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Dean Winchester’s House
12 Hutchinson Lane
Quincy, Massachusetts


Sam was biting on his lower lip, the skin torn and raw, and it made Dean itch to admonish him. Sam! Stop that. Sam, you’re going to have a disgusting scab. Dude, do you want to bite a fucking hole through your lip? After each comment, Sam would stop, mumble an apology, and then go right back to gnawing himself raw.

Dean supposed that it was at least a better way to cope than drinking himself into a stupor.

“Sam, come on…” Dean sighed as he reached forward and grabbed his brother’s arm, drawing Sam’s attention to him. His hazel eyes were wide, swimming with unshed tears that Dean knew would never fall, and if looks could kill…

“She has to be somewhere nearby, Dean. She has to.”

“Yeah, Sam, and we’ll find her, okay?” Dean did his best to keep his voice reassuring as he ignored the gnawing doubt eating at his belly. “We have every man available sweeping the city, all of Gordon’s known spots and every place in between. But Sam…”

“Don’t, Dean,” Sam hissed, ripping his arm away. “She’s fine, do you hear me? She’s fine.”

“Of course she is,” Dean said softly in response, reaching for Sam’s arm again. “Let’s…” Dean stopped and sighed. They’d been looking for Jess for the past three days, in every place that Dean could think to look and even more places that he hadn’t. Sam was going to turn over every damn cobblestone in the city of Boston and part of Dean believed that even that wouldn’t be enough. He looked over at Sam and cringed at how his brother looked-- pale, exhausted, sick.

His fingers trailed over the screen of his phone that was on the table before him and he almost turned it on to text Castiel. It had been three days since he’d heard from his mate, too. Dean pushed away the idea of texting him or calling him and focused back on his brother. It was up to Castiel to contact him first. Dean wasn’t the one at fault here.

Sam had the note Jessica left in his hand, the edge torn and the paper wrinkled and Dean wanted to ask what the hell Sam had been thinking. Dean himself hadn’t met his almost-sister-in-law, but from what his brother had spouted... she seemed intelligent, motivated, and completely self-sacrificing for those that she loved. Of course, that was kind of a need-to-have quality to be a part of the family.

According to Sam, he’d come home and decided to tell Jess everything about their family-- their history, their current members and problems, down to the preferred underwear choice for each member.

“Jess needs to know everything, Dean,” Sam had looked him calmly in the eye as he explained, “if she’s going to agree to mate with me. Just because we’re true mates, doesn’t mean this life is for her and she should make an educated choice.”

Dean got it, he really did.

What he didn’t get was why Sam would spill all of their family secrets, bond with his mate, share their bonding heat, and then tell her she was ‘Family now, part of the Family business’. Dean only knew that because Jessica quoted Sam in the note she left him, claiming she was doing her part for the family, for their family, by going after Gordon herself because she saw him at Quincy Market.

Sam came home to find his Glock taken from the nightstand and Jessica gone, her phone going straight to voicemail, and with no clue on where she actually went or if she was okay. It didn’t make any sense. From all they knew Jessica Moore had never handled a gun before, probably hadn’t even seen one except on TV or in the movies. A vigilante, she wasn’t.

“Sam... you realize that Gordon could’ve set her up, set you up, don’t you?”

“Don’t you think I fucking thought of that, Dean?” Sam screamed back, slamming his fist against the table. Dean’s eyebrow rose and he counted to three, making sure to keep himself calm before he answered.

“If he did take her to set you up, we should hear something from him soon. Right?”

“Right. Yeah, yeah... you’re right. Soon.”


Except they’d heard nothing. And three days had done nothing but wreak havoc on Sam’s entire body. Dean knew that their circumstances were slightly different than a ‘normal’ kidnapping, but where the chance of finding someone alive after 48 hours was the standard, Dean knew in their world things worked entirely differently. If Jess was alive, she probably wished that she wasn’t.

“Alright,” Dean kept his voice as calm as possible, “use that oversized head of yours and think, Sam. Do you really think Gordon has her in the city still?”

Sam was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I do. New York didn’t work out too well for him and with Cas offing Lucifer, and Bellomo focused on getting his revenge, I don’t think he would consider that a ‘safe place’ to be. Gordon is focused on one thing and one thing alone: himself.”

