Part 2 of Pack Alpha!Cas x Young Alpha!Dean (3.3k words)
To have Dean sitting at his breakfast table, dressed in warm, woolen clothing a couple of sizes too wide but not too long for him, still sleep-ruffled and bleary-eyed, hastily eating all the food laid out before him, satisfies a deep, feral urge inside of Castiel. Considering Dean’s reluctance to so much as set foot into Castiel's home last night – because, apparently, Dean had expected to stay at some hut, motel or maybe even prison, instead of the pack Alpha's house – or accept food, a bath and a bed from him, the ease with which he now already inhabits a space in the house is surprising. Like this, Dean looks soft, for lack of a better word, and comfortable, in Castiel's clothing and at his table, and it only seems right to have him here and take care of him. Regardless of him being Alpha as well.
Because not only is he still young and non-threatening, he is also very obviously in need of help. Even in very strict and traditional packs, it is uncommon to simply exile any adolescent who presents as an Alpha and might challenge the pack Alpha one day, so for Dean to be out on his own, underfed and freezing, is puzzling. Unless he did something truly abhorrent to warrant expulsion, he should still be under the protection of his pack and parents. And Dean, with the scars now hidden under the turtleneck Castiel lent him and his pink tongue flicking out to catch every drop and crumble on his lips, feels more like the type to have had abhorrent things done to him.
Then again, looks can be deceiving – and particularly young Alphas tend to lack the inhibition or sense to rein themselves in. Just because he is beautiful and pitiful now does not mean that he did nothing bad before or does not deserve his current, worn-down state. After all, he did ask to be killed over nothing last night. To atone, perhaps?
“So,” Castiel begins, since he has to begin somehow, “how do you like the eggs?”
Apparently confused at being spoken to, Dean glances up at him and then back down to his scrambled eggs. Castiel made them for him – as well as some toast, hash browns, bacon, sausages, and a couple of pancakes – and added in a lot of herbs and butter, as Dean looked like he needed it, but they turned out runny and looking a bit funny. Dean had looked a bit overwhelmed by all the food set down before him, but then began wolfing down everything, as if he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Going by the slimness of his neck, he probably hadn't. If Castiel hadn't given him something light to eat and a few snacks the night before, he would probably be scared that Dean might get sick from this much food for breakfast. Really, he still is afraid of that. But when he started making breakfast, he did not think of that – in fact, he did not think much, except that he wanted to feed the young boy until he looked healthy again.
“They are pretty good,” Dean replies, stirring the eggs with his fork. “Though I'm not sure I can finish them.”
“It's fine if you don't. You don't have to eat everything I make, whether you simply don't like it or might be sick from it.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Dean says and only keeps stirring his eggs now instead of taking another bite, which Castiel takes as a sign that he only kept eating because he thought he had to.
Slightly disgruntled, Castiel takes a sip of his coffee. In the light of the morning and without the exhaustion of the cold clinging to him, the boy already looks somewhat healthier than the night before, and even more stunning. Castiel has no doubt that, were Dean an Omega, he would have been mated and impregnated long ago, if he comes from a pack that supports early matings. Or at least been mated for some time now or on headed that way. Because Castiel knows that even in his own, rather civilized pack, every unmated Alpha and Beta would have been vying for Dean's attention, showered him in gifts and sweet promises, trailed him like a bunch of lost puppies until he finally decided on one of them. Whoever Dean chose would have been considered to be the luckiest member of the pack, the most enviable one. And Castiel is neither too proud nor proud enough to admit that he, too, would have been one of Dean's hopeless little suitors – that he would have courted him shamelessly, probably gotten into fights with all the other admirers and tried to pathetically use his position as the pack Alpha to draw Dean's attention on him, even if just for a bit.
He would have been the king of the fools.
Castiel heaves out a sigh. What good does it do to draw up these kinds of fantasy scenarios and then berate himself for them? Maybe Meg is right: as the pack Alpha and still unmated at his age, he should have made more of an effort to find a viable mate. Even if no one in his pack or outside of it appealed to him yet – at least not to a degree at which he would consider anything long-term with them –, he should have set a good example and settled with someone by now. Certainly, he is not at an age that waiting a few more years or maybe even a decade would make him so old that he could not take proper care of a mate or any children, but the older he gets, the more time seems to just fly by. Whereas a year seemed like an eternity when he was younger, it now feels more like one more turn of the moon, the blink of an eye. If he is not careful, it might be too late for him to mate before he knows it.
Regardless, this is an issue to be dealt with at another time. Right now, all his attention should be on the young Alpha in front of him, who is by now doing nothing but sitting idly in his chair and breathing in that heavy, sluggish way that probably means he ate too much and is working on keeping the food down.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asks.
“Hm-mh,” Dean reassures. He strokes a hand over his belly, covered by the thick clothing Castiel has given him, and lets out a sound that is just so verging on a moan, both pleasured and pained.
Castiel feels his fingers tightening around the handle of his cup.
