O! Steve was given one of Eddies rings to wear out after an incident with a particularly aggressive Alpha. Steve knows that he has to be carful. He’s a a pretty omega from a prominent family people like to take advantage of that. He was always of the mind though that he could protect himself but maybe he just hadn’t had enough people around him that actually cared about his well-being. Enter Eddie who’d immediately handed over one of his rings when Steve confessed what happened that night. He told him to use it every time he’s felt even a little unsafe. It’d made Steve feel warm seeing how passionate Eddie got for his sake. He’d had a bad crush on the Alpha for months. He’d been trying everything he could to do away with his feelings and he’d hoped that going out and meeting new people would help. It did a little. He could push away his feelings for short periods of time (longer if alcohol was involved) but he still found himself thinking about Eddies big brown eyes, how much he cared for the pups and his scent. Then the Incident happened and watching Eddies reaction to it made him realize he was a goner. There was no one else for him but Eddie. So Steve wears the ring a lot more times than is strictly necessary especially when he’s alone. He’s hoping that it would turn into a courting gift and later a wedding ring. It already feels like a symbol of his devotion he just hasn’t gotten around to verbally expressing that devotion to the intentioned recipient.
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Content Warning: A/B/O dynamics, heat fic / omega in heat, loss of control, panic attacks, vulnerability, dub-con undertones, cursing/swearing
Summary: One crappy motel room. One Alpha. One Omega running out of time.
Dean’s walls don’t just crack...they collapse when his suppressants fail, dragging him into a violent, unplanned heat. Instinct takes over, raw and merciless, and the secret he’s buried all his life is suddenly impossible to hide. And worse, it happens in front of an alpha.
Alex is left standing at the edge of a choice: answer her instinct screaming Mine. Protect. Claim., or fight it to keep him safe.
Either way, the mission’s blown wide open. The hunter and the Alpha aren’t just partners anymore. They’re exposed. And that changes everything.
@spnheadbang (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
The Impala's engine ticked softly in the near-empty lot of the Sleep-4-Less Motel. The name looked less like advertising and more like a threat. Dean killed the ignition and rubbed a hand over his face. He was running on bad coffee, no sleep, and fumes.
The neon VACANCY sign buzzed outside the office, casting a sickly red glow across the hood. The smell of hot asphalt drifted through the cracked window.
"Okay. I'll grab two rooms so we don't have to share the bedbugs."
His hand was already on the chrome door handle when Alex said, "One."
He froze, his fingers hooked around the cold latch. "Nope. Not happening. Two rooms."
"Two rooms means two doors. Two windows. Twice the blind spots," she said flatly. "One room is easier to defend."
He tried for a smirk. Even he didn't buy it. "Yeah, look, lady. I don't do roommates." The ache at the base of his spine gave another warning. Heat crawled up his neck. His shirt clung uncomfortably to the vinyl seat beneath him.
He needed space. Walls. A lock. Distance from the Alpha sitting three feet away.
Alex looked at him. Not at his face. His hands. The sweat at his hairline. The way his shoulders had gone tight. She didn't say anything. The distant hum of traffic filled the silence between them.
"It's Alex," she reminded him. "And one room," she repeated without room for discussion. A pickup rumbled past the motel entrance.
"Whatever." His fingers tightened around the handle until they hurt. Then he let go. Dean looked away first. "But I get the bed by the door."
By the time the motel door shut behind them, Dean realized it wasn't the room that bothered him. It was knowing he couldn't leave it.
------
The air reeked of bleach and stale smoke. Alex had claimed the small table, laptop open in front of her. Floor plans filled the screen while her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up security protocols that shouldn't exist outside a government server.
Dean couldn't sit. He paced the cramped walkway, restless energy running hot under his skin. He blamed the case, the psycho billionaire, the impossible compound, the stakes. But it was more than that. The ache wasn't fading. If anything, it was spreading. That wasn't supposed to happen. It never hit this hard, and never this early. Something wasn't right.
"Bloom's property is a smart fortress," Alex said, not looking up. "Facial recognition, pressure plates, thermal grid. No weaknesses."
"So, no kicking in the front door. Got it," Dean grunted, rolling his shoulders again. "What about the good old-fashioned power grid? Cut the lights, we go in dark."
"He's got three redundant power sources. Off-grid. Guards with thermal imaging. And some aren't even human. They can read shadows like daylight." She zoomed in on a schematic. "There's a sewer main that runs under the west wall. Old, probably not on the new security plans. That's our way in."
"Great. A crap-chute express." He stopped pacing and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. A wave of dizziness rolled through him, followed by nausea. He braced his hands on his knees, taking a slow, deep breath. Every breath carried redwood and ozone. It wasn't helping.
Alex finally looked up. She'd noticed the change almost twenty minutes ago. The suppressants were losing the fight. "You okay over there, Winchester?" she asked, her tone neutral. "You look a little green."
"I'm good," he lied, forcing himself to stand. His duffel bag hit the mattress with a soft thump as he dug through it for painkillers, movements jerky and defensive. The dresser caught his eye. How hard would it be to shove it against the door? Instinct, irrational and clawing. He forced the thought back down.
Turning back to the bed, he reached for his leather jacket and the lumpy pillow without thinking. He started to arrange them before he caught himself. Shame flared hot. He shoved them away as if they'd burned him. This isn't right. My clock's never been off. Never. What the hell is happening?
"Dean." Her voice was quiet but cut through his confusion like a knife. She was on her feet now, arms crossed, gaze steady. "This isn't going to work," she said.
"What? The brilliant sewer plan?" His voice cracked sharp.
"No. You." She stepped closer. "You're falling apart."
The blood drained from Dean's face. He took an involuntary step back. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled.
"Stop." The word wasn't loud. Something about her scent changed. "Lying wastes energy you don't have."
His knees tried to bend before he could stop them. Dean locked them hard. The effort sent a shiver up his spine.
For one stupid second, his body tilted toward her. Toward the raw command threading through her voice. Toward the redwood-and-ozone pull of her scent.
No.
He lunged for the bathroom door. He needed distance. A thick piece of wood. A brass lock. Anything between him and the Alpha standing too close.
"Stay... stay away from me," he grunted. He managed two uneven steps. Then the heat hit. This wasn't the warning anymore. It stole the air clean out of his lungs.
His hand missed the handle. "Son of a—" His legs stopped listening.
Dean hit the wall shoulder-first and slid hard down to the carpet. His breath caught somewhere behind his ribs. "Come on..."
Fingers scraped uselessly across the peeling wallpaper as he tried to push himself back up. "No."
Get up. Move. Come on. Nothing moved. His arms shook. His legs refused.
He couldn't get up. Then something changed. Every breath felt wrong. Dean had no idea what was happening.
----
The scent hit her. Alex's breath caught. One breath the room smelled like bleach, stale smoke, and old motel carpet. The next, everything else disappeared beneath Dean. Cinnamon. Heat. Distress. Every instinct she had lunged toward him.
Mine. Protect. Claim.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs. The six feet of stained carpet between them suddenly felt unbearable. The urge to cross the room was immediate. Cover him. Shield him. Make the panic in his scent stop.
Her nails bit into her palms. Good. Pain helped. Alex locked her knees. She had spent years learning the difference between instinct and choice. She wasn't about to forget it now.
She dragged a slow, jagged breath instead. One heartbeat. Two. Another slow breath.
The room came back in pieces. The high-pitched, electric buzz of the motel's fluorescent light over the sink. The distant hiss of traffic outside. Dean's ragged breathing from the floor. Cinnamon still hung in the air.
She opened her eyes. Dean was still curled against the baseboard, one hand braced uselessly against the peeling wallpaper. His shoulders shook with every uneven breath. He couldn't look at her. He was trying to make his own body listen.
Something in her chest tightened. He wasn't prey. He wasn't a mate. He was Dean.
She moved before she thought. The deadbolt engaged with a sharp thunk. Snatching the edges of the particle-board dresser, she dug her boots into the thin carpet and shoved. Dust shook loose from the top. The heavy wood scraped across the floor before it wedged across the doorframe. Secure.
Then Alex turned back to Dean.
He was curled against the baseboard, shivering. Struggling to breathe. His eyes weren't focused on anything anymore.
"No, no, please..." The words came out broken, half-coherent, completely swallowed by the fever.
He flinched when she knelt, though she kept her hands away from him. He had made himself smaller, head dipped low, every breath drawing him tighter inward. He wasn't trying to fight her anymore. He was trying to hold himself together.
"Don't." The plea barely sounded like him.
Alex stopped. It would be the easiest thing in the world right now. One touch. That was all it would take. He would be safe. Untouchable. The scent still pulled at her, demanding she close the distance. The thought made her sick.
