TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 16
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader
Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI
Chapter Word Count: 8.5k words
Chapter Warnings: angst, fluff, anxieties, MOTW, victim death
A/N: Did I stay up until midnight to format and post this? You betcha! Happy Friday am Australia (and goodnight)
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Eight thirty-six. Just great. Two minutes since the last time you checked, and it wasn’t going any quicker, no matter how many glances you stole towards the clock above the kitchen table.
Your phone was the same, only you’d placed it in the pocket of your dress so as not to look at it.
Worked a charm. Not.
The weight against your thigh was heavy.
You sighed. Drew it out. There was no point focusing on why Dean hadn’t called you. He was busy working. Out saving lives. If whatever that thing in Kentucky was ended up being in their wheelhouse, like Sam thought.
A vitala. Betala?
Something like that.
Point was, he’d promised he’d call first thing after he’d finished with the sheriff, and it’d been a good hour since the office had opened. You’d checked.
It didn’t matter that you’d missed his call before it. He hadn’t said before, he’d said after, hence why you’d been sleeping. He should’ve known that, even though he was state lines away. You might’ve been cranky at first, but you were pissed now. Same difference.
“Where the hell is he?” you said aloud, and your omega gladly projected.
‘He’s out drinking.’
“No, he’s not.” He wasn’t Ritchie. Dean was Dean, and Dean always came home as soon as he could. Hell, he’d race across the country to get back to you, given an emergency.
And maybe you could—nope. Bad idea. You were above making one up, even to get him home faster. Even when your omega suggested things like, ‘Tell him the pup is coming.’
“I can’t do that,” you snapped. Hit the chopping board rather hard. Then he’d never come home on account of the heart attack he’d be having in the middle of Kentucky.
You repositioned your fingers around the knife handle, continuing the slicing of your last banana. How firm you continued to hit the wood below was because of how hungry you were, and not for anything more sinister involving your alpha’s knot.
Dean would come home soon, you told yourself. Call you soon. Then you’d laugh about how worked up you’d made yourself—just—after the pup was born.
Definitely after.
You threw the sticky slices on top of your overnight oats. Wiped your fingers on the scrunched up towel on the bench next to you and moved to the sink to pick out the blueberries and strawberries you’d left thawing. Plenty of vitamin C to go with the iron supplements Doctor Cameron had you on. Frozen on account of not being able to do a grocery run without Dean flipping his lid.
Hypocrite.
He was happy to tell you not to go out while he was away, though nothing was stopping you from following his warning either. You’d even considered taking a car out of the garage, going as far as trudging down there and sitting in the little green one you’d often sat on while he worked on Baby. Only inside, the old thing was much smaller than it looked from the outside.
Yeah. You didn’t want fresh fruit and waffles after all.
So, with your vitamins and teacup in one hand, sad-looking berries and oats in the other, you moved to the table, back not quite against the wall. The clock would no longer get you down from that angle and your pocket had dropped further, hanging below the stool, out of sight, out of mind. Except you needed some music to drown out the ticking playing you.
Of course, pulling out your phone meant being reminded that Dean still hadn’t called, but it didn’t matter for long. Like absence, making the heart grow fonder, the law of attraction worked just as well. The ringtone you’d dedicated to your mate played through the layers of fabric and your heart skipped a beat.
It was a message.
Eight forty-one, and he’d sent a fucking message.
More people missing. Call you soon as we’re done.
Dean reread the words he’d typed over in his head, though why he was so bothered by a stupid text was lost on him.
He’d hit send and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his suit pants, stepping into the interrogation room, an arm’s length behind Sam. Only for his nose to pick up the sweet smell of popcorn and crisp apple.
Yeah. That had to be some kind of mind fuckery right there. The universe telling him he was a dick before he’d even entered the room.
He was just trying to do his job. They weren’t getting paid enough to have Sheriff Aldrin look at them like that. Hell, they weren’t getting paid at all. Not that he knew that, or that Dean blamed him for the chip on his shoulder.
With his arms crossed, standing tall, much like he’d done when they’d asked about Alec and Gavin out front, he was still a tough nut to crack.
But there in that room?
That was his daughter they were questioning, not just another civilian. Surrounded by weed, sweat and stains from god-knows-what on the cold cement walls.
The room was freezing. The lights dim. And he was well within his rights to be indifferent when tears marred her face and stress laced her scent. Dean wouldn’t want you stepping within a foot of this place, pregnant or not.
“Hi Molly?” Sam said to the omega. Her steel eyes, bleary and the whites red, perked up and out from under the bangs covering her face. She had her father’s jaw. Only, there wasn’t an extra layer of flesh and skin covering hers.
She nodded, then sniffed, bringing an overused tissue to the crowns of her cheeks, dabbing and making them brighter than they already were. “Daddy said you wanted to talk to me?” She forced a smile.
“Yeah, ah, I’m Agent Young.” Sam pulled out a chair. “This is Agent Johnson.”
He sat down, and Dean followed suit. His gaze trained on the way Molly held herself. If he placed her on the edge of an exam table, panties down, ammonia from disinfectant in the air, she’d…yeah, nope. It sounded wrong even in his own head.