“His apartment—”

“Cleaned out.”

“The shop his sister runs—”

“Not there, and it’s being watched.”

“The subway tunnels?”

“Do you really think I didn’t check there first, especially under Quincy Market?”

Dean paused and swallowed hard before he looked up at Sam. “What... what about Bobby’s house?”

Sam paled and his eyes widened as he dropped the note to the table. “That mother fucker...” He shot up and Dean almost tripped over Sam’s chair as he stood to follow. “We should’ve looked there first. Of course that coward would want—"

“We don’t really know if that’s where he is, Sam. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Sam shot a look over his shoulder as he strode from Dean’s house and walked quickly towards the Impala. Dean watched as his brother threw his massive form into the front seat and then glared out at Dean, telling him silently to hurry up.

Dean grabbed the keys and sighed. He couldn’t blame Sam, either. The moment the words left his lips, he knew that’s where Gordon was and had been all this time.



Location Unknown

Castiel groaned and blinked into consciousness. The first thing that hit him was pain. His head felt like The El was thundering through his brain. Why does my head hurt so bad? That was was his first thought as he inventoried his body. It was quickly followed by, Why can't I move? That little revelation came as he had tried to bring his hands up to massage his aching head. His vision was blurry and his head swam as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings.

Sweat was beaded on his forehead and the front of his shirt was drenched and sticking against his skin. Castiel blinked a few times and looked around, confused as he took in the sight around him. He was tied to a chair in the middle of what seemed to be a warehouse. His entire Bratva was there watching either him or... his eyes scanned down to where half of his men were looking and landed on Michael who was deep in conversation with none other than Bellomo and his top soldiers.

Michael turned to face his brother, a cruel sneer marred his features.

“Castiel! How wonderful it is for you to finally join us. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day and that we were going to have to start the celebration without you.”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess from his brain. How in the hell did I end up here? Castiel thought right before bits and pieces of memories flooded his mind.

Castiel sat at his desk in his office, twirling his phone in his hands. He opened up his contacts and scrolled down to his mate's name, his finger hovering above the call button before he huffed and exited out of his contacts. It had been three days since Dean had gone back to Boston. Three days of Castiel trying to get up the nerve to call him. But in the end he had no idea what to say, how to make things right between them.

He knew that he’d been in the wrong by not talking to Dean before making plans with Crowley to terminate his pregnancy, but finding out he was pregnant had been such a shock he had only been thinking of himself. Not Dean and definitely not the baby they had made that was currently growing in his belly. Castiel's hands dropped down to his stomach and he rubbed small soothing circles across it. He allowed his mind to wander to think about how he would look six months from now if he was heavily swollen with a pup and instead of his own hands on his stomach, rubbing it gently, it would be his mate’s.

Castiel was quickly brought out of his musing by a sharp knock on the door. He moved his hands off his stomach, placing them flat on his desk before he barked out a gruff, ‘Come in!’.

Michael walked into the office, closing the door behind him. “Castiel I need to speak with you.”

Castiel nodded and motioned for him to take a seat. Much to his irritation, Michael remained standing and toddled around his office. “You have been acting… off these past few days, Brother.”

Castiel met his eyes with a steely gaze and ground his teeth. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I had to murder my own brother for being a traitor just two short weeks ago and we have yet to find Gabriel.”

Michael held up his hands in a placating manner as he continued to pace the office. “I am just voicing my concern for you as your brother, Castiel.” Michael walked around the desk to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know if you need me to take over things, even just for awhi-”

“No,” Castiel growled. “I am the Pakhan of this Bratva, you just worry about doing your job, Michael.”

Michael sighed and tightened his grip on Castiel's shoulder. “I was afraid you would say something like that, Brother.”

Michael brought his other hand around and covered Castiel's mouth and nose with a saturated rag. Castiel breathed in deep, the strong scent of alcohol and acetone immediately filled his nostrils as he reached up and gripped his brother's arm. He clawed at it until his vision began to swim, his arms became heavy and dropped down to his sides.

‘I will never get to apologize to Dean...’ was his last coherent thought before the darkness dragged him under.


