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Hyacinth Show, the sign outside the convention center had proclaimed in proud, sweeping purple letters, edged with flowers, the entire building apparently rented out. Underneath, smaller, in an inoffensive pink, Tricounty Omega Show. Just in case, Sam guessed, anybody wandered in with a tray of bulbs, confused about exactly what kind of pageant they were holding.
"Think this is the place?" Dean had asked as they walked in, nudging Sam and pointing up at the sign, easily as big as the car. Sam hadn't laughed.
Another sign, more flowers, very clearly pointed Contestants towards a table filled with gift bags, pastel tissue paper blooming between corded handles. A beta sitting behind a gap in the rainbow looked expectantly up from her laptop as they approached, smiling.
"Hello!" she chirped. "I'm sorry, but your omega needs to be present for registration."
Dean touched Sam's hip, briefly. With a sigh he forced out through his nose, Sam looked away, then unclipped his tags from his collar and handed them over. She looked startled, finally seeing what was around his neck. Stunned, really. When she saw his information, it only got worse.
"Winchester?" The disbelief landed on calluses, didn't sting. "He's...not what we were expecting."
Sam smiled tightly. "I never am."
She looked surprised all over again. It took Sam a second to realize it was because he'd spoken. She handed his tags back (to Dean), along with a lanyard, a thick folder, and one of the gift bags. Pointing, she told him, "Orientation is over there, in the atrium. Just follow the signs."
As they walked away, Dean put a hand on the small of Sam's back, and cleared his throat.
"What?"
"Could lean on the family name," Dean pointed out. "Just a little. Classy stock, man. Sure it's the only reason they approved your application." He looked at Sam, then shook his head. "It's like you don't even wanna win this thing."
Sam said nothing. As they walked into the atrium, which did indeed have a huge, flowery Orientation sign over the doors, Dean added, "This was your idea, so you better fix your face before they start knocking points off."
They grabbed aisle seats in the back. Automatic. Dean flipped open the folder as they sat, then tore loose a tag that'd been taped to the inside. Sam caught a glimpse as he clipped it to his collar with his legal tags: "Contestant #31." The lanyard Dean draped over his own head, hanging six inches past his bronze amulet, declared him Sam's handler.
Sam tried very, very hard not to bristle at that, mindful of the fact that everybody around him would be able to smell how he was feeling. And there were a lot of "everybodies," few empty seats. It wasn't so much different from calling Dean his alpha, he reasoned. Although that kind of pissed him off right now, too.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" Sam jerked in his seat as the microphone at the front of the room boomed, a beta in a powder-blue suit beaming out at the audience. Sam hadn't even noticed him come out. Dean's hand, steadying, landed on his shoulder, and there was a two-second nuzzle of his ear. "Well, I see some familiar faces out there. Tell me, is this anybody's first-time show?"
Hands went up. Alphas and betas only. Dean didn't raise his until Sam nudged him, mindful of how different the rules were in here.
It wasn't like they were a whole lot less restrictive outside. There were some places, though, like this one, in which the reality of what Sam was bound him tighter than zipties on his wrists.
"Looks like we've got an excellent turnout," the beta went on. "This is an absolute gorgeous crop of omegas here, I cannot wait." He introduced himself. Sam didn't catch his name, it probably didn't matter. "And I am very pleased to be your announcer. So, for those of you who have never been in an omega show before...you're in for a real treat. You'll get here at nine tomorrow for a rehearsal. You'll be able to set up your spaces backstage, and handlers and omegas will learn their marks. We won't actually go through any of the routines, we want to keep it a surprise for the judges and all the other contestants."
He winked. Tittering from a few omegas. Sam swallowed.
"After the rehearsal, we'll review all your paperwork with you, make sure everything looks good and is up to date," the announcer continued. "No mated omegas sneaking in here with concealer on your neck and scent blocker spray on…" He waved a reprimanding finger. More giggling. "Now, Saturday. The show consists of five portions. First, backstage judging. This is always the toughest part for the alphas; the omegas just get to stand there and get told how pretty they are, so should be a lot of fun for them. Next, we'll have you come out, I'll tell the audience your omega's name and a little bit about them. Third is the obedience portion, and then we have the talent portion. After that, we'll have an intermission, one hour. Our pretty little omegas can run backstage and freshen up, our alphas can grab lunch for them. Then our final portion. If anybody's bringing pups, you might not want them coming, because that last one's my personal favorite: the knotting display."
He started detailing what was in their gift bags after that, and the various prize packages. Sam tuned him out. All he cared about was the $5,000 check attached to first.
He looked around, taking in all the other omegas he could see. Tiny, big-eyed things, with soft rosebud mouths and delicate little features. He was the only one there over six feet, by a long shot. He might even be the only one over five feet. He didn't see any other plain leather collars like this, worn soft and comfortable and light around the edges. All the rest looked like jewelry, even though none of them were mated.
They were looking back at him, too. Some shocked, some curious, like they didn't understand what they were seeing or what he was doing there. The stares were heavy, and Sam was used to the weight of them, had been carrying them since he presented. Even before he hit his growth spurt and still looked like an omega, he sure as hell didn't walk or talk like one.
They all kept their distance from him, when the announcer finished up and Sam and Dean stood. Like he was hiding alpha teeth. The divide between him and them suited Sam just fine.
Dean stopped him on the way out, leaned in to nuzzle him. While he was there, he muttered, "I'm not gonna let you do anything you don't want to."
Sam didn't have the heart to tell him he already was.
Friday morning, they came back to the convention center, lanyard and tag already on. A show official in a bright purple vest led them backstage, where makeshift dressing rooms, each with a vanity and chairs, had been marked off by flower-print curtains.
Most of the other stations were already occupied. One had two omegas in it, probably twins, with identical copper curls. Their alpha had one bent over the vanity, fucking her as the other gave feedback on her breathy little noises of pleasure.
Sam looked away and Dean put a hand on his shoulder, but he wasn't sure if he wanted it there or not. The air was thick with the scent of omegas and sex. He smelled excitement, but there was a bitter, savage edge to it that he didn't like.
In their room, Sam swung his backpack off his shoulder, started taking out the clothes he'd be wearing. He felt eyes on him, was so acutely aware of how little he belonged here. Next to him, Dean laid out hair products. His, because Sam's weren't scentless. No cologne, no deodorant. Sam had been disgusted by that, reading the rules in the packet they'd been given.
"Judges need your scent coming through loud and clear," Dean had pointed out, then paused. "Too bad we couldn't have timed this closer to your heat."
"What? So you could fight every alpha willing to crawl over broken glass to get to me?"
They'd brought some of the stuff that'd been in the gift bag, too, under the pale blue tissue paper. Makeup Sam didn't think either one of them knew how to apply. Hair decorations he absolutely could not pull off. A really nice leash, they actually needed that, even if it was kinda...girly for Sam's tastes, a delicate strand of braided leather with a heart charm hanging off the clasp. A little booklet full of the latest hair and makeup styles. Useful, maybe, since they had no idea where to start.
"Is that all you brought?"
They'd both already half-turned at the sound of footsteps and an unfamiliar scent. An alpha, brunette, pantsuited, wearing a handler's lanyard with a 17 on it. Her eyes were wide and her lips were slightly curled as she looked at their vanity.
"Yeah. So what?" Dean asked, thankfully before Sam could say anything.
