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stripytightsTitle Claiming What Isn't Yours
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Victor Henriksen
Wordcount: 8050
Content Notes: A/B/O, dub-con (due to bonding), knotting, subversion
Notes Inspired by this prompt
Summary: FBI agent Victor Henriksen is about to have his neat, ordered standard little world turned upside down when Dean Winchester, caught grave-robbing is brought to his attention. Turns out Dean is an Omega, and Victor is his mate. That should be that except Dean has very definite ideas about what he's doing in his life- and none of it fits in with Victor's. Having everything you've ever believed proved false in one night is a shake to the system but one that Victor might learn to love.
Victor breathes in deep, tries not to show fear. Dean isn't going to kill him, he thinks, but then he gets a better look at Dean's face when he shifts and he's suddenly not so sure. Victor has seen desperate men, seen what they'll do and Dean is close to that. The knife slides down his back, pressing through the material of his shirt and he flinches, can't help it, hears the soft huff of Dean's laugh behind him. "Let me go," he says, injects every inch of command into his voice that he can, enough that it should make Dean fall to his knees and beg to suck Victor's cock, enough that he should present himself instantly and crawl begging for Victor to forgive him.
Dean just laughs quietly again, his mouth pressed right up tight and close to Victor's neck, and fuck, it's humiliating that this Omega is taller than him, and stronger than him. "I'm not in heat yet," he whispers, and just the sound of that sends a jolt of lust through Victor. He's seen Dean Winchester beg, seen Dean Winchester wet and sloppy from being fucked so hard he couldn't even remember his own name, and the thought bolsters him somewhat. Dean carries on, "I don't do what you say Alpha," and the word that should have been soft and respectful, should've been worshipful coming from an Omega's mouth isn't. Not even a little bit. Dean sounds mocking, sounds like he's laughing at Victor. He bites at his ear. "I'm going to let you go mate," and yeah that was definitely said with a smirk. "You're going to be a good little Alpha, you're going to trot over to the sofa and sit your ass down on it and pay attention to what I tell you. If you don't, I will fucking blow you away."
"You wouldn't," Victor says. "You'll die yourself if you do that." Wither and shrivel and fade away in convulsions of pain until somebody took pity and put him down with a long slow cool injection, and tossed him out for fertiliser. An Omega whose Alpha dies first doesn't deserve a grave- and he doesn't usually have anybody to give him one.
"Well I've always said I'll live fast, die young and leave a superbly beautiful corpse, so that's a risk I'll chance. You on the other hand I suspect don't want to die like this- killed by your own Omega. Make a sad newspaper headline wouldn't it? Promising FBI agent cut down in his prime by some maddened Omega. They'll think I was abused you know, and I'll play it right up for the cameras. I mean even kicking dogs has consequences, and I bet your mom won't hold her head up when she hears the news. Now are you going to sit?"
Victor nods, and Dean steps back out of reach and pulls out his gun. His hands are steady, not even a tremor running through them, and Victor fully believes for the first time that Dean will shoot him with Victor's own gun. He's not a person, not really. He's a maddened animal pulled and pressed and stretched too far beyond his capacity to learn and grow and develop. His daddy done wrong by him, Victor thinks. He should've given Dean up to care when he turned thirteen and it became plain what he is- what he will always be, however hard he tries to hide it. Then the bitter truth bites at him. If Dean Winchester is one step up from a trained dog, then what does that make him?
He sits. He watches Dean perch on a stool opposite him, gun trained and steady, as he whips out his phone, and calls his father. Of course John Winchester has escaped. That's what he does- he works locks, and vanishes into thin air, and takes his son with him. Victor doesn't know what breed the other son is, suspects from the way Dean's face looks when he's mentioned, that little Sammy is an Omega as well if he's shown yet. Double the reason for them to stop John Winchester. He's not only committed far too many crimes, he's denying his sons the chance to live happy, healthy, adjusted lives, the chance to meet an Alpha who'll take care of their every need, protect them from everything in the world.
One thing he regrets is that it was his team that ever took down Dean Winchester. This was how this whole mess began- and ended with Dean Winchester holding a gun to his head.
It should've been routine. They've been tracking John Winchester a long time- everywhere he travels there are unexplained deaths, dug up bodies and a series of people who seem to be on drugs rambling about demons and monsters. Victor has looked monsters in the face before, seen men who've abused their own children, murdered those who should be closest, done terrible things, but John Winchester he thinks is a special brand of ruthless amorality, the kind of vicious killer who doesn't have a pattern, but does have two sons in tow. That's the most they know about him really, the most they've been able to pick up, until this anonymous tip-off that there's a ghost in San Diego, and on a hunch Victor had leapt on it. John Winchester liked freaky shit.
They'd been wrong and right. They had found a man digging up a grave it was true, and burning the fucking bones but it wasn't John Winchester. It was his twenty year old son Dean Winchester, tall, well built and growing up just like his daddy, and he hadn't come easy- fighting and kicking every step of the way. Victor had been in the other car, hadn't thought he'd even get a chance to interrogate him, no matter how much he itched to. He was the most junior member of the team though, way down the pecking order, and this wasn't his solo case. So he mostly watched through the one way glass as Detective Huertas tried to shake the information out of him as to where John could be found.
Dean was a slippery fucker though, who didn't give an inch, just took them- miles and miles of them, spinning Huertas a sob story about how he hadn't seen his daddy in years, how his birth name was Bruce Dickinson (Victor could barely refrain from thunking his head against the glass at that, since Huertas didn't appear to have heard of Iron Maiden,) and hell it was all just a college dare to dig up a body. He told a good yarn, Victor had to give him that. If he didn't know who and what Dean was, he might even have believed it. Not the college kid bit though. No college kid had eyes like that- hard, wary and calculating as hell.
Even Huertas got tired though of sarcasm and batted eyelashes, and while they could probably make grave robbery stick as a charge, they all knew there wasn't much point. John was the big fish, the one they wanted, Dean was just a way to him- and if he wouldn't give him up then there was no point to this threatening farce. He was a bit surprised when Huertas jerked a thumb at him. "Give it a go," he said, "see if you can get anything out of him."
Victor hadn't been expecting any more success than Huertas, but he hadn't expected Dean Winchester to fall silent either, not so much as a smart-ass remark when Victor walked in. He went over the facts of the case, good and proper, offered the deal (you go free Dean, and we get your brother the help he needs, and maybe some for you. Just give up your daddy,) that he already knew Dean would never accept. After a minute, he loosened his tie- because damn the room was hot, and when he looked at Dean properly, he saw the sweat beading on his forehead, teeth clamping down hard on the full curve of his bottom lip as he clenched his hands together on the table. "You don't look so good," he said, not without his doubts as to the authenticity of Dean’s sudden illness. Hospital was easier to escape from than the jail cell.
"I'm fine," Dean wheezed, but his face was flushing and when he shifted, it hit. He smelt so fucking good that Victor felt bowled over by it, taken aback because this meant way way too much. First off Dean was a criminal, a no-good, corpse-burning, gun-toting wisecracking waste of honest space, and exactly the wrong sort of person to want to fuck. Second of all, Victor had smelt this before. A lot. The smell that Dean was currently exuding was that of unbonded Omega, and that put a new complexion on everything that had happened so far. Dean wasn't responsible for his actions- his Alpha was, and until he bonded his Alpha was John Winchester. Now though, Victor realised with a sense of mounting dread, Victor was. It was Victor’s presence that was sending him into heat, and that meant he was his mate.
He knew that, deep in the pit of his stomach, where it just clicked inside of him that the man sitting opposite him was his Omega. And while a little bit of his brain wanted to be sensible, wanted to walk out the door and organise somewhere safe, secure and private to fuck Dean silly and complete their bond, most of him just wanted to leap over the table and fuck him- whether anyone was watching or wasn't. Dean looked at him, and for the first time there was doubt in his eyes, indecision- like he knew what Victor was thinking of. "Fuck off man," he said. "You're not sticking it up me." It was the dying shreds of defiance though, Dean had no more choice about wanting this than Victor did. And if Victor walked out now, left Dean to his heat, Dean would die a long, slow and agonizing death. Winchester didn't raise his sons to be fools, even if they were Omegas.
Victor leaned across the table, and kissed him- less a kiss and more a violent shove of mouth against mouth, a trace of blood flooding his mouth with copper, and Dean made no protest, just opened his mouth and reciprocated, no more nonsense with 'no.' At some point, when he had his hand down Dean's pants, and his tongue in Dean's mouth, Victor thought that fucking in the full sight of his colleagues was really not the smartest idea ever, and he broke away gasping in air, finding it difficult to even think. It must be what being an Omega felt like all the time, he thought distantly.
A cell had been cleared for them, and the camera switched off for the sake of some meagre privacy. Luckily in a tiny local jail like this one- well out in the outskirts, there was one drunk and he was processed and dispatched. Every second Victor had had to wait, had ramped up the fierce lust in his body until he was hard and aching and just wanted to fuck Dean regardless of the consequences, with no other thoughts than burying his dick in his body, feeling that ass clench around him and then knotting him until he was wet and marked, and Victor's forever with no denial possible. Sliding in him was the closest thing to heaven he'd ever felt, and he didn’t care how cliche it was, didn’t care about anything except fucking his mate, teeth against the fragile skin of his neck, sinking in deep, hearing every bitten back gasp that Dean couldn’t quite conceal, savage pleasure boiling through him. This was his, this was his, the endless repetition of it bit through him- every inch of this man belonged to him, and it was with searing pleasure that he felt himself swell, felt himself thrust in Dean so deep, be held so tight that they were going to be knotted together for more time than he’d have thought possible.