He shook it, tacking into Sammy’s introduction before he’d finished clearing it. “We’re here investigating the local disappearances and couldn’t help overhear—”
“You think they’re missing, too?” she cut him off in turn. Her hands, not knowing what to do with themselves, fisted and flailed, breaking the tissue apart until the sheriff barged forward with another.
His fingers gripped her shoulders tight, but the scowl he gave pierced Dean’s chest tighter again.
His burly form, presumed earlier to be filled with donuts and cheap coffee, hinted at muscle and a bite worth more than his bark. Though, “It’s not even nine, darlin’,” he’d soothed like a giant teddy bear. Voice soft, and a distinctive coo in his thick, southern accent. “‘Sides. Troy probably lost reception. You know the lake’s not the best for that.”
And there it was. The coup de grâce. The case was done and dusted before it had even begun, and Dean rolled his eyes. Should’ve called it over letting Sam insist the omega be forced to sit through their questions.
The scene before him was making so much more sense now, and huh, he almost chuckled. Almost. If it wasn’t for his conscience and remembering how your hormones had gotten the better of you on more than one occasion.
Dean straightened up and exchanged a look with Sam. Even he was saving face.
Until she said, “But I heard a hiss,” and they both turned back to her in unison.
Alec had seen a vampire with snake-like eyes.
“It’s gotta be Vetala’s,” Sam said through his own hiss the second the door out into the parking lot had closed behind them. “The sound she heard. That guy Alec’s statement.”
They may have been out in the open air, but that didn’t mean they were alone. Sammy could have waited until they were at least three feet of the door first before rambling about the case.
“Please,” Dean mumbled as he shot his hand into his pocket, pulling his phone out. “I could’ve lit a bunt from the scent alone.”
He clicked the side button and checked the screen, Sam slowing down his gigantic steps to walk in step with him. “So what? You think it’s nothing?”
There was nothing from you alright.
“I’m just saying, it might not be vetala’s.” But it was in their wheelhouse. As much as he hated to admit it, Molly, and those eyes of hers, teary and teed with her crisp apple and a familiar popcorn scent, compelled him to.
The way she described the sound she’d heard fit. It also wouldn’t hurt to check things out. His reason, purely selfish, hoping someone would do the same for you if he was the one missing.
“You need to slow down a little.” Dean stopped dead in his tracks, raising his free arm, case in point. They needed to find out what, if anything, she’d found looking into the town’s history, and consider there were plenty of other beasties that could’ve taken the folks of Taylorsville. “It could be a, a nest of vamps. Or a—”
“Don’t say werepire.”
“Alright. I won’t,” Dean said. His grin widening to show all his front teeth when Sam scowled. “But the report did mention fangs and drinking blood.”
They crossed the rest of the lot and the street that lay between them and Baby, all without another word. Dean doing his best to beat Sam across the asphalt, but to no avail. The younger alpha was shutting his door and Dean was altering his lips into a pout as he dragged his slouched shoulders and arms into the car.
He started the engine, loosened his tie and unlocked his phone this time, only to find nothing. Zero. Zilch. Unless he included you leaving him on read, and really? No cute love heart emoji or a simple thumbs up?
He was in the doghouse alright, and all for trying to do his job—that he didn’t get paid for. He didn’t even want to take this case.
“Everything. okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Dean said, eyes still glued to the screen. “But my sack won’t be in a few days.”
He shoved the stupid thing back into his pocket, gripping the wheel and pulling Baby out into the street. “You sure you wanna claim Eileen?” He was lucky she wasn’t his soul mate, least he knocked her up first heat, like Dean had with you. Then he’d feel his pain.
But Sam snorted. Shook his head. He had nothing to say on the subject, choosing to concentrate on his own phone. Sending a message or two to Eileen no doubt even though they were only five minutes away, if that.
Dean grinned at the flush on his cheeks, that telltale throat-clear, but it soon soured. She could send a stinking message and check in on Sam. Where were you?
The second they arrived at the motel, Dean had removed his suit and tie and stepped back out the door, leaving Sam to borrow Eileen’s comb on account of the hair.
Yeah. The joke only lasted so long, his face contorting as he dialed your number and waited for you to answer.
On the fourth ring he’d leant against the brick exterior, the rendered finish clinging tight to his jacket when he’d adjusted himself through his jeans. His balls, itchy at the thought of you tearing him a new one, your tone calm when you’d answered with his name.
“Hey.” His eyes closed as his thumb and finger let go of his crotch. Gripped his phone a little tighter in the other. “Miss me yet?” He chuckled.
“I miss Baby more. Your son wants waffles.”
“Oh, yeah? I suppose he wants ice cream, too?” The kind with the chocolate chips and caramel swirl you always had him buy on the way home from anywhere.
“Maybe,” you hummed. At least you weren’t tearing him a new one, but he did shuffle his feet when you asked, “How’s the case?” with a little more bite.
“Ah,” he ran his hand through his hair. “A guy and his son were reported missing while we were in there. They haven’t come back from a camping trip.”
