SPN A/B/O Bingo

This is why it’s entirely escaped his notice that Sam is still in the room with them, until Dean’s fingers move to the back of Y/N’s head and brush across his brother’s incredibly obvious erection, not at all hidden beneath the hospital gown he’s donned. A sick thrill goes through Dean that he mentally ascribes to the sex pollen making his alpha instincts go haywire. But it feels exhilarating, knowing there are two omegas here that are horny and desperate for him. 

Y/N’s moan of discontent draws Dean’s attention back to the youngest omega, the one wriggling beneath him in an effort to spread her legs and wrap them around his waist. Immediately, Dean sits up on his knees and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping his hands to his belt and fumbling himself out of his suit trousers and underwear. He quickly stands to shove all the inconvenient material off his body, eyes shooting up when he hears a quiet whisper of ‘fuck’ from the direction of the bed. But it’s not Y/N who’s spoken, it’s Sam. His little brother is staring at him openly and hungrily, their daughter’s head still cradled in his lap as he cards his fingers through her hair soothingly in an effort to comfort her. 

Comfort her. Because she’s in pain, Dean remembers. Because of the sex pollen. Fuck, this stuff is really messing with his head. He climbs back onto the bed on his knees, spreading Y/N’s legs and burying his face between them, taking in the intoxicating scent of her arousal and licking greedily at her slicked-up panties. Roughly, he shoves at the hem of the hospital gown, pushing it up over her stomach and baring her chest. His fingers automatically move to grope at her chest, kneading her sensitive breast in his palm, playing with the nipple, pinching it lightly, and drawing the sweetest little gasps from her lips as he sucks her clit into his mouth through the fabric of her underwear. 

The angle of her chest changes beneath Dean’s touch, and Dean looks up from between her legs to see Sam helping her to sit up and pulling the gown over her arms and head for her, baring her completely. His little brother shifts to get his hips more firmly onto the mattress and sits back against the headboard, pulling their little girl back into his chest, laying her head back onto his shoulder as he cradles her against him. She’s so delirious with the effects of the pollen and Dean’s oral attention that she simply lets Sam manhandle her like she’s a rag-doll. 

Sam’s arms come around her waist and pull up on her body, and Dean understands immediately what he’s trying to do and slides the sodden lace of Y/N’s panties down her legs as Sam settles her back onto the bed. Y/N is now lying completely naked between Sam’s outstretched legs, cuddling back into his chest as he holds her gently, his cheek pressed against the top of her head in a gesture of comfort. The younger man’s eyes are fixed on Dean, though, the warm hazel colour of them clouding up and being overtaken by the dark of his pupils as they expand with obvious desire. 

“Please,” Y/N whimpers into her father’s chest, her body shaking with need as her hands fist tightly into Sam’s hospital gown. “Daddy, please, it hurts,” she whispers hoarsely, and Dean doesn’t know if she’s speaking to him or to Sam, but hearing her beg so prettily for her daddy has him scrambling up the bed between her legs and rolling forward on his knees, one arm bracing his bodyweight against the headboard so he doesn’t crush her, the other hand circling around his cock and lining it up with her entrance so he can sheath himself in her heat. 

He goes in easily. She’s wet, so wet, and so warm, and it instantly feels like everything is right with the world when she clenches around him, pulling his cock into her body as far as she can take it. Dean knows he doesn’t need to give her time to adjust to him, her body is more than ready, but he lets himself take a second to enjoy the feeling of her cunt desperately pulsing around him before he begins to fuck her. Rocking his hips back, Dean looks down between their bodies to watch his cock slipping out of the tight channel between her legs before he pushes himself back in, setting up a firm but teasing rhythm. 

“Fuck ‘mega, look at you taking me so easy,” Dean moans, marvelling at the sight. “Look,” he insists, reaching up and threading his fingers into her hair, pushing her gaze down so she can watch his cock fucking open her cunt, the pretty pink of her flesh splitting willingly for him. “So fucking pretty, baby girl. Fucking made to take my cock, weren’t you?” he coos, and Y/N’s face contorts in pleasure, her eyes squeezing shut as it overwhelms her. 

“Fuck.” Sam’s amazed groan draws Dean’s attention abruptly to his little brother’s face. Sam is looking down Y/N’s body over her shoulder, eyes fixed on the steady motion of Dean’s cock pumping in and out of their little girl. “Fucking hell, she was made for you Dean,” Sam whispers, his eyes meeting Dean’s, their earlier desperation now glazing over with unshed tears. 

“We made her,” Dean gasps, the gravity of the statement hitting him with a shock of pleasure that rolls straight down his spine and into his dick. “Fucking made her for me, Sammy,” he pants, licking his lips, his eyes darting quickly over Sam’s face. Then he’s leaning in and kissing him, their tongues curling into each other before their lips even meet, mouths crushing against one another like men possessed. Dean’s hips snap furiously against Y/N’s body, as he feels his knot already beginning to grow and push against her tight hole. 

Y/N is writhing between his and Sam’s bodies, one hand tangled into her father’s hospital gown and the other pressed into the mattress under the weight of Sam’s hand. He’s holding her down for Dean, and as he looks down again, Dean realises that Sam’s hips are bucking up from the mattress, shoving Y/N more forcefully into the alpha’s thrusts. The little omega is moaning and whimpering ceaselessly, her eyes blissfully closed as she lets herself be taken apart by her mate. Dean grunts brutally at the sight of her, feeling his knot pulsing needily, begging him to bury it in her. But there’s one thing he still needs to do first. 

“Y/N,” Dean moans, turning her face to him and brushing her hair from her eyes and over the back of her shoulder, clearing the skin that covers her mating gland so it’s open and exposed for him. “Baby girl, gotta–fuck– gotta do it,” the alpha shudders, his knot about ready to pop inside of her. “Let me claim you?” Dean doesn’t know what he would do if she changed her mind and said no. He’d probably do it anyways, unable to stop himself at this point, but he doesn’t need to worry about that. 

Y/N nods frantically, surging forward and wrapping an arm around Dean’s neck, pulling him down to kiss her desperately. “Please, alpha,” she begs, her muscles clenching around him in random patterns that Dean recognises as the signal that she’s close to her edge. “Holy shit, please,” she moans as Dean nuzzles against the side of her neck, kissing and sucking over her skin to find the right spot, his nose instinctively drawn to her scent. 

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, ‘mega,” Dean praises her, loving the way she tightens around him when he talks like this. “Such a good girl f’me. You gonna cum on my knot, baby girl? Love how you feel when you cum around me, makes my cock feel so fucking good, you have no idea. Love your tight little cunt around my knot.” He’s breathing heavily into her neck, drinking in her scent like he’s been deprived of oxygen his whole life. 

“I– I’m gonna cum, alpha. Fuck, please! Gon– make me– fuck, alpha, please. Daddy, please!” Y/N cries, her body jerking beneath him as Dean fucks his knot inside her and sinks his teeth into her skin, tasting the salty-sweet-metallic of her blood against his lips as he cums inside of her, groaning heavily as her cunt milks his knot greedily, his mouth open and gasping against the blood-wet skin of her neck. 

Dean’s hips keep rocking against Y/N’s body, fucking her gently as they both relax from their climaxes, the girl whimpering sweetly beneath him, breathless and gasping gently every time his knot shifts inside of her. As his awareness starts to come back, Dean realises that he can feel something else between them. Rolling his forehead lazily on the omega’s shoulder, he glances down between their bodies and sees the long, large hands of his baby brother. One hand is holding Y/N’s thigh back, keeping her legs spread open for Dean as he continues to fuck her lazily, and the other hand is settled low on her belly, his long fingers gently playing with the small bundle of nerves at the peak of her sex. 

Y/N gasps and twitches between them, and Sam presses down more firmly, soothing her, and Dean can feel the omega’s hand ghosting over the head of his cock through the skin of their daughter. With a silent moan, he snaps his hips up into the welcome heat of her body violently and feels his cock pulsing with a renewed spurt of pleasure, emptying a second load deep inside of his omega. His mate. 

Glancing up dazedly, Dean finds Sam’s face, leaning in and kissing him over Y/N’s shoulder. The omega’s tongue wraps around the alpha’s enthusiastically, Sam grunting harshly almost as if the kiss is physically painful for him to endure, and then Dean pulls back with a sudden surge of guilt, thinking that it actually might be. What the fuck is he thinking? His newly mated omega–their fucking daughter–is lying in a pleasure-induced haze between them, and Dean is making out with the little brother he’s been in love with for nearly a quarter of a century. And Sam is still suffering from the effects of the sex pollen, sitting here and bearing the pain stoically as he helps Dean mate their daughter instead of him. He can read the desire in Sam’s eyes clearly, and the regret.

Sam opens his mouth to speak but pauses, clearly at a loss for words, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to a small glint of Y/N’s blood on the edge of his lips. Y/N’s mating blood. 

“Wait, Sam,” Dean lunges forward, hand darting up to his brother’s face, but the man’s tongue has just flicked out absent-mindedly to moisten his lips, carrying the tiny trace of Y/N’s blood away with it. The alpha stares in open astonishment, wondering if that was enough of her blood give them an entirely different problem to deal with, when it dawns on him that he already fucked that up beyond the point of repair. He’d had much more of Y/N’s blood lingering on his mouth when he’d kissed Sam moments before. Blood that he could no longer taste on his lips. 

Through the fog of pain and desire that the sex pollen is stirring up in Sam, Dean sees understanding light up across his brother’s expression as he looks down in horror at their little girl, still cradled against his chest with Dean’s knot held snuggly inside of her, tangible beneath Sam’s fingers, still resting over her stomach. 

