Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Fallen Angels MC 

Season 3, Spiracle 

***

Episode 1, Hurricane (30 Seconds to Mars)

~

DAY 15

It's been two days. 

Two days of Jack refusing to talk to anyone, holed up in the room that Cas fixed up for him… Cas wanted to keep the kid close– keep an eye on him– and he's tried, like any father would. 

Dean thought Cas would put him in the extra space in his room, but he didn't. Maybe out of respect for Dean, he didn't, but honestly, Dean might be just as worried about the kid as Cas is. 

Seems odd, Dean not being a father, but the truth is that he knows what this feels like for Jack. The amount of times he's felt like a failure in the eyes of his own father… The times he couldn't quite protect his little brother well enough as a kid… The disappointment on his dad's face… is too many to count. 

He knows what that feels like, and even though everyone's trying to help the kid understand it's not his fault, Dean knows none of that’s gonna matter. Jack's going to feel that guilt until he doesn't, no matter how many times Cas, or anyone else, knocks on his door. 

Ironically enough, Cas has moved the kid into Ury's room… right next to Mike and Elle's. If he had to guess, Dean would say it's probably close enough to Cas that the angel can watch over him, but not close enough to be imposing. Of course it's just a guess…

Because Cas hasn't said much in two days either. 

The day Bart was murdered, Cas wanted to kill Ury. He made that very clear in the heated exchange he had with Michael, who wasn't going to let it happen. Club rules, protocols, and all that. 

“We have to question him first, Cas, you know this,” Mike had said to him.

“What's to question, Michael? We got ambushed at the church– after he walked in late. Dean could've been killed." Cas ticked off. “He disappeared during the battle… Dean was almost killed… and now–” Dean could hear the crack in Cas's voice as his eyes shifted to him and back to Mike. “They wanted Dean– and Sam– there today. To kill them.” He slammed his hand on the doorknob, looking back at Mike. 

“Screw club protocol.” 

He tore off to the gun range… to blow off some steam. Dean slipped away to follow him. Looking back, he's not exactly sure why. Maybe he felt compelled to watch over Cas for a change. Dean knows Cas doesn't need his protection, but it's too late for that now… he wants to. 

Maybe Cas needs protecting from himself. If nothing else, Dean can do that. 

The funeral is today. It's overcast, a little rainy but not enough to affect the pyre down by the river. The angels wanted to prepare Bart, as they do their own kind. Took a little convincing from the FA to get Crowley to agree to hold it here, since Bart was technically a Hellhound member, but somehow the demon had enough of a conscience to realize how dangerous it would be to hold it at the other clubhouse. 

Dean's dressed. Only thing he has that's appropriate is his ‘agent' suit, so that's what he's wearing. The members of the FA and the HH will be required to wear their cuts– club rules, of course. 

He feels a little overdressed when Cas walks out of the bathroom wearing nice jeans, a crisp white button-down, long sleeved shirt with a blue tie. Dean has to admit, though, he does clean up good… for a biker. His tan leather jacket and cut hang on the chair in the room.

Dean stands up from the bed when Cas approaches. He reaches for the angel's tie and pulls him closer, adjusting it to where it needs to be close to his throat. Cas's eyes look sad as Dean stares into them, dark blue today, stormy, but still beautiful, reflecting the blue in his tie.

“You know,” Dean says quietly, “you don't have to protect me all the time.” He averts his gaze to the tie.

Cas's mouth forms a hard line. “I don't feel like arguing with you today, cowboy.” 

“Not arguing… just saying–”

Cas dips his finger under Dean's chin and lifts until the hunter’s looking at him again. “Well, don't.”

“I wanna protect you too, angel,” Dean mutters before his brain can catch up. He tugs Cas's tie, pulling him in– pressing his lips to the angel's until he sighs into Dean's mouth and kisses him back. 

Dean pulls away breathless, pressing his forehead into Cas's, the air thick with emotions between them.

“We should probably get down there,” Cas says. 

“Yeah,” Dean whispers back. “Is… uh… Jack coming down?” 

Cas shakes his head sadly. “I've been trying.” He looks at Dean. “Maybe you could try?” It sounds like a question, but Dean knows it's not. 

“I don't–” His exhale is harsh. “I don't know–” 

Cas stares at him with pleading eyes. 

“Alright. I'll try,” Dean concedes.

Cas squeezes his shoulder. “I'll meet you downstairs.”

Dean takes a deep breath and heads to Jack's door. He knocks. 

No response. 

“Jack?” 

Still no answer. 

“Can I come in?” He hears a murmuring behind the door. It's not an answer, but Dean twists the doorknob cautiously and slowly pushes the door open. 

Jack is sitting on his bed. He's dressed for the funeral in a navy blue button-down shirt and black tie. His cut hangs loosely on his shoulders, hands upturned on his lap, head down, staring at them. 

Dean steps into the room, closing the door behind him quietly, and approaches him. There's caution in his approach. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Jack looks up at him, tears threatening to spill over. He's never looked more like a child than at this moment. Dean's heart feels like it's in a vice. 

“I… couldn't save him.” Jack's voice breaks. The grip on Dean's heart squeezes tighter. “I tried,” he says as the tears make good on their threat. 

Dean sits next to him, his hand rests lightly on Jack's back. “You did, kiddo. You tried really hard.” 

Jack looks over at Dean. “Why didn't it work?” 

The juxtaposition of a demigod child asking a human why their powers didn't work isn't lost on Dean. He shakes his head. 

“I dunno, Jack.” He rubs the kid’s back a little. “But what I do know is that you gave it everything you got.” Dean clears the lump in his throat. “He knows how hard you tried, kid.” 

“I failed.” Jack chokes on a sob. 

“Hey…” Dean tips Jack's chin up to look at him just as Cas had done to him. “If you failed, then everyone else did too.” Jack's brows furrow in question. “You saw Gabe and Elle trying hard too. They couldn't save him either. Nobody could, kiddo.” 

“I… didn't think about that.” Jack blinks. 

Dean's brain works overtime trying to think of something else to say. He feels like he might be getting through to the kid. “Yeah. A– And they've had a lot more experience using their powers.” Dean silently holds his breath, hoping this snaps Jack out of it. 

“You're right, Uncle Dean.” Jack wipes his eyes and smiles. Dean lets out his breath, the vice on his heart loosening a little. “I just… need some more practice. Will you help me?” 

“Are you kidding? There's nothing else I want to do.” Dean lies, but the kid doesn't need to know that. 

What he really wants to do is kill every last HH member who hurt his new-found family. 

***

It's quiet. The river sparkles in the dewy air as everyone stands stock still. The fog curls around them like ghosts– ancestors past, silently joining to pay their respects. 