Castiel opened his eyes again and hissed at the pain the light caused. Michael frowned in mock concern. “What's the matter Castiel? Does your head hurt? Chloroform does tend to cause one hell of a headache… or so I’m told.”

He took another look at his surroundings, really taking them in this time. He was indeed in a warehouse. There were crates everywhere, and when he squinted he could see the labeling on the crates revealed they were full of various liquors, from top shelf whiskey to vodka. Sweat trickled down Castiel's face and he knew that at this rate it was only a matter of time before his scent blocking cologne wore off.

Michael cleared his throat, regaining Castiel’s attention. Castiel looked over at his brother and Michael spread his arms wide. “Do you like my new warehouse, Brother?” His voice had a mocking cheeriness to it. “I purchased it from Bellomo when we agreed to work together. He even gave me a wonderful deal on all the alcohol that was already being stored in here. I figured I could use it in my club.” He chuckled coldly, “I mean it will save me thousands to use this alcohol to stock the bar at Padshiye Angely.”

Padshiye Angely is my club,” Castiel growled, his voice cracking and his throat felt like it was on fire.

Michael walked up to him, the sound of his Prada shoes clicking against the concrete floor and echoing off the wall of the warehouse. He stopped directly in front of Castiel and gripped his chin, fingers tight enough to leave bruises as he forced Castiel’s head back so he could look into Michael’s eyes. “Not for much longer, Brother. You really don't think you are going to leave this warehouse alive, do you?”

Castiel pulled out of Michael’s grip, the Alpha’s nails gouging against his skin. He ignored the pain and addressed the men of his Bratva.

“I am your leader! Your Pakhan! Release me now and your punishment will be minimal.” Castiel’s eyes raked over each member and he could feel his heart skip a beat when he saw that no one was making a move to help him. His gaze landed on Balthazar who quickly looked down at his feet, unable to meet Castiel's eyes. He could read the look of guilt on brother’s face.

Michael tsked and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry Pakhan.” He spat the word as if it were a curse. “Seems like everyone is ready for a change, and this change unfortunately, or fortunately depending on who's looking at the situation, doesn't involve you.”

“Why you, Michael? Why has everyone agreed to betray me and follow you?”

“Money, of course, Castiel.” Michael grinned broadly. “Money makes the world go round. And I have guaranteed the Bratva more money than you are able to bring in.”

“How?” Castiel questioned.

“Taking over territories. You have always respected boundaries as long as another family stayed out of our territory, you respect theirs. But me? I have other plans. The Krushnic Bratva is strong we have big plans, Castiel. We plan on taking over many territories including the Winchester’s territory in Boston, but first we need to settle the matter of the territories here.”

Michael turned and looked at Bellomo. “Unfortunately, I'm going to have to change the terms of our original agreement. I'm thinking that the Bratva can get all of the agreed upon territories and your family will get nothing.”

Anger flashed across Bellomo’s face, but before he could open his mouth to argue, Michael whipped out his pistol and put a bullet between his eyes. Bellomo's soldiers scrambled to get ahold of their own guns but before any of their fingers got a grasp on their weapons, boyeviks were surrounding them.

Michael cleared his throat and addressed his men. “Take them out back, kill them and remove their heads. The same goes for Bellomo. After we are finished up here, we will take care of the rest of his men and do the same to them. I want their heads placed in the more popular areas of what used to be their territory as a warning of what will happen if you try to move into the Krushnic Bratva territory.”

Castiel watched along with his brother and the rest of the Bratva as the boyeviks marched the remaining 116th Crew soldiers to the back of the warehouse, one of the men dragging Bellomo’s lifeless body. When the door closed behind them, Michael spun on his heels to face Castiel again. A wicked grin spread across his face as the sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse.

“Why, Castiel, you never did ask what it was we were celebrating. Very rude of you, if I do say so myself, seeing as how you are the guest of honor.”

Castiel huffed a small laugh. “Let me guess, you brought the Bratva,” Castiel sneered, “here to watch as you kill Bellomo then me before you take my place as Pakhan so no one will question your authority on being the next Pakhan.” He cocked his aching head to peer at his older brother. “Does that about sum up this celebration?” Michael opened his mouth to speak but Castiel cut him off. “Looks like you're overcompensating for something, Brother.”