"No!" She resisted out loud, the sharp rejection bouncing off the quiet walls. "Not this. Not here." The pressure in her chest didn't ease. She forced herself completely still.
Dean shivered harder.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Dean." Her voice came out flat but steady.
She reached for the spare blanket from her bed and laid it over his shoulders. Then she pulled off her Henley, leaving the gray tank top beneath, and laid the shirt on top of the blanket within easy reach.
"Right now, you're a flare in the dark. My shirt will help. Use it."
Dean stared at the piece of clothing for a second. Then his hand reached for it. Alex watched his breathing hitch. His blunt fingers gripped the cotton, dragging it against his chest. He buried his face in it.
Slowly, the violent shaking eased. His ragged, desperate gasps smoothed out, little by little. The sharp edge of panic softened beneath Alex's redwood and ozone.
Alex rose and crossed to the far side of the room, putting the width of the small room between them. She braced her back against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. For him. For herself.
She didn't realize she was shaking until she stopped moving.
Dean still clutched the shirt like a life jacket. Good. He was still breathing.
Nothing about tonight had gone according to plan. Dean wasn't leaving that room. Neither was she.
Imagine this. An Alpha who lost someone close to them (not necessarily a mate, could be a close friend or a parent) due to pregnancy and is completely terrified of it. Years later, they meet their Omega and have a beautiful relationship for a long time until the Omega ends up pregnant and the Alpha just panics, thinking they might lose it all now, which leads to possible arguments and blaming themself. The Alpha doesn’t hate the baby, they love their pup so much but are so scared of losing the love of their life, the situation is extremely difficult for them. Do you have any head canon or idea for this?
hello, it is I, story anon, having a new idea for a new story while already writing the other one, also being still an anon because... I don’t know, I’m kinda dumb, sorry :’> (you don’t need to answer to this if it’s too much, it can be too much).
Hey story anon!
Oooh my gosh! There could be arguments. So many arguments. Omega pregnancies are statistically smoother going and it could go one of two ways: the pregnancy goes well or something happens. And seeing how the alpha reacts to either with their worry will be really interesting.
But the main thing, the main problem. The alpha is so worried about it that what's happening is they're not putting faith in their mate. They're worried because they love them and the pup so much, they care. But they're overshadowing themself and not trusting their mate when they tell them it's okay. A relationship needs some faith in each other.
They trust their mate, they love them, but they need to fight harder to show that trust over their fear.
Well, I went off on a tangent. I hope that inspires something! Again, a brilliant story idea I'm so happy you shared! :D
To save her friend, runaway Alpha Alex Donovan needs a hunter. She gets Dean Winchester, an Omega hiding his true nature. When a mission exposes his secret, they're thrown into a war with her old life and an obsessive ex. Trapped between instinct and training, their only hope is each other.
Omegaverse.
Omega!Dean x Alpha!OC
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Female Character, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character
@spnheadbang @leysol (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
I. First Impressions ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev
*EDITED*
Sent by Garth to meet a mysterious contact named Alex, a skeptical Dean Winchester walks into a roadside diner expecting a seasoned hunter. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with a powerful Alpha. The simple hunt quickly spirals into a desperate rescue mission, forcing Dean into a reluctant alliance with Alex. The target: a friend, Taylor, kidnapped by none other than an obsessive, tech-billionaire ex-fiancé.
II. Tethered ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev
*EDITED*
One crappy motel room. One Alpha. One Omega running out of time.
Dean’s walls don’t just crack...they collapse when his suppressants fail, dragging him into a violent, unplanned heat. Instinct takes over, raw and merciless, and the secret he’s buried all his life is suddenly impossible to hide. And worse, it happens in front of an alpha.
Alex is left standing at the edge of a choice: answer her instinct screaming Mine. Protect. Claim., or fight it to keep him safe.
Either way, the mission’s blown wide open. The hunter and the Alpha aren’t just partners anymore. They’re exposed. And that changes everything.
III. A Devil at the Door ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev
*EDITED*
Dean wakes from a brutal night of fever and instincts he'd rather not name, only to find Alex still at her post. Before he can catch his breath, a knock interrupts them. On the other side of the door was someone Alex never expected. With Dean caught between his hunter and Omega instincts, the war she left behind has finally found them.
IV. The Artemis ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev
*EDITED*
Dean thought he understood Alex. He had no idea.
When they finally arrive, he comes face-to-face with the legacy she ran from, and the power she’s been holding back. As old wounds reopen and instincts he can’t control rise to the surface, Dean discovers the truth: Alex isn’t just an Alpha. He learns what it truly means to be an Artemis.
And she’ll bare her teeth at her own father if it means keeping Dean alive.
V. Most Alphas ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev
Most Alphas would've saved themselves first.
Alex didn't.
VI. Weakness ||| AO3 ||| Wattpad ||| Quotev !!NEW!!
Alex is barely alive, and one thing is clear: Dean Winchester has never been good at leaving a debt unpaid.
[EDITED] Call Out My Name: Chapter 3: A Devil at the Door
A/N: Hello, hello, Lovelies! 💕 Yes, another chapter...finally! Took me longer than expected (the writing bug is being extra dramatic this month 🐛😅), but don’t worry, I’m not giving up. I’ll keep at it until the words come out. 😂 Enjoy this one, and as always, drop me your thoughts. I love hearing them! Thank you for sticking with me. 💖
Content Warning: A/B/O dynamics, post-heat aftermath, power imbalance/intimidation, strong language
Characters: Dean Winchester (Omega!Dean), Alex Donovan (Alpha!OC), Marcus (OC)
Summary: Dean wakes from a brutal night of fever and instincts he'd rather not name, only to find Alex still at her post. Before he can catch his breath, a knock interrupts them. On the other side of the door was someone Alex never expected. With Dean caught between his hunter and Omega instincts, the war she left behind has finally found them.
@leysol (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
Dean woke slow, like he'd been hit by a freight train and then kicked for good measure. His head pounded. His mouth tasted like ash. Every muscle hurt, but the fever was gone. Whatever had happened last night was over.
Somewhere in the quiet, the bitter scent of coffee cut through the stale motel air.
He was on the floor, wrapped in a mess of blankets and his jacket. Clutched against his chest was Alex's shirt, still carrying her scent.
Great. He didn't remember grabbing it. He hadn't let go either. He loosened his grip. Tightened again before he meant to.
His eyes cracked open. Across the room, Alex sat with her back to the wall, exactly where she'd been when he blacked out. Laptop balanced on her knees. Pale blue light flickered across her face. She didn't look up. Somehow, he knew she'd been aware of him the whole night.
Something twisted low in his stomach. He couldn't name it. Not panic. Not heat. Just... pull. His Omega wasn't screaming anymore. Simply...waiting.
It felt wrong. It felt right. He hated it. And yet he still hadn't let go of her Henley. Every part of him wanted to throw the damn shirt across the room. His body disagreed. Dean ground his teeth and shoved the feeling back down.
He forced himself upright, stiff and sore, one hand braced against the bedframe. "What time is it?" His voice was a low rasp.
Alex didn't answer right away. Her fingers tapped a few more keys before she closed the laptop.
"Just after dawn," she replied. "The worst of it is over. At least it should be. You'll be weak for a day or so."
No judgment. No pity. Just facts. Somehow that was worse. He wasn't a hunter this morning. He was dead weight.
"Well, thanks for the medical update, Doc," Dean muttered, untangling himself from the blankets. He felt exposed. He hated every second of it. He needed a shower. Coffee. A case. Just something that felt normal again.
The smell of coffee found him again, stronger this time. His eyes drifted to the counter. A Styrofoam cup sat there, steam curling into the pale morning light.
"Coffee's made."
"Yeah, beautiful. Just what the doctor ordered." Dean looked from the cup back to her. Coffee sounded like the closest thing to normal he'd had in twelve hours. He planted a palm against the mattress, his skin tacky with dried sweat, and started to push his weight upright.
A hard knock rattled the motel door. The dresser answered with a dull thud against the frame. He froze. His breath caught in his chest. Every muscle locked instantly.
Hide. The thought came out of nowhere, sharp enough to make his pulse jump.
Across the room, Alex's head snapped toward the door frame. Her laptop was forgotten on her knees. The easy stillness she'd carried all morning vanished. She didn't tense up; she focused.
She crossed to the door, stopping short of the dresser wedged against the frame. For a second, she just listened. The room went so quiet Dean could hear the old motel refrigerator humming behind him.
Alex gripped the edge of the dresser and dragged it back just far enough to reach the peephole. Wood scraped over carpet, loud in the small room. She leaned in and looked.
"Bloom?" Dean whispered, his hand still rooted to the bedsheets.
She held up one hand. Don't talk.
Dean shut his mouth. His jaw ached from clenching it.
She stayed there for another heartbeat. Then another.