Different members of each club say a few words about Bart, but Dean remains mute. Bart's body is wrapped tightly– Dean's suggestion after the angels had prepared him– laying prone atop the beautifully built pyre. 

Jack stands between Dean and Cas, his head bowed in silent reflection. Cas's expression gives nothing away. He's stone-faced, stoic, and Dean… 

Dean's getting angrier by the second. 

Mike stands on the far end opposite Crowley on the other side. The two presidents holding the line. Elle cries softly next to him. Gabe– Sam next to him, which has quickly become commonplace– Baz, Zeke, and the others watching on sadly. 

Rami's expression is devastating. Eyes glassy, mouth trembling, he can barely get out the words he wants to say about his friend. Dean feels Jack tense next to him when Rami speaks, and he squeezes the kid's shoulder to ground him. 

Dean's eyes burn orange and red as Rowena mumbles something softly and flicks her wrist, the pyre beginning to blaze from below. He watches the flames lick up the wooden logs and, in his mind, he's no longer here. 

He's transported back to all the hunter's funerals he's had to attend over the years… friends, family, each one slicing a piece of him away. 

This is all so fucking unnecessary, he thinks to himself. 

Ury, that son of a bitch. The betrayal that caused unimaginable harm to the angels he supposedly called family is unfathomable to Dean. 

Almost as if on cue, he overhears Baz and Gabe talking to Mike. 

“The bastard won't talk,” Baz says, gritting his teeth, “cad.” 

“Yeah I tried a mind-meld on the fucker,” Gabe adds, “he's too goddamn righteous for anything to work.” 

“I'll talk to him later,” Mike says. “We're not gonna resort to violence on one of our own… yet, as much as we want to, but we'll get the answers we need… and then we'll vote.” 

Dean can feel the rage building inside him. He watches the fire until his eyes feel like they might burn out of his head. 

He feels Cas brush up next to him, his hand caresses down Dean's arm as he leans in close to Dean. It should give Dean comfort, but he's too angry, and he's too in his own head right now to let it. 

“I'm gonna take Jack inside,” Cas murmurs softly before kissing Dean right under his ear. Dean stirs at that, nodding his head in response. His eyes shift to everyone, distracted in conversation. 

He knows where they're keeping Ury. He's heard them say it. Jade eyes flick to the second cabin, far up the hill by the house– the one he was told was used as the bedroom of Hannah, Benji, and Meg. He guesses this is a rare occurrence, and angels and demons don't need to sleep. 

He shifts his eyes back to the fire. 

That's the place. 

“You okay, man?” Dean jumps at Sam's voice. 

“Yeah,” Dean responds simply. 

“You sure?” Dean looks over to see Sam staring at him skeptically. “Because I know that look.” 

Damn it. 

He can't get anything past his brother.

“I'm fine, Sammy,” Dean reassures. “Just… worried about the kid.” While true, that's not what Dean is thinking about right now. But it seems to suffice. 

“Yeah.” Sam nods. “Poor kid's had a rough couple of days.” 

“Mm-hm. I'm gonna, uh–” Dean thumbs towards the house. “I'm gonna head inside. I'm tired.” 

“I get it,” Sam says solemnly. “I'm probably gonna head in too. Gonna stick around out here for a bit longer though.” 

Dean nods again. He walks over to Rami, claps a hand on his shoulder, then shakes his hand, offering his condolences. He looks Rami dead in the eyes. 

“I'm gonna make this right,” Dean says, jaw ticking. 

Rami looks back, confused at first, but his eyes widen just slightly in recognition and understanding before narrowing.

“Distract them,” Dean says bluntly. The demon nods once in approval. 

Dean walks up the hill towards the house, and the back door. He turns to see Rami walking over to the group engaging them in more conversation. 

The side of Dean's mouth curls into a half grin as he bypasses the door off the patio and quickly moves around the house to the upstairs door. Thankfully it's unlocked, so he silently slips inside. 

He freezes when he steps in, head swivelling left, then right, listening for any sounds that someone's up here. There's nothing. Cas and Jack must be downstairs. He heads into Cas's room, careful to make no sound, and grabs his lockpick and the angel blade Cas gave him. 

He's back out the door he came through in seconds. Dean braces himself against the house, leaning forward enough to watch the others, who are still down the hill, close to the river. 

When he's confident no one is looking, he rushes to the cabin that houses Ury. 

Trained by his father since the age of four, Dean's lock-picking skills are unmatched. He makes quick work of it and slips inside, then closes the door quietly and clicks the lock back in place. This cabin isn't any bigger than the meeting cabin, but the living area is smaller, and the adjacent bedroom is larger. 

That's where the traitor is. 

Dean hears Ury stir. 

“I'm not in the mood for company right now,” Ury calls from inside. “Maybe later.” He hears the asshole chuckle. 

Dean walks slowly to the bedroom, boots echoing against the walls adorned with Enochian sigils, and enters the doorway. He revels in the surprised look on Ury's face, which quickly changes to an evil grin. 

He's secured to the chair he's sitting in– in the middle of the room– at the ankles and wrists with straps etched in more Enochian sigils. Beneath him is what Dean can only surmise to be an angel trap painted on the floor. 

“Didn't realize the zoo was coming to me today,” he drawls. “Can I help you with something… ape?” 

Dean smiles. 

“Oh, I think you're gonna help me with a lot of things today.” 

He loosens his tie, pulling it from around his neck, draping it over the back of the chair. He sets the blade down on the seat. His suit jacket follows, which he folds neatly, tucking it next to the discarded tie. 

Then he rolls up his sleeves. 

“Good luck with that,” Ury says angrily. “Spare me the strip show, but I am curious. How's that angel food cake taste? Heard you cut yourself off a big piece of it.” He laughs.

Dean pulls the tie off the back of the chair and walks over to Ury. “You perverted son of a bitch.” Dean grins. “But if you must know… It's fucking delicious,” he says, slamming the tie across Ury's mouth, tying it too tight in the back. “Jealous?” 

Ury grunts, then glares at Dean. 

Dean feels the hunter in him fully take over as he picks up the blade, holding the base in his right hand, twisting the pointy end against the fingers of his left. 

“The angels…” Dean says calmly, “won't do this because you're one of their own.” He walks towards Ury. “You see they still think you're their brother, but you and I both know you're not. You're a sellout.” 

He presses the blade into Ury's chest, twisting until blood trickles down and grace leaks out. Ury groans in pain. 

“Me?” Dean continues. “Well, I'd just as soon kill your ass than talk to you.” 

He flicks the blade up, cutting a nick into Ury's jaw, more grace and blood leaks. It almost makes this poetic. The asshole winces, eyes squeezed tight. 

“Fuck you, boy!” He tries to say around the gag in his mouth. 

“Nah,” Dean deadpans, “Cas's got that covered.” He walks around Ury, pressing the tip of the blade into the back of his head. “Where's Raphael?” 