He might have blacked out a little bit, and when he came too, he was still tied with Dean. With the initial mate-heat fading from his mind, it seemed like the perfect time to tell Dean what was going to happen with him now. “You won’t be charged,” he said, and stroked a possessive hand down Dean’s flank, marvelling at the sheer physical strength of the man lying tucked up beside him. “It’s not your fault that your father didn’t treat you properly.” He made his voice intentionally deep and soothing.
It took him a long moment to realise that the ragged sound coming from Dean’s mouth was laughter. “Fuck you,” he said. “My father treated me just fine. He treated me like a human, like I was something more than a wet hole. I have a purpose Victor, and a job and it’s not being your bitch. Charge me if you like, I don’t give a shit.”
Victor was a little surprised by even this token show of resistance to be honest. Omegas were to be taken care of, cherished and protected. They didn’t need education, didn’t need anything other than their mate to make them happy, and he’d thought that Dean given the opportunity and the chance to revert back to his natural instincts would leap on it. He’d been captured and claimed, he didn’t have a choice about this all, but Victor wanted Dean to accept it. “You’re coming home with me,” he said, and made it a command. “I’ll care for you, and you’ll never want for as long as I live. You’ll never have to kill, or fight or risk dying again, I promise you that. You’ll be happy.”
There was silence, then Dean finally replied. "The sad thing is, I know someone who might've been tempted for five seconds by what you're offering. Five seconds before they remembered that what they were giving up would be free will. But you don't even get that five seconds from me. I enjoy what I do. I'm good at it," and Victor has heard a lot of lies from Dean tonight, and he knows instinctively this isn't one of them. Dean believes what he's saying. "There's no point even talking to you I know, you're like every Alpha dickhead in the world. Can't even see the merit in other people living at all."
Victor doesn't reply himself for long moments, digests what Dean is saying, and rejects it. It doesn't make sense, any more than the rest of Dean's life makes sense, any of what he does, or rather has been made to do by John Winchester. Switching the subject, he asks something that's been puzzling him. "How did you manage to fool the world for so long Dean?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"I went into heat at thirteen," Dean said promptly- he seemed to have no problem sharing his thoughts at least. "I went on suppressors the next day," and Victor finds it weird that that's the most shocking bit of Dean's entire spiel tonight. Suppressors are illegal, shipped in from Europe at enormous cost and hardly easy to get hold of, and Dean's been on them for seven years. "And I would have got away with it, if it wasn't for those meddling cops," he finishes. Victor again, is surprised. A sense of humour even one as puerile as Dean's isn't something you'd expect from an Omega. He shifts, aware that he's still in Dean, that his knot might be going down, but he's getting hard again. Enough talk, he thinks. It's a shame to waste their first mating heat on pointless chatter when he could be fucking Dean again. He shifts forward, can feel how wet and loose and hot Dean is when he pulls out, presumably virgin ass despoiled and with thoughts like that, he could go all night.
“Have you done this before?” he whispers into Dean’s ear. “Let someone fuck you like this, given into your needs and let yourself be fucked good and proper like an Omega should be?”
Dean’s laugh is a little more strained, and he’s pushing back now like he needs more, like he needs Victor to pound right back in and bring him off without so much as touching his cock.”Yeah,” he whispers in reply. “I’ve fucked and been fucked more times than you’ve had hot dinners. If I slouch a little I’m a subby beta, if I stretch a bit I’m a toppy Alpha who likes to fuck other Alphas until they scream and beg for knot and then pretend I’m denying them by pulling out.”
Victor hadn’t thought he was capable of jealousy like that, a hot rush in his veins that floods through him until he’s almost blind from rage. This is why they don’t let Omegas slut themselves around he thinks, this is why they should be kept pure and ready for their Alphas, ready to be claimed, because Victor wants to rip out the throat of every person who has had this before him. The tiny sensible bit that’s still there somewhere inside him, tells him there’s a reason Dean is saying this, inciting him, but it gets crushed by his deepest instincts, and he fucks even harder into Dean, tries to clean out every person who has had this before, strips his hand brutally down Dean’s dick, and bites down hard and hot.
When he next wakes up, his dick is hard again, though Dean is out of mating heat by now. He gropes lazily for Dean and meets only with empty air, and it’s with a pounding heart that he sits up and looks around. The cell is empty, Dean and Dean’s clothes are gone, and so the fucking bastard, are Victor’s clothes. With the cameras turned off, it takes him ages to attract any attention, and not one single person saw Dean stroll out freshly fucked with Victor’s clothes, wallet and ID. He’s aware of the stares and the not quite hidden jeer in the eyes of the local law enforcement. He got done over by an Omega and a criminal Omega at that, who was bonded to him. Humiliation floods him, sharp and heavy. Next time he sees Dean Winchester, he promises himself, he’ll finish this properly.
Victor knows he doesn't have that long to wait, knows he doesn't even have to search for Dean, not really. Once you were bonded with your Alpha, suppressants didn't really work anymore, not properly. And if Dean went into heat at any point, he'd have to crawl to Victor, and beg him to get fucked- or he'd die. As he'd said before- John Winchester hadn't raised a fool. Dean knew how this ended. It ended with a collar around his neck, and Victor vowing to love, protect and care for him while Dean nodded silently, mouth bound up in the traditional gesture of submission. He'd take Dean's obedience, he'd take Dean's words and he'd raise him right in all the ways he was lacking.
The thing is nobody ever told Dean that that's how it would end, and he didn't seem to know the meaning of give up. Like an enormous 'fuck you' the rate of burnings, grave desecrations and unexplained bodies seemed to double, and started appearing in more than one place at a time which Victor knew was a message to him. Dean Winchester was out there, following his daddy's orders not Victor's, and even that thought washed freezing hate through his veins, pulsing through him like a wound laid bare and rotten to the cool touch of the air. A month ticked by, then two and then a third, and by this point Victor was desperate enough to visit a doctor and ask how long, the longest heat cycle was.
The doctor was cool and firm with him, but told him what he needed to know. Omegas were supposed to go into heat monthly after bonding, but with the careful use of suppressants, and careful manipulation they could hold out for six months without needing it. "And at the end of that?" Victor asked.
The doctor stared at him. "No-one has lasted more than six months," he said. "Your Omega will have to be properly cared for at the six month heat or they will die," the words sounded like the euphemisms they were and Victor declined to bother taking the leaflets. Six months- that left him with three before he could be certain that Dean would come back. Six months in total without his mate. He tried to fuck other unbonded Omegas, even guiltily took home a married beta, but none of it worked. He could barely get it up, and couldn't sustain it in the least, his body telling him in mute ways that these other people were wrong for him, that he had a mate he should be fucking. So when Dean Winchester turned up, Victor had the worst case of blue balls ever, and he was desperate enough that his first thought on seeing the man standing in the kitchen was not chastisement but sex.
He didn't even feel the thwack of the wood against him, but when he woke up he was tied to a chair with carefully bound knots and Dean was chugging one of Victor's beers from Victor's fridge, and grinning that shit-eating smile at him. When he noticed Victor's eyes were open he raised the bottle in a cheerful salute. "Sleeping Beauty awakens," he says, and stands up to circle around him. "You don't look so hot Victor," he says. "You been eating well enough? Don't want you dying untimely after all."
"Fuck you," Victor says, and it's a curse and a plea at the same time. This close to Dean, every instinct is activated- he feels alive again, whole, and his dick is hard and eager despite him being restrained, if not cruelly then at least tightly and firmly. Dean can clearly tie knots well- not one of them is near enough Victor's bound hands that he has even a chance of getting free.
"All in good time," Dean says quietly. "I think we need some ground rules set out don't you. After all the key to a healthy relationship is communication," he says, clearly quoting from some beta magazine. "Besides I like you Victor. You're as dumb as fucking dirt when it comes to seeing beyond your nose, but you don't hold with prisoner brutality. You've got a reprimand on your record for speaking out against a superior who raped an Omega in custody."
"Those files are locked," Victor hisses, furious at this being brought up here and now, making him look weak.
"Well bully for me that I know people who know people who can get that sort of information. Also? You’re the only person I know who doesn’t want his good deeds brought up.” He hunkered down and peered earnestly up at Victor, and Victor’s traitorous fucking dick twitched at the sight- Dean’s mouth on a level with his dick. “And I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking how you get those ropes off and fuck me properly,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “Not that I blame you. I am a hot ass after all. That’s gonna have to wait though. There’s a reason I waited to come here until you were on holiday you know. Some quality time alone never hurt anyone and I am going to be in heat tomorrow. But before that, there’s some things you should know.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to tell me,” Victor said. “Get these ropes off me and we’ll talk.”