"No makeup?" 17 demanded. "What they passed out yesterday doesn't count. No other collars? No lingerie? Is there even anything there for your omega, or is it all for you?"
"It's for Sam," Dean said flatly. "He doesn't need anything else. Look at him." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezed.
"Oh, I'm looking," 17 agreed, "and if you wanna have any chance at all, you'd be trying to cover up as much of what I see as you possibly can."
The beginning of a growl rumbled out of Dean. Sam threw an arm across his chest and a hand across his mouth before he could move, or 17 could see his teeth. She laughed.
"Which one of you's an omega, again?"
There was a tense second. The growling Dean was trying to keep in was vibrating through the long bones of Sam's arm, and 17 had fallen into an instinctive fighting position. Then a show official, looking irritated, suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Sam hadn't even heard him coming.
"Just to remind the two of you," he began, annoyed, "fighting is strictly against Hyacinth Show rules, as outlined in the packets you were given yesterday. So are any displays of threat or aggression. You touch another alpha or any omega other than your own, you're out. This is strike one for you both."
He handed Dean and 17 both a bottle of water, plastic frosty with cold, and ordered them to split up and cool down. 17 returned to her dressing room, and the official left, after watching her go.
They'd really gone all-out on this thing. But Sam could see how fights would be common, in this kind of place. He felt like he was gonna have to take a dip in tomato juice to get the hormones off him.
The rehearsal was mostly for the alphas, since they'd be doing all the work directing the omegas, who weren't expected to do much besides obey. They learned their marks, the routine and order of the whole show, where to stand and how to walk. It was like prancing around on thumbtacks, and Sam knew it'd only be worse tomorrow, during the real thing.
He kept quiet, reminding himself it was for the two of them, to get out of here and keep on doing what they did. Find the thing that killed their parents, find out what it wanted from him specifically. Hunting didn't give a shit what subsex you were and apparently demons didn't, either.
The records review was next. Plastic tables were set up in a large, echoing room, a beta behind each. Sam and Dean sat down in front of a distinguished-looking one with a mild voice. He started reading off Sam's entire life, as told by the federal government, as soon as he had his name and social security number.
"Samuel William Winchester, born to John Winchester, alpha, and Mary Winchester, beta, on May second, 1983," he started. "John Winchester assumed full custody on November second, 1983. Presented on February eighteenth, 1998; registered, collared, and claimed by Dean Winchester, alpha, on same day. Ownership transferred to John Winchester on March thirteenth, 1998." Sam glanced, briefly, at Dean next to him, out of the corner of his eye. "Received special dispensation from John Winchester to attend...Stanford University. On August fifteenth, 2001."
The beta hadn't batted an eye when he saw Sam, but now he was surprised. He looked at him, and Sam flashed a tight smile.
"Only omega in his program," Dean announced with a grin, patting his shoulder. "Made an exception 'cause of his grades."
The pride in his voice, genuine and almost entirely free of hurt, was like a tripwire for Sam's brain. Good thing he wasn't talking.
"Legally registered serious courtship with Jessica Elizabeth Moore, beta, on January tenth, 2003, with special dispensation from John Winchester." The reviewer looked at them over his glasses, even though he wouldn't have been able to smell the dark pulse that rolled through Dean's scent. "Graduated from Stanford University with a Bachelor's in Criminal Psychology on June eleventh, 2005, received special dispensation from John Winchester to apply to Stanford law program on June eleventh, 2005. Withdrew application on November third, 2005. Courtship with Ms. Moore ended with her death on November third, 2005. My condolences."
Sam swallowed. Dean's hand moved from the shoulder to the nape of his neck, scratching at his hairline.
"Ownership officially passed from John Winchester to Dean Winchester in 2006, exact dates not recorded, with John Winchester's death...again, my condolences."
They didn't have to file the death certificate. They could've forged the paperwork, same as Sam had done with all the special dispensations he'd gone to California on. He could've belonged to an alpha that didn't exist and, therefore, to nobody. But he'd wanted Dean. And Dean had agreed to it a lot quicker than he'd expected him to, back then.
"Legally registered serious courtship with Dean Winchester on June tenth, 2006."
Dean's hand didn't move from Sam's neck, but Sam could smell his surprise. He hoped it wasn't too obvious. He'd had to forge Dean's signature on a lot of paperwork, exploit a lot of legal loopholes so he wouldn't have to be present for signing and filing, and that was just what they needed right now, all that coming to light.
"Any intention to mate at this time?"
"No," Dean replied after a pause. Sam told himself that, if they were out in the real world and he could talk, he'd say the same thing.
"All right, looks like everything's in order, then." The beta typed something, then nodded at them. "Thank you. You can go, and we'll see you tomorrow."
They didn't talk, getting up, Dean leading Sam away from everybody else as they didn't look at each other. Sam softly cleared his throat on their way out of the building, pulling the contestant tag off his collar.
"I didn't." He cleared his throat. "Want you to find out that way."
"When did you do it? Register us."
"Not too long after...Dad died. I-I just wanted you to have as much of a claim to me as possible, just in case."
That wasn't the full reason. Maybe it wasn't even part of the full reason. But Dean didn't ask in case of what.
"Thought you hated that bullshit," he said instead, side-eyeing Sam. "All that...keeping track of where you are and who's supposed to be looking after you and who you're fucking and if you've got permission to do that. How many schools did you nearly get kicked outta for writing essays about that exact thing, man?"
Sam looked away, wished he still had bangs to hide behind. He'd been growing his hair out longer than he'd ever had it before. He didn't say anything, and neither did Dean until they reached the car.
"Whatever." Dean coughed. He smelled...complicated. "I ain't mad. Would've done it for you if you'd just asked, must've been a huge pain in the ass to get it filed without me there."
"Yeah, it was, uh," Sam agreed, relieved. "Lotta hoops to jump through. Definitely."
In the car, Sam took Dean's lanyard off for him, knuckles brushing against his jaw on the way. There was more relief as Dean rubbed automatically against them, simple pleasure dotting his scent. Sam was hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. Their motel was shitty, as per usual. Didn't provide much at all in the way of nesting materials, but maybe he'd build one when they got back to the room anyway. Kick his boots off and crawl in with Dean, not come out until tomorrow. Yeah. That sounded good.
Halfway there, Dean said, "Hate to say it, but...maybe we oughta look into the stuff that douchebag was talking about."
Sam was shaken out of thinking about snagging some of Dean's dirty laundry (which he suspected he kept a large supply of just because he was lazy, and not actually for Sam's benefit) and using it to pad out the nest. "What?"
"Y'know, the - the lingerie, the makeup. All that." Dean waved a hand. "I just wanna boost your chances much as possible. Everybody else seems to be going whole hog on this stupid thing, so maybe we oughta just...pick some stuff up, y'know?"
"With what money, Dean?" Sam asked with an incredulous look. "The room's paid up through the end of the week, and we can't get that money back. All the credit cards went bust and we're too hot right now to get new ones. We've barely got enough cash on us to eat and keep some gas in the car."
"Well, we are shooting for first prize here," Dean pointed out, avoiding Sam's eyes. "Any prize."
He parked in front of their room. Sam didn't get out of the car, just staring across the bench seat at Dean. He realized he'd unconsciously scooted back, up against the passenger door.
"D'you not think I can win on my own?" he demanded.