“I don’t know,” Ury says, muffled. 

“What's that?” Dean presses the blade harder, not yet breaking the skin there.

“I… Don't... Know!” 

Dean walks back in front of him, grabbing his face with one hand. “I… Don't… Believe... You.” 

He slices a strip straight down Ury's chest, light pours out of it, blood dripping down. A muffled scream escapes the bound angel's mouth. 

“I can do this all day.” Dean leans into him and smiles. “‘Cause… goddamn, it feels good!” He shoves Ury's face away. “Where… is Raphael?” 

Ury doesn't answer. 

Dean slices down the side of his face, stopping only at the tie-turned-gag. Ury screams again. 

“Why did you betray your brothers?” 

Ury glares at Dean, breaths labored. Dean slices the other side of his face. Ury winces and clenches his jaw but doesn't scream. 

Dean's gonna have to switch it up a little. 

He moves the blade to his left hand and punches Ury. Hard. Ury's head falling to the side. It should hurt Dean, but it feels too fucking good. He punches him again, watching his lip split and blood trickle down his chin. He lands a final punch, the satisfaction superseding the pain in his knuckles.

Ury doesn't answer, so Dean slices a strip down his arm. Ury cries out, fists clenching. He says something but it's breathy and muffled. 

“What's that?” Dean leans in, but he can't understand him, so he grabs the tie and yanks it off his mouth. He presses the tip of the blade under Ury's chin. “Speak, asshole.” 

“He's– he's– in– Rogers,” Ury says through stuttered breaths. 

“Damn, you folded fast.” Dean chuckles. “This is too easy! No wonder you turned on your own. You're weak.” Dean leans back, smacking Ury's cheek. “Makes you more of a demon than an angel, doesn't it?” 

Ury growls in response. 

Dean turns, takes a few steps, then turns back to Ury. 

“Now… Why did you betray your so-called brothers?” 

Ury glares. Dean leans in, pushing the blade harder under his chin. Ury groans. 

“Because I hate all of you–” his eyes flicker up and down Dean. “Insects-turned-apes.” Dean's not surprised by this in the least. “God’s precious creation. Ungrateful cretins. I'm tired of looking at you, all of you.” He spits blood out of his mouth. “I can't wait for Lucifer to burn it all down,” he hisses. 

“Damn,” Dean says, “bending over for the devil. That's gotta be an all-time low, huh?” 

“Better than bending over for you… like Cas,” Ury growls. 

Anger surges through Dean. He slices the blade down Ury's chest, deeper this time. 

Ury screams in pain. 

“What's their next move, douchebag?!” 

Ury's head hangs low, shoulders shuddering with his breaths. Dean's undeterred. He lifts Ury's chin, his face carved and bloody, and punches him again. 

He grabs his face, staring at him. “What's their next move?” he asks again, calm, methodical, and dangerous. Dean steps back, placing the tip of the blade under Ury's chin once more, holding it up. 

“Just– kill me– you asshole,” Ury pleads.

“Oh, no.” Dean shakes his head. “I'm gonna leave that to the actual angels, when they vote to execute your ass… and they will.” Ury's eyes go wide, then narrow. “So you might as well tell me now.” 

“Been a little tied up, bug,” Ury says through gritted teeth. 

“You knew something before that, now talk!” Dean presses the blade harder again. Blood trickles down his chin. 

Ury cries out. 

“Fine!” He yells. “They're… coming after the club. The–” he sucks in a breath, wheezing a little, “warding won't work on Raphael.” 

“When?”

“I don't know!”

“When?!” Dean steps back, pointing the blade at him. 

“I don't–”

The door swings open. 

Footsteps charge into the room. 

“Dean!” Sam yells. “What the hell are you doing? Stop!” 

“Oh shit…” Gabe whistles. “Mikey's gonna be pissed.” 

Dean looks behind him, his own chest heaving, eyes narrowed. 

“What is this shit?” Baz appears behind them. Dean can see, just barely, the hint of a grin that Baz is desperately trying to hold back, ghost across his lips. 

“You guys couldn't get answers, so I did.” 

“Drop the blade, big guy,” Gabe says. "Don't make me ask twice.” 

Dean does, then holds his hands up. Gabe and Baz each take hold of Dean's arms. Gabe looks at Sam. 

“Go get Mike… and Cas.” 

“Shit,” Sam grumbles, palms scrubbing his face before he heads out the door. 

Gabe and Baz take a second to look at Ury before starting to walk Dean outside. 

“He's crazy!” Ury yells. “And you lot are concerned about me?” 

“Shut up, traitor,” Baz shoots back. 

“Damn, bro.” Gabe whistles again when they get outside. “You really did a number on him.” 

“I'm not mad at the chap,” Baz adds. “But–” he stops short as Mike approaches. 

“What the hell is this?” Mike stares at Dean. “Explain yourself, Winchester.” 

“I did you a favor.” Dean glares. “You wanted answers… he wouldn't give them to you… So, I carved them outta his ass.” 

Mike curses, then sighs. “Is he alive?” 

“Cut up like a Butterball, but he's alive,“ Gabe says. 

Mike scowls at Dean. “You had no right.” 

“I was supposed to be the one fucking murdered at that set-up scene, asshole! Me and my brother. I had every damn right.” 

Mike's face changes but only slightly. The president's good at never giving away what he's really thinking. 

“I need my jacket back… and my damn blade,” Dean growls.

“The blade isn't yours to get back,” Mike replies. 

“I'll let you take that up with Cas, then,” Dean shoots back. “Y'all can let me go now. Ain't like I'm gonna run off.” 

“We're gonna talk about this later, Dean.” Mike sighs again, then looks at Baz and Gabe. “Take him inside.” 

“Let him go.” 

Mike turns around at the sound of Cas's voice, the seriousness of it is unmistakable. 

Dean's heart hammers against his ribs.

“Cas, we need to talk about–”

“I said… let him go.” He levels a dangerous glare on Mike, then the two angels holding Dean. “Now.” 

Gabe and Baz immediately release Dean. 

“Leave us,” Cas says, leaving no room for argument. 

Still, Mike tries.

“Cas–”

“Michael, we will talk later,” Cas says robotically. “And we will sort this out, but right now…” he shifts his eyes to Mike, tone changing just slightly, “I need you to leave us alone.” 

“Fine,” Mike replies, annoyed, the muscles in his jaw working overtime. “Let's go, guys.” 

As they walk away, Cas turns to Dean. He stares at him for a moment, then grabs Dean's right hand pulling it up to look at the bruised and bloody knuckles there. 

Cas's jaw ticks, then clenches hard. “What have you done?”

Dean snatches his hand away. “I did what needed to be done, Cas.”

“Let's go. We’ll talk elsewhere.” Cas's voice is stone cold. 

