have known that Crowley liked his little luxuries.

“Nice house,” Bobby said, settling onto a bench in the nook. He casually picked up one of the spoons and noted that it was sterling silver, solid, not plate.

“Thank you,” Crowley said. “It was a bit of a shambles when I bought it but I’ve renovated carefully. Feathering my nest like a bower bird.”

If Bobby remembered right, a bower bird was one of those that built up a fancy nest decorated with the shiniest, best bits and bobs, all to attract a mate. Was that a flirtation or some kind of signal? Crowley was looking for a mate, it would appear. But why would he be flirting with a grumpy old man like Bobby? If the man were looking for a mate, wouldn’t he go younger, someone who could give him some pups?

“Ogdenville’s sort of out of the way,” Bobby said. “I’d have figured you for one of those big houses out in Cobb Hill. Close to town.”

“Pshh,” Crowley said, stirring a generous amount of cream into a sauce. “I wouldn’t own anything built by Shurley on a bet. They’re made of matchsticks and newsprint, trying to get the most square footage built the cheapest way possible, tarted up to look like luxury. Most of them will be condemned twenty, thirty years from now. Meanwhile, this little cottage has already stood a hundred years and with care, it will be standing a hundred years from now.”

There was something about the place. Like, some so called haunted houses had a eldritch feel to them, a built in creepy factor. This house had the exact opposite feel. No, not heavenly, but like an earthly grounding, as solid as granite, like looking out over growing, flourishing fields of grain. It made you feel safe, content. Like you were where you were supposed to be. Bobby wasn’t surprised to see the subtle runes and symbols carved into the woodwork around every doorway. Bobby read the line carved over the door to the dining room- it read, more or less, ‘May the tables always be full here’.

“Your mother hex the place for you?” Bobby asked. The wards had a professional feel to them, an intense competence. He figured it was what Rowena’s work would feel like if she were protecting her son’s home.

“I consulted her on what wards and blessings I should use, but I placed them myself,” Crowley said as he stirred the sauce.

Before Bobby could question him further about that and how Crowley supposedly wasn’t a witch, Crowley took a fresh spoon from a drawer and sampled a bit of the sauce. He walked it over to Bobby and held it at face level, waiting for Bobby to open his mouth or something. Bobby grabbed the spoon himself, thinking he wasn’t about to be fed like a baby bird or something. The sauce kissed his tongue like a brick wrapped in a fresh basil leaf. It was rich, savory, creamy. More delicious than anything Bobby had ever had before. Hell yes he was going to marry the man that had made that sauce and he hadn’t even tasted the whole dish yet.

“Just about edible?” Crowley asked, once he was back at the stove. He started to dish up, pulling pans out of the oven and loading up two plates.

“You could say that.”

Juliet padded into the room, tail wagging and settled on her haunches in front of Crowley, tail still wagging like some kind of dust mop. She whined, softly. It was a fairly polite request for human food for a dog her size and Bobby might have given in if that was his dog. He had a soft spot for dogs that he hadn’t indulged in a long time. Crowley must have had a much harder heart because he ignored her as he spooned potato disks and green beans onto the plates with the chicken. At least he ignored her at first.

As he set the plates back on the counter to take off his white apron, Crowley said, “Go back to bed, Sweetheart. You know Papa can’t give you any of this because of your allergies.”

When she didn’t immediately obey, Crowley added, “Go to bed.”

The dog didn’t go back to her bed in the mud room but did lie down directly on the flagstone in front of the Aga, resting her giant head on her fluffy paws. She kept a steady beat on with her tail as Crowley brought the plates to the table, as if to remind them that she was still here and she was waiting for a handout. Maybe Crowley might let Bobby give her an allergen free treat to feed her later, the best way to make friends with most dogs being an appeal to their stomachs.

“So, Sam says you were a tailor, before the real estate,” Bobby said as Crowley set Bobby’s plate in front of him. The potato disks were crispy and glistening with butter, plenty of crunchy looking brown spots, the green beans also glistening. The Marry Me Chicken had been generously spooned with a tomato cream sauce dotted with fresh basil. The answer to Bobby’s question would have to wait, because Crowley noticed Bobby was waiting to dig in. Any Alpha worth his salt would go first if he’d been the one cooking. Proof of safety, as it were and in a way, an etiquette so traditional it almost wasn’t any more. Crowley carefully, thoughtfully, sliced off small bites from each of Bobby’s servings and tasted them. Once the tastes had been made and Crowley hadn’t keeled over, Bobby dug in, picking one of the potatoes first. The outside was exactly as buttery and crunchy as it looked and the inside was far more tender, soft and fluffy than you could have ever expected, just the right amount of salty too.

“Yes, I trained in London,” Crowley said. “But I followed Mother to the states.”

“Not a lot of call for bespoke suits in this town,” Bobby said. “Not a very Alpha profession, sewing.”

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to try and rankle the man, see if he could get a reaction. Test the temper before things got even a lick more serious. Crowley seemed like he might fly off the handle easily and Bobby had had enough of that with John. Too damn many angry Alphas in his life already. It didn’t matter a tinker’s damn if the man cooked like an angel if he had the temper of a demon.

“Auto mechanic isn’t what one would expect out of an Omega I suppose,” Crowley said, thoughtfully. “Or hunter.”

“As for the hunter, you don’t find that life, it finds you and it don’t care if you’re Alpha, Beta or Omega,” Bobby said. “As for the mechanic, dear old Dad went missing when I was still a pup. Went out for cigarettes one night, never came back.”

He continued, “My Mom and myself were left to make a living with the salvage yard and it didn’t matter that I grew up Omega because we had to make a living. I picked stuff over the years on the fly so I could open the repair shop once Shurley stole the salvage yard from under me.”

“I won’t even let my clients tour those condos,” Crowley said. “Too many rumors they’re haunted. Never mind what state the ground must be in.”

“I can guarantee there’s no hauntings,” Bobby said. “Saw to that myself. Can’t speak to the pollution clean up but Shurley had to know what kind of pig in a poke he was buying off me. The place had been a salvage yard for as long as there were cars to salvage.”

He might have had to put in double time and call in most of his favors to get enough help, but everyone who’d been buried in the yard had been exhumed, salted and burned and relocated when it had become clear that he wasn’t going to win his case against the eminent domain. Every monster that had been buried in the salvage yard, including dear old Dad, was now cremains buried safely at his friend Rufus’s fishing cabin in Montana.

Crowley snorted and said, “Duly noted. Guaranteed haunt free.”

Bobby felt something warm, heavy and furry drop into his lap. He looked down and Juliet had stealthily and all but silently left her post by the Aga and under the table. She was resting her furry head on his lap. Bobby was tempted to sneak her a bite or three, but he kept what Crowley had said about the allergies in mind. Poor old Rumsfeld had had them too and Bobby had fed him special food with nothing but lamb and rice or the old hound would get hot spots. He didn’t feed her, but she seemed happy to accept scratches around her ears in lieu of snacks.

“I’ve never seen her take to someone so fast,” Crowley said.

“She knows who’s a softy,” Bobby said. “So, any baggage I ought to know about. Besides your Mommy issues. Ex wives? Angry ex lovers?”

Crowley pulled his phone out, tapped at the screen for a moment then passed it face up across the table. A photo of a handsome young man with dark, floppy hair lit up the screen. He wore a bright yellow high viz jacket, a port in the picture back ground. Crowley swiped and the next picture was Crowley standing with the same young man and with Rowena. The young man was a few inches taller than Crowley but otherwise, there was a strong family resemblance.

“My only boy, Gavin. He’s making a life in the merchant marines as an engineer. The sea captured his heart and it’s not likely he’ll return to life on land. Certainly not South Dakota,” Crowley said. “His Oma left me a young widower when Gavin was three.”

If Bobby had to guess Gavin’s age, it would have been a good twenty five years ago that Crowley had been widowed. Must have been hard with a preschool aged pup to raise. It had been about as long as Bobby’s Karen had been gone. Bobby didn’t count John when it came to being a widow; the one and only thing they even had in common was their boys. John hardly even liked Bobby and the feeling was mutual mostly.

“Mother said there wasn’t much love lost between you and John Winchester,” Crowley said after a moment. “That you’re not still grieving him.”

Bobby said, “I put up with a lot from the man when he was alive but he gave me the boys I never thought I’d have, so I suppose I ought to be grateful. Time to figure out what to do with myself now that they’re flying the nest. Getting mates of their own.”

“I’m sure we can figure out something to fill the empty hours for you,” Crowley said. “Juliet could have a small bite of potato if you’d let her. If you’re willing to spare it. I’m certain it would make you her best friend.”

