lotrspnfangirl | Poisk Istiny [Finding Truth]

Winchester Auto Repair
306 Northern Avenue
South Boston, Massachusetts

“You don’t want to betray your Don, and I respect that, I truly do.” Dean Winchester walked slowly across the concrete floor, his heavy boots loud in the large, nearly empty room. He twisted the tire iron in his hands and then stopped, pausing for a moment before turning back. “I respect it so much, I’ll do you a solid and repeat myself.”

He stopped in the center of the room, widening his stance and swinging the heavy metal tool in front of him slowly. The man slumped forward in the wooden kitchen chair tensed, but otherwise acted like he hadn’t heard anything. Dean smiled, shaking his head.

“I don’t appreciate being ignored, Vinny. Almost as much as I don’t like my shit being fucked with. Now... How is Old Barney intercepting my shipments?” Dean pressed the end of the iron against the concrete and sank down into a crouch, cocking his head to the side so he could see Vinny’s bruise-mottled face.

The man opened his mouth and Dean watched, fascinated, as a blood tinged spit bubble grew at the corner of his mouth before popping, splattering specks of blood on his chin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” The corner of Dean’s lip twitched up and he leaned closer. “Care to speak up this time?”

“I will tell you bastards nothing!” Vinny spat out, bloody pink spittle following, “You upstart guinea! You’re a zip, a nothing!” He lifted his eyes enough to meet Dean’s with a hard glare. Blood congealed over his left eyelid, stopping him from opening his eye all the way, but the effect was there.

Slowly, Dean nodded. Then without another word he pushed back to his feet and swung the iron hard against Vinny’s left knee. The crack of bone splitting beneath the strength of the swing was followed seconds later by an ear splitting scream.

As Vinny’s scream bled into a whimper, Dean raised the tire iron again and yelled, “How is he intercepting my shipments?”

“Mingia!” Vinny spat on Dean’s feet, screaming out more insults as the iron came down on his right knee. “You think you can do worse to me than my Don? You’re barely holding onto your family as it is, can’t control your outsourcing. You’re a pup, Winchester, a wannabe. You-”

Dean slammed the iron across the side of Vinny’s head, effectively cutting off the rest of his words. A crash followed as the chair tipped over, the back cracking as it slammed into the concrete. He allowed himself a few more hits before he dropped the iron to the ground, smiling slightly as it clanked on the ground beside him. Dean walked towards the door, his footsteps leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The door was yanked open seconds before Dean reached it and he smiled fully, walking into the garage bay to meet the grim face of Bobby Singer.

“I told you not to kill him.” Bobby’s voice was gruff, displeased, but he reached forward and wiped the blood from Dean’s face with a soft rag. “You’re going to start a war, boy.”

Dean reached for the rag, taking it from Bobby to finish cleaning up his neck and hands. The older man watched him for a second longer before turning towards the large office on the opposite side of the ‘work room’ from where Dean had just exited. Dean followed after his Consigliere, tossing the rag over his shoulder, and found his younger brother waiting for him in the oversized office chair shoved behind the oak desk.

“Sammy,” Dean greeted him, letting Bobby shut the door behind them. He took a seat on the leather sofa, kicking his feet up onto the table and smirking when his brother wrinkled his nose as blood dropped from his boots onto the wood. “Success?”

The younger Winchester sighed as he leaned back in the chair and looked up to meet his older brother’s steady gaze. “Somewhat. I did get confirmation that it is Bellomo, but I couldn’t get any more from him.”

Dean nodded once then slammed his fist down on the armrest of the couch. “We need more information, Sammy! I don’t care if I have to whack the rest of his goddamn crew...”

“Speaking of,” Bobby cut in, sinking down to sit beside Dean. “What are we going to do with guido one and guido two?”

“We can send Gordon,” Sam offered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Gordon’s getting pissed that you keep sending him for cleanup. Thinks you don’t like him,” Dean answered and Sam stared back for a second before rolling his eyes. “No, I want to send Braden anyway. Give the kid a taste of what he’s getting into. Gordon can go collect tribute.”