“Nothing to talk about,” Dean says defiantly.

Cas's returning glare sends a chill– and heat– through Dean's body. He swallows, then forces a nod, following Cas to the house. 

***

Dean tries not to look at anyone as he follows Cas inside, but his eyes defy him. He catches glances of fear as they look at Cas, then a mixture of uncertainty, a little fear, and maybe pride when they look at Dean. Sam, on the other hand, looks horrified.

Jack catches them just before they get to the stairs. 

“Uncle Dean?” 

Dean stops to look at the kid. 

“Did you hurt Ury?” 

“Jack–” Cas warns, but Jack continues staring expectantly at Dean. 

Dean sighs. “Yeah.” 

Jack lifts his chin. He looks at Dean with an expression he's never seen before. Serious and stone cold. He's never resembled Cas more, despite the lack of relation. 

“Good,” the kid says. He looks from Dean to Cas, nods once, and turns to walk away. 

Dean blinks, eyes shifting to Cas, expression unreadable but not good. 

Cas looks back at Dean, a storm brewing behind blue eyes. He points towards the stairs. 

“Go.” 

Dean scowls. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. He'll say what he needs to say upstairs. Dean turns and follows Cas's command until they both reach his bedroom. 

Just inside the door, Dean rounds on Cas. “Don't ever talk to me like that again. I'm not a child.” 

Cas calmly closes the bedroom door and latches it, not looking at Dean. 

“Well, cowboy, if you didn't act like a child, I wouldn't have to.” He takes off his cut, and walks to the chair, hanging it over the back, facing away from Dean. 

“I'm acting like a child?” 

Cas braces himself on the chair and lets his head fall down between his shoulders. 

“A petulant one, yes.” He lifts his head and turns around. 

“That's rich.” Dean scoffs. 

“Dean…” Cas sighs. “I just need to know why you did what you did. I'm trying to protect you.” 

“And I told you, I don't need your protection.” Dean clenches his jaw, knowing damn good and well that's not true, as much as he wants it to be. 

Cas squints. “Is that what this was about?” 

“God, you're so fucking irritating, Cas.” Dean huffs. “No… that's not what this was about. And stop acting like you're my father. I already told you that once.” 

“Then what?” Cas is still being too eerily calm for Dean's comfort level. He knows Cas is about to blow, and he's internally bracing himself. 

“Well, you locked the door. Planning on beating it outta me?” He scoffs. “Good luck.” 

“Not exactly.” A hint of a smile ghosts across his lips. “Just a private talk.” 

“Uh-huh.” Dean looks him up and down. “I had my reasons.” 

“And you can't trust me with those reasons? You couldn't have trusted me with your reasons before you carved him like a pumpkin?” 

“I knew none of you would go for it.” Dean runs a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah.” 

Dean watches as Cas's hand balls into a fist. 

Here it comes. 

“But you did it anyway.”

“You bet your ass I did. And I got answers… unlike any of you. You still think he's one of you. He's not.”

Cas growls. He turns and grabs the back of the wooden chair again, snapping it clean in two with his bare hands. 

Dean takes a step back. 

“Cas–”

Cas turns, eyes sparking once when he looks at Dean. “Don't.”

Dean holds his hands up. “You can smite me if you want, angel, but I ain't apologizing for getting you answers you needed.” 

“I told you to be careful calling me that.” Cas says, voice deep and dark. Dean swallows. “What you did was dangerous, Dean.” 

“He was secure, Cas. I was fine.”

“Not what I mean.” Cas looks him up and down, a strange expression on his face. He trains it back to stone. “What did he tell you?” 

“Oh now you wanna know? Thought you weren't done scolding me.” 

“Dean–” Cas sighs. 

“Fine. Raphael's in Rogers.”

Cas's eyes shift to the side then back to Dean. He raises an eyebrow, and heat shoots through the hunter. 

“What else?” 

“Son of a bitch admitted to working for them–”

“Why?”

“He hates humanity. Wants Lucifer to ‘burn it all down.’” Dean air quotes.

“Damn it,” Cas growls under his breath. 

“That's not all, angel.” Dean uses the endearment on purpose, just to watch the darkness flit across Cas's expression again. 

Call him a masochist. 

When Cas looks at him expectantly, Dean continues. “They're gonna hit the clubhouse. He said the warding won't hold Raphael.” 

Cas's jaw ticks. “When?” 

“That's when I got interrupted.” 

“We have to tell Mike… and the others,” Cas says, anger lacing his tone. 

“You really think Mike's gonna listen to me?” 

“He'll listen to me.” Cas stares at Dean, jaw clenched tight. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Cas's eyes drag down Dean.

“Are we gonna tell him?” Dean feels his breath quicken.

“Mm-hm.” Cas continues staring. 

Dean stares back. He can feel the air crackling between them. He narrows his eyes. 

“What did you mean before? About it being dangerous?” 

Cas blinks, slow, his eyes travel up Dean's body bringing more heat with them. 

“Not sure you wanna know.” 

Something stirs in Dean. He stares at Cas, then narrows his eyes. 

“I think I do.”

A grin curls just one side of Cas's mouth. He takes a step towards Dean… Dean subconsciously takes a step towards him. 

“I didn't realize you could go so… dark.” 

The last word is said in a tone that makes Dean want to fall to his knees. Cas takes another step, and so does Dean. 

“Oh buddy,” Dean says, chuckling humorlessly. “You don't even know the half of it.” 

“Maybe…” Cas hesitates. “You could tell me.” 

Fear stops Dean in his tracks. Not of Cas, of something else, and he takes a step back, shaking his head. 

“I don't talk about what makes me go darkside, Cas.” 

Cas pulls at the tie around his neck, loosening it enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the side. 

“Don't run from me, cowboy.” 

Dean tilts his head to the side, eyes raking down Cas's body and back up. 

“I'm not,” he says. “I'm not afraid of you, Cas. You're not that scary.”

Cas's grin widens. “Good.” He starts to unbutton his shirt as he walks towards Dean, eyes predatory. “I don't want you afraid, I want you ready.” 

Dean's heart pounds in his chest. “For what?”

“For me.” Cas advances forward. 

Dean's mouth wants to whimper, but he holds it in, rolling his shoulders instead.

“Show me,” Cas says– voice dangerously low when he gets to Dean. 

He slips his fingers around Dean's neck, pulling hard until their lips crash together. 

Dean's hands fly to Cas's head, fingers curl and tangle into his hair, pulling tight. Cas groans, tongue delving into Dean's mouth. His fingers make quick work of Dean’s buttons, then shove the shirt off his shoulders. Dean moves his arms just to let Cas rip it off him, lips never leaving the angel’s. 

Finally, Dean pulls back, breaking the kiss, breaths punching. 

“Show you what?” 