His voice wavered. His breath had too when you hadn’t replied or made a sound, for that matter, so he continued. “The mate called it in while we were there. Heard a noise.” He pulled the phone away to check he hadn’t lost the connection, adding a, “Sweetheart?” when he was certain you could hear him.
You were there all right, sitting at the library table, books spread out in front of you, your fingers rapping the pages of the one on your right. He wasn’t on his way home. Which meant another day or two that you had to share him with a bunch of strangers.
“I’m here,” you said. “I’m just—” Please ditch the case and come home to you now?
You couldn’t say that. You couldn’t do that to the omega whose child was missing. If Dean and Sam and Eileen didn’t help, who would? It’s not like there was anyone else. Another hunter? The sheriff they’d been dealing with?
Yeah, right? That’d be the same as you taking on the case.
Your phone buzzed in your hands, jingling because Dean had hit video and was trying to connect.
You couldn’t look at him at first, facing the screen to the ceiling as you’d sat back in your seat. Head, hitting the velvet cushioning of the library’s armchair as the heel of your hand swiped over both eyes and the tears that were trying to break free.
“What is it?” he said, but he knew. He wouldn’t have turned on the video or asked otherwise if he didn’t have some idea.
You raised your hand, shifted the weight. Dared looking at his face through the sting. Only to find his gaze averted, as yours had been when you did. “What do you want me to say?”
“I dunno.” He sighed. “Be mad. Lay it on me, ‘cause I deserve it.”
That was just it, though. He didn’t. He never did. Never had.
“You’re doing your job,” you said, which hurt more than the yelling he’d asked for. “Can’t help that people in Kentucky need you. You’re the best, right?” Your lips tugged into your cheek at the compliment. “I’d know. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
Of course, you hadn’t meant it like that, but it was another blow to his chest.
He was an idiot not understanding it until then, or maybe he had, he’d just overlooked it. Wouldn’t explain the dragging of his feet, though. He could’ve called you the second he’d left the sheriff’s office. Could’ve done it in the car with Sam, but he trudged across the parking lot to continue the call out of earshot when he and Eileen stepped outside.
“I am the best.” He huffed. Let his ego overtake the ache. “But I ain’t Dick. You know I’ll always come home? Just…not on the clock.”
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was leaving you there for days at a time. What if there was an emergency?
He shook his head. He’d gone down that wormhole before without success, and look where it had got him then? Whacked in the head by some skank-ass witch, which wasn’t the best thing to be doing when your eyes scrutinised his every move through the glass.
Man, he needed to think about maternity leave or whatever they called it for the other half not carrying the kid. Might not get paid, but his job sure came with some quirks nuking bugs couldn’t provide.
“I know... It’s just the appointment, and,” you chucked to yourself. The revelation was clear on your face, though it took some prompting to get it out of you. “I’m sick of oats,” you said. “Thought about taking myself out to get waffles, but it was a bit of a squeeze.”
His alpha had snarled. Wanted him to yield control for the rest of the conversation, but that wasn’t what this was about, and Dean had to remind them both. “He wants waffles that badly, huh?”
“And fruit,” you whispered.
“I thought we got some last time?”
Dean tilted his head as yours bowed down. Like that was going to help him see your face better. “S’not fresh,” is what he thought he heard, but you’d swiped your cheek again with your free hand and he was now looking at your ear.
He waved his arm at Sam, who was trying to gain his attention from over by the car. Brought the phone up to his own ear, which wasn’t the best move on account of your crying being louder, but he could hear you. Saw the little changes in your body when he used your title.
“Look at me,” he commanded, pulling back to meet your eyes and the tremble of your lips.
“Once we check this place out, I’m coming home with or without Sam and Eileen. Just hang in there while we look for the kid, alright? I can’t leave until I find him.”
Maybe after this he’d hang up his colt, metaphorically speaking. He’d still keep it on him as he would the one under the war room table, the one in his dresser, and the one he’d hidden in the stroller. He just wouldn’t go searching for things to use them on.
But what the hell would he do? Actual retirement? At least hunting meant he was earning the karma points needed to continue using his credit card, and most cases were cut and dry like this one.
They had three missing, a general location thanks to Eileen and Molly, and a certainty they were dealing with Vetala’s, which he found out on the way to the campgrounds.
“Check it out,” Eileen said to Sam from Baby’s backseat as she handed her laptop over to him. “Security footage, three towns over.”
Dean’s eyes snapped to her in the rearview, but they returned to the road quick smart when his firstborn went over a large pothole.
He cringed for the rims he’d just replaced. Smoothed his thumb over the worn leather in apology. He needed her in top shape for when the time came.
“What kind of footage?” he asked, refusing to avert his eyes back a second time, trying to get his head back in the game. He smelt the excitement in Eileen’s scent. Heard the frantic little taps and clicks Sam was punching into the trackpad.
“Ah, eyes match, and there’s two of them.”
Seriously?
You bet he chanced it, looking to Sam’s lap, only to find it to be true. Two chicks’ faces zoomed in with slits for pupils.
“A couple of snakes step out of a liquor store, and you find ‘em?” He glanced over his shoulder then, running over another pothole, too, and yet, he managed a wide grin. “You got a third eye now?”