“You’re the boss,” Sam sighed and slipped his phone from his pocket. “What do you want to do about Bellomo?”

“Fuck if I know... Like I said, I have half a mind to work my way through his crew straight up to the fuckin’ administration.”

“That’s only going to result in bloodshed, and you know it!” Bobby leaned back into the couch, crossing his leg over his knee. “Their family is as big as ours, maybe bigger, and we’re more spread out than they are. It would be suicide.”

“Then what do you suggest, Bobby?” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He’s taking my business, pissing on my territory, and you think ganking a few of his soldiers is making him give a shit?”

“I think we need to gain the Bratva’s assistance.”

Silence followed Bobby’s words and slowly Dean turned his head to the side to meet the older man’s eyes.

“You want me to reach out to the Russians, Bobby? That’s how you’re advising me? They’re...”

“They’ve been our allies for a long time, Dean. We don’t engage much-- I’m sure it was way before your Daddy’s time that we last worked together-- but Krushnic and his Bratva reside in Brooklyn, they’re right next door to Bellomo, and they might have better luck than us at gaining information.”

“Are you suggesting that Sammy and I don’t know how to get information?” Dean spat back, uncomfortable with the idea of asking for help from anyone and hating how quickly he knew Bobby was right.

“I’m saying,” Bobby countered, leaning forward towards the young Don, “that you’ve got two stiffs, no more information than you started with, and half a million missing in AKs and ammo.” Dean scowled but he nodded his head, encouraging Bobby to continue. “We also haven’t heard from Nadio’s ship either, so potentially another thirty in cocaine.”

Dean clenched his teeth, his hands tightening into fists as he tore his eyes away from Bobby’s face to meet Sam’s. Sam let out a slow breath, eyes locked with his brother as they communicated silently, and then Sam gave a slight jerk of his head.

“Alright.” Dean licked his lower lip, then turned to look back at Bobby. “Set it up.”

“They’re going to want both of you there,” Bobby warned, pushing himself off of the couch and strolling towards the door. He paused, hand on the handle, and looked back at the two brothers and their blood splattered clothes. “We’ll leave in three hours. Get some damn suits on.”

Castiel’s Office
403 Brightwater Avenue
Brighton Beach, NY

Castiel Krushnic tapped his finger against the dark cherry wood of his desk. He was in his office at Padshiye Angely, a strip club with a very exclusive twenty room hotel attached to it, kept for only the best customers. The business was family owned and operated and Castiel himself had chosen the name; fallen angels, just like every 'angelic' child the Krushnic's had. He had been going over the books for the past few hours; someone had been stealing from them--from him--for months now, and after comparing the nights they were short to the employee log, he knew who the dirty predatel' was and he was done letting the thief make away with his money.

A sharp knock at the door drew Castiel from his contemplation.

“Zakhodi!,” he barked out and looked up to see who entered. His brother Gabriel, his Sovietnik and most trusted associate, entered at the command carrying a few file folders. With the door shut and locked behind him, Gabriel took the seat across from his younger brother and Pakhan, the head of Krushnic Bratva.

Gabriel set the files on the desk in front of him and reached into his coat, pulling out a discreet brown paper bag before tossing it onto the desk. “Courtesy of Crowley, your monthly supply of scent blockers and your heat suppressants… Oh and,” he reached into his other pocket, “this was delivered to my box at the post office.” He pressed the bottle of Japanese black market Alpha cologne in Castiel's hand. The Pakhan nodded and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. He placed his medications and cologne in before locking it back up.

Gabriel kicked back and propped his feet up on Castiel’s desk causing Castiel to scowl at him before knocking his feet to the floor. His expression softened as he thought of the birth control sitting next to his feet in the drawer. “I really appreciate you doing this for me brother, meeting with Crowley every month and picking up my medications.”

Gabriel shrugged. “It's not a big deal Castiel, safer for me to do it than you. I mean how would it look if our Pakhan was meeting secretly with our shady-in-pocket Doctor? At least if I get caught I can say I have a gospozha on the side.”