Cas wipes under his bottom lip with his thumb, then bites it before he says… 

“Your darkness, cowboy.”

Heat surges through Dean. He fists Cas's shirt, dragging him back in for a deep, hot kiss before gripping the edges of the white dress shirt and ripping it open. He hears at least one button hit the wall. 

Cas grins, going back in for a kiss but Dean stops him.

 “No,” he commands. Cas's eyes go dark, but Dean swallows and continues. “Hold up your arms, angel.” 

Cas bites his godforsaken lip again and obeys, but Dean knows that Cas is only letting him do this. 

Dean pulls the undershirt off in one motion, then rips his own off as well, crashing back into Cas with lips, and tongue, and nibbling teeth. Cas moans, head lulling back as Dean attacks the cords of his neck, nibbling up to the bolt of his jaw, back over to his mouth. 

His hands roam down, releasing the button and zipper of Cas's fly, and Dean can feel just how hard he is, his own cock straining against the material of his pants. He slips his hand in, cupping Cas's erection, and the angel bucks against him with a harsh sigh. Cas's hands reach for Dean's ass, pressing and kneading, pushing their hips together. 

“I want you so fucking bad,” Dean whispers in Cas's ear, licking and nibbling the shell of it. 

Cas pulls Dean's head back, gripping it with both hands. 

“Then take me, cowboy,” he says, licking his lips. 

Dean's eyes shift to those lips. He grabs Cas by the denim material of his open fly and pulls hard, lips crashing and nipping and dancing again. 

Dean shoves the jeans down, freeing Cas's cock, then drags his lips down the angel's neck, chest, his tongue flicking at each nipple, hearing Cas's breath leave him in a rush, before moving down further. 

Cas's hands grip Dean's head as his lips descend the angel's stomach. Dean drops to his knees, head back, looking up at a breathless Cas. 

“You sure?” The angel asks. Dean's stomach is in knots. He's never done this before… he’s only barely worried he might gag, but he wants Cas in his mouth so fucking bad, he doesn't really care right now. 

Dean nods. He pushes the jeans down to Cas's ankles, unlacing each boot, pulling them off, then tapping Cas's legs for him to lift each one so Dean can rid him of them. He slides his hands up the back of Cas's legs to his thighs, feeling the angel shudder beneath his touch. 

Dipping his head, he presses his tongue at the base, licking to the tip. He looks back up to see Cas's head fall back with a strained sigh. Dean takes the tip into his mouth and sucks, feeling Cas's finger curl into his hair tighter. Dean takes more and more of him in, sucking as he pulls back, swirling his tongue. He moans around Cas's cock, the angel's breaths stutter, his legs shake.  

When Dean lets his teeth graze the sensitive skin, all the way to the tip, Cas bucks and moans loud. Dean pops his mouth off, looking up at Cas, knowing he has him exactly where he wants him. 

Dean grins. 

Cas raises an eyebrow. 

Dominant. 

Hot. 

Dean swallows. 

“Get your ass up here,” the angel orders. 

“Thought I was in charge.” Dean smirks. 

“Not yet,” Cas growls. 

Fuck. 

Dean stands up. Cas grabs his head and kisses him so hard, he thinks his lips might bruise. He walks backwards, pulling Dean with him to his cut, still hanging on the broken chair. He reaches inside and pulls out his blade, spinning it in his hand. 

Dean should be afraid, but he's not. Instead, heat races through him directly to his groin and he hardens even more. 

He swallows, eyes searching Cas's face. Cas is looking at him with one question in his eyes. 

Dean's exhale is harsh. “You show me yours, I'll show you mine, right, Cas?” He says, voice strained. 

He reaches between them, wrapping his fingers around Cas's cock. The angel's eyes slam shut, a curse escaping his lips. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “That's the general idea.” Cas chuckles at Dean throwing his own words back at him. 

He pushes Dean back until his knees hit the bed and he sits. Dean licks his lips, whimpering just a little as Cas pushes him again until his back is prone on the bed. 

Cas spins the blade again. 

Dean watches, slack-jawed as Cas takes the tip of the blade, presses it lightly at the base of Dean's throat, barely any pressure, then down his chest. 

Cold metal meets heated, vulnerable flesh. Cas circles each nipple with the tip of the blade. 

“Fuck,” Dean moans as the blade descends his torso to the clasp of his pants. 

Cas uses the tip of the blade to meticulously release the clasp without breaking it, then slides the zipper down. 

Feeling the pressure of the blade through the thinner fabric of his dress pants as the angel unzips them has Dean arching off the bed, pleading for more. 

Cas sets the blade down, discarding the rest of Dean's clothes and shoes, then pulls Dean's naked body up to him. He wraps his hand around Dean's hardness. 

Dean curses again before dragging his teeth against the flesh of Cas's neck, across his stubbled chin, plunging his tongue into the angel's mouth with a groan. 

Cas spins them, sitting on the bed, pulling Dean on top of him until Dean's straddling, his knees on either side of him. Dean grinds into Cas, the angel's breath shuddering as he nips at Dean's shoulder, up his neck, pulling Dean's mouth to his. 

They suck, lick and bite until both are a panting mess. 

Cas leans back, grabbing the blade. Dean watches closely as he effortlessly slides them both up the bed until Cas's head is on the pillow and Dean is leaning over him. 

Cas pushes Dean's chest up until his body is vertical, the pressure on their erections causing both of them to gasp, hips moving together. 

Cas takes the blade, touching the tip to Dean's chest. He freezes… until Cas flips it, holding the pointed end. He reaches for Dean's right hand, lifting his bruised and bloodied knuckles to his mouth, kissing softly, his eyes fluttering closed. When he opens them, they glow a brilliant blue before it dissipates. Dean watches wide-eyed as the bruises and small cuts disappear with each gentle kiss. 

“That will never not be cool,” Dean whispers. 

Cas smiles. Then he takes the blade and presses the handle into Dean's newly healed hand. Dean freezes again. 

“Cas–” Dean looks at the blade, then at the angel. “No, I–” 

“I want you to,” Cas says. 

“I– I don't wanna hurt you.”

“You won't.” Cas grins. “Just don't press too hard, and do what I say.” 

Dean swallows, then nods. “Okay.” 

“Put it here.” Cas points to his chest, just above his nipple. Dean obeys. Cas thrusts his hips, and Dean groans, putting more pressure on the blade. “That's it, now drag it down.” 

Dean does, and Cas moans as bright light seeps out, then red blood trickles across his chest. He thrusts again. Dean pulls the blade up, chest heaving. 

“Fuck, you're bleeding.” 

“Look at me, cowboy.” Dean's eyes shift to Cas's. “It doesn't hurt. It feels good, and I'll heal. You wanna stop?” 