“Sorry, no can do,” Dean said, and he genuinely sounded a little regretful. “I’d love to untie you, maybe hold you down and ride that thick cock of yours, but you see the thing is, I don’t trust you not to try and escape, or to do something silly like try and take me down.” Victor doesn’t bother to reply, just gives another experimental yank at his bonds, watches Dean head back into the kitchen, then call out to him. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Victor is actually starving and his mouth is dry, and his pride wrestles with those needs.
“I’m good,” he shouts back, and Dean emerged, giving a shrug, another beer in his hand and a sandwich on a plate in the other.
“What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine,” he says with a grin, and wedges some of the sandwich into a mouth that Victor can’t help thinking should be doing something else instead- like engulfing his cock, or mouthing at him through his pants. He hopes the thoughts don’t show on his face, but something must do because Dean comes over and tilts his head back, holds the bottle up offeringly, his face calm. He’s not doing this to shame Victor it’s clear, and Victor grudgingly nods and Dean puts the bottle to his mouth and then lifts up. The first thing Victor thinks as the cool liquid flows in a thin stream down his throat, is that Dean’s lips have been on this bottle, and part of him tingles like he can actually taste that. Then Dean holds up a corner of his sandwich, let’s Victor take a bite, feeds it to him in bits.
He feels better after that- Dean even gets him a glass of water, let’s him drink it back, fleeting touch of his hand shiveringly hot on Victor’s skin. This close, he can see how green Dean’s eyes are, the smooth quality of his skin, appreciate the strength of the shoulders under the old jacket. No wonder he could so easily pass for a beta or an alpha. Victor knows what he is, and even he finds it hard to believe. Omegas cringe if they’re tall, hunch their shoulders in, cast their eyes down to the ground. Dean wears it well, looks at him clear and straight and nothing about him says Omega. He doesn’t smell of anything but that’s not unusual, lots of people’s natural scent is faint enough that it’s only during heat that they really start showing, and Victor is finding it harder and harder to hold onto his initial conceptions. He’s never met anyone like Dean before.
That leaves him with another problem though. If by some freak of nature and upbringing Dean isn’t a proper Omega (he’s not ready to make the mental leap that maybe most Omegas aren’t like that naturally), if he’s lucid, and intelligent and all the things that Victor is beginning to suspect he might be, then that makes him responsible for his actions. If Dean is clever and aware, then the killing, the desecrating, the trail of destruction that he leaves behind him- he has no excuse. And that means that Victor’s bonded is a criminal. He’s actually probably a monster, and like that he can’t take the idea. He’s not even going to entertain the possibility that Dean is anything other than what he seems to be- an Omega driven mad by what his father has done to him.
One thing that has happened during their conversation is that a rope is working loose under Victor’s continued gentle pulling. One of the knots hadn’t been secured properly, and the rope is slippery, so with growing excitement he pulls at it so gently he can hardly believe his own patience, until one wrist is almost free. Dean’s taking the stuff back to the kitchen, and then fussing around with something else, and with one hand free, Victor can work the other one loose as well. He seizes the opportunity when Dean goes outside to make a call, to tackle his legs, rub some life back into them, and then he hesitates for a split second- does he go for the gun in the drawer upstairs, or for the phone? That proves his undoing. Dean comes back into the room, sees him and reacts instantly, ferociously, slams Victor into the wall, knife pulled in a second, all facade of good humour dropped.
Which is how he ends up perched on the sofa, Dean Winchester opposite him on a stool, gun cool and ready pointed at his head, and hell whether he likes it or not, his previous fleeting thought- that Dean is a monster seems to be more and more accurate. He’s willing to die rather than submit it seems, and Victor isn’t sure enough that it’s a bluff to call it. He wonders if Dean is as good at poker. There’s no joking in Dean’s eyes now, no smiles on his face, he’s cool and collected as he thumbs at the number pad of his cell and calls his dad.
The conversation is short and simple- Dean’s side of it at least. “Yeah,” he says. “Got him,” then listens for a bit, “no,” he says firmly. “I’m giving it a try. I know it’s not the best idea, but I’ve got to give it a shot,” and Victor boggles a bit inside beside Dean saying no to Alphas apparently extends to his dad, and it’s another point in the not-a-normal-Omega box. “Sammy good?” Dean says, and there’s a softening in his voice that probably no-one but Victor could hear. He listens a moment more then clicks off, and turns to Victor again. “Sorry,” he says with a pasted on grin. “I’m going to show you something Victor. I know you’re a smart dude, and I’m sorry for your sake that things have gone down the way they have. You had the bad luck to bump into me, and you’re paying the price.”
Victor listens disbelievingly. Dean sounds genuine- sounds like he actually pities Victor for bonding him, rather than the other way round and that’s just wrong. Dean should be scared for himself, for his life, of dying, but instead he seems to think it’s Victor who has got the bad end of this deal. Dean’s the Omega here, but he makes it sound like Victor is the one giving up something not him. “What are you talking about?” he asks, tries not to feel fear. What is Dean going to show him?
Dean looks at him. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, then amends that. “Crazier than you already think I mean. But you have to know. Ghosts are real.”
Despite himself Victor can’t stop the laugh bubbling up. He’d actually been willing to entertain for fleeting seconds the idea that Dean was in control of his faculties, then he said something like this. “You are crazy Dean,” he says, and softens his voice a little, “but I can get you help. You’re only crazy because of all the stuff your father put you through.”
There’s no visible reaction from Dean, until he sighs. “They’re always like this,” he says, presumably to himself. “Come on, up you get.” He leads Victor to the door of his house, let’s him pass through first. When they’re in the car, he hands Victor the keys. “Follow my directions to the letter,” he says, “you already know what I’ll do if you try and double cross me.” Victor does, so he follows directions accordingly, drives until they come to an abandoned house. “The kids think this place is haunted,” Dean says quietly. “They’re right.” He tosses Victor a thin folder, and when Victor opens it a newspaper clipping, and two photocopied pieces fall out. The newspaper clipping is recent- kids saying they’d seen a ghost and that was why one of them had broken a leg. The other bits of paper are copies of older clippings. A man’s wistful face stares out from the paper, and Dean points him out. “He died of stab wounds,” he says, voice still soft.
“His killer was never found.” The date on the paper is the same as the day’s date, only twenty years out, and goosepimples are rising on Victor’s arms. He isn’t sure if it’s from the creepy information, or from the fact that he’s sitting next to a psychopath Omega. Dean gets out, hefts a bag over his shoulder and gestures Victor in front of him. They slip in through a side window, and Dean leads them into the front room. “The family who own the building never sold it,” he says, and his voice falls flat in the gloom. “Once or twice people have tried to squat but that never lasts.”
Victor looks around, at the heavy furniture, at the old fashioned carpet complete with a blood stain on it. “Why are we here?” he asks, and Dean glances at his watch.
“This one night of the year, he returns,” Dean said. “He’ll walk again, beg someone to hear what he says but no-one can.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Victor says, because his calm is snapping badly.
Dean shrugs easily and loosely, gets a canister of salt from the bag and scatters it around them in a large circle, and retrieves a shotgun as well. “Just watch,” he says. “It’s a death echo, and I’m starting to think that it’s transforming into a death omen. Which shouldn’t be possible unless something got through to it, someone has been here and triggered him out.” He looks at Victor and obviously decides to elucidate a little more. “We’ve always known about this one,” he said. “First hunter turned up here a long time ago, but there’s nothing you can do for a death echo. When the same ghost starts tapping people on the shoulder who later end up dead though, that’s a different story.”
People dead of mysterious wounds is more up Victor’s street, and he knows surprisingly what Dean is talking about. “You mean the recent three stabbings don’t you?” he said, and he can’t believe they’re talking rationally about this. Dean nods at him, and Victor thinks it out. “They were unusual,” he says slowly. “Either the same person or a copycat killer. Three stabs, two to the heart and one in the groin, and a slash across the throat deep enough to sever vocal cords.”
“Exactly how Robert died,” Dean says, looking round the room. “No wonder the poor bastard hung around, and no wonder he couldn’t tell anyone even as a death omen. Cutting his throat didn’t just mean he couldn’t scream as he died, it means he can’t even communicate as a death omen. Some things sink deep.”
The weird thing is, if Victor deducts the insane ghost stuff, there’s a glimmer of a case here. Robert is far enough back in the records that no-one has linked him to the present killings, but it’s by no means unknown for a murderer to leave a gap of years between kills. If Robert’s killer is the same person carrying out the present day murders this could provide real information. He’s still pondering on that, and wondering how long Dean is going to make them stand in this moldy desolation surrounded by salt when it appears.
His mind can’t grasp it at first. There’s this wavery shimmery being standing in front of them, hands stretched out imploringly, then shooting up to where its neck is spurting blood, as deep wounds soak through its ghostly clothing, and it’s got to be some fancy hologram or something, projected into the air from unseen cameras and light sources, but then it moves, and there isn’t any technology he knows of that can do that, as it staggers across the room, and falls to its knees. It flickers back to where it started, and Victor is startled out of his confusion by Dean whose face is twisted with a sort of bone-deep pity.
“This is proof,” he says quietly.
“Why the hell are we just standing here?” Victor demands. “Why aren’t you putting the man out of his misery?”
Dean shrugs baldly. “There’s nothing we can do,” he says, “he can’t see or hear us, can’t see or hear anything but his killer at this moment in time. Tomorrow maybe it’ll walk again, contact the next victim, but tonight it’s caught.”