It took a moment for Sam’s mind to catch up with his hands. His, “Dude,” overlapping Eileen’s boastful, “Yeah.” But that didn’t stop her palm colliding with the back of his head.
“I think she gave me a concussion,” Dean said as he rounded Baby, hand, cradling the back of his skull. His other, sending you another text, albeit slow now that they’d arrived at the campgrounds.
The reception was terrible, damn trees, and Sam may as well have said jerk when he piped up, “Serves you right.” He was getting hit in all directions today.
“She hit me,” he said, letting his tone convey a little too much.
“And I’d do it again.” Eileen nudged him.
It’s like they’d been hunting together for years. He just needed something to match his usual bitch. Something feminine. Something that’d get her off his case when she looked over his shoulder at the words he’d typed, waiting to load.
“I love you, too,” she said, and Dean shoved his phone away. A smirk pursing his lips.
“Am I not allowed to say that to my mate?” He opened the trunk and reached for his duffle, packing everything he could think of.
Silver knives, bullets. “Deadman’s blood?” Sam gave him a quizzical look when he tucked the syringe into his jacket pocket. Was everybody scrutinising him today?
“Alec’s account said vamps.” He shrugged, pointer finger running along the blade of the machete he picked up last. “You know, you two are made for each other?”
He shoved the blade in his bag, tugged the zip one too many times, and dammit, he really was growing soft.
Your body wrapped in his robe filtered through his head. Your thighs wrapped around his. Finding out he was gonna be a dad had been a treat.
“Have you thought about pups?” He looked over his shoulder.
“Pups?” Sam’s eyes blinked like he was trying to take flight with them. Hadn’t even bothered to interpret for Eileen that time. Lucky it was a singular word, and his scent had spiked enough for her to understand the secondhand embarrassment.
Dean even tried his own sign, winking, pointing and moving his arms through the air in the general shape of your bump. “You’d look good. Can’t guarantee any kid of his would be small, though.”
He patted Sam on the shoulder, flung his duffle over his and shut the trunk. His boots crunching over the dirt and grit as he left the lovebirds to deal with his wake.
The campgrounds were quiet, save for that. Very few campers about, judging by the lack of other vehicles, making Troy’s red pickup stick out like a sore thumb.
The plates matched. Little fingerprints lingered on the matte finish. The respective remnants of its owner’s scent tickled his nose, along with traces of Molly’s crisp apple and popcorn from the unborn pup.
But there were no signs of a struggle. Doors locked, ground, clean. Aside from dents in the mud at the side of the gravel from two sets of footprints, one large, one half the size of Dean’s, nothing was outta place.
Back in the bunker, things would’ve been normal, too, if it weren’t for Dean’s text.
The message he’d sent two hours ago. I love you? He never sent you messages like that, let alone said those three words on the daily. It was a rare occurrence. When you least expected them, and yes, that was also now, but it also freaked you the fuck out.
Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Did he expect the hunt to go wrong? Had something already gone wrong and the vetala’s were messaging you on his behalf to keep you from searching for him?
You closed the book you’d been reading. Deciding it wasn’t helping after all, you wandered down the hall to the laundry room to wait for the load to finish. That always made you happy. Well, not quite. Washing and drying clothes was rather tedious, but for your mate and your son, it made things a little easier, especially with the dryer jingling Greensleeves as you arrived.
You grabbed the empty basket and pulled the hatch open. The warm air hit your cheeks, while Dean’s old flannel threw hints of cologne and motor oil at your nose.
You’d added it to the freshly laundered jumpsuits and pup-sized socks and vests to scent them. One of your bras, unwashed and sweat-lined, tangled in there somewhere, too, for the same purpose.
You breathed it all in. Your family. Your pack. If only you were all here, Sam and Eileen included.
You huffed at that. More of a hiss on account of the tears forming just below the surface. You had to shake your head. Concentrate on your laundry. On pulling out the little pieces of clothing. The one-piece now in your hand.
But the little elephants spouting water out of their little trunks into their little buckets were so sweet. All made ten times worse when you tucked the little arms back in the right way out. You could only fit three fingers in the openings. From neck to toe, it was no longer than your arm stretched out, if that.
Your fingers scrunched the fabric. So much for nipping the crying in the bud. Your eyes were now full to the brim and overflowing down your cheeks.
You needed Dean. Needed to talk to him, have him hold you, breathe him in. But he was there, and you were still here, and—what if something really had happened to him this time? Worse than Baby getting totalled? Worse than getting jumped by a witch?
He wasn’t with the sheriff now. He was trekking through the fucking woods, hunting those things from the damn book.
What if he came home, and it was just his skin? Because they stole corpses according to Hindu mythology. Yeah. You’d read that lovely detail.
Would it have Dean’s eyes, or would they be snake-like? His smile or a forked tongue? His appetite?
You chuckled to yourself at that. You were being ridiculous, but how could you not? He’d never mentioned vetala’s before, although come to think of it, maybe you’d seen a flashback of one with all his other memories of ghosts and werewolves, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? The unknown.
Dean (and Sam and Eileen) chasing after some creature you’d vaguely heard of.
In Taylorsville, Dean hadn’t heard jack.
