Chapter Text
It’s another normal day for Castiel Novak.
Well, it is in the fact that today, as with a countless amount of others, Castiel will be invading whorehouse number dot dot dot. He’ll be joined by his colleagues and he’ll be expected to do his job - a routine thing that’s still managed to carry excitement for him after ten years on it. He’ll finish up quickly and smoothly, he’ll drink a beer with Gabriel because that’s what they do. And he’ll go to bed, safe and happy in the knowledge that just a few more alpha bastards in the world won’t be pimping out or raping underage and non-consenting omegas. Because they’ll be dead. Because Castiel, one of the best in the business, will have killed them. And he will have done so without regret and with a certain amount of smugness that goes with a satisfying job.
It’s different in that today, they will raid the home of one infamous Alastair Gray.
Mr Gray, a man so far outside of the law, yet so far into media speculation, is a repulsive human being. Castiel has come across his proceeding reputation a few times in his travels, his name has cropped up in numerous ‘visitor books’ in several brothels the country over, and Castiel has never been allowed to get to him. He’s mentioned the name a few times, step foot out of his solid position of mindless attack dog and informed his superior’s. But the name Alastair Gray had only appeared on his ‘kill list’ two days ago.
Alastair is a man that Castiel would personally like to meet.
Castiel Novak doesn’t get personal.
But he would introduce himself to Alastair Gray. He wants Alastair Gray to know just who ends his repulsive existance. Castiel will watch the life drain from his cold, dead eyes.
***
It’s a normal day for Dean Winchester.
Or, you know, so he hopes. It is Alastair, after all. No one can ever really expect anything from him, every day tends to be different than the one before and a week before that.
Yesterday, Dean had spent all his time on the floor of the library with Sammy deciding which Weasley was the best and possibly most attractive. Alastair had been out on some business transaction thing and he’d taken Azazel with him for 'moral support' something or other, so they'd both been blissfully free for those precious hours. Days like that are ridiculously rare and they both basked in it for as long as they possibly could.
The week before, Alastair had tied Dean to his bed and marked his skin with some new magical contraption until jagged, angry cuts had formed that would inevitably scar. Dean had gone back to his own room shaking and stumbling where his baby brother had to wash the blood from his back and convince him he was alright.
So Dean knows he could never presume how days with Alastair might turn out.
As it does turn out, though, Sammy does get the day off. Or, at the very least, the morning off. Alastair’s gone to visit somebody somewhere, Azazel tagging along beside him like the butt-buddies they are. Tuesday mornings are Sam's Azazel mornings, which means he's home free for the better part of the day. So Sam, of course, spends that time in the library. Dean joins him in hope for the start, but then Ruby retrieves him and sets him up in the bedroom on the top floor. The guest bedroom. And then Dean knows he doesn’t have the same luck as his brother.
The man that meets him up there is a stranger. He’s a lot younger than most alpha’s Alastair sets him up with so he must be a good friend of his. Alastair doesn’t like Dean being with younger alphas. Something about his ego, Dean’s pretty sure. Rotting old bastard he is.
He absolutely reeks of alpha; cologne, body wash, the works. Overcompensating, Dean thinks.
He introduces himself, which Dean thinks is weird. Dick Roman. Although, the air he does this with is so superior, he must expect it to mean something to Dean. It doesn’t. Dean just nods and lets Dick get on with it.
An hour of, “you’re a big thing, aren’t you, boy? So weak for me though, aren’t you? You need my knot, fucking begging for it, aren’t you?” later and Dean can go back and join Sammy. All the ‘aren’t you''s, would have Sam suggesting some sort of psychological insecurity, so that’s probably the reason he came to Alastair in the first place. And Dean didn’t have a choice but to keep answering, “Yes, yes, yes,” because that’s what Alastair had taught him to do, and he doesn’t need to piss off Alastair, at the very least not right now. He wants this Dick guy to give him a good word, and maybe Dean can get rewarded, maybe he can spend more time with Sam. Maybe Sam won’t be touched for a while.