"I didn't say that." Dean shook his head.
"Are you ashamed of me?"
It wasn't the first time Sam had asked the question. Not even the first time he'd asked it of Dean. It pulsed in the silence between them, an ugly, puckered wound Sam couldn't ever seem to resist digging at until it was putrid and seeping. He had a lot of wounds like that.
Dean looked at him, and kept on looking for a long time. Sam set his jaw, swallowing. When Dean pulled him into a kiss, hard and fierce, there was pain and guilt in his scent, and Sam couldn't quite read it.
"Of course not," Dean told him quietly when he pulled back. "You're gonna knock 'em dead tomorrow." He pressed his forehead, briefly, against Sam's. "You wanna choose where we eat tonight? Just...gotta be under ten dollars."
"Sure."
They got up the next morning, earlier than Sam liked to be awake if they weren't working a case, ate stale doughnuts and free coffee for breakfast in the front office of the motel. Sam didn't think he'd ever felt as bad about a hunt as he did about this. He knew Dean could smell it, because he kept touching him, looking at him, but they didn't say anything, didn't talk about it. The fact it'd all been Sam's idea hung around his neck like a fucking millstone.
At the convention center, the female omegas were all in feminine, low-cut dresses, the males in flouncy little suits. Sam was the only one in a tux cut for an alpha; an omega's suit in his size and shape would mean finding a tailor and shelling out a few grand they absolutely did not have and probably never would. His hair was washed and brushed but didn't have any product in it, as per the instruction packet.
They saw 17 and her omega, white-blonde with a dozen delicate freckles across the bridge of his nose, couldn't have been more than sixteen, on their way in. 17 smirked at them. Sam grabbed the back of Dean's neck, fingers hooking into the scruff and the leather cord of his necklace before he could growl, and steered him to their dressing room.
"We'll ask you to close your curtains and remove all your omega's clothing now, except for the collar," a show official called as she strode down the aisle. "If you've applied any makeup, hair products, or perfume, please remove it as best you can, but know that you will be marked down. The backstage judging portion will begin in a moment. Please wait your turn."
Another official showed up before they could close the curtain, telling Dean, as if reading off a script, "Since you haven't been in a show before, I need to inform you this will involve a beta touching your omega in intimate areas in order to judge them, and another alpha judging their scent. Can you control yourself, or would you prefer to be restrained?"
"I'm good."
"And does your omega need to be restrained?"
"He's good, too."
The official nodded approvingly, and it was as if Sam could feel the rules closing around his throat, choking him tighter than his dress collar. It was stiff black leather, shiny, only worn a couple times before. The edges felt like they were raising welts.
An uncomfortable, anxious few minutes after Sam undressed, not looking at Dean, the judges entered. Sam was on his knees, goosebumps ridging his skin, head bowed and hands cupped over his groin, spine itching with shame at the standard submission pose. He might as well be on his back, belly up, throat exposed.
The judges were a female beta and a male alpha. They paused, then the beta asked Dean, "How tall is he?"
"Almost six and a half."
"I need an exact height."
"Uhhh...six-four, I think."
A pencil scratched against paper, then the beta ordered, "Have him stand."
Sam almost did it on his own, barely remembered to glance at Dean first. Face the same kind of flat and distant as it got when a witness was a dick but they had to keep things professional, Dean nodded. Sam got to his feet to the sound of more scratching, and saw a severe-looking woman holding a clipboard and an older guy sniffing from a tin of coffee beans. He didn't look at Sam.
"Are you ready?" the beta asked Dean.
"Yeah," he replied, with a hesitation nobody but Sam would've been able to hear.
"This is the Winchester omega, correct?" the alpha asked, pocketing the coffee beans. When Dean nodded, he accepted the clipboard from the beta, who moved towards Sam and got started.
She looked at everything, giving her observations out loud, the alpha writing them down for her. She examined Sam's hair ("Dark chocolate in color, silky texture, no split ends"), eyes (that one took her a moment, before she decided "Hazel"), moles ("Present, multiple, dark"), teeth (in a disapproving tone: "Multiple fillings, chips, and possible caps present...but overall, health is good, eyeteeth are quite small and well-shaped"), and beard ("Clean-shaven, although I doubt there's much need to shave regularly").
Sam looked at nothing. She moved on to his body.
"Not much hair outside of pubic area. Complexion is good, even, tan. Hands are large but fingers are long and slender. Tattoo present on lower stomach, black and red ink, looks possibly...Celtic. Well-done, but mark it as a blemish anyway. Did he get it at your request?"
"Uh huh," Dean lied.
"Mark down the numerous scars, too, most superficial. What are they from?"
"We worked, uh, construction, when we were younger. And other stuff. Lotta hard labor."
That seemed to satisfy the beta. She moved on.
"Long limbs, lanky shape, good amount of lean muscle...is he a runner?"
That last question was directed at Dean again, who very briefly met Sam's eyes, then nodded.
Sam forced himself to stay absolutely still as the beta moved lower than his stomach, dispassionately stating, "Circumcised. Penis and testicles are large for an omega...very large...but well-shaped. Pubic hair is fine, well-groomed. Have him turn, please."
Another glance at Dean, who nodded again, and Sam turned, presenting his ass as he swallowed and tempered his scent. It was harder now than it ever had been while lying to a victim or a classmate or a monster.
"Shapely buttocks, although the hips are quite narrow, especially if taken in proportion to the shoulders...have him bend over." Calm, calm, calm… "Entrance is dusky in color, transitioning to pink."
Rubber gloves snapped on, and then she was probing at him. Sam could smell Dean, and focused hard on that. Imagined taking his cock in his mouth, remembered the last time they'd had sex. The time Dean had fucked him in the bathroom of a bar, both of them a little drunk, Sam protesting he didn't want to be stuck there for however long it took Dean's knot to deflate, Dean pushing through because they both knew he wanted it anyway, hands and mouth and dick so hot and hungry they were practically on fire.
"Easy production of slick." The beta sounded a little surprised. "Easy and willing entry, combined with partial erection...he can straighten up now, and face us again."
Sam turned around in time to see her taking the clipboard back, gloves discarded, and the alpha moving in. He stopped feet away, respectful, and closed his eyes as he took in his scent.
"He smells clean," he murmured. "Healthy. Nervous, though...don't worry, you're doing fine."
Sam was too surprised by the alpha addressing him rather than Dean to reply, thankfully.
"Very fertile omega," the alpha went on. "Although there is some interference...I'm not sure what it is, but it's not birth control. Not chemical."
That'd be the tattoo, faintly magical and designed to stop Sam from getting knocked up. Easier to get and afford than any pill, shot, or implant. The alpha continued.
"He's strong. Has a lovely, earthy scent, like a wet forest. Not many sweet notes to it, which is unusual for an omega, but still pleasant." He opened his eyes. "It may just be me, but I can...nearly detect the faintest hint of something like sulfur. Has he been to a hotsprings lately?"
Dean shook his head. Sam's emotions mirrored the smell of his: surprised and confused, with foreboding blooming dark beneath.
"Hmm. You may want to filter some of the veggies out of his diet, just to be sure...I can tell he eats a lot. He's getting the proper nutrition, though. Likely contributes to how good his hair and skin look. Overall, a very well taken care of omega, according to his scent, even if not." The alpha glanced briefly at Dean. "Conventionally so."