The whole place was quiet. The kind where you could drop a pin or, in his case, cock the hammer of his colt and disturb nothing.
That click was music to his ears, grounding to have its solid mass in his fingers.
Yeah, he wasn’t hanging this baby up. It’d been with him through thick and thin and he would carry it into fatherhood. God forbid he was wrong and his son presented as an omega. There was nothing wrong with that, it just meant more dicks like Dick to keep away from his family.
He nodded at Sam, then Eileen behind him, twisting the tarnished handle that had to lead to the basement.
He’d say it hadn’t felt a human’s touch for years, except it had. If the three individual scents carrying up from the darkness hadn’t done the touching, their targets sure had. But where the hell were they?
All he scented were two alpha males and one child. Four, five maybe? No older than Ben had been when he first met him, smelling like strawberries and grass, which, great, all accounted for, but Dean still frowned. The place was still too quiet, and hints of them being too late laced the air.
“Who’s there?” a croaky voice called out from the depths and three clicks, followed by three streams of light from three flashlights, moved in its direction.
The sheriff’s son-in-law was a shell of the man in the photo he and Sam had seen at the station that morning. His face and neck, bloody; fatigued eyes, wide in alarm. His skin, pale, shaking, on edge, and the poor bastard had every right to be. Because if Troy was frail and beaten, his son, Jonah, wasn’t faring so well. Neither was Gavin.
The young pup sat between both men, his shoulders slouched. Were his hands not tied behind the chair, he’d have toppled over from the weight of his head.
“Get the lights,” Dean said and lowered his gun, racing down the stairs with little thought of the consequences. Lucky Sam got to them before he ran into the pile of crumbled bricks at the bottom.
“Hey.” He stooped down before them, slugging the weight of his bag off his shoulder; pushing through the stench of death to scan their bodies for more injuries than the obvious puncture marks. But the father-to-be died a little on the inside when his fingers slipped up to feel for a pulse on the young pup, only to find nothing there.
Jonah was ice cold, and so were his eyes.
He got the steel grey from his mother and grandfather. Skin tone, forehead, nose, but his hair was like his fathers. Neck, matching his fathers, too, with bruised skin and dried blood that had once trickled down.
“My boy,” Troy mumbled, eyes looking straight at him in questioning.
Why did he have to be the one to break the news?
Dean’s voice was almost as quiet as Troy’s had been when he said. “I’m sorry,” before taking the opportunity of Eileen, kneeling beside him to look away. It didn’t block out the father’s cry, though.
Troy wailed like he was fighting to breathe. His sob, drawn out, sounding more like an animal than that of an adult male. Not that anyone in that room could blame him.
Dean had seen his son’s heartbeat on the monitor at Dr Cameron’s office at every appointment. He’d recorded it on his phone once and had shown it to Sam and Eileen on more than one occasion.
His son was healthy, tiny, kept safe from the world in your womb. In the bunker. He was yet to walk or…or talk, and Dean loved him more than life itself. Yet here was Troy, and Jonah was right there, having done all those things.
He couldn’t say or do anymore than he already had, which was only made worse by Sam clearing his throat.
“Dean?” Sam’s top half leant in through the passenger side door, just as he’d done the night before at the bar. Only now the lights flickering were fluorescent under the cover of the tin roof. The noise from trucks passing by replacing the country drawl of a jukebox. The occasional car doors slamming shut and engines turning on and off. “You coming?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Dean forced a grin, loosening his grip from the wheel and the keys, still in the ignition. Of course, he’d insisted on driving.
He flexed his fingers and knuckles. Only for the twang to reach all the way up his arm, further inflaming the bad joint of a busted shoulder. But seven hours later, he was still here, right? Nothing to complain about. His son was still in your womb, safe, presumably happy. Dean knew he would be. Plus, he had the whole world ahead of him. A mom and dad. Aunt and uncle.
Eileen was already at the automatic doors when he slinked out of the car, Sam now halfway across the lot to join her, thank god. He hadn’t let up on the sideways glances since the cabin. Not that he’d said anything, but there were still eight more hours ahead of this before they got back to the bunker. If he could push through as planned.
He dragged his feet across the lot so he could fuel himself up. Hit the head. Message you, or call if you were still awake.
The automatic doors opened in front of him, and he stepped into the air-conditioned chill. Bright lights, impeding on his vision, not that he needed the wake up call. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jonah’s or heard Troy’s sobs.
How cliche.
“You got the gas?” he said to Sam as he passed him by the counter. He didn’t stick around to hear the answer, bee-lining it to the restrooms, feeling the weight of Sam’s stare on his back once again.
He was quick to shut the door behind him. Quicker to grip the sink and lean over the porcelain, letting out a sigh before splashing cool water on his face. If he were home, he’d take advantage of the pressure and seep under the shower until the heat ran out. Snuggle into your nest after and just lie there with you all day long.
By the time he’d moved to the urinal, he had his phone tucked between ear and good shoulder, waiting for the dial tone like any other call. Didn’t bother him he was mid-stream when you answered, the gravel in your voice and the rustling of what sounded like sheets did.