Michael laughed, the sound cruel and hollow. “No, Castiel. I am just taking a page from your book.”

Instantly Castiel knew what Michael was talking about. “I did not invite the whole Bratva there to watch Michael. It was just you. You were the one that needed to be taught a lesson for disobeying a direct order.”

Michael strode back over to Castiel and leaned down to where their faces were mere inches apart. “If it was my lesson to learn, then why did you take it out on them?” His voice dripped with a pained anger that only Castiel heard, the others just heard hate. “Why Hael, my beautiful wife? You gave her away at our wedding Castiel! And you killed her like it was nothing. What about my sons; Joshua, Jonah, and Josiah? They were your nephews! You were the first person to hold each of them.” His voice caught slightly as he leaned closer to Castiel.
“They adored you, Brother! They spent every minute you were at our house clinging to you, wanting your attention, and yet you didn't flinch when you put a bullet in each of their heads. So tell me, why moy brat? Why?”

Castiel could see the fire burning in his brother’s eyes along with immense pain. No one to this day, not even Gabriel, knew it had not been Castiel's plan to kill Hael and his nephews. He had wanted to rough Michael up to teach him a lesson, but their father didn't think that was good enough. And, of course, like a good soldier, Castiel had followed through with what his father had ‘suggested’.

Castiel steeled his expression. “It was what had to be done to get you to fall into line.”

“And killing you is what has to be done for the good of this Bratva,” Michael hissed back.

“This has nothing to do with the good of the Bratva, Michael!” Castiel raised his chin and locked his eyes on Michael’s in a clear challenge. “This has to do with revenge.

Michael patted Castiel on the cheek before standing up straight again and motioning for one of the men to bring him a chair. “Two birds with one stone.”

Michael sat down in the chair that was placed a few feet in front of Castiel’s. The door opened and Castiel looked over to see the boyeviks covered in blood as they reentered the warehouse. They nodded in Michael’s direction, confirming the job had been done, before walking over to stand with the rest of the Bratva.

“So tell me Michael,” Castiel broke through the silence. “When did you side with Lucifer to work against me?”

Michael laughed. “When did I side with Lucifer? Lucifer sided with me!” Michael shook his head and continued, “Years, Castiel, I have been planning this for years. Ever since you pulled that trigger and killed my family, I have been dreaming of watching your blood flow through my hands.” He grinned and leaned closer to his brother, again. “Just so you know? Lucifer?” He shrugged with a proud glint in his eye, “Originally, he didn’t want to betray you. I had to persuade him.”

Castiel took a deep breath and caught a trace of his true scent, it was faint, but it was there. Trying not to look panicked he pulled on the ropes that bit into his wrists to test them, to see if they gave way any. He swallowed hard and looked up, catching Michael’s gaze. “And we see how well that worked out for him! He was your twin and you betrayed him!” He looked over at his Bratva, “You are siding with a man who betrays his own twin, his family! Release me, now!”

Michael chuckled, “They won’t, Castiel! Do not debase yourself!”

Castiel looked at his older brother through narrowed eyes. “So, then, tell me why. What did Lucifer do that you would betray him so?”

Michael shook his head with disgust. “He fucked up royally with Gabriel's kidnapping. He was supposed to do more persuasion and less torture, but,” he shrugged, “I guess sending him to do the job was my own fault. We both know what Lucifer’s true talent was. How could I have expected anything else of him?” He sighed a bit dramatically, then shrugged again. “But I told him to kill Gabriel. I told him not to leave him alive. But no,” he frowned, “he was having too much fun and just had to make a run to pick up more tools and that is when you found him.”

Castiel's eyes widened and Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Brother. I knew that you found Gabriel and took him to the hospital, who do you think sent Ion and Samandriel to finish the job?” He ticked his head with a smirk, “I should have known, though, that you would have been able to take out a few low level shestyorkas. You worked quickly to have Gabriel moved and left no sort of paper trail.” His eyes glittered with hate tinged with annoyance, “I still haven't been able to find him, but I want you to die knowing that I will and that his death won't be quick for choosing to side with you!” He sucked in a sharp hiss of satisfaction, “Lucifer’s discretion could have been forgiven, of course, if he hadn’t gotten it into his head that he would’ve been better as Pakhan.”