Victor can’t leave it at that though, not a bone in his cop body will let him, and he steps quickly out of the circle, ignores Dean’s shout of warning, and approaches where the ghost is shuddering through its death agonies all over, and flips out his ID. “I’m Victor Hendriksen,” he says calmly. “I’m an FBI agent and I want to find whoever killed you,” and damn he should feel stupid saying something like that to something that couldn’t possibly be real, but he doesn’t. Right here and now a murder is playing out in front of his eyes. The ghost ignores him though, closes its eyes again and stumbles backwards and Dean is right there beside him.
“There’s no point,” he says. “The best thing we can do for him is catch his killer, and that isn’t my job. It’s yours.” He steps back again picks up his bag and leaves without a second glance. Victor watches the ghost repeat one more time, sees a flicker as its eyes glance to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room, and follows the line of its gaze to the furniture. Nothing had been touched, he remembered Dean saying. The house hadn’t been sold- everything was the same. He was following instinct here, and he’s rewarded by the picture in a frame of Robert, arms slung around another man who is looking down at him affectionately. Most murder victims are killed by someone the victim knows, Victor knows that. Usually someone close. He takes the photo with him- it can’t hurt.
Outside they sit silent in the car, Victor just feeling the raw disbelief hit him. “Everything?” he says distantly.
“Everything,” Dean confirms, but stays quiet like he wants to let Victor process it. Everything. That means Dean and presumably John and Sam aren’t to blame for the destruction they’ve let behind them, and yeah that’s a relief in one way because if Dean is telling the truth and this isn’t some massive con, then Dean might be a petty criminal but he’s not a murderer.
“This is what you meant by having a job, isn’t it?” he asked when the silence got too much. “A purpose.”
“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “And I’m not giving it up. We save people Victor. We hunt evil, and we save people’s lives, but to you guys it’s never the lives we save that count, just the ones we can’t. But whatever it takes I’m not stopping. Once you’ve seen how you help, you can’t stop.”
“Are there other things than ghosts?” Victor asks, not so sure he wants to know the answer.
“Too many to count,” Dean replies. “Stuff that’d make your flesh crawl with disgust I can tell you that.”
Victor digests that. There is evil in the world- he has always known that, it’s why he became a cop in the first place to help eradicate it. He hadn’t bargained on this being real, this particular brand of it, but in a way he wasn’t surprised. Why wouldn’t evil persist after death after all? “What do we do now?” he asks.
“We fuck,” Dean says simply. “You fuck me through my heat, and you don’t try and cosh me over the head at any point and drag my ass to jail. You let me walk out the door and go back to doing what I do best. Not kneeling like a bitch, but on my own two feet. I’ll hold out for as long as I can, so you can lead a normal life, only come back to fuck when I need it. And if you come across something supernatural you give me a call and I’ll see if we can do anything. There’s a surprising amount out there when you open your eyes to it.” He sounds casual, too casual and when Victor looks, Dean’s knuckles are white with tension.
“What if I don’t want that?” he asks.
“I’m serious,” Dean says. “I’d rather die than be what you think I should be. If this job has taught me anything it’s that dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. I’m not going to be your Omega. I’m not going to sit at your feet and let you run your fingers through my hair, and fuck me whenever you want to.”
Victor wasn’t surprised. Whatever Dean was, whether it was his genes, the way he’d been raised or just something inherent to him, it wasn’t malleable. It was unbending. “What if I wanted to come with you?” he says then, stares out into the darkness of the night. “What if I wanted to help?”
Dean has no answer to that, stares with wide eyes at Victor before looking away and letting out a deep rush of air. “You’re not a hunter,” he says, “you’ve got a life, a job, a family. Coming with us would mean giving that up, every scrap of that, and trust me you don’t want that. Plus my dad’s the alpha of our particular pack, and he doesn’t brook interference.”
“You argued with him,” Victor points out.
“I argue with everyone,” Dean replies promptly. “He raised me to defy the world and he understands that that means sometimes I need to argue with him as well. He won’t take it from you though. And it wouldn’t change anything. I still won’t be your Omega. I’m still going to hunt and kill and put myself in danger and if you got in the way of that, I wouldn’t take it, and neither would my dad to be honest. I don’t think you could take it Victor.” He leans closer and Christ he smells good, just a tinge of heat beginning to rise from his pores, and Victor wants him more badly than he’s ever wanted anything before. “We come from different lives,” he says and he sounds a little sad Victor thinks, like if things were different he wouldn’t object so badly. “Saving lives means more to me than anything else, and I won’t give that up.”
Victor can’t resist anymore, has to slide a firm hand round his jaw and pull him in to kiss him properly. It’s been three months since he’s even tried with someone else, all he wants is Dean, all he’s wired to need is Dean, and Dean is pulling that away. It’s Victor’s job to convince him, he thinks hazily, convince Dean to stay, or to let Victor come. Dean shrugs away from the hand, uses his own to pull Victor closer, jammed awkwardly in the car, and he’s sweet on Victor’s tongue, smells deep of gunpowder and salt, and Victor can’t really imagine giving this up, this awkward, bizarre parody of an Omega. It’s easier in a way to think of him as a Beta, except no Beta has ever made his heart pump this hard or his dick swell this fast just from a kiss. “I’ll come with you,” he says, an impulse resounding through him, and he kisses Dean between his words. “I want this,” and it’s just the truth, prompted perhaps by adrenaline, something he’ll regret in the morning maybe, but for now it’s God’s own honest words falling from his lips, and Dean is responding to that, tongue pushing deep into Victor’s mouth, not yet enough in heat to even pretend to be submissive in any way, and Victor lets him, God he lets him, and that sends panic flooding through his veins in a way that seems hardwired to his dick.
“Let’s go back,” Dean says, pulls away and lets Victor drive back to his house. When they step in, the heat smell is stronger but Dean isn’t over the edge yet, and he clearly doesn’t trust Victor yet, clears out anything that could be a weapon from near the double bed that is substantially more comfortable than the cell they’d first shared, and then finally, finally kisses Victor again, pushes him down and holds his hands above his head with a stern practiced grip, and Victor’s played like this before but always with the knowledge that he could tug free in seconds if he wanted, something he can’t be assured of with Dean and it strikes iron into his soul and to his cock anchored as he is with Dean’s hands around his wrists, and Dean’s weight on his chest as he bends down to kiss him again, hot and willing and ready, and Victor needs it. When Dean slides himself wet and ready onto the heat of Victor’s dick it feels even better than the first time they mated, and he can barely take the swell of pleasure as he thrusts upwards, jerkily into Dean who rocks himself downwards, meets Victor’s every movement with one of his own.
And when he knots Dean, when he swells so big that it doesn’t seem like Dean can take it, he can hardly understand how this can feel so good, and yeah this wasn’t the best position to knot in ever but that’s the last thing on his mind, with Dean coming between them, smearing white and sticky, curses dropping from his lips, and his fingers digging so deep into Victor that he’s going to bruise if not bleed but he can’t feel a thing beyond the pleasure.
Dean slumps down- carefully, back arched as he rests on Victor for a moment, breathes in deep like he’s lacking air, and there’s satisfaction on his face not shame or anything close, and that puzzles Victor. Omegas get fucked, Alphas fuck, Betas go both ways sometimes but usually pick one. He doesn’t get why Dean isn’t ashamed of this since he seems to reject everything else an Omega should like. When he half-asks, strokes a lazy hand down Dean’s back to where he’s stuck tight round Victor’s knot, Dean raises an eyebrow.
“For a cop you don’t listen much,” he says, runs a finger through the come between them, and flexible as a whip, bends a little, pushes up and deep past Victor’s thighs, doesn’t penetrate him but threatens close. “Alphas like it as well,” he says, low and dark like it’s a secret just between them. “What goes up my ass says nothing about me, and it doesn’t say anything about anyone else either. I’ve fucked Alphas who just wanted knot and couldn’t take it but wanted to try, and Betas who weren’t shy about wanting it both ways,” and Jesus, Dean’s kind of a slut Victor thinks, and while the familiar swell of possessive anger is there, a weird curiosity is as well. “If you come with me, you’ll have to get used to it,” Dean says.
“I’m not letting you fuck anyone else,” Victor says, and there’s the beginning of a growl in his chest even at the thought. He thinks he might be willing to change a little, can put Dean into a different category at least, but that’s about ten steps too far.
“Then you’ll have to keep me satisfied,” Dean says, and it doesn’t look like he’s joking. “I’ll bend over for you gladly Victor, but when I’m not in heat it’s not going to work like that. I’ve worked too hard, and hustled too many dollars to pay for suppressants over my life to change it up now,” and Dean’s tossing down the gauntlet if Victor is willing to pick it up, willing to thrash out details right here and now, buried deep inside Dean, half unable to think straight and all consumed by the nearness of his fucked up mate.
“I’ll try,” Victor says, because fuck if ghosts are real, maybe self-determining Omegas are as well.
Dean fixes him with a long look. “There’s no try,” he says. “Only do or not do.” He can’t quite keep a straight face though, and when he laughs it sends tremors all the way through Victor makes him want to start the next round early, because he sort of thinks that this whole situation, and his whole future life is messed up but the sex is going to be really fantastic.