“Hey, sweetheart. Did I wake ya?” He tried his best to be casual, but even he could hear his breath in the microphone. Weighted like his heart and blood, thrumming away through the swollen tissue, thinning out when he heard your sweet hum.
“Yeah,” you said, “Where are you?”
“Just outta St. Louis. Stopped for gas.”
“And dinner?”
It was a little late for that, but, “Yeah,” he lied, “Sam’s grabbing us something.”
He leaned forward to push the last of the stream out, short bursts giving it away. Not that you should’ve minded with all the interesting things he’d learned about your body these past few months. “Just wanted to catch you before you fell asleep,” he said.
His brow creased as he shook. Tucked himself away and redid the buckle and fly, “Won’t be stopping till we have to fill ‘er up again.”
“But that’s—” He pulled the lever and flushed. Boots, traipsing across the tiles and patches of wet, slapped in time with the sharp clicks filtering into his ear as your fingers slapped the keyboard.
He gave you a second, turning on the faucet before he butt in. “Seven hours?”
“Google says eight.”
“Give or take.” He got the worry, he did, but it was hard to sympathise with his own plight given the circumstances. Had to remind himself you don’t know the details, because you didn’t, he’d purposely not told you. So, “I’ve done this a thousand times,” he said, choosing to placate. He couldn’t deny his cheeks warmed at the thought of you doing so.
“But you need to sleep.”
“And you need me home.”
He smoothed his hands over his jacket, finally wrapping one around his phone as he let the door swing shut behind him. “Unless you changed your mind or something,”
“Of course not,” you rushed.
“Then I’ll see you in the morning. We can go out for waffles,” he said, but his grin faltered. Just hoped his shoulder would hold up without you figuring out he’d dislocated it.
It was still tender as hell. The painkillers he’d taken before leaving Taylorsville had helped with the ache until they hadn’t. Each slight turn as he drove down the deserted highway, bit at the joint.
It had gotten so bad that his exterior no longer fooled Sam. By the time they got to St Joseph, on the state line, he’d had to relent the wheel over to him in St. Joseph, which, great, meant an even longer drive, but it also meant he’d left himself to his own thoughts.
What little sleep he got was filled with Jonah and his father’s cries or, even more creative, were the visions of his son and you mourning him.
As morbid as it sounded, he was perfect. His life, perfect. In his dream he had your eyes and hair colour. His height too when his head played with reality and make the kid shoot up taller than you. He went to college, had a girlfriend, a sister, who looked just like you. and though Dean didn’t know their names or their age gap, none of it mattered. He just knew he wanted it all.
By the time the Impala had slowed and turned up the incline leading to the bunker, the sun was rising beyond the trees of the next.
“Well, night,” Sam said, hand on Eileen’s back as he walked her down the hall towards his room, the omega turning back to wave at him. But rather than follow them to yours, Dean slunk to the kitchen first, noting the books and half drunk tea sitting on the table.
He checked the fridge and pulled out a beer, opened it and scanned the rest of the inside.
Milk, eggs, bacon. There were probably more things you needed than those core ingredients. You’d want yogurt, no doubt, and he slapped them all on his mental list as he sauntered to the pantry.
You were sick of oats. Check. Some more cereal wouldn’t go astray. Candy, potato chips, you would say no to, but no doubt sneak when you thought he wasn’t looking. “Extra chocolate,” he muttered.
He’d leave you in charge of the fruit and vegetables, but everything else was on him. No thinking—nope, sounded wrong, but you weren’t lifting a finger, physical or otherwise.
He’d take you out for waffles when you were ready, take you shopping if you were up to it. Try to call Cameron’s office and if they were open, see if he could still see you come Tuesday.
He had a lot of making up to do. Had so many things he wanted to say to you, so why was he still hanging ‘round in here?
‘She’s sleeping,’ his alpha said. ‘Needs her rest.’
But he needed you, too.
He shifted the grip on the bottle, fingers clasping the neck as he stepped out into the hall again with quick strides to your room. He’d grab some clothes, take a long shower, then be back in time for you to wake up.
As stealthy as he’d been at the cabin, he opened the door, shutting it just as, careful not to let the hall light in for too long.
The outline of your nest and more solid body, moving under the blankets, crystal clear in the darkness. Soft snores filtered through the air.
He moved to the dresser on the side, pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and a shirt and was just about to creep out again, when you whispered his name.
“Where are you going?” you said next, your voice filled with more gravel than it had before.
“Shower.”
But you sat up, went as far as shuffling over to the edge of the bed and flinging your legs over before he could come round and sort you out. “Woah, woah, woah.” He chuckled. His huffs raspy from the early hours. “You don’t need to get up.” Though you stood anyway.
Well, you tried.
You were pushing yourself up one second, only to give up and hold out your hands like a pup the next.
Dean tilted his head in resignation. Grabbed hold and lifted against the pull of his bad shoulder.
One wince and you were shoving at his jacket over wrapping your arms around him or whatever else you’d had in mind, but Dean grabbed you. Hooked them ‘round his waist as best you could give given your bump. Smiled into your hair then, breathing you both in and squeezing tight.
“Welcome home.” You leant back and pecked him on the cheek.
His, “Thanks, sweetheart,” whispered against your lips.