Michael shrugged, sinking back into the chair in a nonchalant manner. Castiel glared back at him, knowing full well that as much as his brother looked relaxed, Michael was anything but. “So I did what needed to be done. I set him up and while you were getting the room ready, I met him in the parking garage and told him to go along with it, to endure a little torture.” He shook his head on a deep breath, “While you were busy getting your rocks off over some spilt blood torturing him, I assured him that was when I would take you out. Having Don Winchester there threw him off some... I could tell by the look on his face. But the fool... he never broke. I do have to admit,” he frowned slightly, “I was afraid he would completely rat me out when I told you to kill him. But luckily,” he grinned, “you were quicker with that scalpel than he was with his tongue.”

Michael opened his mouth to continue, but then paused, a look of confusion crossing his face. He scented the air, his eyes scanning the room. “Do you smell that?” He turned toward the Bratva. “It's smells like an Omega…. a mated Omega.” Michael took a deep breath. “It’s faint, but I smell it.”

Castiel tried to calm his racing heartbeat and steel his features, tried to look confused and indifferent. He realized with the sheen of sweat that covered his skin and washing away his cologne it would only be a matter of time before Michael realized that scent was coming from him. His brother stood up and took a few steps around the chair, still scenting the air, trying to find from the origin of the scent. Then, much to Castiel’s horror, Michael paused directly in front of him.

Castiel knew the time had come when Michael leaned down and breathed in deeply at the crook of Castiel’s neck.



Bobby Singer’s House
18 Thomas Park
Boston, Massachusetts


Dean parked the Impala a few houses down and, for once, had no qualms about letting his brother go first. He wondered if he should message Cas, let him know what was going on. They both knew Gordon would be armed, anything could happen. He might not walk out alive. He shook that thought away like all the rest and followed after Sammy.

The house was quiet, the air stale, and that was the first hint that something was amiss. Bobby spent a fair amount of time at Dean’s house-– or had-- and Bobby was meticulous about keeping the house fresh. From the way he kept his food stuffs and his laundry, with timers on the windows for when he wasn’t there to open and shut them, and old school tricks with mothballs and fresh plants, Bobby’s house had never felt stuffy or stale. Which could only mean one thing: someone had been staying here.

Sam’s entire body was coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap, and Dean knew that Sam sensed the same thing he had. Sam scented the air and shook his head.

“All I smell is...”

“I know,” Dean answered, saving his brother from saying the word. Death. “C’mon.”

Together they made their way through the downstairs of the house, guns loaded and ready to fire. In the kitchen the scent in the air changed to the metallic, cloying scent of blood. Dean glanced over at Sam as he gently swiped at one of the patches of blood. It was old, but there was enough of it that it was still tacky, congealed in small pools on the countertops and sink.

“Look.” Sam pointed and Dean peered over his shoulder at the marble topped kitchen table, covered with various instruments that Dean identified from Bobby’s own personal stash. Dean swallowed the rise of anger down as best he could as he nodded his recognition to Sam.

The downstairs – other than the kitchen -- was completely clean. There was nothing out of place, nothing except the air to tell the brothers that something was off. With a nod, Dean directed Sam towards the stairs.


They made their way up slowly, the scent of distressed Omega now permeating through the strong smell of blood. Dean glanced up at Sam, noticing the way his brother’s shoulders stiffened, the way his arms flexed as he squeezed his hands around his gun. Dean exhaled slowly and then scented the air for Beta arousal, sighing in relief when he picked up nothing.

The top floor of Bobby’s house was silent, the only sounds were the soft footfalls of their boots on the runner down the center of the hall. They checked each room, clearing bedrooms and bathrooms, even the linen closets before they reached the end of the hall and the Master Bedroom. Here, the scent of distress and pain, blood and human excrement was so strong that Dean already knew what they were going to find behind the door.

He reached out, grabbing Sam’s arm and stopping him, shaking his head once to let Sam know he would go first. Sam nodded, just a small tilt of his head, and then Dean reached for the door knob. He stood to one side with Sam pressed against the wall on the other side.