“Daddy,” Y/N moans sleepily, rubbing her hips up into Sam’s hand and grinding herself on Dean’s knot, making all three of them gasp as the various sparks of pleasure surge through them. 

Fucking hell, what have they done?

Chapter 19 posting on November 8th or head to my website to binge read the rest of the fic today!

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78 @missusbarnes-rogers

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

Their heavy-duty decontamination showers hadn’t solved the problem, according to the doctor. He’s explaining why to Dean, but the hunter is only half listening. He knew it was a long shot. The spores had erupted from the corpse’s lungs, which made it pretty clear to Dean that once you breathe it in, the damage is done, and no amount of soap or natural astringent is going to cleanse that. He, of course, had been in full-on Hazmat gear while he was examining the body, carefully cutting through the autopsy stitches to reveal the chest cavity once more, letting him poke around the afflicted organs. Shouting reached his ears only moments before the doors to the morgue had burst open, Y/N charging through with Sam stumbling after her, hot on her heels. 

Dean tried to warn them, but as if the spores had sensed that new hosts had just made themselves available, the swollen and discoloured lungs of the open corpse ruptured and spilled out veritable clouds of pollen. Fucking sex pollen. The doctors at the hospital have been seeing cases for a few weeks now, utterly unable to find the root cause or to stop its spread, which seemed random in the most specific way Dean has ever encountered. The pollen is somehow picking out unmated omegas and alphas. The odd mated couple had been exposed but as they all had fairly ready access to the recommended treatment for this particular ailment, they’d only wound up severely dehydrated at the end of it all, rather than dead. 

Which is why Dean is panicking pretty severely right now, because both Y/N and Sam are unmated. The only survivors the doctors have records of weren’t casually dating couples or friends with benefits, they’ve all been properly mated couples. In love couples. Couples where the omega sported a very visible claim bite along the dip of their clavicle.

Even if he and Y/N are true mates, they aren’t in a relationship. They aren’t in love, and Dean certainly hasn’t even contemplated the idea of claiming her outside of the possessive haze of his rut last weekend. Would Sam even allow something like that to happen – allow his older brother to claim their daughter? The universe certainly has a sick sense of humour, Dean thinks without mirth. Bringing him and Sam together, letting them think they were in love, all to create the one person on this Earth that is truly made for him. And he’s half of what made her. There’s something fascinatingly carnal about that idea, and Dean can’t deny it, even in the silence of his own thoughts. 

Y/N is perfect for him, a match in every way–especially biologically–because Dean and Sam made her that way. And Sam carried her, brought her into this world, raised her; all for Dean, even if he didn’t know it at the time. If that wasn’t an act of true love, Dean doesn’t know what else could possibly qualify. He feels a confusing surge of longing for his little brother, his heart beating frantically, even as his cock throbs at the prospect of getting to be with Y/N again. 

Dean’s mind reels through the possible outcomes of their trio’s current predicament. He might be able to help Y/N through the exposure, but what about Sam? He can’t just abandon Sam to succumb to the effects of the pollen, although he’s almost positive that as soon as Dean presents the options to the pair of them, Sam will insist that Dean saves Y/N and leaves him to suffer his fate. Dean would say the same if their positions were reversed. 

Or maybe Sam will surprise him and just tell Dean to fuck off, let him and Y/N die in peace, rather than condoning any kind of relationship between Dean and their daughter. The way Sam is glaring at him through the contamination room’s little window tells Dean that if it was just a question of Sam dying here, he wouldn’t hesitate to refuse Dean’s help out of pure spite. The little shithead. 

“Let me in to see them,” Dean interrupts whatever the doctor has been drolling on about. He hasn’t been listening to any of it. 

“Wh–” the greying man in a rumpled lab coat blinks at Dean in surprise before he catches up. “But, Agent, if you’re in the room with either omega while the pollination persists, you’ll be infected as well.” 

“Yeah, I figured that one out for myself, doc,” Dean shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over an arm, reaching up to loosen his tie and undo the top button of his dress shirt. 

“But–”

Dean cuts across his protest. “The girl is my true mate, I can help her,” he clarifies, and the doctor’s eyes brighten. 

“Oh! Well, that makes things considerably easier,” the man sighs in relief, and Dean recognises the look of someone who has seen too much death and isn’t eager to see any more, despite his awareness that it’s inevitable. “Her father, though. I shouldn’t let him in the same room. Two omegas in this state could easily resort to violence, even if the girl is your true mate or claimed.” 

“Hey, man, look at her,” Dean grabs the doctor’s shoulder and steers him towards Y/N’s room. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed now, hospital gown billowed around her like a circus tent and her knees drawn up to her chest. “She’s terrified right now. Let her see her dad!” 

The doctor gives him a doubtful look, and Dean practically growls against his ear. “If you don’t open the door for him, I guarantee Sam is gonna kick it down when he sees me go in there to be with her. At least let me explain it to them both together, because if we don’t figure something else out for Sam he might–” Dean gulps around the words, unable to force them out. “It could be the la– Just open the goddamn door!” 

Shakily, the doctor pulls a remote from the pocket of his coat and punches in a code. A mechanical beeping sound is followed by the whoosh of air releasing from a vacuum seal, and a second later Sam is barrelling through into Y/N’s room and pulling his daughter into his arms, rocking her soothingly against his chest. With a final look at Dean for confirmation, which the hunter answers with a stoic nod, the doctor punches in a second code and unlocks the door to the clean room between the hallway and Y/N’s sealed room. Once the hall door is closed behind Dean the door to the hospital room unlocks and he shoves through urgently, running to join Y/N and Sam, crouching down on one knee in front of the huddled omegas.

Y/N’s POV

“Dad, what’s happening?” You look up at your father plaintively as he wraps himself around you, hugging you close to his warm chest, and the hazel eyes that you’ve known your whole life stare back at you determinedly but unable to conceal the worry he’s so clearly feeling. You know the expressions of Liam Campbell all too well after twenty years. Sam, you mentally remind yourself of his real name, Sam Winchester. Somehow, it fits him better than the name you’ve always thought was his. 

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Sam mumbles against your hair, holding your head to his shoulder and pressing small kisses against the crown of your head like you’re a baby again. 

“What was that stuff? The doctors wouldn’t tell me anything!” you whine, looking to him for answers, and Sam sighs heavily, about to elaborate, when the door to your room explodes open and Dean rushes inside, immediately dropping down in front of you and his brother. 

“How are you guys feeling?” he asks, swallowing anxiously, and you and Sam share meaningful glances. 

“We’re hanging in there,” your father responds tightly, his grip around your shoulders flexing noticeably as Dean’s eyes rake over the pair of you. “What’d the doc say?” You notice Dean’s grimace before he controls his face into a more neutral expression. “That good, huh?” Sam scoffs, rocking you a little more vigorously. 

You’re beginning to overheat though, your skin breaking out in a cold sweat that makes all the hairs on your body ache. You pull yourself out of your father’s embrace and try to stand up to shake some movement back into your muscles, which are cramping uncomfortably the way they do when you feel your heat coming on. That doesn’t make any sense though, seeing as you’d just gotten fucked through a heat last weekend. Taking a moment to scent the air, you realise that you can detect the stronger aromas that your dad gives off when his cycle comes around, though you’ve always tried not to think about that too hard. 

Another deep breath has you dizzy and spiralling as you’re assaulted with Dean’s scent, entirely overwhelming anything you’re picking up from Sam. The warmth of leather, bourbon, and sandalwood engulfs you and sets your nerves tingling and your muscles to disintegrate. Collapsing forward, you wind up in Dean’s arms, cradled against his chest and the fabric of his white dress shirt. It’s dampened with sweat, but that only serves to strengthen the scents that are calling to you, and you bury your nose into him greedily, pointedly ignoring the fact that you think you just whimpered out loud. 

“I gotcha baby girl, it’s okay,” Dean soothes. He lets go of you with one arm and bends down to sweep it under your knees, collecting you up into his arms and carrying you back to lay on the bed. Your dad stands up to make room for Dean to lay you down on top of the covers, and then both men step back, examining you with the utmost concern. 

“It was the pollen, yeah?” Sam asks Dean, and the older brother rolls his eyes but nods grimly. 

“Well, duh, Sam! What else would it be? The ice cream you had on the way here?” Dean demands sarcastically, and if you weren’t feeling so faint you would laugh at how much he reminds you of your dad. “It’s sex pollen. Great find for a nearby hunt, not something bad for Y/N to get mixed up in at all.” 

“Hey! I sent you after this, she was never supposed to be here! I tried to stop her if you didn’t notice,” Sam hisses in aggravation, and you feel yourself blanche guiltily. This is all your fault, isn’t it? 

“Well fantastic job, little bro,” Dean scoffs and Sam goes to punch him but Dean’s reflexes are faster. He catches Sam’s wrist firmly in his fist, staring hard at the younger man, green eyes dark with challenge. Sam’s chest heaves as he struggles to control his breathing, not moving to break Dean’s grip on his arm. It feels like the heat in the little room ratchets up another several degrees. For just a moment, you imagine that the brothers are about to kiss, but then a roll of pain breaks through your abdomen and you moan, your eyes rolling back behind your lids as you sink against the flimsy pillow beneath your head, and the spell is broken. 

Sam and Dean both rush to you. Your dad sits at the top of the mattress, pulling your head into his lap so he can card his fingers through your hair soothingly, and Dean moves around the bed to sit on the opposite side. One of your hands grabs blindly for him, and Dean takes it between his without hesitation, squeezing hard in promise–though the promise of what, you still aren’t quite sure.