“No,” Dean says without hesitation. This might be the hottest fucking thing he's ever done in his life. He only wants Cas to use the blade on him. 

“Are you sure?” Cas raises an eyebrow. 

Dean swallows. “Yes.”

Cas grins. 

“Put it here.” He points to his throat. Dean obeys again. “Now flick it. You know how.” 

Dean does just that. Watching as a pin prick of light, then blood seeps out. Dean rolls his hips and leans over, kissing him hard, moaning into his mouth. 

Cas pushes him back, breaths harsh. “Here.” He points to his stomach. 

Dean glides the blade down Cas's chest, to his stomach, circling his navel with the tip, watching goosebumps form on the angel's skin. 

Cas's eyes don't leave him, lip between his teeth. Dean presses a little harder and slices, watching the light pour out followed by the blood. Cas arches and moans, gripping the tops of Dean's thighs. 

Dean drops the blade and leans over, hips jerking hard, and crashes his lips to a breathless Cas. 

“I– want you– inside me, angel,” Dean says between breaths. “And I want you– to use that– on me.” 

Cas stills, hands on either side of Dean's face, eyes searching. “You sure?” Dean's never nodded so fast in his life. “I'm not gonna break your skin.” 

“You can heal me, Cas, please,” Dean begs. 

Cas eyes him skeptically, then sighs, chuckling softly. “You might be the craziest human I've ever met, but I can't resist you.” 

“You definitely shouldn't.” Dean rocks his hips again. 

Cas's breath shudders. “Okay, baby.” 

Dean pulls Cas up by the neck until he's sitting. He kisses the angel nice and slow, pressing his forehead against Cas's, hips undulating lazily. 

“You should be careful calling me that, angel.” 

Cas kisses him again and again, and suddenly, Dean's flipped on his back. He lets out a gasp. 

Cas reaches in the nightstand drawer, Dean fisting the comforter tight when Cas presses a finger inside him, then a second, and a third, curling them, grazing Dean's prostate. 

“Oh god,” Dean says. “Hurry up, asshole.” Then he snorts, realizing how that sounded. “You know what I mean– fuck,” he whispers as Cas removes his fingers and drives into him. 

“The– blade,” Dean says, voice wrecked. 

Cas pulls back and drives into him again, reaching for the blade. “Ready?” He asks, breathy, waiting for Dean to answer. Dean nods. Cas shakes his head. “I need to hear you say it.” 

Dean squirms under him, desperate for more friction, and the sharp edge of that blade. 

“Yes, Cas,” he says as he exhales, “I'm ready.” 

Cas closes his eyes, blowing out a breath, leaning into Dean, arm braced next to Dean's head. When he opens them again, his blue eyes flare. Dean's throat goes dry as he runs the tip lightly down Dean's face to his chin, then his throat. Dean stops breathing as Cas thrusts again, gliding the blade further down. 

He uses his free hand to push himself up, lightly dragging the blade across Dean's chest to his ribs. An unsteady breath escapes Dean's lips at the feel of the cold metal against his hot skin. 

Cas presses the blade there, slicing a small cut. Dean digs his head into the pillow and moans, pleasure surging through him, mixed with a ghost of pain. 

“Y'okay?” Cas's voice is deep and thick. 

Dean's too busy feeling to form any words. He nods instead. 

“Answer me.” 

“Y– Yes… More,” Dean pleads.

Cas leans back further, pushing Dean's legs apart. “As you wish, baby.”

Dean cries out as Cas pulls almost all the way out of him, then thrusts hard back in. He drags the blade, leaving goosebumps and tingling skin in its wake, down to the apex of Dean's groin and thigh. Dean nearly hyperventilates. 

Cas cuts a small nick there. Dean whimpers, reaching his fingers out to gently touch the cut on Cas's stomach. 

The angel hisses, pistoning his hips, Dean's head digging into the pillow. Cas takes the blade and glides the tip very lightly up the length of Dean's aching cock, and Dean arches again. The groan that punches out of him should be embarrassing, but he can't bring himself to care. 

He does care when the angel suddenly pulls out of him, without warning. He whines and squirms, hearing a low, dangerous chuckle coming from the asshole between his legs. A sharp gasp replaces the whine when the angel shoves Dean's knees up against his chest. 

"C-- Cas, what are you--" 

"Don't move," the angel says, voice dark and gravelly. 

He feels the cold tip of the blade press lightly against the mound of his ass, and he gasps again. Cas moves it in slow, lazy circles before it starts to inch closer and closer... 

Dean moans loud when it reaches the puckered skin around his hole. "Fuck!" he attempts to arch, shoulders digging into the pillow beneath him. 

The blade stills.

"I said don't... fucking... move." The angel's sharp, dangerous tone has Dean's body freezing, breaths punching out of him. "Do you understand me, cowboy?" 

"Y-- Yes," Dean breathes, still feeling the metal of the blade frozen in place on his skin, and he needs it to move closer. 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes... I understand," Dean replies quickly, "s-- sorry, Cas." Why he suddenly feels the need to apologize is beyond him, but he fucking does it anyway because his brain is currently short circuiting. He looks up to see the angel staring at him, cocky, devilish grin across his lips, and he wants to curse him the hell out if he doesn't-- 

"Oh god," he draws out the word as Cas circles the blade painstakingly slowly around his hole, over and over again. His head digs into the pillow, but he tries to control his breathing so his body doesn't move. "Cas," he moans, "w-- wait..." his chest heaves, "are you gonna--"

"No, cowboy," the angel chuckles. "That would be... a little too much for you. And I would never do that without explicit consent." 

Apparently Dean really is a masochist because he can't help but feel a slight bit of disappointment. Jesus, what this angel does to him. 

He feels the weight of the blade drop next to his torso, and is momentarily confused until his back is arching off the bed as Cas's tongue replaces the blade, licking where it had just been. He rears up, and slams his cock back into Dean in one motion... and the hunter cries out, voice damn near hoarse.

“Fuck, Ca– Cas I'm gonna– c'mere.” He grabs Cas's neck pulling him down to kiss him hard and sloppy. 

“Put... Put the blade right here.” He touches his own throat. 

Cas hesitates, blue eyes searching green. 

“Please,” Dean begs again. 

Cas blinks. Dean watches the angel's throat as he swallows, then nods, placing the blade softly across Dean's throat. His other arm frames Dean's head again, fingers curling in the hair on top. 

Cas leans in, licking and sucking on Dean's jaw as he thrusts again and again. Dean can feel the friction between them building, electricity shooting up and down his body. 

Dean wraps his legs around Cas's waist, and then his hand around the angel's on the blade handle, pulling it harder into his throat. 

“Dean,” Cas moans, movements erratic. 

“Cas– Cas–” Dean chants, “oh god,” he cries out. 

Cas covers his mouth with his own, drinking in the sounds he makes as Dean comes harder than he ever has. 