While they’d been talking, Bobby had made deep incursions into the most delicious chicken he’d ever had, conquered his pile of green beans, but he’d been taking a slow, cautious approach to the potato disks, just in case they somehow grew less perfect over the course of the evening. They hadn’t so far but he had one disk left. Bobby took the silver knife and cut out a quarter of it, then slipped it under the table on an open palm. It disappeared instantly and his hand was cleaned with the kind of enthusiasm you didn’t often see. The thump of Juliet’s happy tail was audible, a pure happiness you didn’t often see in anyone, so he gave her the other quarter of the half.

“I have a little Yule gift for you,” Crowley said. He left the room and quickly returned with a wrapped box that clunked heavily on the table when he dropped it in front of Bobby.

Bobby tore the wrapping off quickly and pulled something out of the box. It didn’t look impressive at first. Some kind of rock, dull and gray. Heavy. A very rough globe shape about eight inches around, with pitted surface. It had been sliced in half more or less and the halves lightly taped together so they wouldn’t fall apart. He tore away the tape and let the rock fall into its halves. Inside faces had been polished smooth. It was agate of some kind, he thought, because there were intricate bands of colors- orange browns, gray crystalline, white, dark brown. In the center were druzy lined hollows. So it was a geode of some kind.

“A thunder egg,” Crowley said. “It reminded me of you I suppose.”

Chapter Text

Vince moved with an easy competence in the kitchen, filling the pasta pot and setting it to boil. He found the microplane grater without asking where it was and quickly used it to turn part of the hard wedge of parm into a big cloud of fluffy white strands. He used Sam’s best chef’s knife to dice the bacon. He broke eggs into a cup, expertly separating the yolk out from two of them. How the hell was it such a turn on to see a man do all those ordinary things? It wasn’t like Sam didn’t separate dozens of eggs every day and yet it never occurred to him before that it could be sexy to see the way the white slipped away through Vince’s fingers leaving the rich orange globe of the yolk resting on his fingers for a moment before he transferred it to the cup with the other eggs. Or Vince washing his hands afterwards, the sleeves of his long t-shirt pushed up to his elbows, revealing the strong, corded muscles of his forearms. Fuck that was hot to see. It was tempting to tell him to forget the food and to push him bodily up against the cabinets and plunder his mouth. Sam found himself wondering what it would be like to kneel down and peel Vince out of his tight jeans and…

But Sam’s stomach grumbled, pushing him out of that mood momentarily.

As he worked, Vince talked about the houses he’d seen so far in Sioux Falls, especially the Rainbow House, the Victorian a few blocks from here that had been painted in rainbow stripes for decades. Since the early seventies apparently.

“It’d be weird to buy the Rainbow House,” Sam said. “Juanita taught us in fifth grade. Do you remember?”

“I remember Miss Juanita. She was the one that tried to talk Pops into getting me evaluated. Too bad he dug his heels in. I did get that done later. Turns out I’m not stupid; I’ve got dyslexia and ADHD,” Vince said as he started to fry up the diced bacon.

“I never thought you were,” Sam said. Vince probably would have failed a lot of classes except for Sam tutoring him, but you could tell how brilliant Vince was. One thing living with Dean had taught Sam was that the kind of conventional academic success that came easy to Sam and Adam wasn’t the only measure of intelligence. “The ADHD diagnosis isn’t a surprise. So, what is the Rainbow House like inside?”

“It smells like a head shop,” Vince said, stirring the cooking bacon on the stove top and damn did that smell incredible, like bacon always did. “Patchouli, incense and a lot of pot. It’s smaller than I want and it needs a lot of work, but it’s got a good vibe. I wanted to see the haunted mansion on Plymouth but the realtor wouldn’t show it to me. Said it was a money pit and haunted. For real. I suppose he’d know.”

Sam knew the place. It had been painted black once, but faded over the years to a nondescript gray. Probably hadn’t had a fresh coat of paint in all the years that Sam had lived in Sioux Falls. Nor had anyone lived in the place in that time. People came out and cut the lawns, did basic maintenance. Money pit Sam could believe. How haunted it really was, well, Sam would want to ask Bobby, see what he thought about it. It was truly dangerous, Bobby and Jody would have taken care of it already. They didn’t tolerate supernatural danger in their county.

“I’m pretty sure it just looks like the Addams family mansion,” Sam said. “That it isn’t actually haunted.”

“You should come house hunting with me,” Vince said, salting the pasta water. “Since we’ll be married soon, it’ll be your house too.”

“We’re getting married?” Sam asked. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

“It’s long overdue,” Vince said as he dumped the whole box of spaghetti into the boiling pot. “Don’t you remember. I asked you to marry me and you said yes already. At Lake Weezy.”

The memory suddenly rose to the surface. At that little lake just outside Sioux Falls. It was more of a big pond than a lake and Lake Weezy wasn’t even the official name. In the middle of a hot summer day, they’d ridden bikes from Bobby’s house. Sam had turned twelve in May, Vince would be thirteen in a few days from then. There’d been a little convenience store close to the lake and Vince had gone in a bought them sodas and one of those candy ring pops. Vince had gone down on his knee right on hot asphalt of the parking lot and said, “You’re going to marry me, Sammy.”

“We’re too young, jerk,” Sam had said, though his tiny self had been filled with a fluttery joy as Vince had tried to shove the ring pop onto his finger. Even then it had been too small for his finger. “We’re not even old enough to be boyfriends yet.”

“We’re not getting married right now, dummy. We’ll get married when I’m twenty-eight and you’re twenty-seven,” Vince had said. Then he’d gotten back on his bike and started pedaling, the bag with the soda cans swinging from his handlebars, calling over his shoulder, “Last one in the lake is a rotten egg.”

Even though he’d gotten a head start, Vince had been the rotten egg that time. Sam might have been much shorter and riding a smaller bike, but he pedaled harder and faster. The candy part of the ring pop was long, long gone, but Sam still had the plastic part in the wood cigar box he kept all his little trinkets. It was upstairs now. He remembered being thirteen, before they really were boyfriends, when they were having a little spat about something stupid and not talking to each other, holding the still intact ring pop and making a wish with all his little teenage heart, that they really would get married when they were twenty-seven and twenty-eight. Somehow, it had seemed important to suck on the candy part until it was gone, so he had. What if it had worked for real? Hadn’t Rowena implied he had real power?

That plastic ring was one of the few real trinkets he had left from that time. It had seemed important to keep even when he got rid of the rest of it. As soon as Sam had gotten home from the hospital, he’d burned the big stuffed moose toy Vince had won for him at a carnival and most of the notes on lined notebook paper with all their garbled spellings and a bunch of the other stuff. Yeah, Vince having dyslexia tracked for sure.

“I never said yes,” Sam said. “Don’t you remember? You rode off on your bike before I could answer you.”

“I don’t remember that,” Vince said as he started whisking stuff into the eggs he’d cracked earlier. The grated cheese, then some of the bacon grease from the pan, some of the hot pasta water. “I swear you said yes.”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sam said.

“Huh. I swear you did,” Vince said. “Memory is a funny thing.”

Vince drained most, but not all of the bacon grease from the cooked bacon. He pulled a strand of spaghetti out of the pot with tongs. Broke it in half, then took a quick bite. Waited another moment and did it again. This time, he started moving the pasta directly from the water to the big skillet with the cooking bacon, tossing it around to absorb the grease. Everything went quickly from that point, Vince focusing on the pasta, pouring in the egg mixture, tossing it around, adding more, tossing more, until it was all coated and creamy looking. That was when Sam recalled the recipe Vince was making- Spaghetti Carbonara. Vince had found the salt and pepper grinder. Tasted one strand, added more salt and generous grinds of pepper. Only then did he carefully twirl the strands of pasta and plate them on one of the plain white, shallow bowls. Vince presented it to Sam, setting it on the same space on the table where the candle had sat burning the other night. It was a beautiful plating with perfect nests of wound up noodles, little white strands of cheese starting to melt into the glistening sauce. Little browned bits of bacon studded the yellow sauce, flecks of the pepper throughout.

Instead of getting himself a bowl, Vince waited, watching as Sam took the fork and wound the long pasta strands around it, then moved to his mouth. It melted as he chewed almost. The pasta still had just enough bite, but it all melded into a perfectly creamy rich mouthful.

“Oh, wow,” Sam said. “Wow.”