When she finally turned away from the door, she looked different. Not scared. Just... harder. Cold. Her eyes swept over him once, then tracked the state of the room. Tangled blankets. Duffel bags. The dresser shoved out of place. Boots. Calculating.
She crossed back to the table, slipped the laptop into its canvas bag, and set it out of sight.
"No," she said, her voice dropping to a low, rough register. A beat passed. "Worse."
Dean frowned. "Worse than the billionaire psycho? Who the hell is worse than Bloom?"
"Marcus."
The name was clearly supposed to mean something to him. It didn't.
Great. Wonderful. Dean opened his mouth, but the look Alex gave him killed whatever smartass comment had been loading. Whatever Marcus was, she wasn't joking.
"Can you move?" she asked.
The words were clipped.
Controlled.
Dean pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Standing wasn't happening. Not yet. His thighs felt like lead. His vision still swam.
Alex caught his eye and jerked her head sharply toward the narrow gap between the far mattress and the bathroom wall. Out of sight.
Hide.
Right. Dean's jaw tightened until his teeth clicked. Every instinct in him rejected the idea. His body ignored the argument. He crawled, palms scraping across the thin motel carpet.
He was barely behind the far mattress when the brass doorknob turned from the outside, stopping hard against the deadbolt with a metallic rattle.
Alex reached out and unlatched the lock, cracking the door open only a few inches. She filled the gap.
Dean didn't risk looking. From behind the mattress, he caught only pieces: a dark coat, a broad shoulder, the long shadow spilling past Alex's boots. Whoever Marcus was, he towered over her.
The cold morning air rolled into the room with him, cutting through the lingering cinnamon, redwood, and bleach. He smelled cedar and incense.
Breathing became work again. Everything in him wanted to disappear. His hand found the Colt without thinking.
"Marcus."
"Artemis."
Dean lay motionless, his knuckles white against the grip of his gun. He had no idea what either of those names meant. He only knew that the air had just become a hell of a lot harder to breathe.
"My name," she said, quiet and sharp. "Is Alex."
His hand tightened around the Colt. The grip biting into his palm. Good. Pain helped. It gave him something to hold onto besides the pressure pressing in around him.
His instincts screamed. Disappear. Training screamed louder. Don't move. Don't breathe. Wait for an opening.
The weight pouring off Marcus pressed into the room, pressed into him. Sweat tracked cold down Dean's neck. He didn't have a word for it. He only knew it felt like a gun under his chin.
Then something shifted.
The pressure eased just enough for Dean to breathe. Alex hadn't moved. She hadn't given an inch. He drew in a shallow breath and steadied the Colt.
Marcus lowered his gaze. Not defeat. Recognition.
=======
His nostrils flared, his chest expanding slightly as he drew in the air from the room.
Alex went still.
Too much of Dean's scent still lingered in the small space. The trace of cinnamon. Heat. Last night.
He caught it.
Dread settled low in her stomach, but her expression didn't change. She held his gaze. Let him speak first.
He kept his eyes lowered, his shoulders squaring slightly under his heavy coat. "I know your name. Whether I like it or not, you are our Artemis."
Her jaw tightened until her teeth clicked. Artemis. It wasn't a nickname. It was a chain she'd spent four years trying to leave behind. With Dean's scent still hanging in the room, she had bigger problems than an old name. She let it slide.
"Why are you here?"
"Your father wishes to speak with you," he said, his voice flat and unyielding. "He would not have sent me if it were not important."
Alex didn't answer right away.
For four years, Napoleon had never sent Marcus. Instead, he had sent pups. Friendly faces. Ambitious idiots looking to prove themselves against the girl who walked away.
He had never sent a commander. Never him.
"About what?"
His mouth thinned into a line. "He doesn't tell me his business."
Then his gaze flicked past her shoulder. Into the room. "And bring the human," Marcus added, his lip curling slightly. "He wants to see what kind of stray you've picked up."
He turned on his heel without waiting for an answer, his broad back disappearing down the concrete motel breezeway.
Alex shut the door. The quiet click of the latch sounded too loud in the small room.
Her plan to save Taylor had just collided with the life she'd spent four years outrunning.
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The cabin door slammed open hard enough to rattle the windows. Dust sifted from the ceiling logs. Dean turned. Whoever this guy was, he'd never seen him before.
He filled the doorway. Bigger. Meaner too. Built like he'd never lost an argument he could win with his fists. For a split second, nobody moved. Then the wolf saw Dean, and all hell broke loose.
The rough wool of his flannel bit hard into his throat, his bad shoulder screaming the instant his weight was slammed into the nearest wall. The logs rattled. Dean hissed through his teeth. "Son of a bitch..."
"Xander!" Grayson barked. The wolf ignored him completely.
The one named Xander glared down at him. A simple punch would've been easier to take. This looked like blame.
"You."
Dean's back pressed harder into the logs. The wall groaned under the pressure.
"Easy," Grayson warned, rising from his chair.
"No." Xander didn't even spare Grayson a glance. "No, I don't think I will."
Dean could've fought back. A week ago he would've. Hell, yesterday he probably would've. But all he could see was Alex collapsing into the dirt. So he didn't throw a punch. Didn't shove back. Didn't even look away. Because every accusation was already running laps in his own head.
Xander leaned in. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Dean swallowed. The wolf stepped closer, crowding his space. "What she had to do to pull that thing off you?!"
Grayson moved forward. "Xander."
"Stay out of it." The warning growl that followed was entirely directed at Grayson. And for the first time, Dean saw the other wolf hesitate.
Grayson pulled up short. Dean didn't know what passed between them. He only knew the younger wolf wasn't stepping in again.
The room fell silent. Logs shifted in the fireplace with a dull, heavy pop.
Xander turned back to Dean, his face inches away. "Your fault."
Dean's jaw tightened. He knew. As if he could forget.
"She told me to stay behind." The words came out rough.
Xander blinked. Dean stared right back at him.
"She told me not to come." Silence.
"I went anyway."
Xander let out a humorless chuckle. "Congratulations." The wolf's voice dripped contempt. "That makes me feel so much better."
Dean didn't answer. Because there wasn't a damn thing he could say to that.
Xander's grip yanked his collar even tighter. A second later, the wolf's forearm pressed hard across his throat. Breathing became work. Dean caught the smell of cedar, old leather, and woodsmoke. And something underneath Dean couldn't place.
Every survival reflex he owned screamed at him to drive an elbow into Xander's ribs. To shove back. To fight. Dean ignored them all. Xander wasn't saying anything he hadn't already told himself.
"You know what the healers are saying?"
Dean already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
Xander's eyes flashed. "She's not healing fast enough!"
The wolf's ragged breath hit Dean's face. Dean closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He hadn't been ready to hear it out loud. He tried to swallow, but the pressure against his throat made it hurt.
"Xander." Grayson again. Softer this time.
The wolf ignored him. "My Artemis is barely alive while you're sitting here breathing."
Dean flinched. He wished Xander would just hit him.
The wolf leaned closer. "Tell me, Winchester." His voice dropped. "What exactly makes you worth it?"
The question landed harder than any shove. Dean didn't have an answer.
The worst part? A piece of him agreed.
__FLASHBACK__
Lunch was the most awkward meal of Dean's life. The silence between the two Alphas was so heavy he was surprised the table didn't crack under it. Aurora, the Luna, was the only one pretending this was a normal lunch.
They weren't arguing. Somehow that felt worse. He should've been halfway out the door by now. Every instinct screamed werewolves. But something kept him glued in his chair. Every time he thought about leaving, his Omega dug its heels in. It made no damn sense, and he hated that he was still sitting there.
"Dean, you must understand, Alexandria was always such a willful child," she began, her eyes twinkling. "Did she tell you about the time she decided to 'tame' Mister Snuggles, the neighbor's cat?"
"No way." Dean let out a faint chuckle.
"Mother, please," Alex groaned, her face flushing a deep red. Dean stared. Alex, embarrassed? That was new. And surprisingly...cute. He was used to seeing her annoyed. Angry. Sarcastic. Embarrassed was new. And his Omega perked up.
Nope. Absolutely not. He shut that down immediately.
"Nonsense, dear," Aurora ignored the protest completely. "He was a twenty-pound Maine Coon with the disposition of a cornered badger. She came back with scratches all down her arms, covered in mud, but she had that cat purring in her lap."
"Yeah, sounds about right." Dean couldn't help but smile, picturing Alex flatly refusing to lose to a cat. The second she caught him smiling, Alex narrowed her eyes like he was the one acting strange.
The moment didn't last. "Aurora, my love," Napoleon said smoothly. "I doubt our guest cares to hear old stories. And you have that appointment with the pups' caretakers, don't you?"
Aurora paused. Just for a second. Then she set her napkin down. "Of course, dear." She gave Dean's hand a gentle squeeze. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Dean. Please don't be a stranger."