“This stuff is specific, Sam,” Dean’s words rumble low in his throat, caught against swollen muscles trying to force them back in. 

“Yeah, I know,” your dad sighs heavily. “The patterns in the survivors. They were all couples.” 

“They were all mates,” Dean emphasises, and you feel Sam’s breath catch low in his stomach, then bleed out in a motion you recognise as his admission of defeat.

“I know,” Sam whispers even more quietly. “You’re sure? You’re sure it’s her? You can save her?” 

“What? Save me? Dad wha–” your questions are garbled and quiet, your chest feels weak, the air flowing into it too thin.

“Yes.” Dean’s answer drowns your words out, instantaneous and unequivocal.

“Then do it.” Sam squeezes the hand of yours that he’s holding and brushes the hair from your cheek, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. I wouldn’t trust anyone in the world to do this besides my brother…” Sam’s voice shakes, cracks almost imperceptibly. “Besides your father.”

“Sam, hang in there,” Dean leans over you and grabs your dad’s chin, forcing his face towards him. “I’m not giving up on getting you outta this either. You’ve still got time, you hear me?” 

“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on!?” you demand, startling the brothers apart from yet another intense bout of eye contact that seems to harden the air between them to the density of concrete. 

“It’s uhm–” Sam looks down at you in obvious embarrassment, his neck flushing red to match the heat in his cheeks beneath the light dusting of stubble on his jaw. “We got dosed with sex pollen, Y/N. And the way to fix it is well. You know,” he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“For us to mate,” Dean fills in for Sam, picking up the baton and looking at you seriously. “And like, permanently mate,” he adds after a brief pause. “Y/N, I need to claim you if you’re gonna get to the other side of this without shrivelling up from dehydration and whatever fucking magic was in that shit.” 

“Oh.” You blink up at Dean and consider his words briefly, letting the full weight of their meaning sink in. “But what about Dad?” 

You look up at Sam, immediately understanding the dilemma. Dean is your true mate. Sure, it’s definitely fast for him to claim you after only knowing each other a week but you suppose it’s inevitable between you two. But Sam… Sam, who you know is still in love with Dean, because you’d very rudely listened through the door while he spoke to Ellen back at the Roadhouse. Dean had been so hesitant to believe you were true mates because he had always thought that if he had one, it would be someone from his past, and you know now he must have meant your father. Where does this leave the two of them, if you and Dean become mated? Does this pollen stuff mean that someone needs to claim your dad, too, if he’s going to survive? Surely, then, Dean should claim him. Not you.

“I’ll be fine, Y/N,” Sam reassures you, but once again, you recognise the uneasiness behind his confident expression. 

“No, Dad, I’m not gonna let you go all hero on me and sacrifice yourself or something stupid like that,” you protest, hating how childish your voice sounds to your own ears. 

“Hey, Y/N, look at me, sweetheart,” Dean tucks a finger under your chin and turns your face away from Sam and towards him. “I promise, I’m not gonna let Sam play the martyr, we’ve got time to figure something out for him too. But we’ll both think a lot more clearly once we know that you’re safe, okay?” The alpha’s voice takes on the heady timbre of authority that zings unfairly straight to the base of your stomach and you have to fight the urge to clench around the emptiness inside of you. Suddenly, you’re very aware that you’re soaking through your panties and onto the sheets beneath you. 

Physical need, once you’ve acknowledged it, drives all other thoughts from your head except for getting Dean inside of you again. Based on the widening of his pupils and the sharp intake of breath as he holds your gaze, the same urgent desire has washed over the alpha too. 

“Okay,” you nod, the word trembling on your tongue in a delicate whimper that you try to swallow down but fail spectacularly at concealing. Without hesitation, Dean surges forward, body blanketing yours, and crushes your lips together, your heads now both cradled in Sam’s lap.

Chapter 18 posting on November 1st or head to my website to binge read the rest of the fic today!

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78 @missusbarnes-rogers

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

“Y/N Campbell, you put that down. Now.” Sam’s tone is one that would brook no argument under typical circumstances, growling, downright menacing. One he used on hunts often enough, but hardly ever at home. Y/N should be freezing in fear right about now, but she turns slowly on her heel, looks her father in the eye, and pours another drink. 

“Don’t you mean Y/N Winchester, Dad?” she hisses, and Ellen looks up sharply from the other end of the bar. 

“Winchester?” she asks, brow piqued in surprise. Sam ignores her.

“No, I don’t,” Sam grunts, moving up to Y/N and pulling the bottle of whiskey away from her sharply. “You are not twenty-one yet,” he explains as he passes the bottle over to Ellen, still not looking at her, eyes only for his daughter. The younger girl stares at him in disbelief. 

“When have you started caring about that?” she half laughs, half shouts. “You’ve let me drink for years! Ever since graduation.”

The surge of heat from the occupied room after the cold of the parking lot, combined with the heat of anger, is making Sam flush heavily, his breathing unsteady, and he rips his jacket off and throws it angrily between them onto a barstool. “Yeah, and clearly I’ve been giving you far too much freedom,” Sam glares at her sternly. 

“Now, hold on a minute there, boy,” Ellen interrupts seriously, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder to force his attention onto her. The address of ‘boy’ despite the fact that he’s closing in on forty years old, cows Sam more than anything else. Ellen is flexing some of her alpha muscles against him, and no mistake. “Way it sounds to me, you’re comin’ mighty close to sayin’ it’s this poor girl’s fault she came down in a heat and had that alpha help her through it.” She holds the man’s gaze evenly and Sam feels himself gulp under the clear rebuke. “Now, you, of all people, should know that she is not to blame for anything that might have happened. Just a case of opposites attract, nothin’ she could do, right, Liam?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam deflates a little, looking guiltily back at his daughter, but she’s still watching him with fire in her eyes and no hint that it might be dimming any time soon. 

“His name isn’t Liam,” Y/N chimes in bitterly. “Did you know that Ellen?” 

The alpha sighs and squeezes Sam’s shoulder briefly before releasing him. “Yes, dear, I knew,” she nods. “I figured when he showed up here in a family way scared out of his wits that William Campbell wasn’t his given name. But that’s who he’s been to me for the last twenty years, and knowing he picked that name himself don’t change a thing, don’t change who he is. And he is still your father, young lady, so why don’t you reign in the antagonisation act, hm?” 

Sam watches in slight bemusement as Ellen’s authority cows his daughter into, if not submission, at least a breath of calm. She looks abashed and drops her gaze, avoiding the eyes of both the grown-ups in front of her.  

“Liam, can I talk to you for a minute?” Ellen jerks her head towards the door at the back of the bar and he follows her curiously, throwing a stern ‘stay put’ over his shoulder to his daughter, who situates herself in resignation upon a barstool, eyeing the bottle of whiskey longingly. 

“I’m sorry about all the commotion, Ellen,” Sam sighs heavily when the door thunks shut behind them so they can speak privately. The alpha simply waves her hand in dismissal, crossing her arms over her chest and seemingly bracing herself. 

“Now, honey, I meant what I said about not carin’ a lick what you call yourself, I really don’t, but I gotta know… is your right name Winchester? That other alpha outside–your brother, Dean?–he called you Sam?”

Sam swallows painfully at the reminder of Dean, but he nods.

“You John Winchester’s boys?” Ellen asks, and Sam’s brows shoot up in astonishment. 

“You know my dad?”

“I knew him,” she grimaces. “Long time ago, now.” 

“Oh,” Sam says, not really sure what else he can say to this news. 

“I have a feeling you won’t mind me sayin’, he was a right son-of-a-bitch.” The corner of Ellen’s lips twitch ever so slightly and Sam chokes on his unexpected laugh. “You didn’t just run away, did you? He kick you out?” 

Sam sighs and nods again. “Yeah, he uh… well he might have settled for just smacking me around for presenting omega, but the being pregnant thing really pushed him over the edge. I’m surprised he didn’t murder Dean when he told him–” he breaks off, not wanting to think about his brother, and not realising that he’s just given Ellen the pieces to put it all together. 

“Oh, Liam,” she looks at him mournfully, and Sam looks away in discomfort. “Dean was the father? Y/N’s other father?” His lack of answer is all the confirmation she needs. “Well that’s twistier than a tornado and no mistake,” she blows out through pursed lips and Sam can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes him. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” he groans, rubbing his eyes with his palms in frustration and coming his hair off his forehead. “What do you do when your daughter sleeps with her father slash uncle? And thinks that they’re mates? True mates!” Sam’s breathing is growing hoarse, and another laugh bubbles up from his lungs, the air desperate for some release that won’t result in him shouting or crying. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Ellen swears, shaking her own head. 

“And Dean said he thinks so too,” Sam exhales bitterly, sinking back against the wall of the hallway, his body slumping down in emotional exhaustion. “Thing is, El,” he looks up at the alpha helplessly, expression pleading with her to understand. “I always kinda thought… I mean, the way he made me feel, back then…” He can’t get the words out, but Ellen nods sagely, understanding what he’s trying to say. 

“You still in love with him?” she asks bluntly, and Sam stares at her, taken aback. 

“I–” Fuck. Fuck, he thinks he is. He still loves Dean. “God, this is so fucked up,” he drops his head in his hands, entirely at a loss for what to do. 

“Listen, I know this ain’t a great time to bring it up, but the reason I pulled you back here… you oughta know,” Ellen puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder, making him look at her. “John is dead.” 