“Hey Dean, light side or dark side?” Sam asks when Dean walks back into the library. He isn’t limping, which they both see as a good sign, but he still fucking exudes alpha. He won’t bother with a shower until Alastair comes back for the day and requests him, and only then because if Dean smells like another alpha he gets punished. Even though Alastair’s the one that sold him out to said alpha in the first place. But Dean doesn’t want to be punished, especially when they’re on such a good streak. Especially because if Alastair really wants to punish Dean, Sammy will be mixed up in it and he’s been so relaxed and open lately, Dean can’t see that happen. He won't see that happen.
“I hope you’re talking Star Wars, dude,” Dean replies, shuffling down into the giant armchair against the back wall. Alastair never goes near it so Dean, of course, loves it.
“What else would I be talking about?” Sam laughs from his sprawled out state on the carpet, so carefree and young it hurts Dean’s chest.
Dean pretends to think for a minute before answering, “Light side. Stupid question, Sammy, next.”
“Robert Downey Jr or Benedict Cumberbatch?” An old, totally read-out copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles is sat on the rug next to him, closed and studied.
“As Sherlock or just in general?”
Sam lifts his eyes to the ceiling and makes a concentrating face. “General.”
“Downey was Iron Man, so…” Dean stretches out his aching legs. “Yeah, Downey.”
“But Benedict Cumberbatch was Khan.”
Subtle, Sam. Dean quirks an eyebrow at his baby brother and smirks, “Just ‘cause you have a raging crush on him, Sammy boy, it doesn’t mean he’s the best.”
Sam glares back. “I do n-”
The creak of the old wooden door leading from the library into the main hall stops Sam in his tracks and they both turn their heads to look at the intruder. Dean smells nerves slowly excrete into the room from his brother; years in this place and the kid still gets scared when he knows he’s about to go upstairs. It pisses Dean off in some primal, raging anger that he has any repeating reason to be scared.
Ruby sticks her dumb-bitch head through. “Azazel’s here, Sammy.” Dean growls at the nickname. She ignores him. “Step on it, Sam, you know where to go, he’s up there already. Wash Dean, you stink of Dick.”
She leaves before Dean can slam the door on her precious fucking neck...
Dean looks at a paler, shier version of his brother. Sam scrambles to his feet and makes his way out of the room, pointedly avoiding Dean’s eyes. He must smell Dean’s temper.
So he tries, however uselessly, to lighten it, “Think of a few more questions for when you get back, okay Sammy?”
Sam nods and then he’s gone.
Dean swallows, draws in a huge breath and gets up from the armchair he uses for comfort. He doesn’t deserve it when his little brother is upstairs with that bastard.
Nicholas Azazel is Sam’s most frequent visitor and a good friend of Alastair’s. Every single time Sam comes stumbling down those steps he’d trip into the library or their bedroom and Dean could distinctly smell blood through forced upon slick. He would be bruised and weak and sometimes even Alastair might comment on it. One time, a bitter memory for both Dean and his brother, Alastair took him straight after, right in the middle of the kitchen, just because he said he liked when Sammy smelt scared and bloody.
That terrified Dean. Smelling Sam in fear is one sure fire way to get Dean to do anything, so Dean rarely ever refuses any more. In fact, Dean can’t really remember the last time he did. He could utter a simple “but,” and Alastair would threaten Sam or punish him in front of Dean because Dean was being disobedient. Alastair discovered Dean’s weakness too quickly when they arrived here.
Dean showers. If Ruby’s telling him, he should probably do it. And if Azazel's back, Dean would bet Alastair isn't far behind.
The water is a sweet distraction and Dean would stay under it forever if he could.
But he can’t, because he has to be back in the library when Sam gets out. He’ll comfort and stroke his brother, tell him over and over that he’s okay, and Azazel won’t hurt him down here. Even if Azazel does come down to spend time with Alastair in the living room, like they frequently fucking do, he won’t hurt Sam. He might request Sam to sit beside him, suck him off or something while the two alphas talk, but no hitting or too harder stuff comes into play in Alastair's royal presence.