As soon as he turned the doorknob, a loud ‘pop’ rang out and the wooden door splintered as a bullet flew through it. Dean raised his eyebrow and pushed the door open completely, his gun drawn as he looked into the room to see Gordon, sitting with a smirk, in an old camping chair centered in the room.

“Darn. Missed.” Gordon sighed, his pistol hanging lazily from his hand. Dean stayed silent and surveyed the room. Jessica was laid out on Bobby’s bed and from his spot by the door Dean could see her left leg was twisted at an awkward angle, the skin showing was bruised and bloodied. She looked asleep, Dean hoped she was asleep, and he stared for a moment to see the rise and fall of her chest.

“Sleeping beauty over there...” Gordon muttered and Dean’s attention snapped back to see the Beta shaking his head. “She’s a firecracker, that one, but can’t take very much at a time. Shame, really.”

Dean stopped in the doorway, gun ready, his eyes trained on Gordon’s right hand now closed around his gun. He was about to open his mouth but Sam was quicker. His brother reached the Gordon in a few quick strides and gripped the front of the man’s shirt.

“You son of a bitch!” Sam yelled,yanking him up to his feet. Because of Sam’s height, Gordon was just barely touching the ground on the toes of his dress shoes. Dean was transfixed by the blood marring the usual black gloss...

Dean turned his head to see if maybe Jessica heard as Sam let loose on Gordon. He hoped he’s see her move. But the blonde lay motionless. It made his stomach twist for his brother.

“You sound just like your brother, Sam,” Gordon sneered. “If she was looking for a Winchester, she sure as hell picked the wrong one. I taught her a thing or two, though.”

“I swear to God if you touched her,” Sam growled, his fist clenching tighter in the front of Gordon’s shirt.

“Spoiled goods for a spoiled brat, Samuel.”

CRACK. Dean glanced up at the sound of Sam’s gun colliding with the side of Gordon’s face, the Beta’s skin splitting and blood dripping steadily from the gash. For his part, Gordon didn’t wince or flinch, he turned his head back and met Sam’s eyes straight on. The gun he was holding however dropped and fell a few feet away from the chair.

Fool. If anyone knew Sammy, they knew he was a sucker for emotions, for repentance. The hard-ass, can’t hurt me, attitude was going to get Gordon nowhere with Sam. Dean shook his head and crossed the room, keeping his body turned towards Sam in case he was needed.


“You,” Gordon sneered, “should’ve heard the way she finally screamed, Sam. Would’ve made your weak skin crawl.” He licked his own blood from his lip. “You never were one for torture, never could stomach what was expected of you.”

“You’re going to realize just how much I don’t mind torture when it comes to fucking scum like you,” Sam hissed back, slamming the butt of his gun against the side of Gordon’s face again, the man losing his balance and falling into the chair.

“Oh, bring it on.” Gordon laughed, his teeth red with blood, almost unnaturally white where they’d been wiped clean. “Let’s have a nice ol’ sit down.”

“This isn’t going to be a fucking sit down, Gordon,” Sam answered, crouching down so he was eye to eye with the man before him. He said something, too soft for Dean to hear, but the way Gordon’s eyes widened made Dean proud.

He turned his attention to the bed, knowing Sam would catch his attention if he was needed, and looked over Jessica’s battered body. Now that he was closer, he could see the various stages of healing, could tell which cuts and bruises were newer, and for once he was glad Gordon wasn’t the best at torturing information from people. It probably spared Jessica a lot of pain.

Dean blew out a slow breath and reached out, touching Jessica’s arm as softly as he could. He felt the muscles of Jessica’s body tighten, seconds before the Omega kicked out at him with all the strength she had left.

Dean grunted as her good leg caught his side and he carefully caught the limb, rubbing what he hoped was soothing circles against her skin.

Jess’ blue eyes blinked open and she glared up at Dean, confusion and mistrust in her eyes.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, letting her leg drift back to the bed. “It’s okay. You’re safe. This isn’t really how I wanted to meet you…”

Recognition dawned on her face and her eyes widened. “Dean? But… Sam! Where’s Sam?” She tried to sit up, her teeth clenching as she did so and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. A wound on the back of the arm she’d been laying on had split open, the scent of fresh blood now on the air, but she seemed unfazed as she gripped Dean’s forearm with both hands and hauled herself up into a sitting position.