______________
Regardless of when you're reading this, feedback/crit always appreciated.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Victor Henriksen
Wordcount: 8050
Content Notes: A/B/O, dub-con (due to bonding), knotting, subversion
Notes Inspired by this prompt
Summary: FBI agent Victor Henriksen is about to have his neat, ordered standard little world turned upside down when Dean Winchester, caught grave-robbing is brought to his attention. Turns out Dean is an Omega, and Victor is his mate. That should be that except Dean has very definite ideas about what he's doing in his life- and none of it fits in with Victor's. Having everything you've ever believed proved false in one night is a shake to the system but one that Victor might learn to love.
Victor breathes in deep, tries not to show fear. Dean isn't going to kill him, he thinks, but then he gets a better look at Dean's face when he shifts and he's suddenly not so sure. Victor has seen desperate men, seen what they'll do and Dean is close to that. The knife slides down his back, pressing through the material of his shirt and he flinches, can't help it, hears the soft huff of Dean's laugh behind him. "Let me go," he says, injects every inch of command into his voice that he can, enough that it should make Dean fall to his knees and beg to suck Victor's cock, enough that he should present himself instantly and crawl begging for Victor to forgive him.
Dean just laughs quietly again, his mouth pressed right up tight and close to Victor's neck, and fuck, it's humiliating that this Omega is taller than him, and stronger than him. "I'm not in heat yet," he whispers, and just the sound of that sends a jolt of lust through Victor. He's seen Dean Winchester beg, seen Dean Winchester wet and sloppy from being fucked so hard he couldn't even remember his own name, and the thought bolsters him somewhat. Dean carries on, "I don't do what you say Alpha," and the word that should have been soft and respectful, should've been worshipful coming from an Omega's mouth isn't. Not even a little bit. Dean sounds mocking, sounds like he's laughing at Victor. He bites at his ear. "I'm going to let you go mate," and yeah that was definitely said with a smirk. "You're going to be a good little Alpha, you're going to trot over to the sofa and sit your ass down on it and pay attention to what I tell you. If you don't, I will fucking blow you away."
"You wouldn't," Victor says. "You'll die yourself if you do that." Wither and shrivel and fade away in convulsions of pain until somebody took pity and put him down with a long slow cool injection, and tossed him out for fertiliser. An Omega whose Alpha dies first doesn't deserve a grave- and he doesn't usually have anybody to give him one.
"Well I've always said I'll live fast, die young and leave a superbly beautiful corpse, so that's a risk I'll chance. You on the other hand I suspect don't want to die like this- killed by your own Omega. Make a sad newspaper headline wouldn't it? Promising FBI agent cut down in his prime by some maddened Omega. They'll think I was abused you know, and I'll play it right up for the cameras. I mean even kicking dogs has consequences, and I bet your mom won't hold her head up when she hears the news. Now are you going to sit?"
Victor nods, and Dean steps back out of reach and pulls out his gun. His hands are steady, not even a tremor running through them, and Victor fully believes for the first time that Dean will shoot him with Victor's own gun. He's not a person, not really. He's a maddened animal pulled and pressed and stretched too far beyond his capacity to learn and grow and develop. His daddy done wrong by him, Victor thinks. He should've given Dean up to care when he turned thirteen and it became plain what he is- what he will always be, however hard he tries to hide it. Then the bitter truth bites at him. If Dean Winchester is one step up from a trained dog, then what does that make him?
He sits. He watches Dean perch on a stool opposite him, gun trained and steady, as he whips out his phone, and calls his father. Of course John Winchester has escaped. That's what he does- he works locks, and vanishes into thin air, and takes his son with him. Victor doesn't know what breed the other son is, suspects from the way Dean's face looks when he's mentioned, that little Sammy is an Omega as well if he's shown yet. Double the reason for them to stop John Winchester. He's not only committed far too many crimes, he's denying his sons the chance to live happy, healthy, adjusted lives, the chance to meet an Alpha who'll take care of their every need, protect them from everything in the world.
One thing he regrets is that it was his team that ever took down Dean Winchester. This was how this whole mess began- and ended with Dean Winchester holding a gun to his head.
It should've been routine. They've been tracking John Winchester a long time- everywhere he travels there are unexplained deaths, dug up bodies and a series of people who seem to be on drugs rambling about demons and monsters. Victor has looked monsters in the face before, seen men who've abused their own children, murdered those who should be closest, done terrible things, but John Winchester he thinks is a special brand of ruthless amorality, the kind of vicious killer who doesn't have a pattern, but does have two sons in tow. That's the most they know about him really, the most they've been able to pick up, until this anonymous tip-off that there's a ghost in San Diego, and on a hunch Victor had leapt on it. John Winchester liked freaky shit.
They'd been wrong and right. They had found a man digging up a grave it was true, and burning the fucking bones but it wasn't John Winchester. It was his twenty year old son Dean Winchester, tall, well built and growing up just like his daddy, and he hadn't come easy- fighting and kicking every step of the way. Victor had been in the other car, hadn't thought he'd even get a chance to interrogate him, no matter how much he itched to. He was the most junior member of the team though, way down the pecking order, and this wasn't his solo case. So he mostly watched through the one way glass as Detective Huertas tried to shake the information out of him as to where John could be found.
Dean was a slippery fucker though, who didn't give an inch, just took them- miles and miles of them, spinning Huertas a sob story about how he hadn't seen his daddy in years, how his birth name was Bruce Dickinson (Victor could barely refrain from thunking his head against the glass at that, since Huertas didn't appear to have heard of Iron Maiden,) and hell it was all just a college dare to dig up a body. He told a good yarn, Victor had to give him that. If he didn't know who and what Dean was, he might even have believed it. Not the college kid bit though. No college kid had eyes like that- hard, wary and calculating as hell.
Even Huertas got tired though of sarcasm and batted eyelashes, and while they could probably make grave robbery stick as a charge, they all knew there wasn't much point. John was the big fish, the one they wanted, Dean was just a way to him- and if he wouldn't give him up then there was no point to this threatening farce. He was a bit surprised when Huertas jerked a thumb at him. "Give it a go," he said, "see if you can get anything out of him."
Victor hadn't been expecting any more success than Huertas, but he hadn't expected Dean Winchester to fall silent either, not so much as a smart-ass remark when Victor walked in. He went over the facts of the case, good and proper, offered the deal (you go free Dean, and we get your brother the help he needs, and maybe some for you. Just give up your daddy,) that he already knew Dean would never accept. After a minute, he loosened his tie- because damn the room was hot, and when he looked at Dean properly, he saw the sweat beading on his forehead, teeth clamping down hard on the full curve of his bottom lip as he clenched his hands together on the table. "You don't look so good," he said, not without his doubts as to the authenticity of Dean’s sudden illness. Hospital was easier to escape from than the jail cell.
"I'm fine," Dean wheezed, but his face was flushing and when he shifted, it hit. He smelt so fucking good that Victor felt bowled over by it, taken aback because this meant way way too much. First off Dean was a criminal, a no-good, corpse-burning, gun-toting wisecracking waste of honest space, and exactly the wrong sort of person to want to fuck. Second of all, Victor had smelt this before. A lot. The smell that Dean was currently exuding was that of unbonded Omega, and that put a new complexion on everything that had happened so far. Dean wasn't responsible for his actions- his Alpha was, and until he bonded his Alpha was John Winchester. Now though, Victor realised with a sense of mounting dread, Victor was. It was Victor’s presence that was sending him into heat, and that meant he was his mate.
He knew that, deep in the pit of his stomach, where it just clicked inside of him that the man sitting opposite him was his Omega. And while a little bit of his brain wanted to be sensible, wanted to walk out the door and organise somewhere safe, secure and private to fuck Dean silly and complete their bond, most of him just wanted to leap over the table and fuck him- whether anyone was watching or wasn't. Dean looked at him, and for the first time there was doubt in his eyes, indecision- like he knew what Victor was thinking of. "Fuck off man," he said. "You're not sticking it up me." It was the dying shreds of defiance though, Dean had no more choice about wanting this than Victor did. And if Victor walked out now, left Dean to his heat, Dean would die a long, slow and agonizing death. Winchester didn't raise his sons to be fools, even if they were Omegas.
Victor leaned across the table, and kissed him- less a kiss and more a violent shove of mouth against mouth, a trace of blood flooding his mouth with copper, and Dean made no protest, just opened his mouth and reciprocated, no more nonsense with 'no.' At some point, when he had his hand down Dean's pants, and his tongue in Dean's mouth, Victor thought that fucking in the full sight of his colleagues was really not the smartest idea ever, and he broke away gasping in air, finding it difficult to even think. It must be what being an Omega felt like all the time, he thought distantly.
A cell had been cleared for them, and the camera switched off for the sake of some meagre privacy. Luckily in a tiny local jail like this one- well out in the outskirts, there was one drunk and he was processed and dispatched. Every second Victor had had to wait, had ramped up the fierce lust in his body until he was hard and aching and just wanted to fuck Dean regardless of the consequences, with no other thoughts than burying his dick in his body, feeling that ass clench around him and then knotting him until he was wet and marked, and Victor's forever with no denial possible. Sliding in him was the closest thing to heaven he'd ever felt, and he didn’t care how cliche it was, didn’t care about anything except fucking his mate, teeth against the fragile skin of his neck, sinking in deep, hearing every bitten back gasp that Dean couldn’t quite conceal, savage pleasure boiling through him. This was his, this was his, the endless repetition of it bit through him- every inch of this man belonged to him, and it was with searing pleasure that he felt himself swell, felt himself thrust in Dean so deep, be held so tight that they were going to be knotted together for more time than he’d have thought possible.