Cas follows two thrusts later, moaning against Dean's neck. 

He tosses the blade off the bed and frames Dean's face with his hands, kissing him softly this time. Dean doesn't know what just happened, but he suddenly realizes that this man, this angel, knows him better than anyone ever has... 

He holds onto Cas like he's the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was…” Dean breathes when Cas pulls back to look at him. 

“Good?” Cas asks. 

“You kidding?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “Angel, that was… you're not gonna be able to top that. I'm ruined. For life.”

Cas smirks. “Are you challenging me, cowboy?” 

“Oh yeah… yes.” Dean licks his lips. 

Cas laughs. He pulls out of Dean, both of them hissing with the sensation, then he kisses Dean's chin, warmth floods the area. He moves on to Dean's ribs, kissing, warmth, then his thigh, rinse, repeat. Dean watches as the small cuts close instantly with each kiss. 

Cas sits up. Dean watches in awe as Cas holds his own palm towards the skin where Dean cut him, light suddenly emitting from Cas's hand as he heals each cut on his own body. 

“Never not cool,” Dean muses. 

Cas grins. “C'mon, cowboy. Let's go shower.” He rolls his eyes. “We still have business to attend to. We have to talk to the others about Ury.” 

“Way to kill the mood,” Dean grumbles, dragging himself off the bed. 

***

All eyes are on Dean and Cas– again– as they finally emerge from their own world in Cas's room and make their way back downstairs. Dean's skin starts to crawl, but Cas lays a calming hand on his back and, by some miracle, it works. 

“Castiel.” Michael commands, beckoning Cas over to him, the scowl he shoots towards Dean lets him know he's not off the hook. 

Shit.

Cas's eyes shift to Dean but quickly back to Mike as he reluctantly breaks the connection and walks over. Cold replaces warmth. 

“You okay?” 

Dean looks over to see Sam standing next to him. He shifts his eyes away from his brother's pointed stare.

“I’m fine, Sam.” 

“Really?” The tone is incredulous, and it's already giving Dean a headache. 

He looks back at Sam. 

“Yes. Really.” Dean raises his brows. 

Sam doesn't push him. Instead, he looks over at Cas. “He pissed?” 

Dean shrugs. “I think he was.” 

“What's that mean?” 

Dean cringes internally. “Means we talked. And I don't think he's pissed anymore.” 

“Uh-huh.” Sam raises a skeptical brow. 

“What do you want me to say, man?” Dean shakes his head. “You want all the gory details–”

“Nope,” Sam says quickly. 

“Are you pissed?” Dean asks. 

“No, Dean. If– If he really…” Sam sighs. “Did what he did, then… he deserves whatever comes to him. But I'm not pissed. I'm scared.” 

Dean turns to look at his baby brother. He sees it in his eyes, and his heart cracks. 

“For you… for all of us, but mostly you. I mean, torture, Dean?”

“You said he deserves it.” 

“And you should let the club handle it.” 

Dean scoffs at that. 

“It scares me that I don't know what else you're capable of, Dean.” 

“Sammy, I'm capable of whatever it takes to protect the people I care about.”  Sam starts to say more, but Dean stops him. “Can we talk about this later? Like not around beings with super hearing?” 

“I think that ship's sailed for now,” Sam mutters, rolling his eyes. 

Dean braces himself as Mike and Cas walk back over. 

“We need to talk, Dean.” 

“Eat first, talk after.” Elle walks into the kitchen, pulling the lid off a large crock pot. Steam rolls up and out of it, the scent of pot roast filling the air, straight into Dean's nose. His stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Elle–”

“Don't argue with me Michael.” She points at him. “Good decisions aren't made on an empty stomach.”

“We don't even have to ea–”

“I said don't argue.” She glares at her husband, expression so deadly it makes Dean’s throat run dry. “Besides…” She glances at Dean. “Torture or not, I can hear Dean's stomach growling from here. The humans need to eat.” 

Muffled chuckles scatter around the room. Dean can tell the angels don't really know how to react to that statement, but Mike's expression– for once– tells Dean exactly what he thinks of it. 

Cas sits next to Dean, per usual, his roast, seasoned rice, and asparagus glistening with sugar crystals. Dean tries not to gag. Meg slides in on his other side before anyone else can sit there. She's staring at Dean with a mischievous smirk on her demon face. 

Dean glances at her, rolling his eyes. “Great,” he mutters sarcastically, “Beelzebub’s here.” 

He hears Cas snort, but Meg laughs audibly. “Dean-o!” She sing-songs. “Heard you're real hot with a blade.” She lifts a brow. 

Dean coughs. Cas's fork clatters against his plate as he turns to stare at her. 

Meg ignores both of them. 

“Y'know,” she starts, bending her elbow, hand on her head like she's musing about the weather. “Crowley trained me in the art of torture…” she rolls her eyes, “before he tried to kill me.” Dean's mouth falls open. “I like to think I'm one of the best.” She winks. 

“Meg–” Cas's voice drops low. 

“What?” She stares at Cas, brown eyes wide. “I'm just offering some training services to the young Padawan, here.” 

“Go… away,” Cas growls. 

“Ugh, fine!” She smacks her hand on the island counter. “You puritans are no fun!” Then she leans into Dean. “Just lemme know, Dean-o.” She giggles before pushing off the stool and heading back over to the bar. 

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asks. 

“Just Meg being… Meg.” Cas rolls his eyes. “We try not to encourage her.” 

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “How's that workin’ out?” 

“Cas… Dean.” Mike's voice sounds right behind them. Dean flinches, but not enough to be noticed. “Need you both in the meeting cabin. It's time.” 

Great.

The cold air hits Dean like a punishment when he steps outside. The sky bleeds red and orange, pink hues settle across the land around the house. Ghostly mist still settles down by the river, reminding Dean of what lies ahead. 

He’d think it’s beautiful if he didn't feel like he's in chains, walking into this meeting like a death sentence awaits him. 

The entirety of the FA membership sits around the table, solemn expressions. No one's looking at Dean. Bad sign. Even Sam's in the room this time, but his eyes are fixed on the carved table. Jack's in the room as well, face like a statue. Dean muses silently on just how much like Cas, the kid is. 

Mike reminds everyone why they're here, and the purpose of the meeting… to determine Ury's fate. Dean waits for him to also mention his own fate. 

But Mike doesn't. 

Instead he turns to Dean, eyebrows raised. “Dean? Please tell them what Ury told you.” 

Shock doesn't even begin to express the way Dean's feeling right now. He blinks, sure he's misheard. The room tilts just slightly. 

“Uh…” He clears his throat, fidgeting in his chair at the table this time– something unheard of for a non-member. 

He looks at Cas, feeling instant relief as he stares into his eyes. 