Sam had been able to smell Dean's tension rising through the whole exam, despite how good a job he'd done of controlling himself, and the last few comments had really ratcheted it up. With a subtle movement, the other alpha placed himself between Dean and the beta as she finished writing on the clipboard. Eyes on the two of them, Dean demanded, "So how's he look?"
"Your omega meets very few of the traditional criteria for a show omega," the beta stated. "Or even an attractive one. But I imagine you know that."
Sam was at Dean's side halfway through the first sentence, hand on his shoulder, trying to steady his own scent where it'd started getting a little rough. Dean stayed put, and the beta continued.
"However, the Winchester line is a very unique one, and rather obscure outside of certain circles, and Sam has almost every physical attribute that marks him as a perfect descendant." She squinted at Dean. "Interestingly, you don't seem to."
Dean frowned, glancing at Sam. The beta went on.
"As a result, I've rated Sam much higher than I would have normally." She tipped her head to him. "You have an exotic beauty there, Mr. Winchester. You should take pride in him."
After a second, Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder, and he thanked the beta. She seemed to accept it, despite how insincere it sounded, and then she and the alpha left their dressing room. Sam patted Dean's shoulder.
"You did good," he told him.
"So did you," Dean replied, then looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Didn't know you could get wet on command like that."
"I was thinking about you," Sam replied. Dean didn't answer, but smelled all kinds of chest-puffing pleased.
As Sam dressed, relieved not to have his cock out in front of strangers anymore, a large chunk of the anxiety and aggression steadily dissolved from Dean's scent. There was still a lot left over, which was to be expected long as they were here. Or anywhere else, there was always some, part of it alpha and part of it Dean. A slender beam of pride suddenly stretched through it, though, giving Sam pause as he shrugged on his jacket.
"She called you an 'exotic beauty.'"
"Uh huh…" Sam had meant to wait, bring it up later, but now he couldn't, anxiety spilling over. "What d'you think he meant? The alpha. When he mentioned the, uh, sulfur."
"I don't know, dude, we've kinda been - " Dean looked around, as if noticing the flimsy curtains they were surrounded by, then leaned in and lowered his voice. "We've kinda been tangling with a whole bunch of demons lately. Bet it's just them rubbing off on you, I probably reek, too. To Judge Hotshot Super-nose, at least."
A show official warned them that the backstage judging was finished and the show was kicking off for real in ten minutes. Sam finished getting dressed, styled his hair. It wasn't anywhere near what he probably should've done here, just some gel and spray to tame the usual mop of waves and curls, but he did his best, thought it looked okay when he was finished. And Dean did his makeup. Just a little bit of eyeliner, something light and tacky on his lips. To Sam's shock, when he glanced in the mirror, it was...incredible. Then again, Dean had probably smeared a whole lot of makeup, making out with a whole lot of omegas.
"Thank you," Sam said quietly, swallowing. "It...it looks awesome."
Dean clipped the leash to his collar at last call, and Sam realized that it was the first time he'd ever been leashed. Even in places that usually required it, he'd always gotten around it, special dispensation or passing as a beta. He tried to think of the physical tether to Dean as something positive, couldn't.
The lights on the stage were blinding, a murky wall between them and the vague faces of the audience as alphas and betas led omegas across, one by one. Moving slow, showing them off. Sam told himself the whispering he could hear from the audience and judges was not about him. Dean touched him, even though they'd been expressly told not to yesterday, and Sam could feel them losing points but didn't give a shit as the announcer gave his bio.
"And here we've got Sam Winchester, male, twenty-four years old. Graduated from Stanford University with a bachelor's in Criminal Psychology, of all things, and I'm sure I don't have to tell anybody here how impressive that is….Employed as a freelancer now. Currently being courted by his older brother Dean Winchester, who's also his handler, and I'm just gonna answer the question on everybody's minds: six-foot-four, folks."
Sam rolled his eyes. They probably weren't quite far enough into the wings for everybody to miss it.
He changed into his FBI suit before the obedience portion. It was a little less formal and a hell of a lot easier to move in. And much as Sam had been dreading this part of the show, everything it represented and everything it would make him feel, it...kinda went off without a hitch.
He hadn't thought he'd be able to force himself to do it, he and Dean hadn't trained. Or at least he'd thought that they hadn't. Turned out living out of each other's pockets and working cases without being able to talk much to each other was all the practice he needed. Scent cues, imperceptible movements in Dean's face and hands and body, eye contact: they moved like one person, a well-tuned machine, almost like the engine Dean had put back together with his own hands about a year ago. Sam walked, sat, moved, touched, traveling all over the stage as they worked through the list of commands an official had handed Dean, and Dean didn't say a single word the entire time.
There was shocked applause as they left the stage, and Sam caught 17 and her omega staring at them. He looked away before they could see him smirk to Dean.
He was starting to feel a little better. Then the talent portion came.
There was a lot of singing from the other omegas, dancing. A couple of musical instruments, but nothing too complicated. A few nest-built to awwing and cooing from the audience, which made Sam aware of the nest he hadn't actually gotten around to building last night. He closed his eyes, drawing in deep breaths, and Dean nuzzled him, letting him scent his throat and wrists. Finally, they were up.
Sam walked out, suit back in his bag and his tightest T-shirt, nicest jeans, and cleanest boots on. Dean carried a bundle under one arm, other hand on the leash. Smiling, the announcer asked what Sam would be demonstrating for them today.
Dean's first idea had been shooting. But pulling a gun in a crowded convention center? Not to mention the noise; even if the audience didn't panic, they'd all be deaf. Sam had talked him down to his second choice.
"Archery."
There was a ripple of abject shock through the crowd, scent and sound. Murmuring and whispering filled the auditorium, and even with the lights on, Sam could see the looks on the judges' faces. He lifted his chin, like an alpha would. Come and fucking get me.
The announcer laughed. He smelled bewildered, nervous. "Well, th-that's...certainly unexpected, there. Definitely never had that at Hyacinth...or any competition, far as I know." He took a step back, looking around. "Let's be sure to have all the other contestants clear the stage, and probably the wings, too, just to be safe...and the judges might want to move their table back some, I don't know."
Sammy...c'mon, look at me.
Dean unclipped Sam's leash, handed him the compound bow and quiver and, leaning in, murmured, "They don't think you can aim. Blow 'em away, baby."
Tell me the truth.
He set up the target, then stepped back, standing off to the side. Sam glanced over at him, and Dean nodded, small and subtle.
You honestly think it matters what you presented as?
Sam took a deep breath, then fell into a stance he'd practiced a thousand times before, one that'd saved his life on hunts. He loaded a Day-Glo fletched arrow, razored head removed, pulled it back with a ticking of gears, lifted the bow. Just like training with Dad, he told himself. Honestly felt pretty similar
You feel any different, really, in your head, beyond the normal presentation stuff? You feel like you can't protect yourself, like you don't need to? No, I didn't think so.
When Sam's first shot landed, crunching audibly into styrofoam, the audience gasped and flinched. Alarm spiked the air.
Listen, you're still my boy. You're still a Winchester. Omega or alpha, doesn't make any difference. Nothing's changed.
He knew he was good at this. Good enough to save lives, including his own and Dean's. Maybe he wasn't as physical as Dean, didn't have that same raw-edged savagery, red and wet and instinctive, but it wasn't like they were gonna give him a prize for researching poltergeists on stage.