He tasted you. Nipped at the delicate skin. Soon had your mouth open just enough for him to slip his tongue inside and appreciate you more. Remnants of tea, with a touch of sweetness, balancing the bitter, while your apple surrounded him. Chocolate and citrus tickling his nose. Little man even kicked a hello against his stomach.
“Hey,” he drew out. “Hope you’re giving your mom some rest.”
“Please. He’s yours.”
“Yeah, he is.” His fingers slipped under your shirt to tease the smooth skin he found. Felt the warmth, reveled in the simple touch, grounding himself, appreciating being home. “Mine,” he rumbled.
“Yours,” you said again.
It hadn’t even been a week, short by half a day, if he wanted to be technical. But it felt like a lifetime. Like you’d been standing here, still as a statue, waiting for him to bring his sorry ass home for this moment alone.
He’d die happy now, or relive this on loop. Then nothing would ever harm either of you, because you’d be always there in that spot..
You were his world, and the pup, his boy. He was exactly where he needed to be to stay safe.
That’s when Jonah’s face blessed his mind again. Those steel-blue eyes, cold and absent. His were stinging real quick, taking thought and pain away from his shoulder as he tried to compose himself.
Of course, you felt the change in his scent before he let the first tear fall. Your hands pulled tighter to his back, mouth pulled back too to look up at him to where he least wanted it once more.
You said his title first. Moved on to questioning him with his name. “What’s wrong?” Your brow creased with confusion, almost hurt, and shit, no, he needed to fix that before the worry set in.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled.
“No it’s not.” Your thumb came up and swiped at his cheek. Hand cupping his face, until he layered his own on top, pushing his thick fingers through the gaps, and gripping tight.
He squeezed and dropped it. Kissed and soothed to make amends. “Let me just take a shower and I’ll come back and join you.” He nodded, but your head was shaking.
“You go to that bathroom and I’m coming with you.”
“Five minutes. Don’t wanna mess up the nest.” But you tugged on his arm and dragged him with you, and what choice did he have?
Wasn’t about to play tug-o-war with his pregnant mate. He didn’t even bother to play the hesitation game, kicking off boots, jacket and jeans, shuffling closer to you. He needed you just as much as you needed him right now, and he was gonna take it.
Without words, you opened your arms up to him as he often did with you once you’d settled yourself. Patted the blanket you’d layered over the sheets.
Did you want him to—?
It took him a moment, considering his bad shoulder and your belly, but he laid down on his back in the end. Remembered you found it more comfortable using him as a pillow these days, and he was okay with that..
“Thanks,” he said for the second time, drawing you in as his body relaxed its load.
He settled his head into the pillow. Felt the press of buttons from a flannel on his scalp, right where the bump was, but ignored it. The spike of disappointment in your scent had him twisting in search of your face instead.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” His tone, similar to the coo Sheriff Aldrin had used on Molly.
“You don’t want me to be the big spoon?”
His whole torso shook with his snicker, hand coming over to rest where he’d felt the last kick, stretching the muscle, but smoothing your skin and insecurities before they grew. “When he’s born, I’ll let you do it whenever you want.” He dipped his chin lower, voice too, lips searching for any contact with your skin. “But this way, I get both of you.”
Your mouth moved to meet his on that. The trail of kisses infuriating when you were right there.
Beer still on his tongue, the road, oil, Baby’s vinyl in his scent, along with something he was avoiding, had been since he’d called you in St. Louis, but you didn’t ask.
You wanted to. Be the anchor he needed. Let him vent all his frustrations from the last day, the whole week really. There had to be plenty of things bothering him and you being difficult with all your little whims and anxieties wouldn’t have made it easy to voice them. He’d been your rock from hundreds of miles away, and now he was home? You weren’t letting go.
Yeah, it was selfish, but when he twisted more, brought his body to his side, draping his leg over yours, wrapping his chest around your tummy, you just melted. His touch. His warmth. You’d missed him so much, hence all the craziness, the attitude, god the attitude, though he never complained.
You smiled into the kiss. Dared shifting your thigh when you felt him twitch against it, and Dean groaned, chest rumbling straight to your core.
His lips pulled back with a wet clip, hand jumping from your stomach to cheek to caress it. “You tired?” he said, but you shook your head.
“I should be asking you that.”
“‘M fine.” He swooped in again, lifting the leg over you only to raise it higher at your hip. The tip of his knot tickled your skin through the thin fabric of his boxers, and, “Missed you,” he said.
Your heart raced at those words. “I missed you, too,” you breathed into him, fingers and palms squeezing where they rested until he nudged you to your back and your whole being clung to him.
But it was awkward. Your head, suddenly light and aching. You closed your eyes, but that only made things worse, head spinning like you were falling off the edge of the earth, and nope. Nope, nope. You couldn’t do this.
You pushed yourself up, forcing Dean to retreat to his knees. What a way to ruin the moment. Your, “Sorry,” coming the second you felt his hand brushing away the hair that had fallen over your face.
“Hey.” The bed croaked beneath him. Probably had when you’d sat up as fast as you had, too, but your mind had been stopping yourself from puking. Your throat was certainly disapproving of the sudden movement, and, “No,” his alpha came through.