For a moment, he just focused on the pasta. It wasn’t something he would normally eat, not with the whole eggs with added egg yolks, and the bacon. The last time he’d eaten bacon was a couple years ago when Dean had pranked him and convinced him it was vegan bacon he was eating. But at this moment, it was everything he’d ever wanted to eat, filling the empty hole in his belly, satisfying him deeply. Right now, he didn’t care that Vince had gotten him to eat real bacon. Fork after fork of it went into his mouth and down his throat. Sam thought about getting to eat this pasta for the rest of his life, getting to see Vince make it for him. About buying a house together and setting up a life together. Vince seemed to be waiting for something. Some word.

“Yes,” Sam said.

“Yes?”

“All those years ago, you asked me to marry you and I never answered,” Sam said. “I’m answering now. Yes. We’re getting married.”

Vince was down on his knees, kneeling between Sam’s legs, in an instant and pulling Sam close. Their lips met. The pasta and everything else in the world was forgotten. Sam didn’t care that the kiss was awkward and kind of slobbery. Too much too fast or maybe not enough too late. Their bodies crashed into each other. The kiss was broken only long enough for Vince to pull Sam’s sweater off and toss it to the floor; for Sam to tug Vince’s black t-shirt off, exposing his whole torso including the heart tattoo on Vince’s chest. Like Sam had seen before, the ‘Luci’ had been crossed off and replaced with Vince, but the tattooist had somehow covered up the ‘my’ and the tattoo now just said ‘Sam’ and looked like it always had.

Sam broke his mouth away from Vince’s to nuzzle into the bare skin along Vince’s cheek down to his neck following the scent to where it was strongest. With every breath in of it, it was like something was waking up in Sam, something was growing stronger, more demanding. He wanted. Tonight was the first time he could remember wanting something. Someone. It felt like he could hardly breathe for the need growing inside him. Sam unbuttoned the shirt he’d worn under his sweater with Vince’s help. Some of the buttons popped off and skittered across the floor. He didn’t care. He’d retrieve them later. The shirt joined their other clothes on the floor and he was left wearing only his compressive top, the one that pushed his breasts flat and hidden. He broke away to pull it off, always an effort because of how tight it was. His breasts dropped down feeling free. His shoulders where the elastic edges bit in itched as they were released from compression but he ignored that.

“Fuck. You’re even more beautiful than I thought,” Vince said.

Sam grabbed the loops of Vince’s jeans and tugged, pulling Vince down as he collapsed himself onto the floor. Vince couldn’t help but follow him down. Willingly, even eagerly down to the floor. The next few minutes were filled with their moans and the scuffling sounds of them pulling off their last bits of clothing, interspersed with lips sucking on flesh. Vince’s chest might have had only the one tattoo, but his legs were covered from ankle to hips with colorful marks, no a planned, themed sleeve, but all kind of different pictures scattered up and down them. It was tempting to spend time looking at them, wondering what each meant, but there were other, more important things to look at right now. Like looking in Vince’s intense blue eyes which were bright and glistening with unshed tears.

“I don’t deserve this,” Vince said, even as Sam was grabbing him by the sides of his head so that he could pull them even closer for more kisses and trying to roll them so that Sam was on top. Sam couldn’t see Vince’s cock, but he could feel it hard, pressing against his hip, ready for him. “I never thought we could get here.”

“It’s never about what we deserve,” Sam said as he got Vince onto his back on the kitchen floor. “Maybe it’s just because little me saw something so good in you all those years ago that I never stopped seeing it, despite everything.”

He pressed him down with body weight, his legs framing Vince’s, chest pressed to chest. He wiped Vince’s tears away with a finger. He thought it would be awkward, two virgins fumbling around and not knowing what to do but he was surprised to find that even if he didn’t know what to do, his body did. His inner Omega had been waiting for this so long. As they kissed again, Sam’s hips moved up in time with Vince’s, lining up just right. The next moment, they slid together, Vince up, Sam down, and their bodies connected. Vince’s cock invaded or Sam surrounded him, who could really say. It was a little frightening because it was new and it didn’t feel like anything he’d ever felt before. He’d never been touched there before, not even by himself.

Vince’s hips stuttered and he grabbed Sam’s hips tightly, held him still.

“Uh. Uh,” Vince gasped. “Don’t want. Too soon.”

Sam held still when he understood that Vince had been about to come and didn’t want to, not yet. That he wanted to make their first time last longer than a few seconds. Sam could do that, even though he ached to start moving, to get friction going between them. He could feel his internal muscles squeeze and pulse involuntarily. It took all his effort not to start bouncing, to take what he wanted. Sam could wait. He’d waited for years already.

“I never stopped loving you,” Vince said. “I’ve wanted to do this with you for as long as I knew what sex was. Never with anyone else, just you.”

Vince’s arms wrapped around Sam’s chest, pulling him down so he could root with his nose at the curve of Sam’s neck. Vince’s teeth teased the mating gland, a gentle nibble followed by a soothing lick of the tongue. It was a tentative question. An electric shock of want and need spiked up and down Sam’s body just from the feel of that. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? The completion of the bond that had started when they were two pups growing up together. When they had become friends and more. When his young little heart had wished for it with a desperate yearning at twelve and at thirteen. At fourteen and fifteen. At every year even when thousands of miles had separated them. But Sam had to be sure Vince knew what he was getting into, what had really happened to bind them together.

“Do you remember that time when I was thirteen and we had that fight? We didn’t talk for weeks. I made a wish, on that ring pop that we would get married and mated when you were twenty eight and I was twenty seven. I think it worked. For real,” Sam said. “I don’t want. I mean, I want your bite more than anything but what if I trapped you?”

Chapter Text

Vince snorted, then licked a slow stripe up Sam’s neck.

“I was the one that bought you that ring pop,” he said. “And proposed to you.”

“It was a joke,” Sam protested.

“It wasn’t,” Vince said. “I meant it.”

“But I think I cast a love spell,” Sam confessed. “Rowena thinks I have real power. It felt like a wish that would come true.”

“If it’s just about wishing, do you remember that day we met at school?” Vince asked.

“You tried to steal my lunch money and I knocked you on your ass instead,” Sam said.

“I’ve been in love with you since then,” Vince said, stroking Sam’s cheek, running his fingers down Sam’s throat, delicate, soft touches. “When I went home that night, I told Gabriel I wanted you to marry me. He taught me how to make a wish on the first evening star. I guess he’s every bit as much a real witch as Rowena. So I wished us into being first.”

“We were meant for each other from the start,” Sam admitted. “If you’re sure, then lets do this. I don’t see any reason to wait.”

“The ring pop was the best I could at twelve,” Vince said. “I can do better now.”

Vince started tugging his jeans closer to him. The jerky motion made him move inside Sam a little, reminding him that they were naked on the kitchen floor, Vince’s still hard cock inside Sam and maybe they should be getting on with something he’d been waiting for since he was sixteen. Vince retrieved his jeans in just another moment and pulled a little green velvet box out of it. He opened it. As Sam expected from that kind of box, inside was a diamond ring. A big pear shaped diamond set sideways in a bezel. The ring itself was thick, chunky yellow gold. It was big enough it’d seem sizable even on Sam’s big hands. The kind of ring that cost five, maybe even six figures. Absolutely not the kind of ring that Sam ever expected to get in his life. He wanted to protest, that he didn’t need it, that he didn’t deserve it. He wouldn’t even be able to wear it while he was working. Even so, he didn’t protest when Vince took his hand and slipped the ring onto his finger. It was too big, so Sam moved it to his middle finger where it fit perfectly. He’d never, not ever, expected to get a ring besides that ring pop from so long ago. He’d never even pictured what kind of ring he would have wanted if someone gave him one, but nothing and no one could have gotten him to give up this one now that he had it.

After that, the only thing to do was to plant his hands on the floor on either side of Vince’s head and start moving, up and down, back and forth a little, whatever felt good and right. Experimenting, trying to learn what drew out those pants and groan from Vince, what angles felt so good to him, what pace made Vince grip Sam’s hips as if to slow him down. Sometimes, they looked each at each other, deep eye connection, and sometimes it was too much and he couldn’t. Sam just had to close his eyes. Even then, though, the connection was undeniable. It became like they were one body moving together, one entity. He didn’t have to think about what was bringing him pleasure because it was just happening.

“Now?” Vince asked even as Sam was already bending down to put his neck in reach.