Then she was gone. Dean found himself alone with the two people least interested in talking. Neither Alpha looked at the other. Nobody spoke. Dean suddenly wished Aurora had stayed.
Yeah. Dreary didn't cover it. He was trapped.
The door had barely clicked shut before Napoleon stopped pretending to be polite. He leaned forward. Dean immediately liked him less.
"Everett Bloom is a fool," he started. "But he is a wealthy and well-armed fool. When his men put you in the ground, do not expect this pack to avenge you."
Alex's fork clattered against the plate. Her fingers dug into the edge of the table. Most people would've missed it. Dean didn't. The way Napoleon said it made Dean think he already knew exactly what Alex was planning.
It didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like Napoleon had already decided how this would end.
"Is that all?" Alex sounded calm. Dean knew enough about her by then to recognize that as a bad sign. "Or did you drag me here just to watch me fail?"
Napoleon didn't blink. "He's taken the Eclipse pack in Washington."
Dean didn't understand the pack politics, but he understood Alex. She looked like she'd just been handed bad news. That was enough.
Alex didn't answer right away. "That changes nothing for me."
"It changes everything for me," Napoleon countered. "Bloom is no longer just a nuisance; he is a rival power on my border. I will not risk a war for your personal vendetta."
"I never asked you to."
"Then what is your plan?" Napoleon snarled, finally turning that cold, dismissive gaze toward Dean. "To hide behind this... unbound Omega?" His lip curled. "He is a weakness, Alexandria. He will be the death of you."
Omega. Not Winchester. Not hunter. Just a label. A weakness. Napoleon might as well have stamped it on his forehead. Well. That pissed him off.
Dean met his stare without blinking. A short laugh escaped him. "Wouldn't be the first."
The smile that followed never reached his eyes. "Tell him to get in line."
__END OF FLASHBACK__
The memory tasted a hell of a lot less clever now. Alex's blood still felt like it was on his hands. He stood in a cabin full of wolves who thought Napoleon might've been right.
The silence stretched. Dean could still hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Then: "Xander."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Every muscle in the room locked. Including Xander's. Slowly, the wolf turned.
Aurora stood in the doorway, her hands folded calmly over the front of her coat. She wasn't shouting. Somehow, the calm made the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up.
The room was quiet. Her gaze drifted from Dean to the forearm pinning him against the wall.
"If Alexandria could see you right now," she said softly, "what do you think she would say?" The question hit harder than a command ever could.
Xander looked away. For the first time since he'd walked into the room. Because they all knew the answer. Alex would be furious.
Aurora stepped farther into the room. Her voice never changed. It made arguing impossible.
"Let him go." Not an order. Not quite.
Xander's chest rose and fell in a sharp, ragged breath. For a second, Dean felt the arm against his windpipe tighten. Then, the pressure vanished.
Dean stumbled backward, catching himself against the rough log wall. Air rushed back into his lungs so fast it made him cough.
Aurora's expression softened. Only slightly. "Thank you."
The wolf looked like he'd rather fight ten monsters than hear those words. But he stepped back. Xander shot Dean one last look of disgust before leaving. The door slammed behind him. The cabin felt bigger after he left.
Dean rubbed his throat. Every swallow reminded him where Xander's forearm had been. "Starting to think getting rescued by a Donovan is becoming a habit."
To his surprise, Aurora's mouth twitched. "My daughter would say you make it a habit."
Her eyes drifted over him slowly. It felt less like being looked at and more like being examined. The bruises. The shoulder he kept trying not to favor. The exhaustion. Nothing seemed to escape her. "Are you injured?"
Dean barked out a short laugh. "Hey, I've looked worse."
Grayson made a noise suspiciously close to a snort.
"Thank you, Grayson," Aurora said, and somehow that sounded like a dismissal.
The younger wolf immediately straightened. "Luna." He dipped his head and stepped outside. The latch clicked into place behind him.
The silence came back. Without Xander and Grayson in the room, it felt different. Aurora moved over to the small wooden table, pulling out a chair with a quiet scrape before settling into it. She looked up at him, waiting.
Dean didn't sit. Not yet. His knees were shaking, but he kept his back pressed against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets so she wouldn't see his fingers twitching.
"I want to see her."
Aurora studied him for a long moment. "You are not pack."
It stung more than he expected. "Yeah, I got that."
"Do you?" The question wasn't cruel.
She continued. "Right now my daughter is unconscious, injured, and drawing on every bond available to her."
He waited. When she didn't continue: "Okay... and?"
"And your presence will matter."
He stared at her. That didn't sound like a warning. It sounded worse. "What does that mean?"
"An injured Alpha doesn't stop being Alpha." She folded her hands in her lap. "Neither do the instincts surrounding her."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulder started throbbing steadily beneath the bandage. The leather of his jacket squeaked against his flannel. "English."
A faint smile touched her mouth. "You're not the only one worried about her."
"You're also an unbound Omega."
"Yeah." He muttered under his breath before looking away.
Aurora's gaze lingered for a moment. Then she let it go. "Which complicates things."
"Can I see her or not?"
She looked toward the hallway. Toward whatever room Alex was fighting for her life in. Dean's eyes followed hers. The hallway suddenly felt a mile long.
"For a few minutes."
He didn't wait for her to change her mind. Dean was already moving past the table, his boots thudding heavily against the wood, when her voice caught him at the entrance of the hallway.
"And Dean?"
He pulled up short, stopping with his hand against the door frame, and looked back over his bad shoulder. Somewhere down the hallway, a monitor beeped once.
"Try not to wake her."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Then he nodded once. "I'll try."
----
The room at the end of the hallway looked nothing like the rest of the cabin.
Somebody had turned it into a field hospital. Medical monitors glowed a faint blue in the corner, and plastic IV bags hung from improvised stands. The room smelled more of antiseptic than pine.
Dean stopped in the doorway. For a second, he couldn't make himself go any farther.
Alex lay motionless in the center of the room. A blanket covered her from the chest down, tucked carefully around her body. Thick white bandages disappeared beneath the fabric. More wrapped around her shoulder and ribs. Bruises darkened her skin. Her lower lip was split. Dried blood stained her temple.
Two IV lines disappeared beneath the blanket. One bag was almost empty, the clear line still dripping. A clear tube looped beneath her nose, hissing softly with oxygen.
She looked smaller somehow. Dean hated that. Not physically. Just...smaller. Less like the woman who had stood toe-to-toe with Napoleon Donovan. Less like the Artemis. More like someone who had finally reached the end of her strength.
His eyes drifted lower to her arms.
The claws hadn't fully gone away. They rested against the blanket, slightly too sharp, slightly too long, the tips dark and curved. The sight made his stomach twist. It looked wrong. Alex wasn't entirely human, but she wasn't entirely wolf either right now. She was caught somewhere in between, like part of her mind was still out fighting on that ridge.
Dean swallowed.
The steady beep of the monitor filled the room. Alive. The machine was telling him she was alive. It should've been enough. It wasn't.
Slowly, he crossed the room. The chair beside her bed creaked under his weight. For a long moment, he just sat there, his forearms on his knees, looking at her. The memories came anyway, and Dean shoved them down, his hands curling into fists. The same hands that still felt stained no matter how many times he'd washed them.
"Hey." The word came out rough.
Alex didn't move. His hand started toward hers, then stopped halfway before he dropped it back into his lap.
Dean couldn't keep looking at her. Somehow this hurt worse than watching her get wounded.
"You know..." He rubbed a hand over his face instead. "This is usually where Sam tells me I'm being an idiot."
No response.
His eyes found the bandages again. The blood had been cleaned away. The memories hadn't.
"He knew," the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Stephen. He..." He tried again. "The second he got close, he knew."
The word still made his skin crawl. "Omega." He laughed once. Humorless. "Guess that's one way to come out of the closet."
Silence. The monitor beeped again. Dean breathed because it did.
"Should've left me there." His laugh died quickly.
"Hell." He dragged a hand over the back of his neck. "You saved me."
Then a bitter laugh escaped him. "Look where it got you."
He stared at the blanket instead of her. "Napoleon wasn't exactly subtle about it either."
If you were her Omega, she'd have another source to pull from. She'd be drawing from you. Grayson's words wouldn't leave him alone. Every time Dean shoved the thought away, it came back.
He wasn't her Omega. They weren't bonded. But Dean knew how monsters worked. Blood wasn't just blood. If her wolf was starving, if she was running on empty while the rest of the pack paid the tab, he had plenty to give. He didn't care about complicated. Or pack rules. He just wanted the machine to keep beeping. Whatever the cost.
He looked at Alex. She'd nearly died because of him. Hunters fixed things. They always found another way, or they made one.
His eyes drifted to the medical tray on the other side of the bed. A scalpel rested there.