“He said… Raphael's been holed up in Rogers. Dunno how long.” Dean looks around the room as murmurs scatter. 

“Well we need to make a plan to go get the fucker,” Zeke pipes up. 

“Zeke, let him finish.” Mike looks at Dean. “Dean?” 

“Yeah, uh, he also said they're hatching a plan to hit the clubhouse… said the warding won't hold Raphael.” 

“That smarmy sonuvabitch,” Gabe grumbles. 

Dean takes a breath and continues. “I was trying to find out when, but I was, uh, interrupted.” He flicks his eyes to Gabe and Baz, Baz expressionless, but Gabe wiggles his eyebrows at Dean.

“Interrupted torturing,” Hannah says incredulously. 

“Hannah–” Cas starts.

“No, if no one else is gonna say it, I will.” She looks at Mike. “He tortured an angel. Shouldn't he be punished for that? He tortured one of our own!” 

“He's not one of us, Hannah, not anymore.” Cas fixes her with a deadly glare. 

She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again. 

“Hannah…” Mike sighs, eyes flicking to Dean then back to her. “What Dean did was–” 

“Badass,” Zeke says, trying to mask it under a cough. 

Mike glares at him, then shifts his eyes back to Hannah. Dean smashes his lips together, scowling to keep from grinning. 

“Unorthodox, yes, but… Ury's actions almost got several of us killed,” Mike continues. Hannah looks chagrined. “Given that, and–” He clears his throat, “Dean's background, he was able to get the information we needed. Now you may not like it, but… as much as it pains me to say this… it was necessary.” 

Dean's mouth falls open. Of all the scenarios running around in his head, Mike being cool with what Dean did was not in the cards. He looks at Cas– who winks at him, smiling softly. 

Warmth oozes through his body. 

“Besides that, we've received more information.” Mike looks around. Eyebrows raise and murmurs scatter again. “Baz, let's just say, had a little more fun with Ury after Dean.” 

Dean's head swivels to Baz, eyes narrowed. Baz winks at him. 

“Don't say I never did anything for you, mate.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean says in awe.

“Cas already knows,” Mike continues, “but I'll let Baz tell you the rest.” 

All eyes shift to him. 

“Well…” Baz looks around. “Seems our troll of a counterpart, Ronnie– that's Metatron,” he says to Dean, “has been a busy little under-bridge bottom-dweller.” 

Dean watches Cas's hands ball into fists. 

“He and that retched bitch, Abaddon, have been devising a spell to release Luce’s hounds, and just today, Roe found her spell room rummaged through.”

Gabriel blurts out something in Enochian. The rest of the group murmurs angrily. 

“What'd he say?” Dean points to Gabe. 

“He's cursing in Enochian,” Sam pipes up. Dean looks at his brother with furrowed brows. Sam shrugs. “He's taught me a little,” he says sheepishly. 

“I said fuck that little chicken shit,” Gabe announces.  “Can't help it, big guy. Sometimes the Enochian just comes outta me.” 

“Clearly. Wait–” Dean looks at Baz again. “Did you just say they're trying to release Lucifer's hellhounds? As in, the ones Crowley can't control?” 

“Yeah,” Cas answers, head bowed. 

Dean stares at him, then looks around. “Son of a bitch!” 

“We'll keep you–”

“Don't say it, Cas.” 

“Well, we will.” Cas glares.

“How do we kill hell mutts?” Dean asks. 

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Mike interrupts, “we will make a plan for that, but for right now–” He looks around, expression ominous. “We have a vote to take.” 

“What's there to vote on?” Dean mumbles. 

“So quick to kill,” Hannah replies, disgusted. 

Dean scowls.

“You're forgetting he almost got you killed Han,” Zeke says. 

She frowns in return, but doesn't reply. 

“Execution is on the table,” Mike officially announces. “We need a unanimous vote.” He looks around the room, then simply says, “aye.” 

“Aye,” Cas says without hesitation, as does Baz, then Zeke. 

Next up is Gabe. Dean's never seen him look so solemn. “Aye,” he says with a sigh. 

Benji, having been quiet for most of the meeting, looks directly at Mike. 

“This doesn't seem like us,” she says with a shaky voice.

“We don't take this decision lightly, Benji,” Mike says calmly, but we also cannot abide betrayal. Especially in times like this.” 

Benji nods sadly. “Aye,” she says. 

Andy's “aye” is quiet and reserved.

“Hannah,” Mike says, “you're up, then three more votes.” 

“Three more?” She asks, confused.

“The Winchesters,” he says, then smiles at the kid. “And Jack.” 

“I get Jack, but why them?” She furrows her brows. “They're not a part of–”

Cas slams his hand on the table. Hannah jumps and stares wide-eyed. 

“They are now!” Cas seethes as he glares at her. “They fought for us! Dean almost died for us! So they will vote! And I don't care if you don't like it, Hannah!” He yells. “Cast your damn vote!

Hannah's eyes fill with tears. She nods her head and looks back at Mike. 

“Aye,” she says, voice trembling. 

Dean– after staring at Cas for a beat too long– then Sam both vote “yes.” 

And then, everyone looks at Jack. 

He looks confused. “Why am I voting? I'm just a prospect.” 

“No, you're not, Jack,” Cas stands up.  He reaches towards Mike, who hands him a cut from under the table. 

Cas walks over to Jack, eyes swimming in pride. “Stand up,” he orders. 

Jack complies; eyes trained on his father figure. 

“Take off your cut.” The kid does what he's asked, and Cas takes it, handing him the new one. “Put it on, see how it fits.” 

Dean can hear a tremor in Cas's voice. It makes his own chest swell with emotion. 

“I'm?” Jack asks, looking up at Cas with wonder and misty eyes. Then he looks over at Dean. 

“You're a full patch member now, kiddo,” Dean says. 

Jack's smile could light the world as he puts on his brand new cut. “I– don't know what to say.” 

“We'll have a formal ceremony later,” Mike says, a rare smile on his usually stoic face. “But for now… we need your vote.” 

Jack frowns, thinking. “I'm sad about voting to end Ury's life,” he says softly, “but I'm more sad about all the people he's hurt. All of you. And Bart.” He looks around. “My family.” He lifts his chin, eyes shifting from Cas, to Dean, finally to Mike. “My vote is aye.” 

“It's unanimous,” Mike says, a tone of official business. “Within these walls, on this day, the family and the club have spoken. The affirmative vote is execution.” 

The gavel strikes the table.

~

“I want the parts of you

That you only show

To the corner of

Your bathroom mirror

I want the parts of your

Hand grenade heart

That beat slowly

With anger and fear

I want the parts of you

That you only show

To the birds outside

Your bedroom window

I want the teeth that you

Lost as a child

That you hide in a box

Under your pillow…”

Spiracle ~ Flower Face

***