Vince was rolling him over to the bottom. Not because it was the powerful position, the top, but because it allowed them to be closer to each other, for Vince’s teeth to find the mating gland and close down. The pain was fierce, electric, just like an electric shock and yes, there was blood, but it set off something in Sam he never expected. There was an instinctive reaction, not something an Omega would do at all. As soon as Vince’s teeth had released him, Sam rolled them back over and latched his teeth on Vince’s neck. There were scent glands there, sure, but not a mating gland like an Omega would have. That didn’t seem to matter because he bit down and it was like the circuit completed again, white hot and painful for both of them, but somehow, necessary. Somehow this was he’d always thought it would be, getting mated to Vince- inevitable, life-changing and explosive. And then after the pain had faded, they were still moving, still crashing their bodies into each other, everything squeezed and pressing and building. Something snapped into place and that was it- they were both coming. Both crying and scrabbling to hold on to each other and if they could have defied the laws of physics and each melded into each other and become one, they would have.

By the time it was over and he was slumped on Vince’s chest, they were tied up. They’d hardly noticed it when it was happening, but they were joined now. Sam knew from his readings that he had a muscle structure inside that held Vince’s knot inside, that he was as much responsible as Vince was for them being inseparable at this moment. He always liked that thought- that it didn’t work without the both of them. The Omega wasn’t the passive recipient of what the active Alpha was giving. Without the Omega grabbing, the Alpha could slip out. In some ways, the Omega was the more active one- surrounding the Alpha, taking from him. Sam tried to squeeze that set of muscles and it must have worked because Vince moaned and spasmed again, one of the mini post orgasms a knotted Alpha could have. It felt amazing, being able to do that to him, make him come so undone.

Sam thought about saying something, about how they maybe should have used condoms or see if the post heat care stuff would be effective, but he didn’t. This wasn’t a heat and there was no guarantee that even if Sam could have a heat, that he could catch pregnant. If he could catch pregnant, maybe he wanted that sooner rather than later.

“You’re amazing, Babe,” Vince said. “Can I?”

It took Sam a second to see what Vince was asking, but one of his hands was reaching between them, towards Sam’s front. His breasts. Sam really hadn’t thought that much one way or the other about them for most of his life. He wore a compression top or sports bra pretty much just because they got in the way. Because he couldn’t have pups, they weren’t functional. Until Vince came back, he hadn’t had any sexual desire, so they hadn’t even been erogenous. They’d always just been a purposeless handful of flesh.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Touch anything you want.”

Vince cupped Sam’s breast in his hand, delicately at first, like it was some fragile porcelain tea cup. Sam marveled at Vince’s hand, how strong it seemed, how intricate. Just a little while ago, that hand had cradled an egg yolk, wielded a knife with enviable speed and accuracy. Created gorgeous sounds from a guitar. Sam wanted to take that hand, kiss each fingertip, maybe suck a forefinger into his mouth, lave all over it with his tongue. Then Vince squeezed and moved his hand, brushing Sam’s nipple with his palm. Electric pleasure sparked and grew, spreading as Vince caressed. Vince grinned, maybe even it was a smirk, as he played Sam’s body like it was one of his instruments. As Sam’s arousal grew, he became aware that he was hard again. Their first time, he hadn’t really thought about what was happening down there, but now, he was achingly hard, achingly aware of the parts inside that were cradling Vince’s knot. He ground his hips down, trying to get some friction, some sensation. Some internal part of Sam’s was rubbing against Vince’s knot in a way that demanded he do it more, do it harder, building quickly into an overwhelming bright burst of pleasure that trampled all up and down, burst beyond the confines of his body. Exploded inside and then left him gasping and panting.

“Wow,” Sam said. Yeah. “You know, for something I hardly thought about for over a decade, I think I really like sex.”

Vince just answered him by smashing their faces together for a long, deep kiss, only tapering off when they had to breathe. After that, Sam might have drifted asleep for a little while, but not long, because they were still joined when he was tracking time again. Vince was awake, stroking Sam’s hair softly, looking at Sam with tender wonder in his eyes, as if he he couldn’t believe his luck. As if he’d just been given the best gift he could ever imagine.

“Hey, did I hurt you when I bit you?” Sam asked, not sure how to bring up the bite he’d put on Vince’s neck, except directly. “I don’t know what got into me. Are you okay?”

There were a few bloodstains on the floor next to them, not big, but already dry. Sam touched the side of his own neck and he thought he would feel open, tender wound. Mating bites healed fast, but not instantly. Like this apparently had. He could feel the round, raised scar, completely healed over. Sam twisted around so he could maybe see what he’d done to Vince and no, there was no open wound. There was a scar- round, a little red and shiny but closed over. It was shaped like teeth marks. His teeth. Not that Sam had bitten anyone since his early toddler days. Not that Sam remembered, but Dean always claimed that toddler Sam was a biter.

“What do you suppose happened?” Sam asked to no one in particular. “Omegas don’t do that. I don’t think that was biologically possible. We don’t have fangs at all, we don’t have that instinct.”

“I don’t know what happened. It hurt like hell when you did it, then it just stopped hurting,” Vince said, touching the scar. “I’m happy you did whatever though. It’ll save me from getting a tattoo there to match your mating mark.”

That was a new thing- modern, egalitarian Alphas would get a small tattoo on their neck to match the one they placed on their mate’s neck. Maybe Sam had been able to place the mark because of his witchy tendency. He’d have to ask Rowena the next time he saw her. Meanwhile, all there was left to do was lie there, resting, waiting. Tracing the heart shape of the tattoo that marked up Vince’s chest. Vince + Sam 4 Ever. The ring he’d been given glittered in the low kitchen light.

“I, uh, got one of those lab created diamonds,” Vince said. “I figured you wouldn’t like the idea of blood diamonds. If you want a natural diamond, we can look into that.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Slowly, as they were supposed to, Vince’s knot softened and then slipped out of Sam’s internal grasp. They were able to separate and Sam rolled off of Vince. He collapsed back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Vince traced a line on Sam’s inner thigh with his finger, following a bit of leaking come.

“You okay with this?” Vince asked. “I know you said the doctors told you you couldn’t have pups, but there might be a chance.”

“I’m good,” Sam said. “I don’t think it’ll happen. If it could, I don’t want to wait more. I’ve waited long enough. But I don’t think it will happen ever and I’m okay with it either way. Do you want to head up to bed?”

“The floor’s not the most comfortable thing, is it?”

They broke apart, got themselves up off the floor. Vince gathered up their clothes. Sam found a rag and dampened it in the sink. He tried to wash away at least the bloodstains they’d made during their mating. Vince dropped the pile of clothes on top of the dinette table, then started to gather up the dishes he’d dirtied while making pasta earlier.

“Leave it for the morning,” Sam said. “We’ll get it then.”

But his stomach gurgled a little as he looked at the still mostly full pot of spaghetti carbonara. Sam grabbed the whole pot and a couple of forks and headed for the stairs, naked, but for the first time he could remember, not ashamed, not feeling broken or like a collection of useless parts. Vince followed close behind, right where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Bobby listened incredulously over the remains of their dessert, a cranberry orange fool, which was mostly whipped cream with just enough fruit. Shouldn’t have been as good as it was.

“…That was when I was preparing for the Nationals, I think you might know my partner, Naomi, one of Chuck Shurley’s ex-wives. She’s wonderfully precise but her weakness is the tango. Not a jot of passion in that woman…”

“Nationals?” Bobby interrupted. “As in a competition? You dance? The tango? You dance the tango with Naomi Shurley?”

He knew the woman and you couldn’t find someone more buttoned up and filled with repressed anger. She was on the county board, having gotten there on sheer spite and an anti-Shurley platform. At first, he was confused about Crowley being a competitive dancer, but as Bobby thought about it, the part that didn’t track was that Naomi was the man’s dance partner or that she could dance at all. As for Crowley, looking at him, Bobby could suddenly see it, him moving around the floor, on display like some kind of peacock, all suave and intense.

Crowley pulled out his phone and after a few taps, it was playing a video. Crowley wearing an extremely well fitted outfit, black pants, simple black shirt that was open to almost his waist. He was dancing with a woman that could only be Naomi Shurley, wearing a glittery silvery-gray dress that shimmered and flowed as she spun and moved. It must have been a competition because Crowley had a number pinned to the back of his shirt. They moved across the screen with graceful precision, twirling, flowing movements. Crowley’s face was shaved clean, unlike how it was now. His expression was set, all stern, intense concentration, no hint of a smile, but the smile on Crowley right now let Bobby know that this was maybe one of his happiest memories so far.

“Well, one must have a hobby. Mother got me into it. She was a dancer, professional for a while,” Crowley said as he put the phone down. He put his hand on Bobby’s and asked, “Would you like to dance? A little spin around the room?”