Dean stared at it. Then at Alex. Then back again. "This is a terrible idea."
He looked toward the door. Aurora. Grayson. Xander. Any one of them would stop him.
Dean stood up, the chair scraping softly. He walked to the door, reached out, and turned the lock until it clicked into place.
He walked back to the bedside, his fingers wrapping around the cold, thin handle of the scalpel.
He glanced at Alex. "You're gonna kill me for this." His eyes flicked to the monitor. Still beeping.
"But right now..." He tightened his grip on the scalpel. "I don't give a damn."
Characters: Dean Winchester (Omega!Dean), Alex Donovan (Alpha!OC), Grayson (OC) Jurgen (OC), Stephen (OC)
Summary: Most Alphas would've saved themselves first. Alex didn't.
Taglist: @jc-winchester@ladysparkles78@kazsrm67@spn-fanfic-reblog-writes@deans-baby-momma@hobby27@kickingitwithkirk@lyarr24@krazykelly@chriszgirl92@barewithme02@kjah97@roseblue373@bumbleb10@nancymcl@x-nine-x-epic@emmily33@denimoveralls@alwaysthebiggerbear@spnheadbang@leysol(Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
Dean came to on the edge of a rough wooden bench, the smell of sap and iron thick in his nose. Log walls. Fire crackled in the fireplace. Shadows stretching too long across the floor.
A cabin, he thought. Or something pretending to be one.
His hands were red. Not scraped. Not bruised. Caked in red.
Drying blood along his knuckles and palms, dark and tacky, soaked into the cuffs of his jacket, smeared up his forearms like he'd been elbow-deep in it. He stared at them, detached.
None of it was his.
The memory hit in pieces instead of a whole. Hands grabbing him, too many of them, dragging him back while he fought and shouted and tore his throat raw screaming her name. Someone lifting him, slinging him over a shoulder. The slam of a door. Darkness. The engine tearing through the forest.
Alex.
His eyes burned, the heat rising fast under his skin. He couldn't remember the exact second everything went to hell. Only that one moment they'd been standing together, arguing. You kept it from me.
And then the next—blood. Way too much blood.
He couldn't breathe as his body finally caught up to the horror his mind had been dodging. His fingers curled into fists, trembling against his thighs. It was his fault. If he hadn't been pushing her, if he'd just—
"Winchester."
A voice pulled him back. Grayson. The only one who was willing to talk to him. The werewolf couldn't have been much older than thirty. Broad-shouldered but lean, built more like a runner than an enforcer. Dark hair, tired gray eyes. Not a soldier like Marcus. Not a fanatic like the guards at the gate. Just...a person. The kind of guy Dean would've grabbed a beer with under different circumstances.
The hunter in him hated that. It was easier when they looked like monsters.
"How is she?" Dean rasped. His throat felt torn open.
No answer.
"The Artemis will pull through," he finally responded.
Dean's jaw tightened, his teeth clicking under the pressure. Pull through. Like she had a bad case of the flu. Like she'd collapsed from a fever and not because she had been split open.
He stared at the blood crusted beneath his fingernails. A bitter, humorless chuckle slipped past his lips. For the first time, he finally dragged his eyes off his hands and faced Grayson.
"I didn't ask who she was," he growled roughly. "I asked how she is."
The werewolf's expression hardened. "You should not have been there."
That pissed him off even more. He knew that.
"Stay here."
"Not happening."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "You'll slow me down."
"And if you don't come back?"
They'd both gone silent then. And now, she was the one paying for it.
The wolf leaned back against the heavy wood of the doorframe, crossing his arms. "You know she'd be healing faster if you were bound."
Dean snapped fast, the snark rising like bile. "English."
"The Artemis is drawing on pack reserves right now. It's slow. It takes a toll on the rest of us."
Dean stared at him. "Okay."
A heavy sigh rolled off the wolf's shoulders. "Pack members can support an injured Alpha. But so can a bonded Omega. If you were her Omega, she'd have another source to pull from. Sometimes better."
Dean blinked. "I'm not her anything." Quick and sharp.
"No." The gray eyes drifted over Dean's trembling hands, entirely unimpressed. "You're not."
The silence stretched between them. Then:
"But if you were?" Grayson hesitated. "She'd be drawing from you."
Dean swallowed. The image hit him instantly.
Alex unconscious. Pale. Bleeding. Dying. While he sat here doing nothing.
"Stop," the wolf commanded quietly.
"Stop what?"
"Whatever guilt spiral you're building in that human head of yours." The wolf straightened up, taking a step.
Dean scoffed. "You don't know what I'm thinking."
"Don't I?" Grayson nodded toward his hands. "You've been staring at dried blood for twenty minutes."
The hunter turned away first.
"You weren't bound. She knew that when she stepped in front of you."
Dean looked away. He remembered. Stephen. The fangs. Alex hitting him hard enough to knock him out of the way. Jurgen. Her blood...
"She was trying to stay alive too."
Grayson was quiet for a moment. "Most Alphas would've saved themselves first." Silence settled between them, broken only by rain tapping against the cabin roof.
Dean didn't answer.
The wolf stepped closer, his scent of rain-soaked pine cutting through the iron stench of dried blood. "Taken a hit like that for a stray. Most Alphas wouldn't have done that."
Dean's jaw clenched at the insult, but he let it pass.
"Not for someone they weren't tied to. The strange part isn't that she shielded you, Winchester."
"Then what?" Dean spat, his defensive walls slamming up.
Grayson looked at him carefully, a look that was entirely too knowing. "It's how fast she chose." Dean's stomach knotted.
"She protected you like she'd already made up her mind."
"About what?" Dean whispered, hating how small he sounded.
"That you were hers to protect." The hunter opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
The words lodged somewhere deep and uncomfortable. His mind betrayed him immediately. Not to the blood. Not to the scream that still echoed in his ears. But to the last time he'd seen her standing.
_______________
The wind cut cold across the ridge, sharp enough to sting Dean's cheeks as he crouched beside Alex at the cliff's edge. Below them, miles of pine forest gave way to an open clearing. Bloom's compound sat right in the middle of it. Floodlights swept through the fog, tracing fences, watchtowers, and patrol routes.
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all."
Dean adjusted the binoculars, jaw clenched, breath ghosting white. "Tell me again why we're freezing our asses off on a cliff when we could be doing this from somewhere with walls?"
Alex didn't answer. She kept her attention fixed on the compound like he wasn't talking.
He exhaled sharply. "Right. Silence. Your favorite."
Still nothing.
He clicked his tongue, tried again. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?"
A beat stretched between them. She didn't look at him. "Which part?"
"Oh, I don't know," he snapped. "The part where you forgot to mention you were a werewolf princess? Or the part where your old man nearly put me through the floor with whatever the hell that was?"
"Dean—"
"No," he cut in, voice low. "Don't 'Dean' me. Not after that."
She fixed the binoculars without looking at him. "We're here to locate Taylor and figure out what happened to the Eclipse Wolves. This isn't the time."
"Yeah?" He dropped his binoculars, letting the device smack against his chest. "Funny. I thought it was exactly the time. Since you werewolves—" he bit the word, "—you and Garth didn't bother to tell me what I was walking into."
Her head turned a fraction. "Leave Garth out of it."
Dean blinked. It was the first genuine reaction she'd shown since they'd climbed the ridge.
"Touchy subject?"
"He gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere else to go," she said flatly. "So yes. Leave him out of it."
"No," he shot back. This wasn't about Garth anymore. "You didn't trust me to make the choice for myself."
She turned to him. Unreadable. "If I had told you everything upfront, would you have helped?"
He stayed quiet. The answer was right there. Alex saw it anyway.
The silence seemed to settle something for her. She looked back toward the compound. "That's why."
Dean stared at her profile. He didn't have an argument. That irritated him more than anything.
Because if she'd sat him down two weeks ago and told him she was the heir to some werewolf pack, he never would've made it past that part of the conversation. Taylor would've never even come up.
"Still should've told me," he muttered.
"Maybe." Then she raised the binoculars again. Just like that, the conversation was over. For her, anyway.
He wasn't nearly done. Apparently she was. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "For the record? Your dad's still an asshole."
Alex didn't rise to the bait. "Focus. We're losing daylight."
He shifted beside her, irritated. She didn't even glance at him. She looked the same way she had standing across from Napoleon. Controlled. Guarded. Ready for a fight underneath.
He lifted the binoculars again. "I count eighteen guards on the north side. Human, I think. Guns, tactical gear, radios. This looks more like Blackwater than a monster hangout."
Alex hummed. "Bloom likes human security."
"Why?"
"Because wolves rely on instinct. Humans rely on procedures."
Dean tracked one of the patrols moving along the fence line. Two guards. Military posture. Not hired muscle.