“Haven't eaten so much at once lately,” Dean all but slurs, “so it's a bit much right now. But it was good.”
“Yes?” Castiel asks, eyes perked.
“Yeah.” Dean confirms. This pleases Castiel immensely.
Castiel nods and makes a thoughtful noise. “I did notice that you look a bit... slim for your height. And the overall frame of your body. Which I assume is not just the result of any recent growth spurt?”
Dean tenses up at that, the previous laziness already leaving his body. Castiel cannot help but regret diving into the topic right away, but he has to. “Yeah, it's not like I've had any growth spurts recently.”
Which could either mean Dean is a bit older than Castiel assumed, or that he hasn't had proper nutrition for quite a while now. Maybe it's both.
“Is that why you were in my woods? To hunt?”
For a moment, Dean looks at him in a strange, undefinable way, then shrugs his shoulders. “If some rabbit was randomly crossing my path, maybe. I'm not a very good hunter, though.” He shuffles in his seat. “I was looking for some berries or herbs to eat. I thought there might be some since I've seen some thrushes in the tree tops, so I followed them. Until you pounced on me.”
The memory of which is slightly embarrassing, since Castiel has had a rather non-threatening Dean below him, begging to be killed, and now has him sit in front of him with a full belly, and satisfaction in his features.
“You did not enter the pack's territory on purpose, then,” Castiel resumes from Dean's story.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I didn't know where I was, let alone whose pack the woods belonged to. All I knew was that there were thrushes, so there must be berries around.”
Castiel does not comment on the fact that for Dean to know so much about berries that he would be able to track them down by watching birds is a bit unusual for an Alpha. As are his apparently insufficient hunting skills. Instead, he nods as if he could ever make the same kind of connection between birds and berries, and puts his cup down on the table.
“How long have you been wandering then, when you did not even know whose pack grounds you were entreating upon? Our territory is rather vast, and any proximate pack would know where the borders lay.”
“Been walking for a while,” Dean says noncommittally, shrugging and picking at his fingernails. Castiel remembers how dirty they were just the night before; how dirty all of him was, at least whatever glimpses he caught of Dean’s skin when he began to undress as Castiel was still busy bringing him clothing, fresh towels and soap into the bathroom. His hands are clean now, but Castiel should probably still take a brush and clippers to his fingernails. Maybe even to his toenails? He could pull off Dean’s socks, roll up the hems of his pants, let his feet soak in warm soapy water and then go about taking care of his probably sore and abused feet as slowly and gently as he would take care of his fingers.
Exasperated with himself, Castiel pinches his nose. Forget wrong or inappropriate, these kinds of thoughts are just downright strange. Not just because of the sense of self-abasement and worship that is inherent in feet-washing, let alone since both of them are Alphas, but because the very idea of doing so shouldn’t warm him to his core.
So, he looks away from Dean’s hands and, just to be on the safe side, from his face and any part of his body as well, and stares out the window instead. Outside, the sky is gray and thick snowflakes are falling. Certainly no good day for anyone to be wandering through the woods.
“What does ‘a while’ mean? A couple of days? Weeks?” Castiel probes. “For you to be in such a poor shape, it must have been quite some time.”
“...since spring?” Dean estimates vaguely.
Castiel’s gaze immediately snaps back to Dean. “Spring? Dean, we are in the middle of winter!” He cannot help the rush of anger and terror -- not directed at Dean, but his circumstances. No wonder he looked and still looks like he was put through the meatgrinder. No wonder he begged for Castiel to kill him!
Castiel's scent must stink of his rush of emotions, but Dean’s doesn’t even waver.
Because Dean just shrugs once more and nods, as if more than half a year spent as a vagrant did not matter all that much. “I guess.”
“How?” Castiel asks, then corrects himself. “Why?”
Slowly, Dean blows out a breath and lifts his eyes just enough to catch Castiel’s. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”
But Castiel pushes on. “Who would allow something like this to happen? It would have been your pack Alpha’s duty to find you and return you to pack grounds. Someone as young as yourself should never be left to his own devices, particularly not for such a long amount of time.”
Dean’s eyes skip away again. He does not reply, just tenses slightly. Castiel’s eyes narrow at that.
“Or is there a reason your pack Alpha did not look for you? Did you run away -- or were you exiled?”
For a moment, Dean clenches his eyes shut. “Neither. Both. I really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”
And Castiel wants to leave him alone, he does, yet it is more than simple curiosity for the beautiful young man sitting in front of him that is driving him, but also his pack’s safety. If Dean was indeed exiled, then it wouldn’t have happened without good reason. At least, it shouldn’t have. Hard as it is to keep pushing Dean and to do so much as assume that he might have committed a crime grave enough to warrant exile, Castiel needs to know the truth for safety reasons.
“Was there any kind of trouble?” As soon as he asks, he thinks of the second confirmation that Dean has given him: that, in the same way that he was and was not exiled, he also did and did not run away. “Did anyone cause you any trouble?”