He might have blacked out a little bit, and when he came too, he was still tied with Dean. With the initial mate-heat fading from his mind, it seemed like the perfect time to tell Dean what was going to happen with him now. “You won’t be charged,” he said, and stroked a possessive hand down Dean’s flank, marvelling at the sheer physical strength of the man lying tucked up beside him. “It’s not your fault that your father didn’t treat you properly.” He made his voice intentionally deep and soothing.
It took him a long moment to realise that the ragged sound coming from Dean’s mouth was laughter. “Fuck you,” he said. “My father treated me just fine. He treated me like a human, like I was something more than a wet hole. I have a purpose Victor, and a job and it’s not being your bitch. Charge me if you like, I don’t give a shit.”
Victor was a little surprised by even this token show of resistance to be honest. Omegas were to be taken care of, cherished and protected. They didn’t need education, didn’t need anything other than their mate to make them happy, and he’d thought that Dean given the opportunity and the chance to revert back to his natural instincts would leap on it. He’d been captured and claimed, he didn’t have a choice about this all, but Victor wanted Dean to accept it. “You’re coming home with me,” he said, and made it a command. “I’ll care for you, and you’ll never want for as long as I live. You’ll never have to kill, or fight or risk dying again, I promise you that. You’ll be happy.”
There was silence, then Dean finally replied. "The sad thing is, I know someone who might've been tempted for five seconds by what you're offering. Five seconds before they remembered that what they were giving up would be free will. But you don't even get that five seconds from me. I enjoy what I do. I'm good at it," and Victor has heard a lot of lies from Dean tonight, and he knows instinctively this isn't one of them. Dean believes what he's saying. "There's no point even talking to you I know, you're like every Alpha dickhead in the world. Can't even see the merit in other people living at all."
Victor doesn't reply himself for long moments, digests what Dean is saying, and rejects it. It doesn't make sense, any more than the rest of Dean's life makes sense, any of what he does, or rather has been made to do by John Winchester. Switching the subject, he asks something that's been puzzling him. "How did you manage to fool the world for so long Dean?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"I went into heat at thirteen," Dean said promptly- he seemed to have no problem sharing his thoughts at least. "I went on suppressors the next day," and Victor finds it weird that that's the most shocking bit of Dean's entire spiel tonight. Suppressors are illegal, shipped in from Europe at enormous cost and hardly easy to get hold of, and Dean's been on them for seven years. "And I would have got away with it, if it wasn't for those meddling cops," he finishes. Victor again, is surprised. A sense of humour even one as puerile as Dean's isn't something you'd expect from an Omega. He shifts, aware that he's still in Dean, that his knot might be going down, but he's getting hard again. Enough talk, he thinks. It's a shame to waste their first mating heat on pointless chatter when he could be fucking Dean again. He shifts forward, can feel how wet and loose and hot Dean is when he pulls out, presumably virgin ass despoiled and with thoughts like that, he could go all night.
“Have you done this before?” he whispers into Dean’s ear. “Let someone fuck you like this, given into your needs and let yourself be fucked good and proper like an Omega should be?”
Dean’s laugh is a little more strained, and he’s pushing back now like he needs more, like he needs Victor to pound right back in and bring him off without so much as touching his cock.”Yeah,” he whispers in reply. “I’ve fucked and been fucked more times than you’ve had hot dinners. If I slouch a little I’m a subby beta, if I stretch a bit I’m a toppy Alpha who likes to fuck other Alphas until they scream and beg for knot and then pretend I’m denying them by pulling out.”
Victor hadn’t thought he was capable of jealousy like that, a hot rush in his veins that floods through him until he’s almost blind from rage. This is why they don’t let Omegas slut themselves around he thinks, this is why they should be kept pure and ready for their Alphas, ready to be claimed, because Victor wants to rip out the throat of every person who has had this before him. The tiny sensible bit that’s still there somewhere inside him, tells him there’s a reason Dean is saying this, inciting him, but it gets crushed by his deepest instincts, and he fucks even harder into Dean, tries to clean out every person who has had this before, strips his hand brutally down Dean’s dick, and bites down hard and hot.
When he next wakes up, his dick is hard again, though Dean is out of mating heat by now. He gropes lazily for Dean and meets only with empty air, and it’s with a pounding heart that he sits up and looks around. The cell is empty, Dean and Dean’s clothes are gone, and so the fucking bastard, are Victor’s clothes. With the cameras turned off, it takes him ages to attract any attention, and not one single person saw Dean stroll out freshly fucked with Victor’s clothes, wallet and ID. He’s aware of the stares and the not quite hidden jeer in the eyes of the local law enforcement. He got done over by an Omega and a criminal Omega at that, who was bonded to him. Humiliation floods him, sharp and heavy. Next time he sees Dean Winchester, he promises himself, he’ll finish this properly.
Victor knows he doesn't have that long to wait, knows he doesn't even have to search for Dean, not really. Once you were bonded with your Alpha, suppressants didn't really work anymore, not properly. And if Dean went into heat at any point, he'd have to crawl to Victor, and beg him to get fucked- or he'd die. As he'd said before- John Winchester hadn't raised a fool. Dean knew how this ended. It ended with a collar around his neck, and Victor vowing to love, protect and care for him while Dean nodded silently, mouth bound up in the traditional gesture of submission. He'd take Dean's obedience, he'd take Dean's words and he'd raise him right in all the ways he was lacking.
The thing is nobody ever told Dean that that's how it would end, and he didn't seem to know the meaning of give up. Like an enormous 'fuck you' the rate of burnings, grave desecrations and unexplained bodies seemed to double, and started appearing in more than one place at a time which Victor knew was a message to him. Dean Winchester was out there, following his daddy's orders not Victor's, and even that thought washed freezing hate through his veins, pulsing through him like a wound laid bare and rotten to the cool touch of the air. A month ticked by, then two and then a third, and by this point Victor was desperate enough to visit a doctor and ask how long, the longest heat cycle was.
The doctor was cool and firm with him, but told him what he needed to know. Omegas were supposed to go into heat monthly after bonding, but with the careful use of suppressants, and careful manipulation they could hold out for six months without needing it. "And at the end of that?" Victor asked.
The doctor stared at him. "No-one has lasted more than six months," he said. "Your Omega will have to be properly cared for at the six month heat or they will die," the words sounded like the euphemisms they were and Victor declined to bother taking the leaflets. Six months- that left him with three before he could be certain that Dean would come back. Six months in total without his mate. He tried to fuck other unbonded Omegas, even guiltily took home a married beta, but none of it worked. He could barely get it up, and couldn't sustain it in the least, his body telling him in mute ways that these other people were wrong for him, that he had a mate he should be fucking. So when Dean Winchester turned up, Victor had the worst case of blue balls ever, and he was desperate enough that his first thought on seeing the man standing in the kitchen was not chastisement but sex.
He didn't even feel the thwack of the wood against him, but when he woke up he was tied to a chair with carefully bound knots and Dean was chugging one of Victor's beers from Victor's fridge, and grinning that shit-eating smile at him. When he noticed Victor's eyes were open he raised the bottle in a cheerful salute. "Sleeping Beauty awakens," he says, and stands up to circle around him. "You don't look so hot Victor," he says. "You been eating well enough? Don't want you dying untimely after all."
"Fuck you," Victor says, and it's a curse and a plea at the same time. This close to Dean, every instinct is activated- he feels alive again, whole, and his dick is hard and eager despite him being restrained, if not cruelly then at least tightly and firmly. Dean can clearly tie knots well- not one of them is near enough Victor's bound hands that he has even a chance of getting free.
"All in good time," Dean says quietly. "I think we need some ground rules set out don't you. After all the key to a healthy relationship is communication," he says, clearly quoting from some beta magazine. "Besides I like you Victor. You're as dumb as fucking dirt when it comes to seeing beyond your nose, but you don't hold with prisoner brutality. You've got a reprimand on your record for speaking out against a superior who raped an Omega in custody."
"Those files are locked," Victor hisses, furious at this being brought up here and now, making him look weak.
"Well bully for me that I know people who know people who can get that sort of information. Also? You’re the only person I know who doesn’t want his good deeds brought up.” He hunkered down and peered earnestly up at Victor, and Victor’s traitorous fucking dick twitched at the sight- Dean’s mouth on a level with his dick. “And I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking how you get those ropes off and fuck me properly,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “Not that I blame you. I am a hot ass after all. That’s gonna have to wait though. There’s a reason I waited to come here until you were on holiday you know. Some quality time alone never hurt anyone and I am going to be in heat tomorrow. But before that, there’s some things you should know.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to tell me,” Victor said. “Get these ropes off me and we’ll talk.”