He snorted. "Great. So he's got both." Alex didn't respond immediately, which made him glance over.
"What?"
Silence. Then: "Bloom's human."
He lowered the binoculars. He heard the words, but they just didn't make sense.
"Human," she repeated, eyes fixed on Bloom's property. Alex sounded disgusted. That surprised him.
"No pack. No wolf. Just flesh and bone."
A human didn't dismantle wolf packs. A human didn't make an Alpha like Napoleon Donovan sweat. "Then how the hell is he running all this? And how does a guy with no fangs cage a pack of wolves?"
Her mouth flattened. "Bloom didn't earn loyalty." Her gaze never left the compound. "He bought it."
Dean frowned. "Bought it?" Hunters bought silver. Guns. Information. Not loyalty.
"Money helps." Alex adjusted the focus on her binoculars.
"So does being the guy who owns the land, signs the checks, and decides who eats." Her voice flattened. "Bloom's family has been buying loyalty for generations. And you'd be surprised what people will follow when they're desperate."
The compound below suddenly looked different. Worse. Bloom wasn't building a pack. He was building an army.
A spotlight swept across the far fence line. Dean frowned. It lingered longer than the others. Searching instead of scanning. He adjusted the focus.
"They're doing perimeter sweeps this far out?" He lowered the binoculars slightly. "That wasn't on the patrol routes."
Alex stiffened. "They shouldn't be anywhere near this ridge."
"Maybe they're just patrolling wide?"
"No." She tracked the light sweep. "This is too far."
Another spotlight flickered on farther down the perimeter. He looked over. "Alex?"
She lowered the binoculars. "Something's changed."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. Either Bloom expanded his search pattern..." Her expression darkened. "...or someone talked."
Alex raised a hand. Dean stopped talking.
"What?"
She tilted her head. Listening. "Three guards."
Dean scanned the tree line beneath the ridge. Nothing. Just shadows and pines. Then a branch cracked. Another. It was moving uphill, with voices drifting up through the trees.
"...Jurgen said the north line's been quiet."
Alex didn't move. Somehow, that worried Dean more.
"Who is Jurgen?" No answer.
More voices drifted up through the trees, deeper this time. "Stephen doesn't trust that. He wants the ridge checked before nightfall. Said the Alpha might send someone."
Her expression didn't change. But she lowered into a crouch, eyes fixed on the trees.
He whispered, "Alex?" Nothing.
"Alex." Softer this time. "Who are Jurgen and Stephen?"
"Trouble." That's all she said.
She kept listening. Below them, the guards kept climbing. Flashlights swept across the rocks below. Boots crunched through the frost.
"Get down." She grabbed his jacket and yanked him down behind a boulder just as a flashlight beam sliced across the spot they'd been standing. He hit the ground hard.
She came down with him, one hand braced against his chest, the other planted on the damp ground. Her head stayed turned toward the trees, listening.
The beam swept past.
"Man, I hope we don't run into those two psychos tonight," one of the guards laughed nervously. "Jurgen gets twitchy before a full moon."
"Stephen's worse," the other muttered. "Bloom says they'll tear apart anything they scent out here."
Dean waited until the voices drifted farther downslope before glancing at Alex. Every part of her seemed focused on something he couldn't hear. "We need to move."
Then she looked past him. "They're already here." The words barely left her mouth.
A voice below them growled, low and unmistakably non-human: "Leave the ridge. Now."
"Jurgen," she breathed.
The guards didn't argue. A second later, boots started moving downhill. Humans obeying in fear, not respect.
Dean turned toward her. "Alex. Talk to me."
Her eyes never left the trees. "Run."
Dean's stomach dropped. They were already moving when something shifted behind them.
A twig snapped. Directly behind Dean. He spun.
A voice, smooth and far too close, whispered: "I found you."
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Alex hit him shoulder-first, slamming into his ribs hard enough to hurl him sideways. His back hit a tree trunk as claws ripped through the space where his head had been.
Bark exploded across his face. Splinters stung his cheek. Dean shoved off the tree fast, his Colt already in his hand.
The thing landed ten feet away. Too big for a human. It was just wrong. Moonlight caught fur. A wolf. Not a man. Not entirely. One of Bloom's wolves. Had to be.
His grip tightened around the Colt. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The wolf smiled. Dean hated that more than claws. He fired. The shot cracked through the trees. Dean never even saw it move. One second it was there. The next it wasn't. The round punched through a pine trunk instead.
"Fuck!"
Another crash swallowed whatever came next. Leaner than the first. Quieter. This wolf wasn't smiling. His attention was fixed entirely on Alex.
"Artemis." The title sounded wrong coming from him. Familiar, but mocking at the same time.
Alex's lips peeled back from her teeth. "Jurgen." One second they were standing still. The next, they weren't.
The impact sounded like a car wreck. Dean had seen monsters fight before. Nothing like this. He lost track almost immediately.
Dean caught flashes. Fur. Claws. A tree shuddered and split apart. Then they vanished into the dark again. They weren't fighting like monsters. They were fighting like people who already knew each other's moves.
He lost sight of them when Stephen crashed into his left side. Whatever was happening between Alex and Jurgen, he was on his own. He rolled with the impact before he even thought about it. Pain flared through his ribs. Sharp. Immediate. Years of training moved him before panic could.
Dean got the Colt up but not fast enough. Stephen lunged. A heavy forearm crashed into the gun. The impact rattled all the way up Dean's arms, and the gun flew from his grip, disappearing into the underbrush.
"Oh come on!"
Stephen laughed. Actually laughed. Blood dripped from his mouth. "Human."
The Colt was gone. Desperate, Dean reached for the knife at his hip. The silver blade flashed into his hand. "Original insult."
Stephen came at him again. Steel flashed. Dean felt the edge connect. Fur parted beneath the blade. Nothing else. Not deep enough to cause damage.
"Son of a bitch."
Stephen's hand shot out. He caught Dean's knife wrist. Then twisted. Pain shot through Dean's shoulder. "Motherf—"
Something popped loud and wrong. His knife slipped from his hand. No time to brace for whatever's next. One second his boots were on the ground. The next they weren't.
He was airborne. His back slammed into a redwood with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. White flashed across his vision. Something in his spine complained loudly.
He hit the ground. Hard. For a second all he could do was lie there, staring up at the swaying tops of the redwoods while his body tried to remember how breathing worked. Everything hurt. His shoulder hung uselessly at his side.
Great. Just great. He planted a hand in the mud and pushed. Managed half a step.
"Aw, hell." Not enough.
Stephen hit him like a truck. Dean saw fur. Then dirt. The impact drove him face-first into wet soil. Mud filled his mouth. Pine needles scratched across his cheek. He rolled, trying to create space. Didn't get any. The werewolf landed on him.
Dean drove his good shoulder into the wolf's chest. Nothing.
He kicked. Nothing.
"Come on..." Nothing.
Fangs flashed inches from his face. Drool splattered across his cheek. Then, the smell hit him. It was rotten and bloody. Warm. Disgusting. "Fantastic."
Stephen stopped. His nostrils flared. Then he smiled. Slowly. Dean knew that smile. Hunters got that smile when they found what they were looking for.
"Omega."
The word hit harder than the hand around his throat. Alex was still out there. Stephen's grip around his throat tightened. Black spots crowded his vision.
Somewhere in the darkness, Alex snarled. Jurgen answered. The sounds coming from the trees stopped making sense. Dean couldn't tell who was winning anymore.
He shoved against Stephen's chest. His arms burned. His lungs screamed. Nothing.
Stephen lowered his head. Closer. Closer until fangs brushed his skin. His throat.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong! Every instinct he had was screaming for distance. For safety.
For—
Then he heard her. A growl ripped through the clearing. Not human. Not even close. Pure Alpha. Ancient. Furious. Every hair on Dean's body stood up. Not from fear.
Alex.
"Get the fuck away from him!" The command crashed through Dean a split second before Stephen's weight vanished. Hot and fresh blood sprayed across his face.
He scrambled backward, coughing. Jurgen was still out there. Still alive. Alex had left him. For Dean. She was on Stephen's back. Her claws had sunk deep into his shoulders. Stephen roared.
Alex didn't. That was worse. She was silent, focused, and terrifying. For the first time since meeting her, Dean understood why other wolves lowered their eyes around her.
Her arm wrapped around Stephen's throat. Then she twisted. Bone snapped under her hands. Loud and sharp in the clearing.
But she wasn't done. The werewolf's body went limp. She didn't stop. Dean watched her bite down. Something warm hit his jeans. Blood. Too much of it.
He didn't move. Couldn't move.
Stephen hit the ground. Dead before he landed. His body was already changing back.
Silence. No words would form. Dean shoved himself to his feet. His gaze never left Alex. Everything hurt.