“What?” Sam’s brain takes a second to catch up, because he hadn’t been expecting that to be what Ellen wanted to talk to him about. “Oh, yeah, I know. Dean mentioned.” He shrugs. There’s no love lost between him and John, finding out he died about ten years ago was no big blow. Particularly considering how the rest of their conversation had overshadowed that news so spectacularly. 

“Well, Dean probably didn’t say–considerin’ he don’t know–I’m the one that killed him.” Ellen’s voice is calm and unremorseful. She’s simply stating a fact as if she were telling him she ordered more kegs than usual this month, or Jo was going to go with him on the next hunt instead of her. Something routine and unremarkable. 

Sam nods slowly, absorbing the information. “What’d he do?” he asks, tone mildly curious but entirely devoid of significant emotion. 

“He’s the hunter who came up with the fool plan to use Bill as bait that got him killed.” 

Sam blinks, nods again. “Okay,” he accepts, not needing any further explanation. “I’m sorry, Ellen,” he apologises for his father, figuring John probably never had, but the alpha shakes her head, smiling sadly. 

“Hardly your fault,” she reassures him. “So long as we’re good, it’s in the past.” 

“And it can stay there,” Sam says seriously, reassuring her that this changes nothing for him. Ellen smiles gratefully. 

“Alright then,” she pulls Sam forward and gives him a bracing hug, slapping him on the back. “Let’s go get that kid a’yours before she waters down all my whiskey pretending she hasn’t been in it,” Ellen grins, and the omega groans and rolls his eyes. 

“I still don’t know how to handle this. She hates me.” 

“Well, the two of you have some figuring out to do, if you’re after the same alpha,” Ellen nods seriously, guiding Sam back down the hall, and he catches the glint of light in her eyes when he looks down at her. 

“It is not funny, Ellen,” he says grimly, and the alpha’s lips twitch the tiniest bit. 

“Oh, come on, Liam. If you can’t laugh at it you’ll both just wind up cryin’ about it,” she says with an air of confident wisdom and a sly smile. “And I don’t need two omegas sobbing all over my bar and scaring away my customers.” 

But when Sam and Ellen emerge back into the main room of the Roadhouse, Y/N is no longer sitting at the bar where he had left her. The whiskey hasn’t moved, which is a small win at least. 

“Jo,” Sam catches her arm as she passes by with a stack of empty glasses. “Did you see where Y/N went?” 

“Uh, no,” she looks around her to check if the omega was visible anywhere but with no luck. “Sorry,” she shrugs. 

Sam heads back to the stool he’d left his daughter on and his eyes catch on the sight of his jacket on the bar–not where he’d left it–and his tiny case notebook poking out of his jacket pocket. Shit, she didn’t, he thinks in a panic, immediately knowing that she did. Sam grabs for the notebook and flips to the last entry. There’s a page torn out from the very back of the book, and smudges of pencil on the blank page following his last set of notes. She’d rubbed over the outline of the notes he’d torn out and passed to Dean. She was going after him. 

Sam whips his phone out of his pocket and goes to the app he installed–only in case of emergencies he had justified to himself at the time, knowing that tracking his daughter’s phone without her knowledge is not a stellar parenting move. He’s always done his best to keep Y/N away from hunting, and she’s never shown very much interest in joining up, to his immense relief, but being a hunter’s daughter still has the potential to land someone in a load of shit, so yeah, he installed a tracker in Y/N’s phone. Activating its signal, Sam follows the course of the blinking dot as it makes its way down the highway in the same direction he’d sent Dean. 

He wants to try to get ahead of the situation if he can. Y/N might have called Dean to ask where he’s planning to go first, but Dean had been just as adamant as Sam that Y/N shouldn’t join him on the hunt, and from first-hand experience of being told to stay home by Dean, Sam knows his brother won’t have told their girl where to find him. That means Y/N is guessing based on the notes she stole from Sam’s book, and there are half a dozen addresses on the list Sam passed on to him. If he can just guess where Dean might start better than Y/N does, he might be able to beat her there and be able to bring her home before she gets hurt.

Chapter 17 posting on October 25th or subscribe to my website to read up through Chapter 20 today!

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78 @missusbarnes-rogers

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Dean’s fault that Sam ran away. Dean’s fault that Sam never came back. Dean’s fault that he had to raise their daughter all on his own. Dean’s fault that she’d grown up with a made-up story about who she is, and where she’d come from. Dean’s fault that he hadn’t known who she was when they met, and he’d taken her fucking virginity. And then fucking abandoned her less than seventy-two hours later. God, how has he already surpassed John for ‘worst father of the year’ award when he’s known his daughter for all of a week?

“Dad?” Y/N’s voice brings Dean out of his thoughts, and he finds her staring at Sam with hurt in her eyes. Dean looks at his little brother and sees an unfathomable mix of emotions playing across his face. There’s wrinkles on his forehead that hadn’t been there the last time Dean saw him, and another barb of regret at everything he’s missed stabs at his chest. 

“Yeah?” Sam asks gently, eyes trained on their daughter almost too concertedly as if he’s purposefully avoiding looking at Dean. 

“Is there something wrong with me?” she asks meekly, stealing the barest of glances towards Dean, before darting her eyes back to Sam. 

“What? Sweetie, no,” Sam’s hand jumps forward to grab hers, a show of paternal comfort that looks so natural he must have done that a thousand times, Dean thinks bitterly. And he was never there to offer the same thing. “Why would you think that?”

“Because we–” Y/N breaks off, looking at Dean helplessly. 

“Y/N,” Dean warns with a low voice, shaking his head. 

“Because you thought you and Dean were mates?” Sam asks sympathetically, his hazel eyes flickering to meet Dean’s in a sort of begrudgingly understanding grimace. “No, Y/N that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you,” he reassures the girl, his attention firmly back on her. “We all get confused sometimes, hormones at your age are overwhelming and unpredictable. There must have been something in you that recognised the family bond that you have. He made you feel safe, and comfortable? Happy?” 

Y/N gives Sam a tiny nod, tears gathering on the rim of her lashes. 

“And you feel all those things with me too, don’t you?” Sam presses on, his voice patient but clearly pleading with her to understand. 

“Of course I do, Dad,” Y/N answers immediately. “But–” 

“Then that’s all it was, baby girl,” Sam interrupts with a sad smile and another squeeze of her hand where it’s resting on the table. Dean thinks he sees Y/N flinch back when Sam calls her ‘baby girl’, probably remembering, just as Dean is, when he had called her that in bed last weekend. “Get up on your hands and knees for me, baby girl. Wanna watch that pretty little cunt stretching around my knot when I fuck you this time.” The memory should make him sick to his stomach, but it only makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Yeah, he’s the goddamn father of the year alright.

“Dean?” Y/N turns to him, struggling to find the words, but Dean knows what it is she’s trying to ask him. It wasn’t just that, right? It was more, you felt it too, didn’t you? You told me you felt it too. But when Dean opens his mouth, he can’t make any answers come out. He doesn’t know what to say to this, how to handle what’s happening. His daughter is crying, looking to him for answers, and he doesn’t have any. No comfort or wisdom he can offer her. 

Can you even be true mates with family members? Dean hadn’t thought so. That’s why he’d always reasoned that he and Sam could be in love, but they never felt that thing that people talked about, the thing that made you certain someone else had been made for you, and you alone. As much as he loved him, Dean had never had that with Sam. He has it fucking bad for Y/N though. And it’s not just an urge to belong together, like family might feel, it’s a primal need. It’s physical lust, and an irrational desire to be wrapped up inside her body, and put a bite on her neck to show everyone she ever meets that she belongs to someone. To Dean. These are not fatherly feelings. Despite his lack of familiarity with the role, he’s certain of that much, at least. 

“Sam,” Dean breathes, the name pushing itself out from between his lips against his better judgement. Sam and Y/N both turn to look at him, one wary, the other burning with hope. “It’s not just Y/N that felt it,” he admits shakily, making himself hold his brother’s gaze. He’s not a coward, he can look a man in the eye when he tells him he fucked his daughter. Their daughter. “She’s right, there’s something more than that between us. She–” his voice chokes up a little, to his extreme embarrassment, but he clears his throat and ploughs on. “I’ve felt more alive since I’ve met her than I have for the past twenty years. An–and being with her last weekend, it was like a missing gear finally clicked into place, man,” Dean laughs at how fucking cheesy he sounds, dropping his eyes to his hands momentarily and rubbing the heel of his hand across his brow. “I know how it sounds, but all that shit people say about finding ‘the one’ and just knowing, somehow,” Dean’s laugh dies on his lips when he looks back up to find Sam glaring at him with a hatred he’s only ever seen on their father’s face. He never could have imagined that Sam could feel that depth of malice. Very slowly, Sam stands from his seat, hands resting on the table as he leans forward. 

“Are you telling me–” every word is measured, precise, deadly. “–that you touched my little girl?”

Dean swallows thickly. Right. He should have seen this one coming. This is the fight he had been expecting to have with Y/N’s father when they met, after all. 

“Dad, it wasn’t like that!” Y/N leans between them, tugging on Sam’s sleeve in an effort to get him to return to his chair. “He helped me, I went into my heat too early. I could have wound up in the hospital if Dean wasn’t there.” 

If Y/N thought that would help matters, she was sorely mistaken. 

“You took advantage of her when she didn’t have clear judgement?!” Sam roars, the chair flying across the room as he storms around the table and hauls Dean out of his seat by his collar. 

“Dad!” Y/N shouts, but Sam isn’t paying any attention to her now.

“Hey! Cool it, Sam! You know I’d never fucking do that,” Dean hisses, his breath a little constricted due to Sam’s hold on him. 

“Do I?” Sam demands, seething. “I haven’t seen you in twenty years, Dean! What the hell do I know about you?!”