After a particularly bad meeting up in Azazel’s specific 'guest room', when Sam was still crying when the man returned downstairs and slumped on the couch, he laughed like Sam was overreacting and jacked Sammy off. Dean was on the floor beside Alastair, and watching his brother tearfully come from the hands of the monster who had done that to his face had maddened (enraged) him. Alastair had smelt it and Dean was across the room in a heap in seconds.
He beat him, that night, and Sam watched.
***
Castiel gets up, runs for an hour, showers, dresses and eats. A daily routine.
He gets in the car when Gabriel swings back round to their house to pick him up. He reads over the floor plan of the place, he memorizes every detail, every turn or hidden room. He ignores Gabriel’s singing.
When they finally arrive at Alastair’s place it’s late in the day, the sun down and the moon low in the early night sky. They park at least a mile away in meeting with Anna and Balthazar and set off to the house. Anna fills Castiel and Gabriel in on everything else they might not know; there’s two omega’s in their now, seven house staff, a frequent client and Alastair himself. Castiel will go after Alastair on the ground floor, Anna at his back and Gabriel will take out the alpha upstairs with Balthazar. They know exactly where everyone is because Jo, a young beta, is undercover as a maid in the main house. Inconspicuous and perfect for the job, she’s never been anything but efficient and capable. Castiel likes her.
Castiel adjusts the black trench coat around his chest. He’s not exactly nervous, but his heart does beat with the knowledge that one way or another, he gets to put an end to Alastair Gray. Tonight. He’s positive he will not be forgetting this for a very long time to come.
They pass the security measures with efficiency - Anna’s very good at her job - and they’re safely inside the house safely within eight minutes. Gabriel gestures for Castiel and Anna to take their way along the ground floor, and he and Balthazar creep up the side staircase without a single sound. Not for the first time, Castiel wonders how terrifying the four of them look. Clad from top to toe in black, they’re silent and deadly, visibly so with their stealth, and especially if anyone was ignorant enough to try fighting back. Castiel never really minds when they do, though. These commonplace missions do tend to get boring.
Castiel joins Anna when they meet Jo and take out the staff. She uses her preferred gun, fitted with a silencer, but Castiel has never really favoured those. He much prefers his hands.
It's Castiel who takes the lead into the living room.
“You’re brother appears to be doing well.”
The voice weaves through the air in a slimy enough fashion that Castiel would bet anything on who it belongs to. They pause at the doorway and Castiel holds a hand up for them to stay put. Because, oh, this one is definitely his.
“Yes, sir,” says a quieter, sharply controlled voice. One of the omegas.
“Must be getting better at fucking. I should give him another go, don't you think, Dean?”
There’s a bitter stretch silence where Castiel’s stomach has a moment to tighten in anger.
Brother.
Damn it, he didn’t know they are brothers. Castiel doesn't even want to consider what that monster had then do to each other.
“Don’t you think so, Dean? Wouldn’t you like to watch? Maybe I’ll wait until he’s in heat and you can watch him beg for it. Maybe I’ll make him beg for you…”
Castiel flings the door open.
He stands there for a second, lets Alastair click in his brain exactly what’s happening, and lets him react if he can. He’s quick, Castiel will give him that. He’s off the couch and before Castiel in little over five seconds, pasty blue eyes swimming dangerously.
“You moron,” he spits, standing about a metre away and breathing heavily as he glares at Castiel, his eyes never leaving him. “I’ll have you killed in less than ten seconds, you and your little friends. You can’t touch–”
Castiel snaps his neck.
He would have held out longer, he might have fought the man a bit, spilt his blood, savoured his bones breaking in his hands. But then Castiel noticed the man behind Alastair.
Well, not so much man, actually. Late teens, early twenties Castiel would give him. He had stood slowly when Castiel came in, emerald eyes darting unsurely from Alastair to Castiel, and he’s stood in the same place now, hands clenched tight at his sides; he doesn’t look scared and he doesn’t smell it. Those marvelous eyes are apparently steady when they move to Alastair’s crumpled body on the floor and...nothing happens. He doesn’t lose it, he doesn’t react. He just looks back up at Castiel with something special in his eyes and Castiel feels…odd. Out of every house he’s invaded, every omega he’s freed and saved, none of them have behaved like this.