"Fuck!" His vision hadn't fully settled when he caught a glimpse of gray fur at the edge of the clearing.
Jurgen.
Blood darkened one side of his chest. Deep claw marks cut through the fur. Alex had gotten to him. Bad.
Jurgen wasn't done. He moved. Too fast.
"Alex!" Dean screamed.
Her attention flicked toward him. Claws punched into her side. Deep. Far too deep.
For a heartbeat nobody moved. Not Dean. Not Alex. Not even Jurgen. Then blood poured through Jurgen's claws. Far more than there should've been.
She took a step back. Then another. Jurgen ripped free. And she dropped to one knee.
Something inside him went cold as he watched her fall. Not the hunter. Not the Omega. Just Dean.
"Alex!" Dean stumbled toward her. His knees hit the ground harder than he intended. His hands were instantly covered in blood.
"No. No, no, no—" Her eyes found his. For a second. Just one.
She tried to say something. Nothing came out.
Through the edge of his vision, he saw Jurgen moving toward them again. Then something or someone slammed into the injured wolf. The impact sent them both crashing through a boulder. Dean barely registered it. All he saw was Alex.
"Stay with me, Donovan."
Then hands grabbed him.
"Get off me!"
He fought. Screamed. Kicked. It didn't matter. Too many hands. Too much strength. The last thing he saw before they pulled him away was Alex lying in the dirt. His hands were covered in her blood.
Characters: Dean Winchester (Omega!Dean), Alex Donovan (Alpha!OC), Marcus (OC), Napoleon (OC), Aurora (OC)
Summary: Dean thought he understood Alex. He had no idea.
When they finally arrive, he comes face-to-face with the legacy she ran from, and the power she’s been holding back. As old wounds reopen and instincts he can’t control rise to the surface, Dean discovers the truth: Alex isn’t just an Alpha. He learns what it truly means to be an Artemis.
And she’ll bare her teeth at her own father if it means keeping Dean alive.
@spnheadbang @leysol (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
The Impala pushed through the rain, redwoods crowding both sides of the road. The wipers dragged back and forth, barely keeping the road clear. For nine hours, they'd driven in clipped bursts of conversation: layouts, guard rotations, ways into Bloom's fortress all of them sounding like a good way to get killed. The rest sat between them. Dean kept driving anyway, straight toward whatever Marcus had dragged them into, and that pissed him off most.
Dean kept both hands on the wheel. Baby helped. Driving helped. It gave him something to do besides think about the motel floor and the way his own body had quit on him. Behind the wheel, he could at least pretend he was just a hunter on a case.
Beside him, Alex sat still as stone. He took a quick glance. Nothing. No crack, no tell. Dean had questions. A lot of them. Marcus. Her father. Where they were going. Why he was apparently chauffeuring her straight into whatever fresh hell waited at the end of this road.
He opened his mouth. "About Marcus—"
"We need to talk about your heat."
His grip on the wheel tightened until the leather wrap creaked under his palms. "Yeah, hard pass."
She kept her eyes on the road ahead. "This isn't optional. I need answers." She waited. He gave her nothing. "How often does it happen?"
He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "What, you want me to mark your calendar? Circle the bad days in red?"
"If it keeps us alive, yes." Her eyes flicked to his face. "How often, Dean?"
He stared at the rhythmic sweep of the wipers. Sweep-snap, sweep-snap. His jaw ticked.
Through gritted teeth, "It's not on a damn schedule. Every few months. Suppressants keep a lid on it..." His voice dropped. "...Usually."
She caught it instantly. "'Usually?'"
"Monthly dose," he muttered, his throat suddenly dry. "I wasn't due to crash for weeks. This—" He stopped. God, he hated how uncertain he sounded.
"This wasn't normal. The meds always worked before. I've never..." He looked back at the road. "...Not like last night."
She didn't soften. "So that was your first true heat."
Something in him snapped. His palm slammed hard against the wheel, the horn giving a brief, angry blip. "Don't say it like that!"
She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Just turned her head slowly. "Like what?"
That only made it worse. "Like you're talking about the damn weather and not my life blowing up!"
"Your suppressants didn't just wear off."
One hand lifted, then settled again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Alex let the anger roll past without answering it. Her voice stayed even. "Suppressants stay in the system. A month. Sometimes two. Even if someone stops cold."
He stared harder at the road.
"Heat doesn't usually hit all at once," she continued. "Not like that."
"Usually," he echoed, bitter.
"I've been around Omegas on suppressants, off suppressants, half-dosed, over-dosed. I've never seen one go from stable to full heat in a few hours."
"Okay. Great. And I'm supposed to do what with that?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Dean stared through the rain. "So...I'm defective."
"That's not what I said."
"Sure sounds like it." The wipers dragged across the glass. Rain smeared the taillights of an empty logging truck ahead of them into red streaks.
"It means this is different. And until we know what, you're a risk."
He barked out a humorless laugh. "Awesome. Guess I'm the liability now."
Alex didn't react.
"You're walking into hostile territory," she said. "Garth should've told me."
Dean's eyes stayed on the road. Been doing that my whole damn life.
She frowned. "He didn't know," she said, more to herself than to him.
The cold rain drummed against the Impala's roof. Beneath them, the heavy tires hissed over wet asphalt.
"No one knows." Alex dragged a slow breath. Dean wasn't sure what she was thinking. He only knew every word out of her mouth made this worse.
"You came into this knowing your heat was close."
His thumb rubbed once over the seam in the wheel. "I had time."
"You thought you had time."
That shut him up.
"Now that it's happened once, it can happen again," she said.
Dean said nothing.
"Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But next time, if it hits in the wrong place, you won't be hunting. You'll be surviving."
He stared through the rain.
"And I can't fight Bloom's people and keep you alive at the same time. If you go down..."
"...you'll take me down with you."
Damn it.
"All right! All right! Point made," he muttered. "Don't expect me to make it easy next time."
"I don't expect easy." Alex's voice stayed cool. "I expect prepared."
The rain thinned as they rounded a final bend. A ten-foot fence topped with razor wire cut through the forest. A heavy iron gate blocked the road, marked with the sigil of a crescent moon. Two guards waited outside, leaning against the fence like they had nowhere better to be.
"Showtime," she murmured.
Just like that, the edge in her voice disappeared. Alex's expression settled into something unreadable. And the conversation just died.
"This your idea of home?" he muttered, eyes fixed on the gate. Hunters didn't walk into compounds. Not willingly.
She didn't answer. Figures.
He eased the Impala to a stop. One guard swaggered forward, young enough to think he was invincible. He bent toward the driver's window, a smug grin already in place.
"What's your business here?" Before Dean could answer, the guard spat. Rainwater ran in thin streams down Baby's hood around the spit.
Leather creaked under his hands. "Classy," he bit out. "You always greet people by hocking a loogie on their ride?"
His hand was already on the door handle. One more second and he'd be out of the car teaching this punk some manners. He didn't get the chance. The inside of the Impala went heavy. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.
The guard stopped mid-grin, color draining from his face as a small, strangled sound slipped out of him. Dean knew that feeling. The motel. Every hunter instinct he had shoved back against it, but his body folded first. His shoulders drew inward before he could stop them.
"Son of a—" His elbows locked. His fingers dug into the wheel.
Damn it. Again.
"Daryl, what's the problem?" Another guard jogged over, then slowed so fast he almost tripped. His eyes snapped to Alex like he'd just stepped barefoot into a minefield.
"Artemis," the cocky guard stammered. "I didn't mean... please..."
Alex got out of the car and walked around the hood slow enough to make the kid sweat. "Oh no? Then what was that? A welcome?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe you need another 'lesson.'"
The guard folded fast, shoulders caving in. His boots shifted backward without him seeming to realize it. All that swagger gone like somebody had flipped a switch. "No, Artemis. Please. I've been good."
Alex didn't raise her voice. Didn't have to. Whatever had rolled through the car hit the guard even harder. His knees wobbled. His shoulders curled in until he looked half his size. Dean watched him shrink in real time and hated that some part of him understood it.
A slow smile crossed her face. Her amber eyes caught the gray light, bright enough to make him look twice. She looked like she'd done this before.
She let him sweat one breath longer, then nodded toward the gate. "Open it."
The guards scrambled over each other to obey. Alex slid back into her seat, bringing the smell of rain and cold air with her. Rust groaned as the gate rolled open. Dean just stared. What the hell had he just watched?
"Don't..." He swallowed once. "Don't do that."
"Don't just turn the whole damn car into a pressure cooker without warning."
She tilted her head slowly. She didn't argue. Didn't apologize. The look unsettled him. It reminded him of Castiel. Same blank look. Like she'd missed whatever normal people were supposed to do next.
He dragged his eyes back to the road. "Yeah," he muttered. "Next time, a little warning."
He waited just long enough. "...Artemis."