Dean lets out a short, humorless laugh. Castiel straightens up.
“Did anyone hurt you?” The anger returns tenfold, turns into rage; the very idea of anyone touching Dean in such a painful way that he would flee his pack forces Castiel’s words to come out in a growl. “Is that why---? Is that where the scars came from? Dean, what---”
“Alpha,” Dean cuts in, and his voice and the expression on his face seem both to be warring between fear and anger too, settling on indignation. All of him is tense, and he bites his lip as he corrects himself. “Castiel. Please. I mean it. I don’t-- I can’t talk about this.” He slumps slightly in his seat, and Castiel hates himself for being the cause of this, for interrupting the serene scene from before, for distressing the boy who was so full and relaxed mere moments ago.
“I apologize,” Castiel says upon a deep exhale. “I recognize that you do not wish to talk about this, so I will not force you to. I have no right to your past, but some to your presence, as you are now part of my pack, which is why I need to know if what happened could have an impact on either your or the pack’s safety.” He shakes his head, tries to gather his thoughts. “No, this is not fair of me. I have already accepted your submission and your vow that you will not be a threat to my pack, so whatever you might have done in the past should not matter. Yet, as you are pack now, if there is still a threat to you, you should tell me, so that I can take the proper precautions. I cannot protect you if I don’t know that I need to -- if I don’t know what from.”
Dean appears taken aback by that statement. As if, upon admitting that he might pose a threat to the pack in whatever capacity, Castiel would grab him and drag him back to the woods. Which is ridiculous, given that right now, with Dean looking so small and unsure, Castiel would love to do nothing more than embrace him, stroke his hair and assure him that no harm will ever come to him again.
“I guess I do owe you as much,” Dean concedes, and he straightens his shoulders almost imperceptibly. “The truth is,” he breathes in deeply, “I don’t know for sure. I don’t think anyone would come looking for me, ‘specially since no one did ever since I left, or at least they didn’t find me, so I doubt they’d bother now. They’ve probably forgotten about me by now.” He curls his hands, where they are resting on the table, into fists. “So, I can’t give you any guarantee on that front. Just that I promise that I don’t wanna cause any trouble while I’m here, and that back there, I didn’t… murder anyone or whatever you might be thinking.” He is silent for a few moments. “So, if you don’t want me around as a potential hazard, I get that, really, and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as you say the word.”
“No,” Castiel decides, “as I said, you are now pack and under my protection, so as long as you accept my position as the Alpha and don’t harm anyone here. Since you have already done the first and just promised the second, there is absolutely no reason to refute this.”
Dean still looks somewhat doubtful, and all he gives as a reply is an unconvinced, “Alright.”
Castiel gets up from his chair with a sigh, and as he crosses the small space between him and a still seated Dean, the younger Alpha’s doubtfulness turns into wariness.
“Dean,” Castiel says in what he hopes is a soothing tone. Dean remains still and tense when Castiel comes to a halt next to him, and he lets him do as he likes when Castiel reaches out his hand and settles it on the side of his cloth-covered neck. On the spot that anyone else would present if they wanted to submit to an Alpha, and not in such a painfully absolute way in which Dean did the night before, all his scars on display, or where a mating bite would go, if Dean were not an Alpha.
Dean’s breathing turns short and shallow, but his smell does not turn sour in fear. Rather, its sweetness intensifies, picks up a notch, just like the pulse now beating against the palm of Castiel’s hand, pinkening his cheeks. Despite Dean’s designation, he does seem to take to submission rather easily.
“You are safe and welcome here. Knowing that you might be hurt if you leave, to say nothing of the harsh environmental conditions that would await you, fortifies my conviction that it was the right choice to allow you to join the pack. I won’t revoke that.” Unable to help himself, he strokes Dean’s warm neck, just once, twice, making the boy’s eyes go round and then flutter shut for a second. The urge to do more than just caress that vulnerable part of him suddenly overwhelms Castiel, and with regret and a soft brush of his thumb against Dean’s bobbing Adam’s apple, he retracts his hands. “I want you to stay here, where you are safe and can flourish. You deserve more than a life on the run, and if I can provide you with an actual future, then I am delighted to do so.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, so quiet and intimate as if they were sharing a secret. His eyes remain barely more than half-open, apparently still weighed down by Castiels caress. “What’s the catch?”
Castiel chuckles and wishes there were a catch -- some ulterior motive that would help him justify this foolish decision beyond that his genuine wish to see Dean safe and happy.
“The catch,” he says playfully, “is that you will need to do the dishes after breakfast, and any other time I cook because I abhor doing it myself. You will also need to keep your room clean yourself and take care of your own laundry. And you will have to let me introduce you to the other members of the pack, so that they know that there is one more part of our family, and that you are as welcome as any of them.”
The corners of Dean’s mouth tick up in the tiniest of smiles, and Castiel is suddenly awash with an overwhelming sense of pride for being the cause of it.
“Deal.”