Castiel smirked. “And if that rumor ever got back to Kali, that you had a mistress? She would cut your knot off, big brother.” Gabriel winced, knowing that would definitely be a possibility. But Gabriel knew what he was in for when he married the hot and feisty, dark haired, carmel skinned Beta who took no shit just like an Alpha.

Gabriel nodded. “Oh, I have no doubt she would, but that's a risk I'm willing to take for my Pakhan… Mladshiy brat,” Gabriel looked fondly at Cas, “little brother, you know that I understand why no one else can know. You trusted me after Papa passed and named you Pakhan. You told me everything, and I will guard your secret from everyone, Castiel, even our family, our other brats … They will never know, no one will. The risk is too high to trust anyone else…” Gabriel shook his head slowly and licked his lower lip, his brother’s one nervous gesture. Castiel nodded, knowing exactly where his brother’s thoughts were leading. “If anyone found out you were an Omega posing as an Alpha who is Pakhan of the Bratva? It would be a death sentence. Not just from other families, Castiel, but our own as well.”

Gabriel was right; his older brats Michael and Lucifer had not been happy when Papa named him Pakhan over either of them. As much as he hated to think his own brothers would betray him, he was almost positive they would be the first to try to take him out. It would give them a legitimate reason with no worry of backlash. “You are right, Gabriel,” he concurred.

“That's why you keep me around! Well, that and my devastatingly good looks.” He sat up and pointed to all the files that littered Castiel's desk. “What is all of this?”

Castiel pointed at the club's books at the far left corner. “I have found the predatel' who has been skimming money.”

Gabriel clicked his tongue, eyes flashing dangerously. “Tell me who the thief is, I will have it taken care of, Pakhan.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, Gabriel. I plan on taking care of this one myself.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “If you’re wanting to take care of it yourself it can only mean one thing, the predatel' is sem’ya.”

Castiel nodded and slid the file across the desk. Gabriel picked it up, glancing at the pages before clenching the entire file in his fist, crumpling the papers in his tight grip. “That prisoski petukh!” Gabriel shook his head, his eyes flashing up to meet Castiel’s. “That fucking cock sucker…” he repeated and threw the file hard onto the desk, “and after all we have done for his family!”

Castiel pulled the file back across the desk, smoothing it out. “Don't worry, it will be taken care of accordingly.”

“Good. Gryaznyy izmennik! There’s nothing worse than a dirty traitor that’s sem’ya! You expect more from your own flesh and blood, trust them to have your back…” the Sovietnik growled. He took a deep breath to quell his anger, then looked up to meet his younger brother’s eyes. “Dropping off your meds was not the only reason I stopped by. I have some business to discuss with you.” Castiel nodded, signaling him to proceed. “I got a call from Robert Singer, consigliere to the Don Dean Winchester.”

Castiel snorted, “You mean the puppy?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Castiel, he’s thirty-two years old. You were twenty-two when Papa named you Pakhan. Were you a puppy?” Castiel gritted his teeth, slightly irked his brother had called him out, though he motioned for Gabriel to continue.

“They want to meet. They require some assistance gaining information on Bellomo.” Gabriel paused and picked up the folders he had brought in with him. “I have the Winchester brothers’ dossier if you want to take a look.”

Castiel growled at the mention of the rival family who took out three of his cousins last month in an attempt to gain some of Castiel’s territory as he reached for the folders in his brother's hands, opening the Don’s first. A mugshot of the Alpha was attached to the front page. Castiel continued to look over the file as Gabriel explained their situation.

“It seems Bellomo is somehow intercepting their shipments… Singer reported that already this month they have lost half a mil’ in AKs, with the ammo." Gabriel shifted and Castiel fixed him with a glare before he could even think about putting his feet back up on the desk. "Plus, seems possible they lost another thirty thousand in coke, and," Gabriel leaned toward his brother, "they haven’t been able to make contact with their next expected ship.”

Castiel shut the Don’s file and rubbed the stubble on his chin before opening the one on the other Winchester brother. He immediately noticed a similar type mugshot. “Oh, Bellomo definitely got their cocaine. His pankis have been trying to sell that shit outside the club!” Castiel reached for his pen, tapping it against the desk top in irritation. “I hate having his punks out there bragging about how their Don intercepted some ‘huge shipment’.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “Patriarca’s?”