“I’m still your brother! You should know I’m not a fucking rapist!” 

“Boys!” There’s a shout and an audible click of a shotgun being loaded, and Sam and Dean both spin around to see Ellen walking steadily in their direction. “If you’re gonna let this dissolve into blows, you’ll kindly take it outside my establishment,” she fixes them with a look that brooks no argument, and Dean feels Sam’s anger deflate a little under her glare. 

“Sorry, Ellen,” Sam grunts, releasing Dean’s shirt and running his hands through his hair, pulling himself together. “There’s no need. Dean’s leaving.” 

“Dad, you can’t be serious!” Y/N stares at the pair of them with wide eyes, brimming with disbelief, and Dean thinks his own face probably looks quite similar. 

“Y/N Campbell, do not give me that look. I’m deadly serious and you know it.” Sam takes hold of Dean’s arms and marches him towards the door, Y/N following hot on their heels. 

“I was dropping by the Roadhouse to see if Ellen wanted to swing by a hunt I found a few counties over,” Sam informs Dean when they get outside to the parking lot, and Dean feels like he’s gotten whiplash from the change in conversation. 

“Okay… and?” 

“Why don’t you look into it instead?” Sam suggests, fishing a notebook out of his pocket and tearing out a page to hand it to Dean. He doesn’t look down as the paper is crumpled into his palm, he can only stare incredulously at Sam. “And then, don’t come back.” 

“And what if I do come back?” Dean asks stiffly. He’s never been a big fan of taking orders, his dad had left a bad taste in his mouth where that was concerned. 

“It will be pointless if you do. You’re never gonna see Y/N again,” Sam crosses his arms over his chest, squaring up to Dean menacingly, and instinctively he takes a step back. It feels like Sam’s knocked the wind out of his chest without even touching him. 

“Dad, please. You can’t mean that,” Y/N tries to run to Dean but Sam catches his arms around her waist and holds her back. “Dean, please!” she turns to him now, begging him not to leave. 

“What are you gonna do, Sam? You gonna send her away? Like what Dad did to you? Is being with me really so awful that a life on the run is the better option?” Dean’s voice cracks, and he has to hold back the tears that are threatening to break free. This is all his fault, the hurt he sees on both of the faces in front of him. Maybe Sam’s right, and they’d be better off if he stayed gone. 

“You know what Dean? Do me a favour and just let whatever monster that is take care of you for me, okay? Because if you ever touch my daughter again, I’ll kill you myself,” Sam snarls, and by God, Dean believes him. Y/N is sagging against Sam’s arms, tears falling freely as she continues to protest, her fists beating weakly against her father’s embrace. 

“Okay, Sam, okay,” Dean holds up his hands in surrender, flashing the paper Sam had pushed onto him. “I’ll go, and you won’t see me again.” He starts to step back towards the Impala when he hears a deep grunt and the skittering of gravel. 

“Dean, wait!” Y/N runs after him breathlessly, throwing herself into his arms. “I’m coming with you,” she pants, but Dean shakes his head immediately. 

“Y/N, no, you can’t,” he insists, brushing the hair back from her face so he can look at her properly, but not daring to do anything more affectionate with Sam staring at them, seething and still bent double from where Y/N had apparently kicked him between the legs. Dean feels a grim swell of pride at the sight. His baby girl is a fighter. “I know we didn’t get to talk about any of this, but I wasn’t about to start bringing you out hunting with me,” he laughs sadly, hoping she’ll understand.

“Why not?! I can take care of myself, I can shoot, and I know about ghosts and demons and monsters–” 

“Knowing about them ain’t the same as hunting them, baby girl,” Dean holds her cheek, savouring the way she presses herself into his palm. Sincerely hoping this isn’t the last time he feels that, but also knowing that it very well might be. “It’s way too dangerous.” 

“At least we agree on one thing,” Sam huffs, holding his hand out in ready as if he’s waiting for Dean to pass their daughter back over to him. “Say goodbye, Y/N.” 

The omega looks pleadingly between Sam and Dean, both resolute in the decision that she’s not going anywhere, and she realises she has no chance of persuading them otherwise. Desperately, she throws her arms around Dean’s neck, pressing her nose into his skin and breathing in as much of him as she can, and Dean can’t help but do the same, wrapping her up so tightly in his arms that her feet come up off the ground. 

“I’ll call you,” she whispers in his ear, and Dean squeezes her tight in response, to indicate he heard her, before he puts her down. 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Sam yanks her away before he has a chance to say anything else, marching her back towards the Roadhouse. 

With nothing else to do, Dean unrolls the paper in his hand and scans over the info Sam had given him. If this is a real lead, it does sound like something supernatural, so he may as well take a look at it while he and Y/N figure out what to do. Because he’s not going to let Sam run away from him again, and if he does, he’s not going to stop looking until he finds them.

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78 @missusbarnes-rogers

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

“Sammy.” 

Dean’s voice cracks, and you look at him curiously, wondering why he’s calling your dad Sammy. His face is schooled into as neutral of an expression as he can manage in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise the conflicting emotions you can read in his eyes. You think you might even see tears welling up a little. Somehow, you don’t think Dean and your dad know each other from just working a job together.

“Don’t call me that,” your dad grunts, trying to step closer to Dean, gun still raised, but you turn to block his path, putting your hands on his chest.

“What? Your name?” Dean scoffs, and you look over your shoulder at him, feeling your dad holding his breath beneath your palms. 

“What is going on?!” you plead, glancing between both men, but neither of them supplies you with an answer. Their attention stays trained on one another as if they’re afraid that when they look away, the other will disappear. 

“Liam? What’s goin’ on out here?” All three of you look to the side, and you see Ellen and Jo emerging from the Roadhouse, their own rifles trained on Dean as well. 

“Liam?” Dean’s voice climbs higher in incredulity.

“This man causin’ trouble?” Ellen asks seriously, her own safety clicking as she comes in range, and you abandon your father to go stand with Dean. You place yourself squarely in front of him, arms wrapping backward around his waist to hold him to you, and you breathe a little easier when you feel his hands settle on your hips. 

“Can everyone please put down their guns?” you demand sternly, eyes flickering between your dad, Ellen, and Jo. “Jo, you know Dean’s not here to cause trouble. It’s okay,” you implore her, and she raises a thin blonde brow sceptically. 

“Is it okay?” she asks you pointedly. “Because from what I gather this asshole fucked you up pretty good this past week. Does he know that?” Jo looks over your head pointedly at Dean, and you can feel him flinch against you.

“Y/N?” your father practically growls your name. “What the hell is Jo talking about?” 

“Dad…” you trail off, trying to push down the guilt you feel. There’s no reason you should feel guilty, you haven’t done anything wrong. But it really feels like you have. “Can you at least put the safety on your gun while we talk about this? I don’t want you shooting my mate by accident.” You grimace when you speak, unable to come up with any way to ease yourselves into this conversation, and the look of horror on your dad’s face doesn’t make you feel any better about the situation. He doesn’t put the safety on. 

“Y/N Campbell,” your father speaks slowly, choosing each word right before he utters it. “Please, please tell me that you did not let this man claim you.” 

“What? Dad, no!” you roll your eyes, but immediately regret that move based on the stormy look in your father’s eyes. “No, he hasn’t claimed me, we just–” you break off awkwardly, and once again you feel Dean flinch and shuffle uncomfortably behind you, but he doesn’t release his hold on your hips either. “Dad, I think we’re true mates,” you force the words out in a hurry. Looking up to Dean for confirmation, he gives you a small smile and squeezes your hip in reassurance. 

Your dad looks like he might be about to throw up, but his gun begins to droop a little, his arms not holding it so steadily at Dean’s head anymore. Jo and Ellen look a little calmer. You can see a glint of excitement in Jo’s eyes when you glance their way, though her face remains passive. 

“We obviously planned to tell you a little differently,” you explain, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I’m sorry you found out by seeing us…” you can’t quite bring yourself to say: making out in the parking lot. 

“Y/N, sweetie,” your dad looks at you with an unreadable expression, his head shaking slightly. “I’m sorry, but no. He– Dean isn’t your true mate. He can’t be.” 

“Hey, uh, I get that this is a shock,” Dean cuts in, his hands moving up to your shoulders, and you bring your own hand up to hold one of his in solidarity. “But I don’t think it’s really up to you to tell her how she feels.” He laces his fingers in yours and you can’t help snuggling back into his chest just a little, seeking out the warmth and comfort you find there. 

“Dean,” your dad almost chokes on the name, his gun dropping to his side in defeat. He looks like he’s drowning. You’ve never seen him with so much despair on his face, and you feel awful that you’re the reason he’s feeling this way. Once again, you wonder how Dean and he know each other. “We need to talk,” he rasps, and you let out a breath of relief. Finally. 

“Yeah, I think we do,” Dean nods, stepping out from behind you as your dad holsters his gun. Not wanting to let him go, you slip your hand in Dean’s and try to lead everyone back inside the bar. As the adrenaline begins to drain away, you realise that you’re fucking freezing. 

“Y/N, you go back inside with Ellen and Jo,” your dad jerks his head in their direction, and you notice that they’re already disappearing back through the front door. 

“You should come inside too,” you protest, looking between the men plaintively. “It’s way too cold out here.” 

“I need to speak to Dean privately,” your dad smiles at you sadly. 

“We may as well tell her now, man. She’s gonna find out,” Dean huffs, and your gaze snaps to him curiously. 

“Tell me what?” you demand. 

“Sammy– sorry, Liam, was it?” Dean gives your dad an odd look, reminiscent of a smile. “He’s my little brother.” 