“Sorry, no can do,” Dean said, and he genuinely sounded a little regretful. “I’d love to untie you, maybe hold you down and ride that thick cock of yours, but you see the thing is, I don’t trust you not to try and escape, or to do something silly like try and take me down.” Victor doesn’t bother to reply, just gives another experimental yank at his bonds, watches Dean head back into the kitchen, then call out to him. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Victor is actually starving and his mouth is dry, and his pride wrestles with those needs.
“I’m good,” he shouts back, and Dean emerged, giving a shrug, another beer in his hand and a sandwich on a plate in the other.
“What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine,” he says with a grin, and wedges some of the sandwich into a mouth that Victor can’t help thinking should be doing something else instead- like engulfing his cock, or mouthing at him through his pants. He hopes the thoughts don’t show on his face, but something must do because Dean comes over and tilts his head back, holds the bottle up offeringly, his face calm. He’s not doing this to shame Victor it’s clear, and Victor grudgingly nods and Dean puts the bottle to his mouth and then lifts up. The first thing Victor thinks as the cool liquid flows in a thin stream down his throat, is that Dean’s lips have been on this bottle, and part of him tingles like he can actually taste that. Then Dean holds up a corner of his sandwich, let’s Victor take a bite, feeds it to him in bits.
He feels better after that- Dean even gets him a glass of water, let’s him drink it back, fleeting touch of his hand shiveringly hot on Victor’s skin. This close, he can see how green Dean’s eyes are, the smooth quality of his skin, appreciate the strength of the shoulders under the old jacket. No wonder he could so easily pass for a beta or an alpha. Victor knows what he is, and even he finds it hard to believe. Omegas cringe if they’re tall, hunch their shoulders in, cast their eyes down to the ground. Dean wears it well, looks at him clear and straight and nothing about him says Omega. He doesn’t smell of anything but that’s not unusual, lots of people’s natural scent is faint enough that it’s only during heat that they really start showing, and Victor is finding it harder and harder to hold onto his initial conceptions. He’s never met anyone like Dean before.
That leaves him with another problem though. If by some freak of nature and upbringing Dean isn’t a proper Omega (he’s not ready to make the mental leap that maybe most Omegas aren’t like that naturally), if he’s lucid, and intelligent and all the things that Victor is beginning to suspect he might be, then that makes him responsible for his actions. If Dean is clever and aware, then the killing, the desecrating, the trail of destruction that he leaves behind him- he has no excuse. And that means that Victor’s bonded is a criminal. He’s actually probably a monster, and like that he can’t take the idea. He’s not even going to entertain the possibility that Dean is anything other than what he seems to be- an Omega driven mad by what his father has done to him.
One thing that has happened during their conversation is that a rope is working loose under Victor’s continued gentle pulling. One of the knots hadn’t been secured properly, and the rope is slippery, so with growing excitement he pulls at it so gently he can hardly believe his own patience, until one wrist is almost free. Dean’s taking the stuff back to the kitchen, and then fussing around with something else, and with one hand free, Victor can work the other one loose as well. He seizes the opportunity when Dean goes outside to make a call, to tackle his legs, rub some life back into them, and then he hesitates for a split second- does he go for the gun in the drawer upstairs, or for the phone? That proves his undoing. Dean comes back into the room, sees him and reacts instantly, ferociously, slams Victor into the wall, knife pulled in a second, all facade of good humour dropped.
Which is how he ends up perched on the sofa, Dean Winchester opposite him on a stool, gun cool and ready pointed at his head, and hell whether he likes it or not, his previous fleeting thought- that Dean is a monster seems to be more and more accurate. He’s willing to die rather than submit it seems, and Victor isn’t sure enough that it’s a bluff to call it. He wonders if Dean is as good at poker. There’s no joking in Dean’s eyes now, no smiles on his face, he’s cool and collected as he thumbs at the number pad of his cell and calls his dad.
The conversation is short and simple- Dean’s side of it at least. “Yeah,” he says. “Got him,” then listens for a bit, “no,” he says firmly. “I’m giving it a try. I know it’s not the best idea, but I’ve got to give it a shot,” and Victor boggles a bit inside beside Dean saying no to Alphas apparently extends to his dad, and it’s another point in the not-a-normal-Omega box. “Sammy good?” Dean says, and there’s a softening in his voice that probably no-one but Victor could hear. He listens a moment more then clicks off, and turns to Victor again. “Sorry,” he says with a pasted on grin. “I’m going to show you something Victor. I know you’re a smart dude, and I’m sorry for your sake that things have gone down the way they have. You had the bad luck to bump into me, and you’re paying the price.”
Victor listens disbelievingly. Dean sounds genuine- sounds like he actually pities Victor for bonding him, rather than the other way round and that’s just wrong. Dean should be scared for himself, for his life, of dying, but instead he seems to think it’s Victor who has got the bad end of this deal. Dean’s the Omega here, but he makes it sound like Victor is the one giving up something not him. “What are you talking about?” he asks, tries not to feel fear. What is Dean going to show him?
Dean looks at him. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, then amends that. “Crazier than you already think I mean. But you have to know. Ghosts are real.”
Despite himself Victor can’t stop the laugh bubbling up. He’d actually been willing to entertain for fleeting seconds the idea that Dean was in control of his faculties, then he said something like this. “You are crazy Dean,” he says, and softens his voice a little, “but I can get you help. You’re only crazy because of all the stuff your father put you through.”
There’s no visible reaction from Dean, until he sighs. “They’re always like this,” he says, presumably to himself. “Come on, up you get.” He leads Victor to the door of his house, let’s him pass through first. When they’re in the car, he hands Victor the keys. “Follow my directions to the letter,” he says, “you already know what I’ll do if you try and double cross me.” Victor does, so he follows directions accordingly, drives until they come to an abandoned house. “The kids think this place is haunted,” Dean says quietly. “They’re right.” He tosses Victor a thin folder, and when Victor opens it a newspaper clipping, and two photocopied pieces fall out. The newspaper clipping is recent- kids saying they’d seen a ghost and that was why one of them had broken a leg. The other bits of paper are copies of older clippings. A man’s wistful face stares out from the paper, and Dean points him out. “He died of stab wounds,” he says, voice still soft.
“His killer was never found.” The date on the paper is the same as the day’s date, only twenty years out, and goosepimples are rising on Victor’s arms. He isn’t sure if it’s from the creepy information, or from the fact that he’s sitting next to a psychopath Omega. Dean gets out, hefts a bag over his shoulder and gestures Victor in front of him. They slip in through a side window, and Dean leads them into the front room. “The family who own the building never sold it,” he says, and his voice falls flat in the gloom. “Once or twice people have tried to squat but that never lasts.”
Victor looks around, at the heavy furniture, at the old fashioned carpet complete with a blood stain on it. “Why are we here?” he asks, and Dean glances at his watch.
“This one night of the year, he returns,” Dean said. “He’ll walk again, beg someone to hear what he says but no-one can.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Victor says, because his calm is snapping badly.
Dean shrugs easily and loosely, gets a canister of salt from the bag and scatters it around them in a large circle, and retrieves a shotgun as well. “Just watch,” he says. “It’s a death echo, and I’m starting to think that it’s transforming into a death omen. Which shouldn’t be possible unless something got through to it, someone has been here and triggered him out.” He looks at Victor and obviously decides to elucidate a little more. “We’ve always known about this one,” he said. “First hunter turned up here a long time ago, but there’s nothing you can do for a death echo. When the same ghost starts tapping people on the shoulder who later end up dead though, that’s a different story.”
People dead of mysterious wounds is more up Victor’s street, and he knows surprisingly what Dean is talking about. “You mean the recent three stabbings don’t you?” he said, and he can’t believe they’re talking rationally about this. Dean nods at him, and Victor thinks it out. “They were unusual,” he says slowly. “Either the same person or a copycat killer. Three stabs, two to the heart and one in the groin, and a slash across the throat deep enough to sever vocal cords.”
“Exactly how Robert died,” Dean says, looking round the room. “No wonder the poor bastard hung around, and no wonder he couldn’t tell anyone even as a death omen. Cutting his throat didn’t just mean he couldn’t scream as he died, it means he can’t even communicate as a death omen. Some things sink deep.”
The weird thing is, if Victor deducts the insane ghost stuff, there’s a glimmer of a case here. Robert is far enough back in the records that no-one has linked him to the present killings, but it’s by no means unknown for a murderer to leave a gap of years between kills. If Robert’s killer is the same person carrying out the present day murders this could provide real information. He’s still pondering on that, and wondering how long Dean is going to make them stand in this moldy desolation surrounded by salt when it appears.
His mind can’t grasp it at first. There’s this wavery shimmery being standing in front of them, hands stretched out imploringly, then shooting up to where its neck is spurting blood, as deep wounds soak through its ghostly clothing, and it’s got to be some fancy hologram or something, projected into the air from unseen cameras and light sources, but then it moves, and there isn’t any technology he knows of that can do that, as it staggers across the room, and falls to its knees. It flickers back to where it started, and Victor is startled out of his confusion by Dean whose face is twisted with a sort of bone-deep pity.
“This is proof,” he says quietly.
“Why the hell are we just standing here?” Victor demands. “Why aren’t you putting the man out of his misery?”
Dean shrugs baldly. “There’s nothing we can do,” he says, “he can’t see or hear us, can’t see or hear anything but his killer at this moment in time. Tomorrow maybe it’ll walk again, contact the next victim, but tonight it’s caught.”