"Don't call me that." Her voice stayed level. "Ever."
She looked out the windshield. "Just drive." Wet gravel crunched beneath the tires as Dean eased the Impala forward into the compound.
Dean didn't smile. That would've been suicidal. He'd gotten under her skin. Good enough.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Got it."
Cabins sat scattered through the clearing. Open ground. Fences. The building in the middle looked like somebody had built a fortress out of redwoods.
People moved through the compound carrying lumber, hauling crates, talking in small groups. Somewhere farther back, an axe split wood. Then the Impala rolled past. Heads turned. Conversations died. Some stopped walking altogether. Others exchanged quick looks before lowering their heads toward the car.
Dean frowned. He caught the same thing in the rearview mirror. Surprise. Recognition. Eyes followed the Impala all the way to the lodge.
He glanced at Alex. Nothing. She kept her eyes on the road like people bowing at her was normal. Great. Apparently he was the only one who thought that was weird.
Dean fought the urge to reach for the Colt. Nobody carried a rifle. Nobody looked like they needed one. Somehow... That was worse.
The Impala rolled to a stop in front of the lodge. Dean killed the engine.
A broad-shouldered man stepped off the porch, arms crossed over his chest. Dark hair threaded with gray. A weathered jaw carved from stone.
"He's waiting." The voice fit the rest of him. Block of granite.
Of course he is.
Alex climbed out first. "Marcus."
He didn't spare Dean a glance. His attention stayed fixed on Alex, like Dean wasn't worth noticing.
Cedar and incense drifted across the porch. His stomach tightened. The motel. Dean kept his face blank.
"Stay close. And don't say a word unless I tell you to."
Like he had another option.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I'll just stand there and look pretty."
He glanced at the lodge, then fell in behind the two... whatever-they-were. Soldiers. Cultists. Something. None of the options were good. Every step reminded him the motel hadn't been that long ago.
Marcus never looked back. He walked like he expected the world to get out of his way. Marcus' scent followed him. Dean still couldn't stand it. He fought the urge to fall another step behind.
Without thinking, Dean matched his pace to Alex's. Her scent steadied the knot in his chest. He noticed a second later.
Marcus pushed open the heavy oak doors. Warm air rolled over him carrying woodsmoke, like an old hunting camp. It should've felt familiar. It didn't. A handful of people stood along the walls inside the lodge. Guards, maybe. Pack, maybe. Every pair of eyes tracked her. A few lowered their heads as she passed. None of them spoke.
Their boots echoed across polished timber. Marcus held out an arm, barring the doorway. "The stray stays here."
Stray? Dean had been called a lot of things over the years. That one was new.
"I don't think so." Her smile never reached her eyes.
"Where I go, he goes." She took one step forward. Marcus didn't move. "Try to separate us."
Another step. "See how fast I break you."
Something rolled through the room. Dean felt it before he understood it. The pressure settled across his shoulders, forcing them down before he could stop it. The muscles in the back of his neck tightened.
"Son of a—" His knees threatened to give. He locked them hard.
Damn it. Not again.
The room went still. Marcus never answered. Another voice did.
"No one's taking him from you, Alexandria."
Dean's head snapped toward the side doorway. How the hell did I miss him?
A man stepped into the room, one broad hand settling on Marcus's shoulder like he'd been standing there the whole time. Then those cool gray eyes settled on Dean. Around the room, bodies moved. Fabric rustled. Boots thudded softly against the floor. One after another, people lowered their heads. A few dropped to one knee without waiting to be told.
The weight from outside crashed over him again. Old leather. Winter. Frost. His knees threatened to fold. His hand found the Colt before he realized he was reaching for it. The checkered grip dug into his palm. Not to draw. Just to have something solid to hold onto.
Napoleon smiled. Dean didn't buy it for a second. "I am Napoleon Phonophoros Donovan," he announced. "Alpha of the Crescent Moon Pack." He let the title hang there, like it was supposed to mean something.
Dean kept his face blank. Nobody looked up. The room went so quiet Dean could hear the fire crackled behind Napoleon.
Napoleon lifted one hand toward Alex. Barely anything. Then, every head turned. "And this is my heir. Alexandria Rhodielle Donovan. Alpha Apparent. The Artemis."
Nobody in the room reacted. Dean was the only one trying to figure out what the hell it meant.
Then the other word caught up. Heir. That word he understood. The bowed heads outside. The silence. The way everyone had watched the Impala roll in. Yeah. Okay. That tracked.
Napoleon's smile sharpened. He wasn't done running his damn mouth. "And yes, hunter. Pack as in werewolves. Not the fairytale kind. The real kind."
For half a second, Dean heard nothing but the blood rushing in his ears. Werewolves. Not a cult. Not some rich freak's private army. A pack. A real one.
His eyes cut to Alex. Not a soldier. Not a runaway. Not just some Alpha with a bad attitude and worse people skills. The Heir.
One impossible thing at a time. Dean ground his teeth. "You've gotta be kidding me."
She wasn't just some runaway with daddy issues. She was werewolf royalty. His hand stayed on the Colt. His feet stayed exactly where they were. His body had already decided standing behind Alex was the safest place in the room. Dean hadn't. He hated that.
"Great," he muttered, his mouth twisting into a bitter line. "Guess I missed the part where you told me I was signing up for the family reunion from hell."
Alex didn't even glance his way. She kept her eyes on Napoleon. "Let's cut to the chase. Why am I here, Alpha?"
Dean's eyes flicked between them. She didn't call him Dad. She called him Alpha.
Napoleon laughed, loud enough to make the hair on Dean's arms stand up. There wasn't a damn thing funny about it. It carried all the warmth of a shotgun being racked.
"Alexandria, please." The smile never left his face. His voice did. "Reel in your wolf."
He waited. "Unless you're challenging me."
The room became even more unbearable. The pressure doubled. Marcus hit one knee with a heavy thud that echoed through the lodge. Around the room, everyone else followed, knees hitting the polished floor in a staggered wave.
The weight hit Dean next. Like gravity had suddenly decided to double. His knees shook. His shoulders wanted to fold. Every instinct in his body screamed the same thing. Down.
But he was a Winchester. He locked his knees, ground his teeth, and kept one hand wrapped around the Colt.
Alex had been bad enough. This was something else.
But Alex didn't bend. She stepped in front of him, shoulders squared, putting herself between Dean and her father. The pressure eased. Not much. Just enough that he could straighten himself.
A low growl rumbled through the room. Her hand flexed. In the dim light, he watched her fingernails darken. Lengthened. Claws.
His stomach tightened. She never looked back. Never checked whether he was standing, running, or halfway out the door. She just stood there, facing Napoleon like she'd already decided how this ended.
Dean wasn't so sure either of them walked away if this went bad. He could hear his own heartbeat jagged and uneven. For one terrifying second, he thought she was going to do it. Challenge her father.
"Aw, hell..."
That was insane. Every instinct he had screamed at him to run. But the Winchester in him stayed put. He couldn't look away. Somebody was about to throw the first punch. Or tear the room apart.
"Napoleon. Alexandria. That is enough."
The voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room cleanly. The pressure dropped all at once.
Dean stumbled, sucking in air before he could stop himself. Around the room, knees stayed planted. Heads stayed lowered. Marcus was still down on one knee, one hand braced against the floorboards.
Alex held her ground a second longer, eyes locked on her father. Then a woman stepped between them and laid one hand lightly against Alex's arm. Only then did Alex ease back.
The woman turned, and the room seemed to change with her. Chamomile and honey cut through the leather, frost, and smoke. Warm. Soft. Wrong in a place like this.
Her eyes landed on Dean, and for once, he didn't feel measured, weighed, or marked as a problem. She just looked at him like he was tired.
"Marcus," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "Please see that lunch is prepared. Our guest must be hungry."
Marcus didn't move. His eyes flicked toward Napoleon. A tiny nod. That was all he got.
Around the room, the kneeling wolves rose without a word. Marcus stepped back. Alex didn't. Neither did Napoleon. They were still staring at each other when Aurora turned to Dean.
She smiled. A real one. "Hello, dear. My name is Aurora. I'm terribly sorry about my husband and daughter."
A tiny sigh. "They can be... a handful." She touched his forearm. Her hand was warm through the flannel. Steady. His shoulders loosened before he caught himself.
Damn it.
"Come," she said. "Let's get you something to eat."
Dean wasn't buying the hospitality. Not completely. But his shoulders had loosened, and his hand wasn't wrapped quite so tight around the Colt anymore.
He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Sure."
He looked back at Alex before he could stop himself. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were still locked on Napoleon, looking like she was ready to swing.
Aurora guided him toward the doorway, then glanced back over her shoulder. "And you two will behave."
Dean faced forward. Yeah. Sure. If she was the normal one...