You stare from Dean to your dad and back, dumbstruck. Your dad isn’t denying it. What the fuck?! 

“So you’re… my uncle?” 

“I guess so,” Dean shrugs, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. “Unless you’re adopted?” he looks up at your dad, then back to you, and you shake your head. 

“Dean, private,” your dad hisses, his tone as close to begging as you’ve ever heard it in your life. “Please.” 

“No,” you protest, surprising yourself a little, and both men look down at you questioningly. “Whatever you’re trying to hide from me, Dean will just tell me later,” you inform him, entirely unsure whether that’s true, but hoping it is. 

“Come on, whatever it is we’ll work it out,” Dean tries to reassure your dad, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, but he ducks away uncomfortably so Dean pulls back. 

“You’re not her uncle,” your dad says with a deep sigh, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes as you’ve always known him to do when he’s frustrated. Come to think of it, you’d seen Dean do it too, last weekend. But now you’re incredibly confused, and by the looks of it, so is Dean. You both look to your dad, waiting for him to continue, and with a grief-stricken look, he avoids your gaze and focuses on Dean. 

“You’re her father.” 

Twenty Years Ago - Sam’s POV

The sound of the door opening makes Sam blink away, his eyes taking a minute to focus in the dreary dark of the room because whoever had come in hasn’t turned on the light. 

“Dean?” he asks weakly, his throat dry from the number of times he’s coated it in stomach acid in the past twenty-four hours. 

“No, son,” John’s voice answers him, gruff and weary. Sam exhales softly, relieved that dad is finally here to help them figure out whatever this is. He reaches over for the light on the nightstand and flicks it on, squinting at the fuzzy figure of his father in the too-bright yellow illumination. John approaches the bed and sits heavily on the end, Sam snatching his feet out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed. 

“How’re you feeling?” John asks, and inwardly Sam thinks he’s probably feeling better than his dad is right now, given the look of him. But he doesn’t dare say that. 

“A little better than before,” Sam croaks, clearing his throat and reaching out for the water that Dean left for him. He unscrews the cap and takes a small sip, face wrinkling up at the stale sleepy taste of his mouth. “You said I might be contagious, are you sure you should be in here?” 

“If it’s what I think it is, then you’re not contagious,” John admits. “I said that to get Dean out of the room, so you wouldn’t have to do this in front of him.” 

“Do what?” Sam asks, mildly curious and mildly worried at how his dad’s talking. It feels heavy like something’s really wrong. John reaches into his jacket and pulls something out of his breast pocket, holding a slim box out to Sam. He takes it, flipping it over to read the label. His stomach rolls uncomfortably, but not as if he’s going to be sick again. 

“What?” he looks up at his father in incredulity. “Seriously, Dad?” he scoffs, trying to play it off as a ridiculous notion, but the thing is… he’s not so sure it is. It had crossed his mind, wildly, absurdly, with no reason, when they were at that truck stop before they got to the motel. He had wondered, just for a second… but no. “No way,” Sam shakes his head, setting the box down on the comforter as if simply holding the pregnancy test will make it more likely that he actually is. 

“Sam,” John sighs, the irritation that Sam’s more used to hearing from his father creeping back into his voice. “Look me in the eye, swear to me that you’re a virgin, and there’s absolutely zero chance that you could be pregnant, and I won’t make you take it.” His dad fixes him with a hard stare, and Sam gulps, trying to hold his gaze, but he can’t. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he mumbles, cheeks flaming up in shame. 

“We’ll talk about that later,” John grunts, and Sam can tell he’s holding back his anger. Maybe he’s trying to be a good father, for once, he thinks bitterly. But he can’t deny he’s grateful for the effort, whatever the reason. “Just drink the rest of that water, and go find out for sure,” he nods at the box, still sitting between them, drawing both their gazes like it has a giant neon light flashing on it. 

With a deep breath, Sam peels back the covers, takes the water and the pregnancy test, and locks himself in the bathroom. Then they wait. When he emerges from the bathroom, John doesn’t need to ask what the test says, the answer is clear on his son’s face. 

Sam is in turmoil, feeling sick for an entirely new reason. How is he going to tell Dean? Fuck, he can’t tell Dean. Barely two days ago, they’d sat at that truck stop bar talking about kids, and Dean had told him unequivocally that he’s never wanted them. He’s happy how he is, being a hunter, and having a baby doesn’t exactly lend itself to life on the road hunting monsters, does it? Dean won’t want a baby… Dean won’t want him anymore.

“Who was it?” John’s question shocks Sam out of his thoughts. 

“Huh?” he looks up at his dad foggily. 

“Who knocked you up?” John asks, his irritation showing through much clearer now, and Sam grimaces. He can’t tell him that. God knows what he would do if he finds out his sons are fucking. Or even worse, finds out it’s more than that. 

“I-I don’t know,” Sam stutters, avoiding John’s eye, his arms wrapping unconsciously around his middle.

“When did you present?” John asks next, and Sam instantly shakes his head. 

“I didn’t,” he protests. “I swear Dad, I didn’t know I was… that I’m…” Sam’s throat keeps closing up around the word omega. 

“So you’ve been letting alphas fuck you up the ass just because? Didn’t even know you were an omega? Just decided to go out and be a fuckin’ poof for the hell of it?” 

“Dad!” Sam protests, his hackles raising. He’s always known that his dad wouldn’t be happy if one of his sons turned out to be an omega, but he never assumed he was outright homophobic. 

“And how many people you been sleeping around with that you don’t even know whose pup that is?!” John barrels across him in a full tirade now. Sam flinches. Well, he’s definitely not going to tell him it’s Dean now. He might actually shoot the pair of them dead if he knew his grandchild was the product of gay incest. 

Sam tunes out whatever his dad is shouting at him, mind going into problem-solving mode, just trying to figure out where to go from here. If Dean and he can get away, avoid Dad for a little while, then maybe Sam can scam enough money at pool and put together a plan before he starts to show or Dean can guess that anything is wrong. Maybe Bobby would let him lay low for a while… but what if Bobby told Dean? He almost certainly would. And then Dean would be saddled with a kid he never wanted. Sam couldn’t do that to his brother, that’s one thing he knows for certain. He can’t stand the idea of trapping Dean in a life he’ll hate, a life that might make him hate Sam, too. His heart couldn’t handle that. 

So, when John holds out Sam’s duffel bag to him and tells him to get in the truck, Sam follows him. When he hands him a new burner cell, a couple of twenties, and a bus ticket, Sam takes them without comment. When the bus pulls out of the station, Sam looks down at the blank phone and contemplates calling Dean. He runs his hand over his stomach, unable to feel anything different about the area, but inexplicably, also knowing without a doubt that there is something there–someone there. Someone that could cause Dean to reject him. Sam puts the phone back in his pocket and curls into himself in the cold grey of the near dawn outside. 

Maybe he’ll call Dean in a few months when he gives the baby up for adoption. Dean won’t ever have to know. Sam can just tell him that John sent him away because he’s an omega, which is what John had said he would tell Dean. Sam had asked him not to mention the pregnancy, and John had scoffed, saying he would never let this get out to anyone, Dean included. Sam believes him wholeheartedly. John is too ashamed of him to ever tell anybody this secret. Sam can find Dean again. After he knows the baby is safe and in good hands, he can go back to the life that Dean loves, and they can be together, and be happy. 

Present Day - Sam’s POV

“But I couldn’t give her up,” Sam looks forlornly at his daughter, the nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand shaking violently. “The minute I held her, I knew I loved her more than I would ever love anybody else.” 

“So, you never called,” Dean speaks, his voice a hoarse whisper. He hasn’t spoken the entire time Sam recounted his story. “Because you thought I wouldn’t want her,” he looks to his side, where Y/N is sitting between them, her face carefully blank. But Sam knows what she looks like when she’s holding in tears. She looks exactly how Dean used to look. 

“I told Dad,” Dean chokes, eyes sliding shut in memory. “I fucking told him we were together and he never said…” his brother looks up at him in anguish. “Sammy, if I knew, I would have been there in a heartbeat. You’ve gotta believe me.” 

“You didn’t know,” Sam smiles sadly, shaking his head.

“That son-of-a-bitch!” Dean shouts abruptly, smashing his glass against the table, whiskey splashing out over the rim. The other patrons of the bar all look at them questioningly, but Jo bustles through, picking up empty glasses and pointedly letting them all know to mind their own business. “Sam, I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, at a loss for what else to say. 

Sam knows the feeling.

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78 @missusbarnes-rogers

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You know that your dad isn’t stupid, and he hasn’t totally bought your story of this cycle just being a particularly difficult one, but he hasn’t pried for information like you expected him to. He had been asleep when you arrived home Monday morning, and you’d washed yourself with half a bottle of body wash with added scent suppressant in an effort to disguise Dean’s aroma. It’s faded from all but your memory now, no trace of it lingering on your skin or at the Roadhouse. If your dad does suspect anything happened while he was on his hunt with Ellen, he hasn’t brought it up to you. Whatever the reason for his sudden respect for your boundaries, you’re grateful all the same. 

The embarrassing sting of rejection is still too sharp for you. Jo has tried to ask you about what happened, but you’ve avoided giving her any kind of details. All she knows is that your weekend of marathon sex hadn’t ended with a happily ever after or a new boyfriend. A new mate, your mind supplies unhelpfully, because Dean would have been more than a boyfriend; not just a fling or a dalliance, but your true mate. 