“I don’t dance, McLeod,” Bobby said, but he didn’t move his hand from under Crowley’s and he kind of wished he did dance. For a half hot second, he jealously wished he could have replaced Naomi in that video, not that he could ever move like that. There had been male Alpha-Omega couples on the competition video but Bobby had never been suave one day in his life. “Never had it come up before.”

“Let me teach you, Robert,” Crowley said, squeezing Bobby’s hand a little. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got three family weddings coming up sooner or later. You’ll want to dance at the weddings.”

He’d never danced at a wedding before, not even his own. Back when he’d married Karen all those years ago, it hadn’t been legal for a Omega male to marry a Beta female, so they’d eloped in Montana where it’d been legal, hadn’t had much of a wedding. As for John, he wasn’t the dancing kind. They’d signed the paperwork in a courthouse, to make it easier for Bobby to care for John’s sons, but you couldn’t call that a wedding either, at least not in a romantic sense. He thought about his boys, each of them with one of the Shurley boys and Crowley was right. There’d probably be a wedding for each of them soon. Dean was already mated and there’d probably be a pup soon. Maybe Dean would want a big wedding, maybe not. As for Sam, it seemed like, for good or bad, he was on the verge of sealing the deal with his puppy love. Bobby wouldn’t be surprised to find him with a bite mark on his neck in the next couple of days. Adam had sworn up and down that they wouldn’t be mating until after Michael had put a ring on his finger, but Bobby would be fooling himself if he said that spring wedding wasn’t happening. Three weddings, three matings. Maybe a grandpup or two before too long too. He’d known his boys would have lives of their own eventually.

Crowley was looking at him hopefully still. It wasn’t like Bobby had anything against dancing. It just hadn’t come up in his life much before. It wasn’t like he could have gone out to the kind of places where dancing might happen, like the bars, on his own. He hadn’t ever been the going out kind anyway. These couple of dates with Crowley had been the only ones he’d ever gone on. Along with everything else he hadn’t been, John wasn’t the type to date. As for Karen, they’d met and fallen into bed in the same hour, mated and bonded even if they couldn’t exchange bites.

Bobby thought about how Rowena had said she thought he ought to have a happy ending. He still didn’t know what that might look like but maybe it might involve a real estate agent with real talent in the kitchen an apparently on the dance floor.

“Yeah, all right, Fergus,” Bobby said. “You can try and teach this old dog a new trick or two.”

“I’d best do a bit of clean up in here first,” Crowley said. “Juliet may have the face of an angel but her nose is at table height and she would absolutely make herself sick if she could.”

Bobby tried to help but Crowley shooed him back to the table while he loaded a dishwasher that had been hidden in one of the cabinets. Clever that. Bobby did his own dishes because installing a dishwasher would have meant renovating the whole kitchen. Mostly it was just himself and if the boys were over, they could be the dishwasher. Crowley worked efficiently and had everything cleared in a few minutes.

“We’ll start with a waltz,” Crowley said when he was done with the clean up.

He took Bobby by the hand and led him out of the kitchen into a dining room large enough to have empty floor space. Bobby found he didn’t mind as much as he thought having Crowley show him where hands were placed, how they were supposed to stand a bit apart. Bobby suspected that Crowley wasn’t nearly this patient when it came to teaching this stuff, but he was now. Dancing, Bobby learned, wasn’t that much different from walking, but done in rhythm and a pattern. The basic box step wasn’t hard, not at all. Crowley moved far, far more smoothly than Bobby and apparently he didn’t mind if Bobby took the lead, though Bobby thought that was more about Crowley being able to show off his moves.

“Now, if you want your partner to do a little twirl, just lift your hand a little, like so,” Crowley said, so Bobby did. Crowley spun out, turning around in time to the music then coming back to the same close location.

No, he didn’t mind this at all. It hadn’t taken much to learn the basic steps and something about dancing with Crowley made him feel more graceful and smooth than he actually was. Bobby had always felt he was lumbering. Sturdy and powerful for an Omega. More the mama bear type than graceful wolf. Dancing with Crowley made him feel for the first time that maybe he didn’t have to be that way.

“You know, Fergus, this ain’t half bad,” Bobby said after they’d been moving around the floor for a while. “I could see giving it a whirl if you want to put up with an old curmudgeon like me.”

Crowley kept them moving, but there was a shift. He moved closer and instead of the formal posture and spacing, they were now dancing cheek to cheek. Crowley wasn’t performing anymore, he was just moving with Bobby.

“Did you remember your toothbrush, darling?” Crowley asked. “If you didn’t, I do have an extra.”

____

Dean checked his phone app. He’d just looked up from his third piece of pie and noticed that the music room was empty, door still shut. Dean walked over to the empty room and looked out the window. In a classic Sam move, there were two sets of foot prints in the yard under the window. Sam had jumped out the window to the big planter under it, then walked out the back yard. He would have walked down the alley with Vince. Their obvious destination would have been home. The phone location app pinned Sam’s location as home. It was all good then, most likely. He pushed down an urge to go check up on Sam. The mother hen in him wanted to, but the realist in Dean knew that he might get the kind of eyeful that he never wanted if he dropped in right now. Or at least Dean knew that he’d had that kind of reunion tonight, he wouldn’t want to keep his hands off Cas. It was anyone’s guess if the heat helper had been taken soon enough and was strong enough to keep Sam from going into heat. It was pretty clear that Vince and Sam were true mates. Dean hadn’t quite believed it before tonight.

“They’ve headed out,” Dean said when he noticed that Cas had joined him in the music room. Dean held up his phone. “Sam’s at home. I’m assuming Vince is with him. I think it’ll be okay for them now. You got any idea where Michael is?”

That was something that had been bugging Dean for a while. Adam had gone upstairs with some coats and not come downstairs again. Dean hadn’t seen Mike around either. Adam’s phone was still showing as at the party house. The mind kind of leaped to certain conclusions. A little earlier, Dean had taken a quick walk up and down the hallway upstairs but he hadn’t heard anything untoward going on. He hadn’t opened any of the closed doors, maybe a little fearful of what he’d see. He hadn’t scented Adam up on that floor at least.

“I haven’t seen Adam in over an hour,” Dean said.

“I’m guessing he would have snuck upstairs with Michael,” Cas said, calmly.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Dean said.

“I don’t think there’s any reason to fear that outcome,” Cas said. “Adam is one of the most intelligent young men I’ve met and my oldest brother is very much worthy of him. They’re in love and they haven’t gotten very much time alone together.”

Somehow, when Cas put it that way, even though it shouldn’t have, it eased Dean’s mind.

“If he knocks up my baby brother, I’m still kicking his ass,” Dean said, the threat weak in his mouth.

“I don’t believe that’s an eventuality we have to worry about,” Cas said. “The party seems to winding down to just the die hards. Gabe and Amara seem to have everything well in hand. Maybe we should go upstairs. You’ll want to grab some sleep. It’s only four hours from your normal waking time.”

The game of twister in the living room had been abandoned. In fact, the lights were all off and just about every sofa in the big room had been taken up with slumbering pups along with a few adult drowsing on the floor and in the armchairs. The remaining core of the party had moved to the kitchen about the time he’d been digging into his third piece of pie. Hopefully, Gabe and Amara really did have it in hand and he could go grab some shut eye before he’d have to get to the bakery. Tomorrow would be coming very soon and being as it was the last Saturday before the solstice, it was going to be one of their biggest days all year.

“Yeah, okay, let’s head up,” Dean agreed.

It seemed like his phone alarm went off mere seconds after his head had hit the pillow in one of the many guest rooms upstairs. They’d taken the room on the third floor, the one with the turret. It was cosier than Dean had thought it would be, sleeping in the attic. Someone had jammed a round mattress into the turret space, then filled it with tons of pillows and fluffy white comforters, making it the start to a perfect nest. All it needed were some scent items. The phone alarm was hitting his brain like a hammer and Dean tried to sit upright in bed. Cas was perfecting his koala act, wrapping himself around Dean, so that didn’t happen. He was waking up too.

“Just a few more minutes,” Cas said, tightening his squeeze.

If only Dean could say yes to that. They still had a lot of prep to get to this morning, based on the inventory that Dean had ‘borrowed’ for the party. This bed was perfect and Cas was a perfect heater for it.

“I wanna buy this house,” Dean said. Not that he thought there was a damn chance that would ever happen.

“I would absolutely buy it for you,” Cas said, nuzzling his face into Dean’s chest. “But I believe if it ever goes up for sale, Vince has called dibs. I suppose we should get up now.”

“Wait, you’d buy me this house if you could?” Dean asked as he finally ripped his body out of Cas’s clingy hands. “You can just do that?”