Now. Pick up the bow.
The other shots landed. None of the half-dozen arrows went wide. Sam's hand didn't shake, and his freshly-cleaned boots didn't slip on the stage, among the rosin and sweat. And after he'd finished, Dean went to pick up the target. He showed it to the audience, tight a grouping as you could get with bolts rather than bullets.
There was silence. Then some tentative clapping. When Sam glanced at the judges (who had actually moved their table back some), they were all bent over their legal pads, scribbling away.
Sam had to remind Dean to clip his leash back on before he led him off stage. He felt tired and jittery, mouth the sour licked-battery flavor of an adrenaline crash, and had to bury his nose in Dean's hair before they were even in the wings. The stage lights had him sweating like a pig and Sam focused on that.
"Wouldn't know real talent if it bit 'em in the ass," Dean muttered. He nuzzled him back, arm around him, and Sam fumbled Dean's amulet into one hand, squeezing bronze. "You did good, Sammy, trust me."
"I know. Thanks."
As they walked past all the other contestants and their handlers, including the ones still waiting to go on, Sam knew they were looking. He spotted 17. Her omega was half-hiding behind her.
The rest of the acts didn't take long to wrap up. Slung out on the chair in their dressing rooms, Sam listened to the voice of the announcer echoing over the PA system, telling everybody they were going to take a quick half-hour intermission here before they moved on to the final event.
"And, of course, that's the knotting display, folks," he reminded. "Once again those of you with pups may not want to bring them back into the auditorium."
"What, like they ain't seen it out on the street before?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Or, like, literally anywhere else...hey. Remember the coffee shop? Couple days ago?" He kicked Sam's boot. "Couple over in the corner? Not to mention what we saw here yesterday morning…"
Sam grunted.
"C'mon, let's go get your blood sugar up. Gonna need it."
Sam got up, followed Dean out of their dressing room and down the aisle. He saw 17 coming before Dean did, was already reaching for the back of his neck and preparing to steer him through the nearest exit fast as they could move. But she got between them and the door, and her teeth were out, huge alpha canines showing to the gums.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself." If Dean had had hackles, they would've been rising at her growl. "Letting him do things like that. Look the way he does, act the way he does...you've so clearly got no idea how to take care of an omega."
There was a second where Sam almost thought they might be okay. Dean might be able to rein it in, they could just leave without any kind of incident. Then…
"He'd be better off dead."
Dean lunged. Even though Sam was ready for it and (barely) outweighed him, he just didn't have the raw power to hold him back from behind. There was a half-second blur of teeth and fists, a copper thread of blood on the air, and then they were surrounded by show officials, forcing them apart.
Soon as he could, Sam dragged Dean way, way back, trying to force his own scent calm to help him out despite how mad he was. 17's omega was nowhere to be seen, so a pair of purple-jacketed betas walked off with her. She was swearing, cradling her hand, but Sam couldn't see or smell a scratch on Dean.
"Are we disqualified?" he asked the first show official who came with earshot, forgetting he wasn't supposed to be talking. And of course his voice came out low and rough with aggression, which earned him a weird look but nothing else.
"Nah...not on show day. Not this close to the end, either." She shrugged. "Wouldn't be Hyacinth without at least one fight. Take him out…" She nodded to Dean. "Let him get his head on straight. You've got half an hour and you guys have plenty of contestants in front of you, so take as long as you need."
Sam was almost disappointed. Them getting kicked out would've meant 17 getting the boot, too. That might have been worth a few thousand dollars.
The stink of rage was mostly off Dean even by the time they reached the car, though Sam could smell plenty of low-simmering fury just at the surface. It wouldn't sink back down into its ordinary home under his skin for hours. Neither of them talked until they were sitting on the black hood of the Impala in a Kum & Go parking lot, eating beef jerky and drinking Gatorade. Sam was still in his dress collar and contestant tag. Dean's lanyard had been snapped right off his neck by 17; the nylon had raised an ugly burn on the nape Sam was only now seeing. He resisted the urge to lick it, contented himself with just moving Dean's necklace off it.
"I'm sorry," Dean said after swallowing a mouthful, clearing his throat. "I just...when she came outta nowhere and started...I don't know, man, it's - "
"Hey." Sam grabbed Dean's hand, squeezed. "It's okay." After a pause, he added, "Know it definitely would've got us thrown out, but I kinda wish you'd have just gone ahead and ripped a couple fingers off...y'know, taught her a lesson."
Dean smirked down at his boots, braced on the ground. "You hate me fighting."
"I'm an omega. I like when it's for me."
Sam rifled through the bag sitting between them, PowerBars and more Gatorade in it for after the show was over. Had to replenish while they were waiting on the other contestants, even if they got to celebrate a win by going somewhere that didn't leave its food under a heat lamp for eight hours.
"We don't gotta go back," Dean started eventually. Sam looked at him. "For the last part, I mean. We don't gotta go back if you don't want to. We don't gotta do that in front of all those people."
"We...gotta go back," Sam said, slowly. "We don't have a shot at the grand prize if we don't."
"You really think those snobs are gonna give us the grand prize?" Dean asked, looking up at Sam. "We're everything they hate. They can't stand us. I mean, we're white trash, Sam, I know you went to college, but we sure as hell ain't professional show people. And we - " He gestured back and forth between the two of them. "We're equal in this relationship. I don't have a boot on your neck and a hand on your ass, and they can read that off us, and they hate it."
We. Us. We. We. Like the problem was both of them and not just Sam, not just the way he walked and the temper he couldn't quite swallow and the six and the four slotted into the wrong places in his height.
Sam thought about 17, telling Dean not even twenty minutes ago he didn't know how to take care of an omega. Didn't know how to take care of Sam. He thought about Dean so casually using the word "relationship" just now.
"We gotta at least try," he said quietly. "I don't wanna quit, Dean."
"You sure? 'Cause I seem to recall you being pretty damn good at quitting, 'specially a few years back," Dean snapped.
Sam felt his mouth twitch. Dean's throat moved, and he smelled like anger and guilt and hurt and sweat. They stared at each other for a couple seconds.
"I'm sorry," Dean said, for the second time that day.
Sam bowed his head, pressed their brows together, the boney bridges of their noses. He stung and stung bad, only half-meant the gesture, didn't mean it at all when he told Dean it was okay again. He knew he could smell that. But he also knew it wasn't the only thing he could smell.
They went back to the convention center, making it in just as the first contestant and her alpha were unhooking from each other. Dean redid Sam's makeup, rubbed and sweated off, and Sam rolled his eyes under the pencil.
"Does it really matter? It's gonna come right off again."
"You really don't know anything, do you?" Dean paused to wink at him. "If it smears or runs, that's hot, Sammy. Which one of us has more experience with this?"
Sam didn't think he was making anything besides a normal expression, but Dean told him to lose the bitchface.
"It'll be okay," he added, holding Sam's chin thumb-to-dimple as he worked on his mouth. "Just focus on me."
Sam'd already been planning on it. Maybe he was good at quitting, but he'd like to think he was even better at following through.