There’s a scratchy rattle in your chest every time your mind drifts in that direction, a feeling you’ve come to associate with the action of choking back the tears that come, unbidden, to your eyes each time you think of the alpha who’s abandoned you. It’s not a reaction you’ve been able to get under control. Any time the memory of Dean springs to your mind your body reacts viscerally to his absence, trying with monumental effort to alert you to the missing piece of your existence, the emptiness that allows your heart to drop from your chest into your stomach because there’s a hole inside you that by all rights shouldn’t even be there. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump in astonishment, shouting and nearly dropping the pint glass you’ve got in your hands. 

“I don’t think you could get that thing any shinier even if you sold your soul for it,” Jo quips with a meaningful look on her face, nodding to the glass that you’ve been polishing water spots off of. When you look down, you see that she’s right. It looks more like it belongs in a five-star hotel than a backroads dive bar. 

“Just making sure,” you say awkwardly, not meeting her inquisitive gaze as you put the clean glass away and grab for another one from the crate you’ve been polishing. 

“Right,” the blonde answers in a clipped tone, busying herself behind the bar and grabbing drinks for the table she’s just taken orders from. It’s a group of three ladies, all with the same multi-coloured patchwork on the arms of their leather jackets. Bikers, not hunters, you don’t think, but they aren’t anyone you recognise. 

You’re self-conscious about being back at work, worried that someone who had been here last Friday and seen you collapse might come in again and bring up the whole Dean situation. You’re sure you must have made a pathetically memorable sight, fainting against a pool table and being carried off in the arms of an alpha old enough to be your father. A few regulars had been in that night, and you’re dreading seeing them again and facing the knowing looks or awkward questions. And what if one of them mentions the alpha to your dad? He usually stops in to have dinner and a couple drinks on the weekends that he’s home, which he is this weekend. You’re expecting him to drop by in a couple hours from now if he sticks to his usual routine. 

The front doors open and you look up anxiously to see who it is. A pair of truckers that you vaguely recognise come in chatting animatedly, and you feel a small wash of relief that it isn’t anyone you remember being here last weekend. But there’s also a small barb of something you weren’t expecting to feel that shoots through your chest upon seeing the newcomers, and it takes you a moment to identify the unanticipated pain. 

Disappointment. 

That’s what that blunt stabbing ache reminds you of, as your guts twist uncomfortably. And you want to smack your head against the bar when you realise why you’re feeling like this: you’re disappointed that it wasn’t Dean walking through that door. How fucking pathetic is it to still want someone who rejected you so callously, the way he did? You’re disgusted with yourself for still wanting him. You should want to run him over with a semi, and you sort of do, but you would settle for just seeing him again, and that makes you angry enough to want to run yourself over with a semi. 

Fuck him for making you feel like this. Fuck true mates. Fuck the whole fucking thing. 

It’s probably for the best that you’re never going to see him again. You just hope that this empty longing goes away eventually. It’s fucking humiliating. Even now, you still imagine you can detect his scent on the air, the inexplicably comforting sweetness of bourbon and sandalwood underpinning the heavy stink of stale beer and fry grease and the dry winter dust of the Nebraskan desolation that drifts in on the stinging wind each time the front doors swing open. 

Your stomach lurches as the door swings open again, and with a monumental effort you force yourself to not look up, focusing instead on the glasses that you’re still polishing madly, far beyond the point of necessity. Longing slashes across your chest with prickly insistence, and you find yourself beginning to choke back tears without reason for the umpteenth time this week. 

He’s not coming back. You need to stop this. 

The air freezes in your lungs as you berate yourself, and the glass in your grip slips through your fingers and thuds onto the counter of the bar as you clench your hand in a fist, digging your fingernails into the fleshy mound of your palm in an effort to distract your brain with a new kind of pain. Your neck is aching with the effort of keeping your head bent, refusing to look out at the bar just to see confirmation of your continued abandonment. You feel so fucking useless. What if this feeling never goes away? How could you have let someone you barely know gain this much control over you without even being in the same room. He probably isn’t even in the same fucking state. But it still feels like his presence is looming over you, his scent so clear in your mind that you feel almost as if you’re back in time, pressing close to him once again and breathing him in. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Hey, you should be saying that to me, not to yourself,” Dean’s deep honeyed voice speaks, and you feel a tear finally escape the cage of your lashes. 

Great, you’ve officially gone insane. 

“Y/N, can you look at me? Please?” 

Your head shoots up in astonishment, the shock freezing your tears in their tracks. You aren’t going insane. Dean Winchester is standing in front of you, hands shoved self-consciously in his pockets, hair tousled from the brisk winds outside, cheeks burnished with a faint pink under the thick scattering of stubble, darker than you remember it. His brow is pinched, eyes narrowed in worry and pain, and those full pink lips you’ve remembered so frequently in the time you’ve spent apart are drawn and chapped. Somehow, even in his clearly haggard state, he’s still the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. Damn him. 

“Hi,” Dean clears his throat awkwardly when you don’t speak. 

You realise with horror that your mouth has been hanging open like a fucking cartoon character this entire time, your jaw practically resting on the bar in front of you, and you snap your lips closed, accidentally biting your tongue and wincing painfully. Dean notices, to your dismay, and winces in sympathy, but some semblance of tact—or maybe it’s just guilt—means he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper, looking back down uncomfortably under the intensity of the alpha’s focus on you. 

“Can we talk?” he asks haltingly, and it’s clear to you that Dean isn’t used to using that phrase. Considering how he’d left you last weekend, you're not the least bit surprised that he isn’t the kind of man to request a heart to heart about feelings. 

“Why should I?” you ask brusquely, but it’s a facade. Every cell in your body is begging you to hear what he has to say, because the dull throb that had settled over your skin in the past week has suddenly softened, and it’s clear that Dean’s proximity is the reason for the improvement. Your brain, though, is still clinging to its last shred of self-respect. Dean looks at you seriously and takes a deep breath. 

“Please?” he repeats, his voice cracking, to your great surprise. Your resolve cracks along with it. 

Nodding after a final moment’s hesitation, you walk around the bar and follow Dean’s lead as he brings you outside to the parking lot, where you can talk without being overheard by the few occupied tables inside, who had all been curiously watching your exchange from the corners of their eyes. The alpha leads you towards a long black classic car, clearly an old model but looking as if it has just rolled off the lot. He opens the passenger door and steps aside, waiting. You raise an eyebrow at him in perturbation. 

“I’m not getting in a car with you.” 

Dean’s face falls slightly, but he shuts the door, not pushing the point. 

“I just didn’t want you to be cold,” he explains. 

“I’m fine,” you retort sharply, willing your anger to warm your body for you because Dean is right, it is freezing out here. “You wanted to talk, so talk,” you huff, folding your arms across your chest, and you wait.

“I’m here to apologise,” Dean admits. “What I did to you was fucked up, I never should have said what I did. I never should have bothered you in the first place,” he scoffs under his breath as an afterthought, grinding the toe of his boot into the dirt of the parking lot. 

“So you’re here to apologise for sleeping with me? Thanks, that makes a girl feel special,” you bite back the tears once again threatening to make an appearance. “Sorry I was such a disappointing fuck.” 

“You weren’t!” Dean looks back up at you instantly, no hint of a lie in his eyes. “Y/N, last weekend was—” he breaks off, running a hand tiredly across his face. “Last weekend was the best I’ve felt in fucking years, okay. It was… look, I’m not good with pretty words and shit when it’s something like this.” The alpha looks at you despairingly, obviously struggling to articulate himself. 

“Something like what?” 

“Something that matters.”

The weight of Dean’s words settles uneasily between the pair of you. He’s waiting for you to say something, and help him direct the conversation, but you don’t know where you want this to go. You’re still angry, of course you are, but here is Dean, standing in front of you with an apology. He came back for you, just like you’d fallen asleep wishing for every night since he’d left. Except… he hasn’t said that he’s come back to be with you. All he’s said is that he’s here to apologise. 

“Why are you here?” you ask again, and confusion lights up Dean’s eyes. 

“To say sorry,” he repeats. 

“You have my number, you could have texted me. Or called,” you point out. “Why did you come back here?” 

Dean’s throat pulses as he swallows thickly, eyes darting away from you and back again as if he’s considering making another abrupt exit, but he stands his ground and launches into a breathless explanation of what the past week has been like for him.

Dean knows this is gonna sound bad, but Y/N probably already thinks he’s the biggest asshole on the planet—and she’s probably right—so he doesn’t see the point in coming up with some lie to paint himself in a better light. He’s here to eat crow and ask for a second chance, he deserves the humiliation that telling his omega this story is going to bring him. 

Fuck, when did I start thinking of her as my fucking omega? 

He has no right to think of Y/N like that. Not yet. They may be true mates, as reluctant as Dean is to admit it, but she hasn’t agreed to take him back yet. He may have to resign himself to a life of pain and misery. Maybe he can just let a werewolf tear his heart out for him and be done with it—unless Y/N kills him first for treating her the way he did. He wouldn’t blame her. 

“So I, uh,” Dean focuses on Y/N’s hard eyes, her expression cowing him into his embarrassing explanation. “When I left on Monday, I was in a pretty bad way still, with my rut, I mean. The need, it… it turned into some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.” He saw Y/N’s lips twitch in an almost self-righteous smirk. “And really, for a guy like me, that’s saying something, because I’ve almost died more times than I can even remember at this point.”

Y/N’s brows shoot up quizzically, and she opens her mouth to ask more about what that meant, but Dean holds up a hand to pause her. He needs to get through this, then she can grill him all she wants. Quietly, she sinks back onto her heels and the energy that had shone from her expression fizzles back into its former forced stagnation as she nods for Dean to continue. He shoots her a grateful half-smile and ploughs on. 