Castiel gave him a curt nod as he shut the file. “They were bragging so much about having plenty of smack to unload… Pankis!” Castile threw the pen down, the plastic bouncing off the desk and onto the floor. “I had to shoot one last week just to send a message to Belomo to stay the fuck out of my territory!”

Gabriel huffed, “Had to shoot him, Castiel?”

Castiel shrugged. “I was having a bad night, needed a little stress relief. And he was pissing me off.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and held out his cell. “They are waiting for my call, I told them I had to take the matter to the Pakhan.” Castiel was contemplating the request when his Sovietnik spoke again, “If you want my opinion, we have been allies for a long time. Granted, it's been since Grandad’s time that we last worked together, but they are still our allies and you can never have too many of those.” Gabriel smirked. “Also they hate Bellomo just as much as we do. We can't bring Bellomo down alone without a lot of unnecessary bloodshed and neither can they, but together? Bellomo wouldn't stand a chance.”

Castiel hummed. “Tell them we accept and are willing to meet. Have them come down tonight and let Hannah know to ready some rooms for them. Tell the Don we will meet at 7 A.M. in the Zoloto Komnate,” Castiel decided, knowing the golden room was the biggest conference room in the club. “And let Meg know their drinks are on the house should they frequent the club tonight.”

Gabriel nodded. “And who do we want to attend the meeting tomorrow?”

Castiel leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk, threading his fingers together and resting his chin atop them. “The whole Bratva.”

Winchester Limo
Interstate 90 West Bound
Boston, MA to New York, NY

“I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken Baby…” Dean muttered, sinking back into the plush leather seats of their limousine. Beside him, Sam snorted a laugh and shoved his legs out straight, crossing his feet at the ankles.

“I don’t know… Not much room in that ol’ car of yours.”

“Shut your mouth, Sammy,” Dean shot back, kicking his brother’s leg and causing him to curse.

“Idjits…” Bobby shifted in his seat, centering himself across from the two brothers. “Even though we’re going into Brooklyn on an invitation from the Bratva, they’re not the only family in Brooklyn or in New York. Driving your trademark ride through the city streets would not be wise.”

“Well, could we at least have taken the jet?”

Bobby threw Sam a look just as Dean turned to glare at him. Before Dean was able to reply, Bobby cut him off with a sharp, “We’re here for business boys, not pleasure. So, can we stop bickering like children?” Bobby shifted, leaning closer to the brothers and he addressed them in turn. “Sam, you know why we’re not flying. Dean, you’re fine being a damn passenger. Now both of you sit back, shut up, and listen to what I am telling you.”

“You know if anyone else talked to me that way Bobby, they’d be missing a few body parts.” Dean glared across the limo but settled back against his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam snorted once more but followed suit, the pair waiting for Bobby to continue.

“Alright, now,” Bobby pulled out a thick file from his briefcase, “let’s just recap. The Krushnic Bratva is a tight knit family, in all senses of the word.”

“We’ve not done anything with them since before dad passed,” Dean commented as he took the folder Bobby handed him, flipping it open to look down at the first page. “Did you ever meet any of them?”

Bobby nodded, “I met Nikolai Krushnic, the former Pakhan back in the seventies, and even back then he had a God complex. That never changed… in part, they’re like us. But,” Bobby grimaced, “they’re old school. They follow old rules and even older laws.”

Sam looked up at that, pointing down on a bloody black and white crime scene photo from the folder. “Some of the stuff they do makes us look like cupcakes.”

Bobby huffed a laugh, nodding as he glanced to picture Sam was referencing. “They’re brutal, I’ll give you that. And they don’t give a rat’s ass about very much… Now, when Nikolai was diagnosed with cancer in the nineties, he made damn sure to get all five of his boys up to his speed. He wanted them just as, if not more, brutal as him; Lucifer, Michael, Balthazar, Gabriel and his youngest, Castiel.”

“I didn’t realize Castiel was the youngest,” Dean murmured.