They didn't go to watch the other contestants, just waited it out in their dressing room, Sam in the chair and Dean sitting on the vanity. As each twenty-something block slipped by, Sam wasn't still smarting enough not to look at Dean, cleaning dirt out from underneath his nails with a pocketknife just this side of legal, wiping the blade on his jeans. Big hands, thick fingers with squared-off tips. Freckles and white-sliver hairline scars. Eyelashes and lips that, considering their subsexes, really ought to have been on Sam's face instead. There was a lot of gold in him. A lot of their mother's shapes and colors, based on what Sam had seen from photographs and picked up from the rare story. Dean probably smelled like her, too.
They didn't really look the same, Sam and Dean. Didn't look a whole lot like brothers. But he'd always imagined - he knew - you could tell what they were by the pieces of each other that they carried in their scents, one so closely wound up in the other they smelled more like different facets of the same thing. And you could tell by the way they moved. Like siblings. Like partners.
Their cue came. Dean clipped the leash onto Sam's collar, and led him up onto the wings of the stage. The show official there looked up from his clipboard and eyed them critically.
"Are you...sure you guys didn't forget a costume or something?"
"Nope. This is how we're going out."
The official shrugged. "Break a leg."
Out on stage, the lights seemed to be as bright as they could go, all of them blazing down on a mattress. The judges were up there now, arranged in a half-circle around the mattress. The last contestant had barely finished up. The judges were scribbling furiously as a pair of officials put a fresh set of sheets down, curtains closed on it all.
Soon as the officials were out of the way, Dean led Sam out as the curtain came up. Stopping right in front of the mattress, he unclipped the leash, tossed it aside. Sam focused on Dean as the clasp clattered across the stage. It wasn't like he could do anything else. Wasn't like he'd ever been able to. Even walking out of Dean's life, letting somebody else court him, planning on mating with her...he was pretty sure his mind was on Dean the entire time.
He was the only one Sam had ever belonged to, really, no matter what the law or his records said, and the only one he ever would.
He kissed Dean before he could do anything. The crowd murmured, surprised. All Sam could really hear was Dean's heartbeat, surprised, but soon as Dean kissed him back, he could smell how pleased he was. He was starting to get excited. And, despite the audience, Sam was, too.
Dean unbuckled Sam's collar as they kissed, tags splitting the silence when they hit the stage. Things steadily heated up between the two of them as they mouthed at each other, Sam's mouth tasting more and more like Dean with every second that passed. Dean's lips dropped to his jaw suddenly, leaving Sam wet and gasping, eyes closed against the lights. Then Dean was on his naked neck, mouth running across Sam's barely-visible Adam's apple, and then the place where there'd be a double-crescent mark if he were mated.
His teeth barely grazed it, that patch of skin with so many glands and nerves concentrated underneath, and that had Sam shivering onstage, cock instantly hard and weeping. He wept from somewhere else, too, the scent of it lifting on the air.
Dean chuckled. His voice was low and throaty, whiskey and bone-smoke on a back road somewhere, summer cricket song and rough sex on the hood of a black car. "I got you wet front and back, don't I? Already. Think that's a new record."
Sam had his head thrown back, throat fully exposed for Dean to roam over, and Sam's hands ran up under his brother's shirt to finger scars and freckles. Their hips bumped against each other, hardnesses rutting and rubbing through denim and metal. Dean's amulet was pressed between them, horns digging very familiar bruises into Sam's sternum. The need for skin-on-skin was mounting between them and, Sam was sure, building in their scents.
They managed to get each other's clothes off, as they touched and grabbed and kissed. They were both only in T-shirts, a rarity for them, so few layers. Boots and jeans and boxers. Sam made omega noises he couldn't help, coos and sighs and whimpers and trills, and deeper ones slipped out, too, groaning like a beta, growling, even. Like an alpha. He couldn't hold it back, not with Dean dirty-talking like they were completely alone, like the judges and audience weren't watching them, like he couldn't feel the weight of hundreds of eyes roaming over every bare patch of skin that came out. Like he didn't hear the mutters when they saw Sam's tattoo.
Dean told Sam how good he was for him, how good he'd always been, how he was such a perfect, pretty little bitch.
It was the kinda thing Sam normally would've hauled off and slugged him for. Broken a couple teeth, at least. But Sam ate it up. Sex was the only place he'd ever felt like he was an actual omega, a real one, a proper one. Like there was a real difference between him and Dean. And he liked it.
Sam was blushing from face to cock, simultaneously embarrassed and thrilled even though, with every second that passed, he was less aware of anybody around him but his alpha. It helped that the audience and the judges had been making noises, murmurs and whispers and the occasional chuckle or growl, but as time wore on, they fell more and more silent.
Dean handled Sam well, same as always. He got him down on the mattress, kissing Sam, throat, chest, nipples. When Sam felt teeth on his skin, he arched, gasping, and spread his legs wide on instinct to present his dripping wetness. He wanted to be marked, wanted to be claimed.
"A-alpha," he whimpered, roughly. A judge scribbled right over his head.
Dean took his sweet damn time, entering him. He licked up and down Sam's stomach, nuzzled his ribs, scented at the slick that was practically pooling beneath him on the mattress, waterproof sheets getting sweaty and sticky even though they hadn't been down here long. The air reeked of sex and desperate omega. Sam dripped from his cock, from his ass. They usually faced each other, when they did this, made lust-blown eye contact, but this time, Dean turned Sam over before he slammed his thick cock home inside him with a snarl.
It felt better, somehow. A lot more proper. Quieted something deep inside Sam that'd been mewling and scratching for ages. Sated him.
Dean growled as he fucked Sam, rough and fast, filthy wet sounds gathering between the two of them. Sam's knees were spread so wide he would've been on his belly if Dean weren't holding him up by the ridges of his hips, calluses rubbing his sweaty skin practically raw. The head of his cock juddered back and forth across the sheets as Dean shook him, painting precome. Sam's chest was down, his face, hands clawing at the blankets as pleasure crashed over him again and again and again, cockhead ramming into his prostate, making all the right noises without even thinking about it. He quivered and spasmed around Dean, clutching him tightly.
Dean's amulet had stayed on. It struck Sam's back, grazed his spine.
"No one's ever fucked you like me before, have they?" Dean growled out. It sounded like he had to force every word past his teeth. "No one's ever...fucked you right, omega."
"N-no, alpha, never - "
Sam came once on his own, from his cock, when he realized that he could feel Dean's knot swelling just past his entrance every time that he slammed home. He cried out, shaking and bucking wildly, Dean holding him firmly in place. Sam didn't think the judges liked the thick white color of his come.
But he wasn't really focused on them. Dean was the size of the entire world inside his sex-blown mind.
When Dean knotted him, he came again, couldn't have stopped himself if he tried. A knot damn near the size of a grapefruit seating inside him, locking them together, a flood of hot, heavy alpha come filling his insides...slick gushed out of him around Dean, an orgasm from behind this time, deeper and longer as it shuddered through him from ass to head, heat filling his entire body. His eyes rolled, face tingling, vision fuzzing out, and it was so intense he might as well have knocked his head against the floor as hard as he could. He was completely spent as he came down, the very opening of him flexing a little, inner walls pulsing with aftershocks around Dean. His prostate pounded and his cock, soft again, twitched.
That was the strongest he'd had in a good, long time.