“You insisted on fifty-fifty, so I set my contribution budget based on what you can easily afford. Thirty percent of your income, seemed comfortable, but if you would prefer, we could set a budget based on proportional amounts,” Cas said as he crawled out of bed after Dean. “If we calculated proportionally, a house this size comes into a feasible possibility.”

He started getting dressed again, thankfully leaving the ugly sweater off. Dean contemplated his own clothing options at the same time he contemplated what Cas was saying about proportional expenses versus fifty fifty.

“I am committed to fifty-fifty if that is what you want, but perhaps you would let me run other scenarios and we could decide together what the most equitable solution would be.”

Equitable sounded good for sure.

“It is way too early to be talking about this kinda crap,” Dean said, pulling the grumpy cat sweater from last night on.

He’d have to stop at home first to get something else to wear. Maybe a pair of jeans that were bigger yet. When he zipped his pair up, he couldn’t get the button fastened. It’d been a little uncomfortable last night but he’d gotten them fastened. Now, there wasn’t any hope of that. It was just food baby, right? Too much salty stuff like nachos and pizza, too much pie.

“You know, you don’t have to come with me,” Dean said as Cas was shoving his feet back into his Chelsea boots.

“I don’t have to,” Cas said. “However, I seem to recall you saying it would be your busiest day of the year. I shouldn’t be allowed to bake, but I am capable of washing pots and pans and hauling heavy items from one location to another. I don’t want to be just your mate, Dean. I wish to be your partner in every way possible.”

“Okay, let’s find Adam and get him moving too,” Dean said.

***

Michael’s hair was short, but it was just long enough for Adam to get a good grip on. More than that, he really seemed to like when Adam pulled on it. Especially when Michael was getting a big mouthful of parts down below. Michael moaned happily when Adam would mash his face into Adam’s pussy. Adam wondered if anyone else in the world knew just how much Michael liked Omega pussy and cock. He kind of hoped not, that this would be their secret. Earlier in the evening, when he’d asked about the hair pulling, wanting to be sure it was okay, Michael had blushed like a teenage virgin, but said firmly the he liked it very much and yes, Adam could continue with it.

Adam knew he should have slept. Morning and wake up time was coming pretty soon, but he figured he’d still have time for a nap once Michael was done driving him crazy with that thing he was doing with his tongue and the couple of fingers deep in Adam’s cunt, stroking just perfectly across that internal spot. They’d used all six condoms already so they couldn’t have any more intercourse, but Michael had made sure that this little party of two didn’t have to end.

A message rolled into Adam’s phone. He’d turned off the ringer much earlier but forgot vibrate this time so the phone jiggled and danced on the beside table. Adam ignored it. He had more important things to pay attention to, like the fact that he was about to completely glaze Michael’s face with slick again, what with the way his hips were starting to move on their own, internal parts starting to squeeze and jump. He was biting his lip, so he was doing a pretty good job of keeping quiet, he thought.

Adam’s timing was either the best or worst in the world, because right as he closed his eyes and let the wave of ecstasy sweep over him, as he could feel the fluid squirt from his insides uncontrollably, there was a knock at the door.

Then the door flew open way too quickly. Wasn’t the point of a knock to allow you to at least get yourself into some more decent position? Even as Michael futilely tried some adjustment of the blankets to cover them, Adam shouted, “Fuck!”

It wasn’t the most successful blanket adjustment because Adam’s impulse was to grab even tighter onto Michael’s hair as well as wrap his flailing legs around Michael’s shoulders, preventing him from moving effectively. The door slammed closed nearly as fast as it had opened but not before Adam had gotten one brief, clear look at Dean’s shocked face. A minute later, there was another, quieter knock, then Dean’s voice coming through the door.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be fast asleep by now,” Dean said. “We gotta get to work. Busiest day of the year. Get yourself together and I’ll see you there in half an hour. Any other day, I’d let you do….uh, whatever, but today is all hands on deck. Maybe, uh, take the time for a quick shower.”

Chapter Text

Dean proceeded more cautiously when it came to rousing Sam, having learned his lesson earlier.

Of all the things he’d hoped to never have to see, Mike Shurley treating Adam like the all you can eat pussy buffet was close to the top of the list. He wished futilely for brain bleach even as part of him was glad that you couldn’t get an Omega pregnant doing that.

When they’d gone downstairs, Dean wasn’t surprised to see a handful of party guests still clustered in the kitchen, though they were now all quietly sitting around over cups of coffee. Most of the guests had cleared out completely. Any talking was just murmurs. Some of them were looking like they were heading into hangover territory without passing through sleep first though most of them just looked happily tired. Amara pressed a cup of coffee into Cas’s hands first.

“Castiel, I wanted to let you know we’ll be having a serious family meeting this afternoon,” she said. “About my brother. You’ll attend of course.”

“Of course,” Cas said.

“Just one cup should be fine for the pup,” she said, handing Dean a cup.

“I’m not…” Dean said. Yes, it seemed pretty inevitable, but it was just too soon to call the game. He was pretty sure nothing would show up on a pregnancy test anyway.

Amara just smiled and said, “Maybe not by the books but I think we both know.”

Maybe Amara was kind of a witch, like Rowena and Gabe. Like she could see the spirit of the pup gathering round Dean or something. Either way, Dean was having his coffee, because he needed it like oxygen right now. The coffee was safe. Dean had done his reading. You shouldn’t go crazy, but one cup of regular joe was fine and on a morning like today, he definitely needed it. There were a lot of things he’d need to change because of getting pregnant, but at least he still had his coffee for now. While he sipped, he texted Sam.

“About to head over to you. First warning.”

Coffee finished, they walked the couple of blocks to his house. In the cold dark, Dean thought about things. He thought a little about the family meeting that Amara was calling, but not much. That was Shurley family business mostly, though Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t want to have a few more choice words with Chuck. He thought more about his own small family. It was changing, no doubt about that. Would he be able to keep up with the bakery with the pup on the way? Especially because Sam had hooked back up with Vince, which meant, most likely, Sam was going off to wherever Vince went. Adam was getting married in the spring, and maybe it might have been snooping, but Dean had seen the opened envelope from USD and Adam was starting classes in the fall. Dean might well be holding up the whole bakery on his shoulders come the fall, which was about the time that the pup would be due or close to due.

“Maybe you’d better plan on me being a stay at home Oma,” Dean said. “I don’t know how I’m going to run things once Sam and Adam are off doing their thing. I might have to shut Three Brothers Down.”

“Would you be willing to let me take a look at your books?” Cas asked. “I might be able to find the cash flow for more employees than just Kevin. In any case, it makes sense for you and your brothers to sit down together and make a plan for the future instead of worrying about it silently until a crisis comes.”

“You know the problem with you, Cas? You’re logical and that makes sense,” Dean said, grumpily, once they’d arrived at home. “We’re here. Once we go in, we should make a lot of noise so no one is caught by surprise this time.”

“I agree,” Cas said. “I only caught a little of what you must have seen but it was more than enough.”

Any situation where you caught even a glimpse of your bare ass naked sibling was bad news. Dean texted Sam again letting him know that he was here. Dean stomped up the front steps and across his small porch. He looked to the right where he’d hung a porch swing last summer. Not that he’d used it much, but it looked homey, even with a pillow of snow on it. He hadn’t done much decorating of his own. They all went to Bobby’s for the solistice night and morning, but he’d taken the time to hang the traditional wreath of fresh evergreens on the front door. He’d painted the door red last summer and it looked good with the dark green wreath. For all he said he wanted the Wolcott mansion, he could hardly imagine living anywhere but here in his first house. The one that he’d made into a home for his brothers, a place of safety and security. As a pup, there’d been so long that they didn’t have a permanent home, not until Bobby. He’d loved the handful of days he’d shared his home with Cas too, how easy it had been to fall into comfy routines. Maybe they didn’t need to buy something else?

“I don’t wanna move,” Dean said, pausing before opening his red door. “Maybe with my brothers moving on, this place is big enough for us for now.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said. “No decision needs to be made now.”

Dean decided he was going to call Sam before even walking into the house. The phone rang a few times before Sam picked up.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, sounding kind of breathless. Oh, yeah, definitely it was a good choice to give him plenty of advanced warning. Sam asked, “What time is it?”

“Bout four thirty,” Dean said. A little closer to quarter to five, honestly. On the other end of the line, there was a scuffle, some muffled sounds.

Then Vince came on the line, “Sam’s calling in to work today. Important stuff going on…”

More muffled shouting and the thud of a phone dropped on the floor. That was definitely Sam saying, “You can’t do that…” Dean opened his door and stepped into the front hallway. He figured even if they were probably bare assed naked, they weren’t actively fucking. Warning had been given, received and understood.