Bobby nodded his confirmation before he continued, “On his deathbed, the old Pakhan named Castiel as his successor at just twenty-two years old and essentially drove a wedge between the brothers. While you and Sam were still learning how to use your weapons properly, the Krushnics were fighting an internal war for power, brother against brother.”

“Why would he name the youngest son as his successor?” Dean asked, glancing over at Sam. “Dad never would’ve chosen Sam, even if he was a better man for the job.”

“Because the Russians chose successors by whoever shows the most potential, whoever is the most brutal, and Castiel was ruthless.” Bobby paused before giving a half-hearted laugh. “He proved that when he held his oldest brother Michael at gunpoint before murdering his entire family as punishment for his disobedience.”

“He killed his brother’s family?” Sam reached into small cabinet beside his seat and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

“He did.” Bobby paused, waiting for Sam to fill three crystal tumblers with the amber liquid, and took a swallow before he continued. “His sister-in-law and four nephews. It was effective, and since that night the family has been united as one front.”

Dean nodded vaguely remembering overhearing his dad talking about the incident.He twisted his glass in his hand before setting it down beside him. “So we’re meeting a psychopath.”

“No, Son.” Bobby took another sip of his drink, before fixing Dean with a pointed stare. “You’re meeting the Pakhan of the Bratva and you,” he pointed his glass at his Don, “need to remember that he’s not only brutal and ruthless, but very effective.”

Bobby placed down his glass and pulled out two more files, much thicker than the first, handing one to each of the brothers. “He demands respect and he gets it. Now,” he nodded to the folder Dean was opening, “that’s the latest on his brother Gabriel. He and Castiel, they’re like you and Sam. Tight. Always has his brother’s back.” He gave a soft smile to the brothers before continuing, “He’s a mix of me and Sam. He is the Sovietnik and nothing touches Castiel unless it goes through Gabriel first.”

Dean let out a low whistle as Sam sat forward, both of them looking at their respective folders in which a photograph of two men was attached. There was a printed tag at the bottom: CASTIEL KRUSHNIC-𝜜 & GABRIEL KRUSHNIC -𝜜 - AUG2013. Dean looked up, raising an eyebrow at Bobby.

“This is the best we’ve got?” He pointed down at the blurry photograph in which Castiel’s face was blocked by large, dark sunglasses and half hidden behind his brother.

Bobby nodded. “Unfortunately. We have ample photographs of the Sovietnik, even the other members of the Bratva, but Castiel is extremely selective of his public visits and always heavily guarded-- both through members of his family and by the clothing he wears.”

Sam nodded absently and flipped through the demographic pages for Castiel and Gabriel. He stopped at the next picture: BALTHAZAR KRUSHNIC -𝜜 JUN2014. “What do we know about this one?” Sam tipped the folder forward to show the picture of a a man in a sharp, black suit, despite the photo being taken on the beach. “Balthazar? Last I heard he was he was working protection?”

Bobby shook his head. “Not anymore. Now he’s your counterpart, he’s the Bratva’s Kaznachey, accountant. Like you, he runs all their transactions in and out of the country.”

Dean flipped to the next page and a photo of two men standing and talking side by side, though both faced the camera. MICHAEL KRUSHNIC - 𝜜 & LUCIFER KRUSHNIC -𝜜 JUL2014. He vaguely recognized the men from sitting in on meetings with his father. “And Michael? Lucifer? What about them?”

“Michael took Balthazar’s place as Avtoritet and Lucifer is their Krysha, both powerful positions. Michael has charge of the Boyeviks, the other does most of their wet work.”

“God, the language!” Dean groaned, the folder almost slipping off his lap as he drank down the last of his drink.

“Well,” Bobby gave a soft chuckle, “their titles are important to them in their mother tongue, so get used to them. Lastly, they have the Boyeviks, Bykis, and Shestyorkas. They’re like our soldiers, but each has a specific focus.”