Like nothing. As though he's bored.
And then Castiel smells relief. Gratitude, relief and freedom all in one wonderful stench, all emitting from the boy stood in a forced casual stance mere metres away. He smiles a tiny smile before his chest rises in one of the heaviest breaths Castiel has ever seen. It makes Castiel smile, too.
***
Christ, the house is fucking huge.
Gabriel’s kinda happy he has Balthazar with him, man genius of remembering crap, otherwise he’d have missed the raid entirely and ended up revelling in the home cinema he just spied back down that corridor. But if he did that, little bro ninja would very likely kill him with his deadly little fingers, and what fun would that be? So he follows Balthazar with a put on stony face and stalks through the halls. And then Gabriel doesn’t need Balthazar to navigate because he can hear where he’s needed.
And he can smell scared omega. Scratch that.
Terrified omega.
“Fucking little slut, huh Sammy? You beggin’ for my knot, you fucking whore, you weak piece of shit…”
The tirade of breathy words and grunts leads Gabriel smoothly ahead of Balthazar and into a neatly painted room with gilded wall-boarders and a seriously decent looking bed with the added extra of horrified omega and a sick-as-fuck, rapey alpha. A family-home type room, you know. Balthazar stays at the door for Gabriel to do his job. Gabriel smirks and waits for the alphas attention because he’s bored and this could be fun. Every tiny grunt and cry from the omega beneath him sends an unusual jolt through Gabriel but he ignores it. He can deal with him later.
As it stands, the alpha is red in the face with effort and the harsh punch of hips to ass. He’s bent crookedly over a scrawnier, trembling frame, hands grabbing at narrow hips hard enough to leave already blossoming bruises and sweating chest draped over a flushed back. The omega’s fucking young, mid-to-late-teens, maybe. His wrists are bound to the headboard on iron rungs and his hands are clinging to the metal with white-knuckle force. Shaggy brown hair hangs over teary, clenched eyes as he jolts forward with every snap of dirty hips.
He’s gagged.
Gabriel finally decides to intervene when it’s clear the alpha asshole is too enraptured in his kill to notice (and totally not because every pained whine slicing the air is sickening him into action). He clears his throat and waits with his arms folded.
The alpha, grey haired and harsh eyed, swings to him, cock still buried in the boy, eyes wild. They narrow when they notice Gabriel, and then Balthazar, stood behind in the doorway, hands slung in his pockets without a care. Ah, trust Balthazar to know how to play properly.
“Aw, don’t stop on my account,” Gabriel says, smirking. He notes idly (totally not with trained enrapture) that the boy doesn’t look up but shuffles on the mattress, as far away from the alpha as physically possible in the tiny space granted to him. He’s bruised to many places and it angers Gabriel in some primal place he hasn't acknowledged in years before he decides to step it up a notch of only to get this show further along the road.
“What the fu–”
“Oh, I’m here to kill you,” Gabriel supplies, speaking as though he’s giving the days specials at some brunch bar. “Yeah, I know, real fucking messy business. You know man, I’m wearing my nice jacket, and I really don’t want your blood staining it, I'm sure a guy like you understands. So you know, be a doll and toddle on over here so I can snap your neck, nice and clean like.”
The man gapes at him, scowls at the boy – who’s huddled in a shivering ball beside the headboard – and goggles at his own, slightly knotted, dick. Fucking idiot. Gabriel rolls his eyes.
“No fucking way, you can't just - this is Alastair's house, you have no goddamn...you want someone go after him, I'm not…” he tries, bumbling over his words.
“Yeah, Alastair Gray, right? Well, I’d say right about now,” he looks at his watch, “he’ll be bleeding out on that nice Persian rug. Well, if baby bro has anything to do with it. And he totally does. Real stick up his ass about that one, you know. Wouldn’t let it drop no matter how many times no-one paid attention…”
By the time Gabriel stops talking he’s walked up to stand right next to the bed.
“Nice way to rat out a friend, though, jackass.”
