Destiel Fanfiction as a Coping Mechanism

“Charlie,” Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes as best he can without dislodging Charlie from his chest. “I’m not going to get involved with someone I met online. Least of all someone I had exactly one semi-pleasant conversation with.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” Charlie says, raising her chin so she can look up at him all innocent and wide-eyed. “Just, if he comes back, chat again. Maybe send him a DM. See if you guys click.”

“And what if we do? What if we do, and he’s into male omegas, but then I tell him about myself and he pulls away.” Castiel sighs, feeling heavy and tired all of a sudden. He’s had a little over thirty years to get to terms with his gland defect. But sometimes the unfairness of it all hits him all over again.

Technically, biologically, he’s omega. He slicks when he’s aroused and he can bear children. But he’ll never be able to form a scent bond. The single most important way to connect with a partner on an emotional level is simply unavailable to him.

“What if he doesn’t?” Charlie asks.

Castiel stares at the frozen image of London’s Tower Bridge on the TV screen. “Then that would be literally the first time that’s ever happened,” he says.

Sam looked as if Dean had just gutted him, and skinned him too for good measure. "Sarah's pregnant!" he blurted.

Dean blinked, utterly thrown. "…Sarah?"

Bobby ran a hand over his face. "Daniel Blake's daughter."

Dean's brow furrowed while Sam's chin wobbled, though he was also scowling as if Dean were being deliberately obtuse. "The guns and antiques guy? The one who haunts flea markets and garage sales?" He snapped his fingers as the face of a pretty brunette beta finally came to mind. "That debate competition in Lufkin, right? Cas and I drove you."

"It was Model UN." Sam muttered sullenly, though he shrank in his seat, voice thickening with tears, "but yeah."

"I…" Dean gulped back a wave of nausea as his vision tunneled, "I thought you didn't go for it, Sam. That you chickened out on asking for her number."

Sam scoffed, arms tight around himself as if it were all that was holding him together. "Yeah. About that."

"It's his, Dean," Bobby said heavily, "I saw the girl, she's sure—"

"Obviously," Dean cut in sharply. "Contrary to popular belief about women and male omegas, the vast majority of us fucking know who sires our kids!" He glowered at Sam, "Did you doubt her? Did you seriously ask if it was yours?!" he seethed.

Sam hesitated a beat too long. "I…never asked that. I kinda knew when…" He trailed off helplessly.

Right, those good ole Alpha sniffers. Hadn't stopped Paternity Court being a thing. "You got Sarah Blake pregnant." His voice was flat, dead.

"So let me make sure I understand," Dean said. "You think the career I’ve worked my ass off on for the last twenty years is just a temporary hobby."

"I didn’t—"

"You basically called it that."

"I meant—"

"You think omegas are happiest staying home barefoot and pregnant."

"Biologically speaking—"

"And,” Dean interrupted for a third time. “You think an omega needs an alpha to provide for them."

Douchebag frowned in confusion as if he couldn't understand why this conversation had suddenly become uncomfortable.

"Yes, of course."

Dean looked at him, really looked at him and saw a big ass douchebag that believed with complete certainty that his worldview was both correct and universal.

Then Dean snorted into his beer glass as he took the last sip. “Okay," he said, reaching for his wallet. "You're right."

Douchebag visibly relaxed and smiled. "It’s really not that hard to understand.”

“Mm-hm.” Dean nodded and stood.

Douchebag’s smile vanished. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? Why?"

Dean placed enough cash on the table to cover his meal. "Life's too short to be spending it here with you."

Douchebag stared at him, still confused. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm fucking serious." Dean picked up his jacket. "Good luck finding your dream omega."

The offended expression that crossed Douchebag's face nearly made the evening worth it.

“Why do you care about meeting the new teachers?” Dean muttered. “Last time I checked, you were an introvert…”

Castiel cocked an eyebrow, clearly not following whatever angle Dean thought he was taking here. “I’d like to try and become more social this school year.”

“Bullshit,” Dean muttered, just loud enough. “I know you since we’ve been four. I've seen houseplants with a bigger social life.”

Dean knew it was bullshit because he’d been there all summer with Castiel. Cas walking around sans blockers without a care in a world, like his scent didn’t settle into everything. The cabin, their clothes, the goddamn furniture. It had been everywhere. Soft, warm, impossible to ignore while the Alpha was advertising his Alpha-ness around.

Dean had noticed. Of course he had. There wasn’t a world where he wouldn’t. But it wasn’t just the amazing sandalwoodsy, wild honey smell that was both arousing as it was comforting.

It was what it meant.

Dean knew what Castiel was doing, even if Cas would never admit it out loud like that. Castiel had been doing it on purpose. Strutting around without saying a word, like he was waiting for someone to react. For someone to be the one. Looking for his true mate.

That was the part that got under Dean’s skin.

Because logically, sure, that’s how it was supposed to go. One of them finds their true mate, the bond they had — whatever the hell it even counted as — fades out, disappears, becomes nothing. Clean. Easy. The way it should be. Practically the only way it could work at this point, with the way Castiel still nearly dies every 5 years when they try to separate.

Dean knew that.