Dean bit his bottom lip as he read through the rest of the folder. The end of the file held pictures of the Bratva members, some with black lines through them if they’d become deceased. There were Krushnics, Leonovs, and Nozdrins with most of the members Alpha status marked with ‘𝜜’ and a few Beta members with ‘𝜷’, which honestly surprised Dean.

Suddenly, he looked over at Bobby and let the folder fall closed. “Any of these guys going to be at the meeting?” His eyes narrowed as he looked at his older counselor. “It’s just you and me, Sam, and a couple of guards."

"We'd be a little outnumbered," Sam finished his brother's thought.

"Listen..." Bobby gathered up the folders and shoved them back into his briefcase. "Your focus needs to be on the Krushnic brothers because they’re the ones you need to make sure you don’t cross if we want to walk out of there alive.” Bobby took a deep breath, shifting in the leather seat. "It doesn't matter how many of the others are there. Plus, none of the others are important enough for you two to worry about."

“Allies,” Dean said, nodding his head. “We need to make sure we don’t get killed by allies.”

“You need to make sure you don’t get killed by nobody,” Bobby replied quickly, then downed the rest of his whiskey, wincing at the slight burn before he slammed his glass back down. “Now, I’m old and need my beauty rest. You two keep it down, will ya?”

“’Course Bobby,” Sam laughed, swirling his drink in his glass. “I’ll wake you when we get into the city.”

“You morons do anything to me while I’m sleeping and I’ll kill you myself,” Bobby added, eyes closed, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at the older man.

“He has no faith in us, Sammy.”

“He probably remembers the last time we drove somewhere…” Sam replied, draining his glass and then sliding it back into the cabinet. “I don’t know how they think you’re going to get up at the crack of dawn for this meeting after they let you lose in that club all night…”

Dean smiled, raising his glass once more and giving his younger brother a wink. “Castiel thinks if he loads us up with alcohol, we’ll be easy to manipulate in the morning. So priorities, Sammy. Focus on the sex instead!”

In response, Sam rolled his eyes and reached back down for his tumbler.

Padshiye Angely - Night Club
403 Brightwater Avenue
Brighton Beach, NY

“Behave.” Bobby’s parting words were barely heard over the sound of the club. The moment they walked in the doors, the heat from the grinding bodies pressed against them, along with the base of the dance music and the intermingling scents of sex and heat. Dean breathed in deep, reaching up to unbutton the top of his shirt before running a hand down his chest.

“You’re disgusting.” Sam rolled his eyes, knocking shoulders with Dean before pressing forward into the crowd.

Dean just smiled after his brother’s retreating form and made his own way through the crowd.

When they’d pulled up in front of the hotel, Dean had raised an eyebrow in Bobby’s direction. Padshiye Angely, at only two stories, was a relatively small building compared to the rest of those on the pier. The lobby was typical for a hotel, clean and polished, and once their bags were taken from them, the bellhop led the three of them to a back elevator. As they stepped on, Dean saw there were two additional floors beneath the ground floor.

As the elevator signaled their arrival, Dean was more than impressed as it opened out into the night club. The club was large, taking up the entire bottom floor of the building, and from Dean’s spot just outside the elevator, he could see a large circular bar surrounded by four different dance stages. There were tables and booths placed strategically around the floor and although the place was packed, it didn’t feel crowded.

The decorations made Dean laugh to himself. The Russians have always been flashy. Everything was decorated in shades of silver and blue; the bar and dance stages the darkest accents in the room. The few dancers that were performing all wore silver and had thin, white wings. As Dean moved into the club he headed for the farthest stage which held both male and female dancers.

The dancers were just starting their routine as Dean slid into an empty table, leaning his arm over the back of his chair to watch them. He could smell the light floral scents of the dancers, letting him know they were both omegas, and he breathed in deep, letting their aroma and the view of their lithe bodies, glistening with glitter and sweat, relax him. When they finished their routine, he clapped lightly with the rest of the crowd.

After a few minutes the staff came out to wipe down the stage and Dean pushed away from the table to head to the bar. Bobby was probably already on his second drink, laughing with a pretty woman beside him at the end of the bar. Dean caught his eye and gave him a wink before perusing the bar himself.