“Yeah, so get this,” Sam said, finally in control of the phone again. “Vince and I got mated last night. I need a little more time before I can start my day. We’re…”

“Don’t say it,” Dean snapped, immediately coming to conclusions about why Sam and Vince might ‘need a little more time’ before Sam could make it to work. “Look, I gotta get some fresh clothes so I’m coming upstairs, but I won’t bother you. Just so long as you get to work by open.”

Dean hung up before Sam could answer and shoved the phone in his pocket. Before walking upstairs, he decided on a quick glass of water and walked into an unholy mess of a kitchen. Someone had been cooking, his big sauté pan still sitting on the stove, remains of solidfied white with brown speckles bacon grease in it. Cutting board and knife used, looking greasy, and left on the counter, next to that a mostly, but not totally finished bowl of spaghetti coated with a congealed yellow-ish sauce. The last of the eggs turned to eggshells. Big pile of clothes on the table. There was a weird smell in the air, food mixed with something. A bloodstained rag sitting on the edge of the sink and if you looked down at the floor, you could see several bloodstains that probably hadn’t been that bad, but they’d been smeared in a cleaning attempt, so made worse. At first Dean was alarmed, wondering maybe Sam had cut himself cooking or something, but then the pile of clothes and what Sam had said about getting mated added up to something very different.

His kitchen had been defiled. They’d done the deed in his kitchen. Right on the floor next to the table. Sam had gotten mated only a few feet away from where Dean was standing. Oh, yeah, that’s what that smell was. Sex. It reeked of sex. Dean hated to think what the place would look like if you went all dateline on it. A glowup like those glow in the dark stars in some pre-teen pups bedroom.

He turned away from the crime scene and almost stepped on a little green box. He picked it up and opened it up. It was a ring box with a slit in the velvet where a ring would sit.

Cas was waiting in the doorway and when Dean looked up from the ring box Cas said, “It would appear they’ve also gotten engaged.”

“And desecrated my kitchen,” Dean said, about to storm up and pound on Sam’s door despite how he’d just said that he wouldn’t. First, Mike Shurley had been performing unspeakable acts on his pup and now Sam had been dancing the horizontal tango on the kitchen floor and leaving it a godawful mess when that was the one rule. You picked up after your own self in the kitchen. Dean hadn’t thought he’d needed to make a second rule about not fucking where people cooked food. That seemed like it should be self evident.

“It doesn’t appear to be that bad. It could probably be set to rights in short order,” Cas said, following Dean back to the hallway.

Dean stormed up the stairs. As expected, Sam’s door was shut. No sound came from within. Everything else seemed normal and everything else was in place. The house was tidy except for the kitchen. He said he wouldn’t bother Sam but words needed to be said.

“Sam!” Dean called. “Don’t answer. Just warning you that the kitchen better be spotless and scentless when I get home tonight. Bleach. Scent killer. Flame thrower. Whatever it takes.”

There was no response from Sam’s room. That might have been for the better.

After that, Dean changed quickly, shedding the grumpy cat sweater for his usual t-shirt and flannel combo. Dark green today because that was festive but understated. His biggest pair of jeans was only a little too tight. And his boobs hurt when he pulled on his usual compression top so he went with just a light tank top undershirt. His boobs shouldn’t be swelling already, should they? He’d always been on the small side there, even for a male Omega, but they definitely looked like boobs now and not just a chest. Dean thought about saying something to Cas, but he didn’t want Cas to get any ideas. They had to get out the door before too much longer. Cas was buttoning a light blue work shirt over a green t-shirt. As he did though, he was eating Dean up with his eyes.

“You look amazing,” Cas said, digging a burgundy hoodie out of one of his bags. “Are you sure we have to open the bakery so early? Maybe we could…”

“No, we have to get started,” Dean said. Truth was, he was a little torn. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t an urge to fall back into bed with Cas right now, but Sam was just across the hallway doing god knows what with Vince. Also, Dean’s boobs hurt and he was pretty sure the thing that Cas was staring at, that looked so amazing was them and their suddenly increased size.

Once he and Cas were dressed, they made their way over to Three Brothers. He didn’t necessarily take the shortest way, through the kitchen and out to the alley. He couldn’t bear to look at the kitchen again and have to leave it that way. He guided them out the front door and around the block, the long way. He didn’t want to get on with his day, was procrastinating a little. It would be long and hard. He wasn’t even sure if his brothers were going to show up for this, especially Sam.

He wished he could call Sam, tell him he wasn’t needed, not today, not ever, but the brutal truth was, Dean couldn’t do this without Sam. Adam was important, no doubt about that, but without Sam, how was Dean going to keep the bakery going? They shored up each other’s weaknesses, did what the other couldn’t. Sure, if Dean had to, he could do the laminated doughs, form the croissants, the danishes. But Sam was just plain better at it. He was the de facto manager, kept them in order. Maybe he could pay someone to do that, so that he could give Sam his blessing to go off with Vince. If Cas could find the money for employees.

When he got to the bakery, someone was already there. The front was still dark but he could see the light on in the kitchen. Dean let them in the front door and immediately, the douchiest, awfullest music assaulted his tender ears at a volumes meant more for concert venues than a bakery kitchen.

“Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes, ‘cause I’m Mr. Brightside…” the little speaker wailed. That had to be Adam’s music. Had to be. How had he gotten here first though? Last he’d seen Adam…well, he didn’t want to think about how he’d last seen Adam.

Dean pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen to see Adam, apron tied on, already hard at work, turning on ovens, checking on items in the proofer. Focused and intent. He looked….happy? Almost dancing as he moved around the kitchen. Like really happy. Much happier than he should be given how long this day was going to be. Or given that he’d been walked in on…though to be fair, if Dean had spent the night getting the kind of treatment it seemed like Adam had been getting from Michael, Dean would be over the moon too. The next moment, Michael walked through the door from the basement stairs carrying a fifty pound bag on each shoulder like it wasn’t anything.

“Where’d you want this sugar, Babe?” Michael asked. He looked over at Dean and was that a blush on his cheeks? He didn’t say anything though and Dean wasn’t about to.

“Bin’s right there,” Adam said, pointing.

For a minute there, Dean was about to explode, about the music, about everything. But he remembered the letter from USD and thought about how Adam wouldn’t be here in this kitchen next Yule. Maybe not Sam either. This might be their last working together like this. It’d be better for him not to be a bitch about things today. Go with the flow and not have a temper about the douchebag music.

“Hey Dean,” Adam said, switching on the fryer. “Not going to bitch about it not being your Dino rock?”

“Maybe turn it down,” Dean said, reaching for an apron. “I like my ear drums where they are. You get an hour, then it’s Zepp. And once we open, it’s gotta be Yule tunes.”

Chapter Text

The morning went smoothly and the two Alphas were both very helpful in the kitchen in their own way. Cas had a way with checklists that shouldn’t have surprised Dean, who had set him to stocking things against a checklist that Sam had put together earlier, both the cases out front but also the supplies in the back, plus the list of special orders for things like Yule logs. Mike was set to frying up the donuts under Adam’s instructions and also, to moving things into and out of the oven when Adam told him to. At first, Dean thought having him around like that would be cumbersome, another person around who didn’t know what he was doing when their kitchen could get crowded with three people. Mike had a knack for not being where you were going to be, even before you knew you were heading to a particular spot. It was like he could see your trajectory or something, predict your path around the room.

“Dean,” Cas said as he came up from the basement with the clipboard. “By my calculations, we’re twelve Yule logs short, including the special orders scheduled for pick up today. We have enough to cover the special orders, but Sam indicates on his list for the case that we would anticipate selling at least twelve from the case and maybe as many as eighteen if we had them. He made a note that you sold out of them by ten o’clock last year.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, thinking about how they could get that done in time.

So the morning went, smoother than anticipated, at least until Kevin called in. He sounded ghastly, like, genuinely sick as a dog.

“Been puking since last night,” Kevin said. “Made the mistake of eating at Nacho Daddy.”

“Again?” Dean asked. “I thought they were shut down.”

Seriously, that place should be shut down for good.

“They just reopened yesterday.”

“That’s what, the third time you’ve gotten food poisoning there? You gotta learn better, dude.”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Kevin said. “But I am powerless against their tres leches marshmallow dessert nachos.”

No way Kevin could come in if he was puking his guts out, not when he was handling food. If there was anything Dean was serious about, it was keeping the bakery clean and free of inspection violations.

“Okay, rest up,” Dean said. “We’ll make it work without you somehow.”