Dean was panting heavily above him. Sam could feel his thighs shaking. After a second, Dean grabbed Sam under the chest, then laid both of them down, rolling them over on their sides. Sam was too blissed out to even realize why he was doing that. His vision seemed to be throbbing and the lights were too bright, so he closed his eyes, panting so deep his belly heaved, drifting on quiet, exhausted bliss. He didn't ever wanna come down, especially not with Dean slotted in so neatly behind him, like a missing puzzle piece, holding him, their scents and sweat mixing together. Dean was nuzzling into his matted hair, the nape of his neck.
Sam was vaguely aware of someone, a beta, getting just a little too close. Dean growled.
"Sorry," the beta apologized. "Can you move, just a little? So we can see the tie?"
Dean cocked a hip back, and Sam could smell how grudging it was even as he whimpered at the shift and pull of the knot inside him.
"Beautiful," whispered the beta who'd made the request, and then a pen scratched on paper.
Sam had no idea how long it took Dean to deflate. Quicker than usual, he felt like, it was usually a good half-hour for them even when it was on the short side. Dean pulled free, come and slick running out of Sam, and very reluctantly, Sam let the judges get an eyeful of his gaping asshole when they asked. Dean petted his hair the whole time, a growl rumbling in his throat, just waiting to burst free.
A show official provided them a towel, and they got as clean as they were gonna without a shower. Dean helped Sam up, Sam fastened his collar back on, Dean got into his boxers, and once the leash was in place, he led Sam naked off the stage. Sam didn't even realize he was still on display until they were off the boards. The audience had begun to clap behind him, and distantly, he listened to try and see if it was different from the applause that any of the other contestants had gotten. Quieter, stranger.
If anything, it sounded louder and more enthusiastic, but that couldn't possibly be the case.
They were almost to their dressing room when another contestant approached them, very cautiously, her alpha standing several steps behind her. It was only because of the way that they were positioned Dean didn't growl.
"Wet wipes," the alpha explained as her omega held out a packet and Dean, warily, took it after a nod from Sam. "Unscented. They're not running water, but they work really well short-term." She shifted, awkwardly, from foot to foot. "You two did...really, really well out there. Seriously. That was beautiful."
"Thanks," Dean said, voice still rough, and nodded as he pulled Sam into their dressing room and drew the curtains.
Dean forced a PowerBar and a lemon-lime Gatorade into Sam as he wiped him down and got his clothes back on, the tuxedo again. Sam's skin, hyper-sensitive, itched at the sensory overload of being so covered in uncomfortable fabric, but he forced his way through it. He'd had way worse.
"I finished," Sam rasped after swallowing a salty-bland gulp.
"Yeah, I know." Dean nuzzled Sam's sweaty hair, then kissed his temple. "Twice."
"No, Dean." Sam made eye contact. "I finished."
Dean held his gaze.
"I don't quit," Sam added quietly after a second. "Not anymore."
Dean waited, then sighed, patting Sam's thigh.
"I know," he told him. "Believe me, I know. I'm sorry."
Sam was still exhausted, by the time everybody else finished fucking each other, the judges finished deliberating, and it was time for the awards ceremony. A line of alphas filed out to stand on stage, omegas all leashed and kneeling at their feet, every single one of them with the smell of stale sex and fatigue practically dripping off them. That made Sam feel a little better, despite how insanely well put together some of the omegas were looking again.
"All right, let's go ahead and start off with the big one," the announcer called, grinning out at the audience. Sam didn't think that was how it usually worked, but whatever, he wasn't in charge. "The grand prize winner of this year's Hyacinth Show, the official Flower Crown Princess. Lyyyynton Green!"
The announcer swung around to point at one of the red-headed twins, who immediately put his hands to his face, gasping as the spotlight hit him. His alpha led him forward, grinning, pulling his sister along, too. The audience went wild.
Sam hadn't been expecting to win the grand prize. Not at this point. Or he hadn't thought he was, at least. But it knocked all the air out of him, watching the alpha put a little flower crown on Lynton's head, drape the sash around him and pin the ribbon to his collar, accept the check and the massive gift basket with a grin… As the twins preened, Dean reached forward and touched Sam's hair and, oddly enough, it helped. A lot. Sam leaned back into the touch.
"Now, Lynton and his sister Lynda here are veteran show omegas, folks. This is actually their fifth Hyacinth and their first win here, although they've got a whole slew of other crowns and ribbons under their belts." The announcer went on to read off a whole list of traits that had netted Lynton the grand prize. Sam didn't pay much attention, but was able to catch that they were all standard omega fare that did not apply to him. Tiny stature, breeding hips, high, soft voice, adorable talent routine, everybody thought he wouldn't even be able to take the cock on his handler, let alone the knot, but he managed both beautifully…
Yeah. Worth tuning out.
First prize went to the omega who'd given them the wet wipes. Her name was Courtney and it sounded like she'd mostly won because her alpha had popped her cherry on stage, which the judges had really liked. If that was true, Sam wondered how her handler had known about the wet wipe thing; they'd worked wonders. Second prize was one of the omegas who'd nested. According to the announcer, she was just so small and cute. Sam wanted to go home.
He was so tired. They still had one night paid up at the motel, didn't have to check out until eleven tomorrow morning. That was enough time to figure something out.
Lots of people saw how good he was at taking a cock today. Maybe one of them would want to pay for him. Maybe Dean wouldn't kill them or Sam for even suggesting. Maybe Sam would actually be able to stomach it.
Maybe what was left of their father wouldn't be turning over in the ashes of his funeral pyre.
"And, last but certainly not least, our final winner today, third prize: Samuel Winchester!"
Sam barely heard. Apparently Dean didn't, either, because the announcer turned to them, smirking.
"Well, come on up, boys."
Dean had to tug Sam to his feet, and Sam felt like he was in a daze as he led him up to the front of the stage, where one show official handed him a bouquet and Dean a ribbon. The crowd was clapping, one or two even cheering.
"This was a very difficult decision," the announcer told the crowd. "Underdog Sam here is absolutely not your average omega, obviously, in appearance or talent...but the judges decided that, based on his bloodline traits, his knotting display, and his obvious bond with his alpha, he deserved this."
Dean was trying to juggle the third-place ribbon, a gift basket, and the check he'd just been handed. Sam took the last one.
"Anything you want to say, Dean?" The announcer offered the microphone to him. Dean got too close initially, Sam nudged him back.
"Uh...thanks," Dean said awkwardly. "This'll, uh...put a lotta gas in our car." A pause. "Buy a lotta condoms."
The audience laughed. Even though Dean was definitely not joking, and Sam was fighting as hard as he could not to roll his eyes.
"You two were definitely the breakout team of this event," the announcer said with a huge smile. "I don't think I'm only speaking for myself here when I say I hope to see a lot more of you in the future...if nothing else, taking third in this show qualifies you for all kinds of others. Can we expect you back soon?"
Once again, he offered the microphone to Dean, but this time, Sam took it.
Fuck it. They had the money.
"No," he said flatly. The announcer looked and smelled shocked, and so did the audience. Then there was some awkward laughter.
"Well, that's the...unconventional fighting spirit that landed you third prize," the announcer managed. "It's refreshing to see that kind of attitude on the show circuit. I can remember - "
He was still talking as Sam unclipped his own leash, grabbed Dean's shoulder, and led him offstage. The gasps from the crowd and judges almost felt better to wear than the ribbon Dean took a second to pin to his collar.