“Okay, okay,” Dean said slowly, reaching out to steady her with his free arm as she swayed on the edge of the bed. “You need to sit. Seriously. Sam’s here, too, okay? And once he’s done--” Dean grunted as Jessica struggled against his arm, trying to stand despite him holding her down, until her body gave out and she collapsed half against Dean and half against the bed. “Hey, now,” Dean soothed, “if Sam sees you on the floor… he’s going to kill us both.”

Jessica rolled her eyes and Dean tried not to smirk at the fire he saw behind them. Yeah, this definitely was the mate for his brother. “He’ll kill you, you mean.”

Dean glared back at her but stayed silent, standing in his crouched position until he felt Jess was steady enough to sit up straight on her own. He nodded to her once and then stood up straight, slipping his flannel shirt from his shoulders.

Jess turned her attention from Dean and looked across the room to where Sam was working Gordon over. The sound of Sam’s punches or gun hitting Gordon’s face and chest was interrupted by the ripping of fabric as Dean destroyed his shirt into various bandages that would stabilize Jessica until they could get to Dean’s house and call Alastair.

Not for the first time, though perhaps one of the most important, Dean was glad that John had taken it upon himself to teach both of his boys the basic first aid they would need for their lifestyle. He quickly found the lacerations on Jessica’s body that needed pressure dressings and sent a silent thanks to Bobby for having a million useless books lying around as he fashioned a splint out of the remaining fabric and hard-covers.

“Okay… just, easy,” Dean started as he leaned down and got himself beneath Jessica’s arm, wrapping his arm around her waist as he helped her stand. He could hear the soft sound of protest that she couldn’t keep from escaping, but Jess quickly nodded and pressed against him to urge them forward.

They crossed the room slowly, both of them watching the scene before them. Sam was staring down at Gordon, his fingers white around his gun, and he was shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

“What exactly was it that you expected, Gordon? You actually thought they would just… hand over an entire city to you? You’re a Beta, Gordon. The Bratva would never put a Beta in a high ranking position. At least in our fam--”

“In our family? I was treated as nothing!” Gordon spat out, blood spraying from his mouth. Dean stopped their advance so they were a few feet away and his eyes darted from Gordon’s beaten, defeated form to meet Sam’s eyes briefly. Sam shook his head then flashed Jessica a relieved smile before he turned his attention back to Gordon.

“You,” Sam ran the muzzle of his Beretta down the beta’s throat, “you were given every opportunity to prove yourself, but,” he let the gun slide under Gordons chin and grinned as the beta flinched, “you spent so much goddamn time fighting the chances you were given, the only thing you did for this family was provide a piss poor attitude to everything you touched. You were useless,” Sam paused and leaned closer, “but you were family. And you’re damn lucky that your Don gave you as many opportunities as he did.”

“Oh, yes. Damn lucky,” Gordon sneered, bloodshot eyes rolling to the side to look at Dean and Jess. “Krushnic is a better leader than Dean will ever be! A family shouldn’t be run by children, that’s for damn sure, and once they take care of their own poor excuse for a leader it won’t matter that you’ve stripped me of my ties and exiled me from the city, I’ll be back and kicking your asses out before you can even forget what my face looks like.”

“You think we’re going to exile you?” Sam snorted just as Dean asked, “Wait… they’re planning to gank Castiel?”

Gordon’s eyes widened for a moment as he snapped his mouth shut and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’re the one who took a few too many hits to the head…”

Dean glanced over and caught Sam’s eyes again. There was a quick, silent conversation and then Sam turned back to Gordon with his gun raised.

“Thanks for the information, rat.” Gordon’s mouth opened, just a fraction of an inch, as Sam pulled the trigger and the echo of the gunshot was heard seconds before the back wall of Bobby’s bedroom was sprayed with blood and brain matter.

Gordon’s body slumped back in the camping chair and Dean stared at it for a second, waiting to see the rise and fall of a chest--just incase--and then shook his head.

“Always between the eyes, Sammy.”

“Don’t be mad because you can’t aim for shit,” Sam replied as he returned his gun to his holster and then closed the space between them, whispering something softly to Jess as she collapsed into his arms from Dean’s. “C’mon.”