And he snaps his hands out, places them on the alphas sweaty, fucking disgusting head and twists. The body falls to the bed behind him the same second Gabriel brushes his hands together and smiles. Good job well done, he thinks. He turns to the boy.
“Hey, there, cutie,” he says, smiling as sweetly as his face will allow.
The boy smells terrified and abused (still pretty fucking awesome, though) but omega slick still permeates the air. The usual heat scent surrounding places like Alastair's doesn't exude from him though, so Gabriel's gonna guess they drugged him up. At least they didn’t go in dry, is all he'll say. Gabriel gently moves the cloth from his mouth.
“Please…” the boy sobs once the gag is removed, flinching away when Gabriel reaches for his bound wrists.
“Hey buddy, you're all good, I'm not gonna hurt you,” Gabriel hushes him gently. He turns to Balthazar. “Check this floor. Tell Cas we’ll be down in a minute.”
Balthazar nods with a wink to the kid and walks out. Gabriel turns back to the boy, who now sits flush against the headboard, wide eyes pinned on the dead alpha who was just inside him. He smells more terrified than he did before. Figures, Gabriel thinks, and before he can think anything more, his hand is out and stroking hazel hair from hazel eyes. The same eyes snap to him with thousands of questions Gabriel has no patience to even consider answering right now, so instead he makes quick work of the fabric – a tie – around his wrists and lets him up off the bed.
“Names Gabriel, by the way,” Gabriel says, when the boys stood beside him on quivering legs (Jesus Christ, he's seriously edging on the 'having to look up to a kid omega' line here). “How ‘bout you, champ?”
Sudden, amusing-yet-surprisingly-threatening death glares are what Gabriel receives, until after a beat, a quiet, unsure voice directing itself at the carpet offers a, “Sam. My name’s Sam.”
“Sam. Perfect. So I’m sure you’re kinda freaking out right about now, huh?”
“Where’s my brother?” Sam asks, purpling eyes narrowed. Gabriel smiles slightly and moves away from the bed to collect the jeans and hoodie from the floor and hand it back to the kid, taking it upon himself to assume the suit jacket and pants aren't his. Sam shimmies into them with sickening practiced efficiency, if not slight clumsiness, and goes back to glaring. It lights something somewhere inside Gabriel that he didn’t even know existed. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling.
“That would be omega number two, right?” Gabriel says cheerfully. “Downstairs I ‘spect. Which is where we're going. Come along, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam.” But he follows Gabriel out the room anyway.
They’re silent on their little trek through the mansion. Sam stumbles a bit, still leaking slick and blood through openings in his slight body, but he’s a trooper. Gabriel has an inkling that if he turned to try and help the kid he’d end up like the jackass corpse upstairs anyway, so he doesn't bother. The same, strange thing flares at the thought. For the first time since he was a kid, Gabriel has to remind himself that this hot little omega is, in fact, still a kid. Alpha or not, he’s just seen the little guy get viciously raped and walk it off like it was nothing, and Gabriel might be a murderer but he is not a molester. If he acts on anything right now or anytime soon, he’ll shun Sam out before he can say, ‘So about my raging knot…’
They arrive in the stupidly huge entryway within minutes.
“Sammy,” someone breaths, and the boy beside him is swooped up in a crushing hug. Ah, omega number two. This one is fairly taller but with shorter, lighter hair, almost cropped, piercing green eyes and lips fuller than both Anna and Jo’s put together. The older brother, then. “You okay, little brother?”
“Well, you can tell they’re brothers, huh?” Gabriel mutters, leaving the two near the stairs. He stands beside a stony faced Cas - though it's not like there’s many other faced Cas's. Gabriel nudges his crossed arms with his elbow. “Pretty smooth job, huh Cas?”
“It was very…efficient.” Cas’ voice is taut, stranger and deeper than usual. His azure eyes are on the brother omegas, specifically big bro. Gabriel quirks a brow.
“Yeah…pretty good.” Gabriel smirks at Cas’ sidelong glance. “So what are we doing with the, uh, bro’s over there.”
“We’ll take them to the hospital for a check-up, Gabriel, as we do with all the others.” Yeah, voice definitely tense. He practically growls, “What else would we do?”