There was a pretty brunette a few seats away but as Dean took a step in her direction, he was hit by the most intoxicating scent he’d ever smelled. He stopped short with a soft gasp and breathed in deeply, following his nose to a tall, well-built Omega sitting at the bar. He made a quick scan to see if there was a Beta or Alpha that was accompanying the man. The Omega turned, large clear blue eyes scanning the crowd of the club carefully, and Dean smirked and made his way over to the empty seat beside him.

“Orange blossoms…” he asked, waving down the bartender as he sank down onto the stool. The Omega turned to face him, confusion clear on his face. Dean chuckled and ordered his drink --bourbon on ice-- and then turned his body to the side. “Orange blossoms… You smell like orange blossoms.”

Dean watched as the Omega glanced around the bar before turning back to face him with his eyebrow raised. “Izvinite?” Dean stared back at him, shaking his head slightly and the Omega tried again. “Excuse me, are you talking to me?”

Dean smiled when he heard the man’s voice; baritone, coarse, and thick with a Russian accent. “Of course I am, who else would I be talking to?” Dean leaned forward, smoothing the lapel of his suit down.

“Orange blossoms? I’m sorry… I don’t understand.” He looked uncomfortable now and he picked up his drink to smell it, almost like he was checking to see if he had the correct one. He glanced up, confused as he looked over Dean again. He said carefully, “You must be mistaken… I don’t smell orange blossoms.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in return and picked up the glass of whiskey that had been placed in front of him.

“You, handsome.” Dean leaned in, scenting him carefully so he wouldn’t invade the man’s space. He smelled a strong spruce scent, almost medicinal, with a hint of some warm spice, and he fought the urge to look around to see if maybe the Omega was with someone. “You smell like orange blossoms. And… Spruce?” Dean crinkled his nose. “Not a natural spruce though, it's fabricated. Now why would you cover your sweet scent up? ”

He paused again to see if the Omega would have any reaction. The Omega was staring at him, eyes wide and unsure. Then something flashed over his features and he met Dean with a steely blue stare. Despite the fact it was meant to be intimidating, Dean felt himself relaxing.

“Has no one has ever told you that before?” Dean took a sip of the amber liquid, loving the burn at the back of his throat before he placed the glass back on the logo embossed napkin.

Dean watched as slowly, the Omega raised the glass to his lips, taking a careful and calculated sip of his drink. After just a moment’s hesitation, the man knocked back the rest of his drink and motioned for a refill from the bartender. He cleared his throat and then said, “I can honestly say no one has ever told me that before.”

“Well, I suppose I should be lucky that I’m the one to do the honors. I’m John.” He smiled and signaled to the bartender that he would buy this round.

“Dmitri.” The reply came after a pregnant pause and the Beta who was servicing this side of the bar gave the pair of them an odd look. He glanced quickly at the Omega before sliding the drink over and turning towards his other customers.

“So… do you come here often?” Dean asked, tearing his eyes away from the bartender and forgetting his odd behavior as soon as he locked eyes with Dmitri.

The side of Dmitri’s lips turned up into a half smile and he hummed. “You could say I spend a fair share of my time in here, and you? You do not seem like a regular, what brings you in here tonight?”

“First time,” Dean answered, watching the way the man’s bottom lip pressed against his glass as he sipped his drink. “Haven’t been to the city since I was a child, actually.”

Dmitri held his glass in his hands, rolling it, gently swirling the clear liquid and ice around as he grinned coyly at Dean. “And how are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Well, I am enjoying it much more now.” Dean smiled again, winking at Dmitri and finishing off his drink. “So…” Dean let his eyes trail down the Omega’s form, taking his time to look over the tight fabric of the man’s tailored suit pants pressed against his groin before raking back up his torso. “How much would it cost for a night with a pretty thing like you?”

Dmitri smirked at him as he took another sip of his drink and sucked one of the ice cubes into his mouth seductively. “Oh, John.” The Omega drew out his name and for a moment he wondered if Dmitri had seen through the farce. But then he continued and Dean focused on his next words. “So, so much more than you’ve got.”