Adam, Sam or himself could run the counter and register, but not if they were trying to get those Yule logs and all the other stocking done. That’s why they had Kevin, so they could be back in the kitchen, doing the skilled part of the job. Dean looked around and his eyes landed on Cas. Cas was good with money, right?

“Adam, you think you could teach Cas to run the cash register in five minutes?” Dean asked. “Kevin’s got food poisoning again.”

“I thought Nacho Daddy was closed for good already,” Adam said. “Yeah, I can probably get him up to speed quick. It’s not rocket science. We should put Michael up front too. One to box up, one for the register on a day like today.”

Despite the cold weather, there were already people waiting in line at the front door at open. Sam still hadn’t arrived when Dean went to go unlock the door. Adam was still going over front of the house stuff with the two Alphas, not that Dean was going to expect the same kind of work out of them as he’d expect from Kevin, but there were minimum expectations, like don’t touch the food with the same hands that touched the money without washing in between. Cash and credit cards were filthy. It looked like Adam had the Alphas about whipped into shape, so Dean went to the kitchen, figuring that the one oven with cinnamon rolls was about ready to check.

Sam and Vince were there, just under the wire for opening, both looking ready to work, a bandana tied around Vince’s head, covering his hair, Sam in his usual beanie cap. Yep, that was a fresh bite mark on Sam’s neck, though more healed over than Dean would have expected, given it was just last night. Wait? Was there a matching one on Vince’s neck? Sam was checking the ovens that Dean had been planning on checking. Vince headed to the sinks like a man on a mission to get them caught up, so Dean didn’t get a good look at his neck. So that’s how they were going to play this morning- like nothing unusual had happened last night? Dean could play that game.

“How’re the cinnamon rolls looking?” Dean asked as Sam was sliding the first sheet tray out of the oven.

“Looking good. Do we have the icing prepped?”

“That was on Adam’s list.”

“It’s done then,” Sam replied.

They both knew Adam wouldn’t skip it, especially not the cinnamon rolls. For all Sam’s previous talk about Yule logs, cinnamon rolls were their biggest Yule item. People would buy enough for the whole family on solstice morning, both the finished rolls and at this time of year, they offered a disposable tray of them you could just throw into your own oven and pretend you’d made them yourself.

“Cas says we need twelve, maybe eighteen more Yule logs if we can swing it,” Dean said, pulling another tray of cinnamon rolls from a different oven.

“Did you count the twenty I have in the basement walk in?” Sam asked. “We just need ganache and decorating.”

Cas hadn’t counted those. He hadn’t realized they had a walk in in the basement. It was going to be an interesting morning. Sam hit the ground running at least. They got the cinnamon rolls out and into the case by the time that the first batch had sold through. They got caught up with everything, even the Yule logs, and had a little breather, at least a few moments at about eleven. The door kept opening and closing up front but given they were closing at two today, he thought they were caught up enough in inventory.

“So, you got engaged too?” Dean asked. He’d just noticed that Sam had a ring on a necklace around his neck. A big, flashy ring with a diamond. He wasn’t sure if he should be jealous or not, because he hadn’t thought about wanting one until that moment. Cas hadn’t offered him a diamond ring, but that was more of a modern thing. And hadn’t Cas more or less just offered to buy Dean a mansion earlier?

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He asked me to marry him when we were twelve. I finally said yes.”

Dean was pretty sure it didn’t count when you were pups, but he figured it wasn’t his place to say that. Sam and Vince were different than most people anyway. How often did someone meet their fated mate when they were still in elementary school? Dean remembered seeing when Vince and Sam had met. He’d been in the middle school next door, in gym class, but he’d snuck away to check on Sam, like he always had. He’d caught the moment when Sam had knocked Vince on his ass. It’d been hard to miss how Sam had sparked from that moment. How much juice there’d been between them from the get go.

“We’ll talk, after today,” Dean said. “Make plans about the business. With you going off with Vince and Adam with Mike. You know he’s starting at USD in the fall?”

“He should probably be starting at Brown or Princeton. Stanford,” Sam said. “We shouldn’t have kept him here.”

“He decided to stay,” Dean said, even though he knew Sam was right. Both of his brothers should have gone off to bigger and better things even though he’d wanted them here with him, where he could protect them from the world. Adam could be doing so much more than what he was doing here.

“We never told him he could and maybe should go,” Sam said.

“What about you? When are you headed to LA with Vince?” Dean asked, not wanting to have to admit that Sam was right, that Adam should have gone off to university. If he’d been at school, he wouldn’t have met Michael Shurley, right? Or maybe not. Fate had a way of working itself out.

“I’m not,” Sam said. “Vince is buying a house in Sioux Falls. I might go on tour with him sometimes, but I’m staying here.”

A knot of anxiety deep in his chest that Dean had only vaguely been aware of untied. Sam was staying. He could do this, because Sam would be here. They’d still have to shuffle things around and hire people.

“Hey, do you think that the haunted mansion on Plymouth is actually haunted?” Sam asked.

“The place that looks like the Addam’s family house? No idea. Bobby would know,” Dean said. The place was a money pit for sure, but haunted? “Hey, have you heard from Bobby this morning? Normally he stops by to check in by now.”

Before Sam could answer, there was a lot of noise from the front. Someone shouting about something, someone a lot madder about something than you’d expect in a bakery. That wasn’t a ‘the cherry danishes are sold out’ level of anger.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean snapped and went to deal with whatever was going on, Sam at his back.

___

Crowley had a black velveteen, silk lined dressing gown.

Bobby knew this because Bobby was sipping coffee in the dining nook in Crowley’s red kitchen, wearing the damn thing and wondering why no one had ever thought to give him a robe. Wasn’t that the stereotypical Yule gift for your Oma? His boys didn’t go in for extravagant gifts mostly. Most years since the boys had been grown up, something practical made its way to Bobby- some new tools he needed, one year, a big floor fan for the shop, but wearing Crowley’s robe and nothing else, made Bobby think maybe it was time for something a little less practical in his life. Hadn’t Crowley said Bobby looked ‘rather fetching’ in the robe when he’d lent it to Bobby?

Crowley himself was puttering around the kitchen in heliotrope pajama bottoms, putting the dishes from last night away. The bottoms only. He was bare chested. Those pajamas were a lot flashier than Bobby would have figured, but they matched Crowley’s tattoos. That was something Bobby hadn’t been prepared for- that Crowley had intricate, full sleeve tattoos on both arms, from shoulders to wrist. They were Japanese style with dragons, koi fish, flowers, the full deal. It was gorgeous work, far more bright and showy than Bobby had ever expected. It made him like a work of art. Definitely added to the peacock effect he had going on.

Bobby thought Crowley would have gone in for black pajamas to match the robe, but nope. Crowley had pulled bright purple pinkish silk out of a drawer when Bobby had raised an eyebrow at Crowley’s plan to walk downstairs as nekkid as a jaybird. Not that Bobby didn’t have an appreciation for the Crowley’s stocky, muscular Alpha body, but it wasn’t…seemly somehow. Not after the things he’d done with that Alpha body last night. Bobby had never had a night like that before and he hoped last night was just the first of many.

The actual sleeping together had been crowded, even in the king size bed. At least Crowley hadn’t let Juliet into his bedroom until they were ready to actually sleep. She took up more space in the bed than an adult person and somehow took up a full half of the bed, pushing Bobby and Crowley off to the side where they’d had no choice but to cuddle close with each other.

“Do you have plans for today?” Crowley asked, coming to a rest near the sink, taking a moment for his own beverage. He’d made himself tea with milk and honey, served in a fancy floral tea cup.

“I’ve got nothing going on. The shop’s closed until after Yule,” Bobby said.

It was the closest he ever gave himself to a vacation, the couple of days around Yule off to do jack. He looked at Juliet who was collapsed into a puddle of black curls at his feet, looking up at him every now and then as if a dog treat would magically appear in his hand for her. He searched the pockets just in case Crowley had some stashed away, that she was smelling them on him. No luck. Bobby wondered if Crowley was asking as the wind up to tossing Bobby out for the day, so he could get started showing a house to someone or something like that.

“Good,” Crowley said. “I was thinking a little more tea, some sudoku and then we could head back upstairs again.”

“Why wait?” Bobby asked. “I never was a sudoku fan anyway.”

Crowley threw back what must have been the last of his tea in one big gulp. He set his tea cup and saucer in his sink and stalked over to Bobby. He held out his hand to pull Bobby to his feet. He looked in the direction of the stairs and asked, “Shall we, darling? You look very handsome in that robe, but I think it would look better on the floor next to the bed, don’t you?”