Dean nodded, sparing both Gordon and then Bobby’s room one last glance before he followed Sam who had picked up Jess bridal-style and was carrying her out of the house. Dean watched Sam settled her in the backseat, running back inside Bobby’s once to grab a few pillows and a blanket from the couch so that he could make her as comfortable as the backseat of the Impala would allow. When Sam he slid into the passenger’s seat, Dean started up the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

“We need to warn Cas,” Sam broke the silence and Dean nodded, his gut twisting painfully with guilt that he hadn’t reached out to his mate at all. He was still pissed, but somehow the threat looming above them of Cas’ own family taking him out made that seem so stupid…

“Yeah, I’m calling him as soon as we get to the house. You call Alastair.”

Sam nodded, glancing over the back seat to check on Jess who had passed out again. Then he cleared his throat. “Gordon made a few comments while you were getting Jess up,” he found himself whispering. “I didn’t really understand them. A lot of rambling and shit in between calling me a coward and all that but…” Sam paused and sighed softly. “I don’t think he meant Lucifer. The way he was talking…”

Dean glanced over at Sam and then back at the road. He blew out a breath and turned up the side street towards his house. “Well, then, who? We barely know the Bratva, Sam… it has to be someone working with Lucifer, right?”

Sam half nodded and half shrugged. “Well, it would be a long shot to assume that there were two different betrayals going on behind Cas’ back,” his voice trailed off in thought. “To be honest, I don’t think Bellomo would just talk to anyone, either. You know how we were when Bobby suggested talking to the Bratva, and we aren’t sharing close quarters with them. From the people we met, I mean, I think the only one who would be composed enough to even get through to Bellomo would be Michael.”

Dean swallowed hard, nodded slowly. “But… Michael was there when Cas killed Lucifer. He handed him over to Cas! Why would he give up his partner, his brother no less?”

“Dean… if it is Michael, he’s going against his brother anyway, isn’t he? Obviously family is something different for the Krushnics…”

Dean stayed silent, trying to remember everything Bobby had said to them in their quick ‘Bratva history lesson’ and from small bits of information he’d gleaned from Cas himself during their mating week. It seemed, on the outside, that the Bratva took care of their own, that family meant something to them; it sure meant something to Castiel. But…

“Fuck, Sam.” Dean slammed his fist against the steering wheel, causing his brother to jump in the seat beside him. “What would you do if I killed Jess? Killed your kids? Because you chose to challenge my authority?”

“You… the fuck, Dean? You,” Sam stared at him, shocked and angry, “you wouldn’t do that, no matter what I did to you.”

“Humor me. What would you do?”

“I…” Sam stopped, shaking his head as he let himself picture the scenario. “I would… I would probably... I don’t know. I would be…” Sam looked over his shoulder, his eyes trailing over Jess before he looked forward again. “I would kill you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Dean replied. “It’s Michael. It has to be. Do you remember what Bobby told us? About how Castiel’s Bratva was actually formed after everyone basically threw a fit when the youngest Krushnic brother was named successor?”

Dean pulled up to the front of the house, immediately throwing the car into park and shutting off the ignition. Sam waited a beat, then shook his head and let himself out of the car. He rounded to the back and carefully moved Jessica’s legs out of the car, lifting her up once they were on the pavement, then caught Dean’s gaze from over the top of the car.

“Call him, Dean. Call him, now!”

Dean nodded, turning away from his brother’s retreating form as he pulled out his phone and opened his contacts. He hit Castiel’s number and waited, cursing when his mate’s cell phone went to voicemail. Another pang of guilt, tinged with fear, twisted through his gut and he quickly scrolled through to find the number for Cas’ office number.

No answer.

Dean called the club-- no answer. He called Castiel’s house-- no answer. He went as far as calling Crowley and then Gabriel --who was not easy to reassure that he was just wondering and there wasn’t anything to worry about-- both of whom hadn’t heard from Castiel for as long as Dean hadn’t.

Dean swallowed hard as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and made his way up to the front steps. As a Winchester he had been taught to always trust his gut, and right now it was screaming at him that something was horribly wrong.

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