They passed by 17 on their way off the stage, standing down by the very end of the line. She seemed about as mad as all the other alphas who hadn't even placed, teeth showing, eyes narrowed. Dean turned to look at her. Sam wasn't sure exactly what he did, being focused on leaving as quick as he could, but whatever it was, it had her lunging at him. Her omega was up off his knees immediately and grabbing her by her scruff, show officials coming out of nowhere with mild pepper spray and low-voltage tasers.
Dean started laughing. Loud, raucous. It seemed to fill the entire auditorium, as Sam jerked him offstage.
They cleared their things out of their dressing room, stopped by the motel, and then cashed the check at the first place that would do it. It was a cool five hundred. Not the thousands they'd wanted, but more than enough to gas up the car, eat food that didn't come out of a wrapper for the first time in a few weeks, and ease some of the tension lines between Dean's eyebrows.
They were the same ones he'd worn as a kid, when Dad left him in charge of enough money for three weeks and Dean couldn't quite make it stretch for the six he was actually gone. Sam hated them, was always glad to see them smooth out.
They left town with dinner in their stomachs and Sam's prizes in the back seat. They'd try and pawn the makeup and glittery collar soon as they stopped again, pad the slush fund out a little more. Dean had already declared Sam could pry the fluffy robe out of his cold, dead hands despite it being way too small for either of them. The gift cards might be useful and, if not, Sam was sure they could find somebody to buy them. Much as it was all junk, it was useful junk.
Sam had his normal collar back on, much more comfortable. The yellow third-place ribbon was back in the garbage at their motel room, rosette crumpled. His neck still tingled where Dean's teeth had grazed it onstage, overactive bond spot, more and more sensitive the further into his twenties he got.
They were an hour out, sun setting, spirits high, music loud in the car as Dean kept turning it down so they could talk about nothing in particular. The conversation came back around to the show they'd just left behind before too long, because of course it did. It was after about twenty minutes of mocking it, dancing around what they both actually wanted to talk about, before Dean turned the music all the way off.
"So, uh. Just gonna go ahead and take the bull by the balls, here." Sam squinted as Dean cleared his throat, smelling uncomfortable. "The courtship."
"I - " Sam threw up a hand and looked away, shaking his head as he rubbed at his mouth. "I-I don't know why I did it, Dean. I guess I just...I had a lot going on, I don't even remember what I was thinking." He swallowed. "We could. We could void it. If you wanted."
"I don't," Dean replied, quick and sure. "I'm just wondering why you didn't come and, y'know, ask me for it. If you wanted it."
Sam was exhausted, urge to nest stronger than it'd been in weeks. Stress aches were beginning to crop up all along his torso and neck and limbs, from carrying himself so tight all day, and it didn't do him any good, the fact he'd loosened up now. Loose enough for the truth to spill out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"I thought you'd spook. I didn't wanna...ruin what we had."
"Why would it spook me?" Dean glanced at him. "Huh, Sam? 'Cause I couldn't sleep with anybody else anymore? Official courtship only says you can't do that, I've got two dozen loopholes. And 'sides. I ever slept with anybody else since me and you kicked things off?"
Sam chewed on the inside of one cheek.
"Or before, even. Who was the last person? You remember?"
"Maybe…" Sam shook his head, wonderingly. "Cassie?"
Dean nodded. "Even that was a special situation."
He was quiet for a while, eyes going back to the road. Then he said, "I can tell you right now. If you'd asked me, I would've signed every paper."
"Then why didn't you ask me?" Sam returned, starting to feel frustrated. Dean snorted out a laugh, obviously picking up on it.
"Sam, the only reason I didn't ask you to be my mate years ago is I thought I knew you'd say no."
Sam couldn't talk, for a second and a half, tongue frozen incredulous in his mouth. Eventually, he demanded, "Why?"
Dean just looked at him. It took another few seconds, but then finally, it clicked.
Sam left. He went to school, barely talked to Dean for years, so mad at him and Dad and the whole damn world it alone pushed him through more than a couple semesters with a 4.0 and a good spot on the track team. And if Jess hadn't died, he would've mated with her. Probably. He didn't know that it would've been good or, if it had been, he didn't know it would've stayed that way. But he would've done it. If Dean hadn't come back into his life.
"You...thought I was waiting for somebody better," Sam realized out loud, slowly. "This whole time. Dean. Seriously, did you think you were m-my - my backup plan? My hobby?"
Dean shrugged, one-shouldered, nonchalant, not looking at Sam anymore, and Sam felt a twinge of heartbreak, the kind that always came with an angry breed of grief.
"How do you not realize - " A disbelieving laugh slipped out of Sam on top of the words. " - you are better, Dean? That you're all I want, all I'm pretty sure I've ever wanted...I got the courtship 'cause I don't ever wanna leave you again. It was me promising myself, and you, too, I wasn't ever gonna leave you again." Sam swallowed, and the tingling spot on his neck pulsed. "I want as much of you as I can possibly have."
Dean let out a slow, deep-drawn sigh through his nose. "Kinda wish you'd told me that a year ago, Sam. When you registered us."
"I…I didn't want you to say no, either. I thought…" Sam trailed off, thinking about Dean's snarling, bloody protectiveness, a single shared bed, a laundry bag kept nice and full of clothes that'd been sweated in but not stained with blood or gunk. Longing teeth and tongue on his bond spot when they were tied. The way Dean didn't even seem to notice betas or other omegas before, not even when Sam could smell the latter were on the very edge of heat.
"Y'know, Sam, I get you scored a full ride to Stanford and all and your grades were so high they let you pick any major you wanted," Dean began, "but you're kind of a fucking idiot."
Sam felt his mouth pull into a slight smirk. "We're both fucking idiots."
A few miles slipped silently by, markers flaring in a setting sun.
"We took third 'cause even they could see how we felt about each other," Dean said. A pause. "I want you, too. All of you. Forever."
Sam studied him for a long time, reading his scent note by note, still smiling a little, then asked, "Is this a proposal?"
"I'm sorry I ain't doing it right." Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't buy you any kinda fancy collar. But I've got…" He pulled his amulet off over his head, one-handed, and dropped it over Sam's, Sam leaning towards him to make it easier. "...this, in the meantime. And I just can't wait any longer, Sammy. Not now I know you'll say yes." He stopped. "You are saying yes, right?"
"Of course." Sam was grinning now, so wide and bright it was nearly painful, and he didn't know how to tell Dean it was absolutely perfect. In the front seat of their car, heading down a road to their next hunt. The amulet. It couldn't have been more them if Dean had actually tried. He scooted towards him, leaned hesitantly against him and, when he wasn't told to back off so Dean could focus on driving, relaxed. "In fact...I think I want you to bite me the next time we stop."
"Nah," Dean said, "I'm gonna do that right, at least. Gonna do it in a nice place, when we're both feeling just about as good as we can. Not gonna put it off, though."
Sam nodded. He could live with that.
It was hours before either of them spoke again. The sun had set, and they were flying through darkness, nothing but headlights, music still off, lost in the rhythm of the engine and each other's hearts and blood. Sam's world smelled like leather and Dean and sex, because they hadn't showered yet, and he did not want to leave this metal cocoon, where it felt like he'd been born over and over and over again. The most recent time just this evening.
"Y'know, mating's gonna disqualify us from pretty much every omega show out there."
Sam snorted.
"In that case, I'm really not sure I can wait for you to do it right."