He flicked on the bedside lamp, and came back, pulling you into his lap sideways, shoulder be damned. You’d freaked him out, you still were, and he damn well wasn’t going to sit by and hear you apologise.
“You okay?” he asked. His arm doing its best to smooth down your thigh, shoulder joint aching from his lean across the bed.
“Yeah. Just dizzy.”
“On your back?” No wait. This sounded familiar. Some complaint from Lisa’s sister Jenny.
You nodded, head nuzzling into the crook of his neck, exactly where you belonged. Your hair tickling his mating gland. The soul mark beneath his clothes tingling with it.
Part of him wanted to continue. Taste you like he’d been gunning for. If he was pleasuring you, he wasn’t talking about his feelings. If he knotted you, you’d be content to lie with him while he continued to hold you.
The other half didn’t want you doing anything physical, continuing that not lifting a finger notion he’d decided on in the kitchen. He was definitely trying Doctor Cameron’s office as soon as office hours sprung on him for his own peace of mind.
He glanced down at his watch and checked. Not quite six.
“How is it now?” He cringed the second the words left his mouth. “You feeling better?” he said against your temple, which, worse, though little Dean was down, at least, having not roused that far.
Your scent still spiked, warm in interest, though. “Better,” you whispered. “Can I…can we try something else?”
And Dean smirked at that, chest rumbling with his own content. “C’mere.”
It was awkward as hell, but he fell backward, body off centre, and somehow with a little patience, he lifted you enough with his bung shoulder, turning you and setting his feet at the pillow end of the bed. Lucky he’d ditched the boots.
Unlucky, you caught the frown.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m good.” He pulled you into him, mouth making another move as you came down, hoping to douse the newest upset he sensed bubbling to the surface.
His arm slung his hand up and over to hold your neck in place, brushing through your hair, gripping where he could. Fingers on your cheek brushing away any chance of tears
But you pushed back. “Where?” you said, staring him in the eyes as you began pressing your fingers into his chest first.
“Right shoulder.” He sighed, his own grip dropping to your knees on either side of him. You were peeling his flannel, him lifting enough for you to remove it as he gave in and further explained. “Took a fall in the fight.”
Cat was outta the bag now.
“You got them?” Your body perked up, but you were apologising in the next breath when he hissed.
Your finger had gotten right into the muscle and it burned hot, worse than it had when Sammy had popped it back in.
“You drove like this?” you said.
“Not all the way.” He stilled your hand, gripping tight and moving it over his heart. “I’m fine ‘mega.”
“What happened?” You weaseled out of his grip, about to hop off his lap, too, before his fingers dove into the edge of your waist.
The flesh was more supple there now, more soft and perfect if used as a handle. He’d use that anger and make you submit had he not been cautious already.
“We found the missing and ganked the snakes,” he said flatly, but even that was the wrong choice.
“Dean—”
“Dont.” He swallowed. Loosened his hold and tapped your soft skin. “Don’t, sweetheart. The kid died. He was gone by the time we found ‘em, and I…I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Silence fell between you, both looking away, much like you’d done on the video call. You biting your lip in thought, he presumed, and him, concentrating on your scent.
The apple, the pup’s bitter chocolate, was nothing like the Aldrin’s. You were you, and Molly, Troy, Jonah, they were them, a world away in Kentucky.
“I put myself in the guy’s shoes on the way here,” he admitted. “I’ve seen it all before, but this one guy, he—”
“You put yourself in his shoes?”
“Yeah.” His cheeks puffed out when he pursed his lips. He’d swipe at his eyes, but you were already doing that for him, holding both sides of his face and placing a tender kiss. “I know I wasn’t there, but I also know you did all you could. Came home.”
You paused longer, receded back, making sure he was looking you in the eyes. “Your son needs his dad.”
And he didn’t need you to tell him that. He knew it. He also knew what he needed to do. The idea of hanging ‘round the bunker more, at least until the pup was born, springing back to mind.
He’d enjoy you both, keep you company. Take you out for waffles or whatever else. In between all that, he’d build up the courage to deal with another case, because that’s all this was. The hardship of losing a victim, one whose family’s shoes he stepped into, nothing more.
He raised his head, captured your mouth and brought you back down to him. Every frustration, every thought and care fueling his movements, his desire, his rush just charged by need.
“Would you be okay if I stuck around here a little more?” He dropped his hands back to your exposed thighs, smoothed your skin. Nipped and sucked in between.
“Of course,” you said, and as if his heart was waiting for your approval, it raced and brought a new warmth to his chest. “We’d like that very much.”
Previous Chapter || Next Chapter
Well, this one has been a long time coming (for me)! I almost put Dean through a little whump in this one (punctured lung and concussion), but changed my mind and stuck with the original direction. We don’t need no drama before the pup, just nice, happy families ‘cause this is somewhat of a fix-it after all.
I have no preview this week, I just wanted to keep the format so you get the pretty little next time without the snippet... But next up, loads of fluff is planned with nursery building and preparations, maybe waffles? Give the damn omega her waffles!
I'm hoping to have it out on June 27th
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