Victor can’t leave it at that though, not a bone in his cop body will let him, and he steps quickly out of the circle, ignores Dean’s shout of warning, and approaches where the ghost is shuddering through its death agonies all over, and flips out his ID. “I’m Victor Hendriksen,” he says calmly. “I’m an FBI agent and I want to find whoever killed you,” and damn he should feel stupid saying something like that to something that couldn’t possibly be real, but he doesn’t. Right here and now a murder is playing out in front of his eyes. The ghost ignores him though, closes its eyes again and stumbles backwards and Dean is right there beside him.
“There’s no point,” he says. “The best thing we can do for him is catch his killer, and that isn’t my job. It’s yours.” He steps back again picks up his bag and leaves without a second glance. Victor watches the ghost repeat one more time, sees a flicker as its eyes glance to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room, and follows the line of its gaze to the furniture. Nothing had been touched, he remembered Dean saying. The house hadn’t been sold- everything was the same. He was following instinct here, and he’s rewarded by the picture in a frame of Robert, arms slung around another man who is looking down at him affectionately. Most murder victims are killed by someone the victim knows, Victor knows that. Usually someone close. He takes the photo with him- it can’t hurt.
Outside they sit silent in the car, Victor just feeling the raw disbelief hit him. “Everything?” he says distantly.
“Everything,” Dean confirms, but stays quiet like he wants to let Victor process it. Everything. That means Dean and presumably John and Sam aren’t to blame for the destruction they’ve let behind them, and yeah that’s a relief in one way because if Dean is telling the truth and this isn’t some massive con, then Dean might be a petty criminal but he’s not a murderer.
“This is what you meant by having a job, isn’t it?” he asked when the silence got too much. “A purpose.”
“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “And I’m not giving it up. We save people Victor. We hunt evil, and we save people’s lives, but to you guys it’s never the lives we save that count, just the ones we can’t. But whatever it takes I’m not stopping. Once you’ve seen how you help, you can’t stop.”
“Are there other things than ghosts?” Victor asks, not so sure he wants to know the answer.
“Too many to count,” Dean replies. “Stuff that’d make your flesh crawl with disgust I can tell you that.”
Victor digests that. There is evil in the world- he has always known that, it’s why he became a cop in the first place to help eradicate it. He hadn’t bargained on this being real, this particular brand of it, but in a way he wasn’t surprised. Why wouldn’t evil persist after death after all? “What do we do now?” he asks.
“We fuck,” Dean says simply. “You fuck me through my heat, and you don’t try and cosh me over the head at any point and drag my ass to jail. You let me walk out the door and go back to doing what I do best. Not kneeling like a bitch, but on my own two feet. I’ll hold out for as long as I can, so you can lead a normal life, only come back to fuck when I need it. And if you come across something supernatural you give me a call and I’ll see if we can do anything. There’s a surprising amount out there when you open your eyes to it.” He sounds casual, too casual and when Victor looks, Dean’s knuckles are white with tension.
“What if I don’t want that?” he asks.
“I’m serious,” Dean says. “I’d rather die than be what you think I should be. If this job has taught me anything it’s that dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. I’m not going to be your Omega. I’m not going to sit at your feet and let you run your fingers through my hair, and fuck me whenever you want to.”
Victor wasn’t surprised. Whatever Dean was, whether it was his genes, the way he’d been raised or just something inherent to him, it wasn’t malleable. It was unbending. “What if I wanted to come with you?” he says then, stares out into the darkness of the night. “What if I wanted to help?”
Dean has no answer to that, stares with wide eyes at Victor before looking away and letting out a deep rush of air. “You’re not a hunter,” he says, “you’ve got a life, a job, a family. Coming with us would mean giving that up, every scrap of that, and trust me you don’t want that. Plus my dad’s the alpha of our particular pack, and he doesn’t brook interference.”
“You argued with him,” Victor points out.
“I argue with everyone,” Dean replies promptly. “He raised me to defy the world and he understands that that means sometimes I need to argue with him as well. He won’t take it from you though. And it wouldn’t change anything. I still won’t be your Omega. I’m still going to hunt and kill and put myself in danger and if you got in the way of that, I wouldn’t take it, and neither would my dad to be honest. I don’t think you could take it Victor.” He leans closer and Christ he smells good, just a tinge of heat beginning to rise from his pores, and Victor wants him more badly than he’s ever wanted anything before. “We come from different lives,” he says and he sounds a little sad Victor thinks, like if things were different he wouldn’t object so badly. “Saving lives means more to me than anything else, and I won’t give that up.”
Victor can’t resist anymore, has to slide a firm hand round his jaw and pull him in to kiss him properly. It’s been three months since he’s even tried with someone else, all he wants is Dean, all he’s wired to need is Dean, and Dean is pulling that away. It’s Victor’s job to convince him, he thinks hazily, convince Dean to stay, or to let Victor come. Dean shrugs away from the hand, uses his own to pull Victor closer, jammed awkwardly in the car, and he’s sweet on Victor’s tongue, smells deep of gunpowder and salt, and Victor can’t really imagine giving this up, this awkward, bizarre parody of an Omega. It’s easier in a way to think of him as a Beta, except no Beta has ever made his heart pump this hard or his dick swell this fast just from a kiss. “I’ll come with you,” he says, an impulse resounding through him, and he kisses Dean between his words. “I want this,” and it’s just the truth, prompted perhaps by adrenaline, something he’ll regret in the morning maybe, but for now it’s God’s own honest words falling from his lips, and Dean is responding to that, tongue pushing deep into Victor’s mouth, not yet enough in heat to even pretend to be submissive in any way, and Victor lets him, God he lets him, and that sends panic flooding through his veins in a way that seems hardwired to his dick.
“Let’s go back,” Dean says, pulls away and lets Victor drive back to his house. When they step in, the heat smell is stronger but Dean isn’t over the edge yet, and he clearly doesn’t trust Victor yet, clears out anything that could be a weapon from near the double bed that is substantially more comfortable than the cell they’d first shared, and then finally, finally kisses Victor again, pushes him down and holds his hands above his head with a stern practiced grip, and Victor’s played like this before but always with the knowledge that he could tug free in seconds if he wanted, something he can’t be assured of with Dean and it strikes iron into his soul and to his cock anchored as he is with Dean’s hands around his wrists, and Dean’s weight on his chest as he bends down to kiss him again, hot and willing and ready, and Victor needs it. When Dean slides himself wet and ready onto the heat of Victor’s dick it feels even better than the first time they mated, and he can barely take the swell of pleasure as he thrusts upwards, jerkily into Dean who rocks himself downwards, meets Victor’s every movement with one of his own.
And when he knots Dean, when he swells so big that it doesn’t seem like Dean can take it, he can hardly understand how this can feel so good, and yeah this wasn’t the best position to knot in ever but that’s the last thing on his mind, with Dean coming between them, smearing white and sticky, curses dropping from his lips, and his fingers digging so deep into Victor that he’s going to bruise if not bleed but he can’t feel a thing beyond the pleasure.
Dean slumps down- carefully, back arched as he rests on Victor for a moment, breathes in deep like he’s lacking air, and there’s satisfaction on his face not shame or anything close, and that puzzles Victor. Omegas get fucked, Alphas fuck, Betas go both ways sometimes but usually pick one. He doesn’t get why Dean isn’t ashamed of this since he seems to reject everything else an Omega should like. When he half-asks, strokes a lazy hand down Dean’s back to where he’s stuck tight round Victor’s knot, Dean raises an eyebrow.
“For a cop you don’t listen much,” he says, runs a finger through the come between them, and flexible as a whip, bends a little, pushes up and deep past Victor’s thighs, doesn’t penetrate him but threatens close. “Alphas like it as well,” he says, low and dark like it’s a secret just between them. “What goes up my ass says nothing about me, and it doesn’t say anything about anyone else either. I’ve fucked Alphas who just wanted knot and couldn’t take it but wanted to try, and Betas who weren’t shy about wanting it both ways,” and Jesus, Dean’s kind of a slut Victor thinks, and while the familiar swell of possessive anger is there, a weird curiosity is as well. “If you come with me, you’ll have to get used to it,” Dean says.
“I’m not letting you fuck anyone else,” Victor says, and there’s the beginning of a growl in his chest even at the thought. He thinks he might be willing to change a little, can put Dean into a different category at least, but that’s about ten steps too far.
“Then you’ll have to keep me satisfied,” Dean says, and it doesn’t look like he’s joking. “I’ll bend over for you gladly Victor, but when I’m not in heat it’s not going to work like that. I’ve worked too hard, and hustled too many dollars to pay for suppressants over my life to change it up now,” and Dean’s tossing down the gauntlet if Victor is willing to pick it up, willing to thrash out details right here and now, buried deep inside Dean, half unable to think straight and all consumed by the nearness of his fucked up mate.
“I’ll try,” Victor says, because fuck if ghosts are real, maybe self-determining Omegas are as well.
Dean fixes him with a long look. “There’s no try,” he says. “Only do or not do.” He can’t quite keep a straight face though, and when he laughs it sends tremors all the way through Victor makes him want to start the next round early, because he sort of thinks that this whole situation, and his whole future life is messed up but the sex is going to be really fantastic.
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