“I’ve never had a rut that bad before. I’ve been alone for ruts as often as I’ve been with an omega for them, and it has never been as excruciating as it was this past week. Every single part of my body felt like it was trying to pull apart from each other and walk itself right back here. I had to pull over on the road between here and Omaha god knows how many times to—” Dean breaks off, clears his throat. 

“Well, you know.” He hurries on, seeing the embarrassed flush on Y/N’s cheeks that he’s sure is echoed on his own. “I couldn’t shake it, so I went to find some… help. But I couldn’t… I didn’t…” Fuck why was this so hard to get through? He just needs to fucking spit it out already. 

“You couldn’t find an omega to help you?” Y/N asks, clearly not believing him. “But you’re—” this time it’s the omega who breaks off and clears her throat in embarrassment, and Dean wonders what she had been about to say. 

“No, I mean, I found someone.” Dean drags his hands over his face, tugging on his hair as if the pain will somehow distract him from the pain of this admission. “I couldn’t get it up.” 

There’s dead silence between them for a beat, and as Dean looks up from his hands, he sees Y/N staring at him blankly. She’s not laughing at his lack of manhood, or smirking at his pain—both possibilities he has been expecting—she’s simply looking at him. It dawns on him a moment later that Y/N had been a virgin until last weekend, and has had very limited dating experience from what she’d told him. She doesn’t understand why this is a big deal, or why it brought him to the realisation that it did. 

“I had been constantly hard for about twenty-four hours, despite my several roadside stops,” Dean grits his teeth at the painful memories. “I was desperate. The fleshlight wasn’t doing jack shit, my whole body felt like it was burning up. Fucking an omega should have fixed it. But I couldn’t get hard with her. My body wouldn’t let me, no matter how much I needed the relief, I couldn’t do it,” he pushes as much gravity into his words as he can manage, praying that Y/N will understand what that means. 

“So you came back to me because you couldn’t fuck another omega?” Y/N asks bitterly, kind of getting what he’s talking about but still missing the point. 

“I couldn’t do it because you were right,” Dean sighs heavily, letting himself sink back against the side of the Impala, his muscles sagging in defeat as he admits what he’s been dreading to say. “I think you were right about us, about being true mates. I can’t think of any other reason why I wouldn’t be able to sleep with someone else. My body knew that it was wrong, that it wouldn’t help the rut end any more than the fleshlight, because neither one of them was you.”

The look Y/N is giving him can be described as nothing more than an epic bitch face, and once again, Dean is painfully reminded of the little brother that he’s spent so long trying to move on from. It’s just another way for the universe to tell him that this girl has been made for him somehow. Like it’s giving him back some part of his long-lost brother in this small way, through the presence of a new person to love as unconditionally as he had loved Sammy. Not that he’s fallen in love with Y/N or anything, they still barely know each other. 

“Okay, I’m still hearing that you’ve come back because you think I’m the only person your body will let you have sex with,” Y/N scoffs, and Dean berates himself for not being able to explain this better. 

“No, it’s… that’s just why I realised you’re probably right about the being true mates thing. I came back to apologise for freaking out at you about it, and yeah maybe to see… to see if there’s something else here between us. To see if I haven’t monumentally screwed this up.” Dean feels a spark of hope brighten in his chest as he watches Y/N consider his words. 

“Are you…” Y/N stops, thinking for a moment before pressing on with her question. “Are you worried about being true mates because… you’re gay?” she asks hesitantly, shifting uncomfortably between her two feet. Dean blinks at her in astonishment before bursting into laughter, and the omega fixes him with another bitch-face. “It’s just, you mentioned that there was another guy before. And you thought…” 

Dean calms down his laughter enough to interrupt. “It’s fine, I’m not hung up by the fact that you’re a girl,” he reassures her, and he sees Y/N relax a little bit. “There’s a lot of things about this that made me hesitate, but I promise your pussy ain’t one of them.” 

Flirting at this stage is risky, Dean knows. He doesn’t want Y/N to get angry at him again, or think that this is only about the sex, but the comment makes her duck her head and look down through her lashes in a very pretty show of modesty, and Dean feels his dick twitch in his jeans at the reminder of her innocence. Taking heart that she hasn’t left him standing alone in the parking lot, or told him to get lost or go fuck himself, the alpha takes a wary step forward, closing the small distance between them. 

Carefully, he lifts the omega’s chin on his fingers, bringing her gaze up to meet his, and he sees a recognisable flash of heat in her expression. The same wave of desire washed over him when he touched her. 

“Why are you scared of loving?” Y/N asks him quietly, and Dean is taken aback at her straightforward assessment. “I’m not saying that I’m in love with you,” she rushes to clarify, misinterpreting the discomfort that Dean can feel twisting on his face. 

“No, I know,” he nods, soothing her outburst. He drops his fingers from her face and instead takes one of her hands between the both of his, squeezing gently. “But you’re right, I am, and that’s what made me uncomfortable about the idea of having a true mate. Because you’re supposed to fall in love with them,” Dean shakes his head and smiles wryly. “And the last time I was in love with someone, I was your age.”

“Ah,” Y/N’s face pinches. “It’s the age thing? That’s the problem?”

“That, and the fact that I don’t exactly have a great life,” Dean sighs. “The idea of dragging you around on the road with me… and I’d probably be putting you in danger if I did. It just doesn’t seem fair. I still don’t really know how any of this would work out,” he admits uncomfortably. “I just, I wanted to come back to see if there was even a chance that it might.” 

“Can I ask you a question?” Y/N is looking at his hands, big and calloused and clearly age-worn compared to her soft, unmarred skin and neat fingernails. 

“Yeah, shoot.” 

“Are you a hunter?” The omega looks up at him and smiles when their eyes meet, probably laughing at the gobsmacked expression that Dean can feel on his face. 

“How the fuck do you know that?” he asks incredulously. 

“I guessed,” she shrugs. “But what you said about almost dying a load of times, and being on the road, putting me in danger… It wasn't a hard leap.” Dean is still looking at her in astonishment. “My dad is a hunter,” she adds by way of an explanation, and now it makes sense to Dean. “And the Roadhouse is sort of a hunter’s way-station. Did you not know that? I thought maybe that’s why you stopped here.”

“No, I had no idea,” Dean shakes his head, looking back at the bar with newfound appreciation. “How about that.” 

“So, you were worried that I would freak out if I knew you hunted monsters for a living?” Y/N smiles up at him in amusement. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean scoffs. “It’s usually a pretty big shock for most people.” 

“Well, that’s one issue out of the way then. Good first step,” she looks up at him hopefully, the last statement almost more of a question, and Dean nods. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Obviously, there’s a lot more we’ve gotta talk about, but I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.” Dean holds his breath, heart thundering in his chest. Its beats echo so loudly in his ears that he nearly misses Y/N’s quiet breath of ‘yes’. 

Instinctively, he draws the omega—his omega—into his arms and kisses her soundly. The girl melts against his chest, letting Dean wrap her up in him. The passion of the kiss quickly gets out of hand. Y/N’s hands are pressing into his chest, her weight urging him backward, and he spins them to slam the girl’s back against the side of his car, grinding their bodies together and sliding their lips and tongues together until the lack of air in his lungs becomes problematic. They break apart panting heavily, Dean resting his forehead on hers and allowing himself to breathe in her scent. 

“At least we know we’re good at this part,” he chuckles, only slightly embarrassed by how raspy his voice sounds compared to a moment ago. Y/N giggles and kisses him again, light and chaste, and much more sweetly, and Dean sinks into the serenity of it, feeling more calm than he has in a very long time. Deciding to indulge himself, he breaks the kiss and trails smaller kisses over Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, brushing his nose over her mating gland and enjoying the needy intake of breath it causes. 

The fresh, sharp aromas of salt and citrus are all as he remembers them, mixed up with the caramel sweetness and spicier undertones that become stronger when she’s aroused. His dick twitches in appreciation. But there’s something just a little different to the tones than how he remembers them. There’s an earthy quality, grassy or smoky… oily? It’s familiar but not because he remembers smelling it on her before. 

The slam of a car door, breaks the focus the Dean and Y/N have for each other, and they both jump at the noise, looking around for its source. The newcomer is staring at the couple, still pressed indecently against Dean’s muscle car, making it obvious what had been happening between them only moments before. 

“Dean?” the man speaks in a hoarse whisper, confirming what Dean couldn’t quite believe. Sam. Sam is standing in front of him after all these years. Sam. He feels like he can’t get any air into his lungs, and he peels himself off of Y/N in an effort to give his lungs space to expand. 

“Dad?” the omega squeaks, and Dean looks around in confusion. No one else is in the parking lot besides himself, Y/N and Sam. And Y/N has just said ‘dad’. 

My dad’s a hunter. 

There’s the sound of a safety clicking out of place, and Dean turns around again to see Sam levelling a gun steadily at his head. 

“Step the fuck away from my daughter.”

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Excerpt:

Michael pulled the trigger.

The bullet centered his opponent’s forehead and he fell to the ground without a sound, his mouth wide. Blood pooled under him, wrecking the carpet of the hotel room.

The man’s scent still lingered in the room: sulfur, methane, and something burnt. It mixed with the smell of his blood and the piss that had run down his legs as Michael had taken out his gun.

The Alpha wrinkled his nose against it. How any possible mate could find that scent alluring was beyond him.

The gun was warm against his palm, solid. Michael holstered it and got closer to the body. As he crunched down, he checked for any vital signs. Dead.

Michael smirked.

Well, the job is done.

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