Dean clucked, shifting closer in his seat so he could lean forward so his lips were just inches away from Dmitri’s ear. “And if I told you money wasn’t a problem?”

The Omega darted his tongue out and ran it along his bottom lip, he watched as the Alpha followed his movements. “Even though you are quite the ocharovatel'nyy, John...” Dean furrowed his brows. “Charmer,” Dmitri clarified with a small smirk before continuing, “I’m not for sale.”

“Good, I much prefer my company to be eager and willing.” Dean reached forward, laying his hand over Dmitri’s and feeling the heat radiating from the Omega’s skin. He could feel Dmitri leaning into him and Dean felt his body reacting, the heat and energy from the club mixing with Dmitri’s scent and the burn of alcohol, causing his head to spin.

“So… would you like to head up to my room?” He leaned in closer, whispering his question against Dmitri’s ear, and then had to bite back a groan as he scented the air. God, he thought the Omega smelled good before he was wet and now…

“Thanks for the drink,” Dmitri said quickly, tearing his hand away from beneath Dean’s. “But I need to be going. I have somewhere to be early tomorrow. Proshchay.”

Dean stared, confused, after the fleeing Omega and was left alone with too tight suit pants and two empty glasses. What the hell was that? Dean knew Dmitri had been interested, he could still smell his lingering slick, and then the moment Dean actually touched him he bolted?

Dean turned around in his barstool to see if maybe Dmitri had just gotten a moment of cold feet and was now on his way back over. Instead, his eyes trailed over his brother Sam dancing close with a short brunette in an even shorter red dress. Dean stared for a second, reaching for his glass of whiskey, and then his brother’s oversized hands reached to the small of her back and drew her in closer. Really, even for a strip club it was obscene.

Slamming his glass back down on the counter, Dean pulled two crisp hundreds from his pocket and threw them down on the bar top, before he stalked onto the dance floor.

“We’re leaving!” he demanded the second he was standing beside Sam and the woman. The woman gave him a look of disgust and plastered herself closer to Sam’s body, the scent of posies thick and choking around Sam’s heady pine scent.

“No, we’re not. I’m a little busy here, Dean,” Sam replied, barely glancing at Dean over his shoulder. Dean exhaled slowly, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins, and he clenched his fists to stop himself from ripping his brother’s arm back and making him face him.

“I am not asking you as your brother. I am telling you.” He dropped his voice but knew Sam heard him when his younger brother paused in all his movements, shoulders stiffening, and he turned slowly, releasing the woman to face Dean head on.

“Are you seri--”

“We’re leaving.”

Dean watched as the veins in his brother’s neck bulged, knowing Sam was clenching his teeth as tightly as he could. But without another word, Sam gently pulled himself from the brunette’s lingering grasp and pushed his way off of the dance floor to the elevator. Dean could still feel his hands shaking. He felt hot, almost dizzy, and when he glanced back over to the bar he saw Bobby’s nod and knew his Consigliere would meet them at their elevator.

“You’re an asshole, pulling rank on me like that,” Sam fired at him as soon as they stepped into the elevator. Dean held the door for a few seconds and Bobby slid in and hit the brightly lit Number Three to take them to their floor. “Like seriously, what the fuck, Dean?”

“I said we were leaving, Sam. We’re not here for pleasure.” Dean glared over at his brother’s face. “You would do best to remember that.”

“Fuck you,” Sam spat back and before Dean could respond, Bobby moved.

“Enough, Sam. Watch your tongue,” Bobby warned, pressing Sam’s body back against the wall of the elevator. Dean felt a slight pang of guilt when Sam’s head hit the wall from the sudden movement, but he shoved that down and crossed his arms over his chest. “You good?”

“Yeah, Bobby. I’m good.” Sam straightened out his suit jacket and exhaled slowly before glancing over at Dean. “My apologies, Don. I forgot myself.”

“Accepted,” Dean replied and then cleared his throat.

Silence fell over the elevator and Dean waited until they were at the door to Sam’s room before breaking it. “Besides… she smelled like posies, Sam. Posies. That means death.”

Dean laughed at the slammed door he received in response.

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