Dean caught it the second the breeze shifted — Castiel’s scent.

Honey pie. Warm. Rich. Unmistakably sweet. It drifted through the air like something freshly baked, like comfort wrapped in sugar and folded into nostalgia. But underneath that? There was something else. Something deeper. Not just hunger. Not just warmth. It was sweet in a way only an Omega could be.

Dean went still.

Cas and Sam were talking just ahead, discussing the rundown building across the field — some demon-infested safehouse they’d been tracking for days. Cas offered to scout ahead, calm and confident as always.

“I’ll go in first,” he said. “There are only four guarding the threshold. I can take them without alerting the rest.”

Sam nodded, distracted, already checking his notes.

Dean, though? Dean bristled. Something raw and territorial scratched at his insides.

He didn’t like the idea of Cas running in alone. It had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the Omega standing too close to danger. Which was ridiculous, right? Cas wasn’t even an Omega. He was Cas.

Dean swallowed hard, burying the impulse. Shoving it down where instincts couldn’t touch it.

This was a hunt. He wasn’t about to let biology mess with the job.

Hours later, they were holed up in a roadside motel, half a state away and planning their next move. Sam had gone out for food and supplies, and that left Dean alone with Cas in the quiet, fluorescent-lit room.

Dean was mid-sentence, talking through floor plans, when Cas cut in softly.

“I’m presenting.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“I’m presenting,” Cas repeated, voice quieter this time, like saying it cost him something. “As an Omega.”

Dean stared, mouth slightly open.

“I can’t predict when my body will follow through. If I go into heat while we’re hunting, while you’re… exposed to me—” He hesitated, his eyes flickering away, “I could jeopardize everything.”

He looked wrong. Off. Flushed, like fever was climbing beneath his vessel’s skin. His scent hit Dean like a freight train — sharp with distress, but laced with something deeper, rounder.

Omega.

Dean exhaled slowly, clenching his fists to ground himself.

“You’re still here. Still trying. That doesn’t make you a liability, Cas. It makes you braver than most Alphas I know.”

Cas frowned like he didn’t believe it, but he nodded anyway.

“Thank you, Dean.”

That honey-pie scent surged again, and Dean nearly melted. This time, it was calm. No edge of fear, no tension. Just sweetness, curling into the air like warm syrup.

Dean’s Alpha instincts stirred in his chest, not with urgency — but something softer. Protective. Addicted.

Days later, back at the bunker. A rare day off.

Dean had barely gotten through the kitchen door when he heard the familiar rustle of wings — and Castiel appeared in front of him, calm and unreadable as ever.

“Hello, Dean.” He smiled gently.

“Heya, Cas.”

Without another word, Cas raised a hand, and with a snap, Dean’s jacket vanished.

“What the hell—?”

A heartbeat later, it reappeared in Castiel’s hands. Then he vanished again, leaving Dean blinking at empty air.

Dean stared at the spot where he’d stood. It wasn’t the magic that rattled him.

It was the implication. Nesting.

It wasn’t casual. Not for Omegas. Not for Cas, who barely understood his own instincts but followed them anyway. A nest was private. Sacred. And scenting it with an Alpha’s belongings?

Dean’s. It meant something.

He found himself outside Castiel’s room, hand resting on the doorknob. His pulse thudded in his ears like a drumline. Slowly, carefully, he opened the door.

The air inside was warm. Not just temperature — alive. It thrummed softly with grace, a signature Dean recognized like the back of his hand.

And there, in the middle of a carefully constructed nest — layers of blankets, feathers tucked into corners, flannel folded just so — was Castiel, Dean’s jacket pressed to his chest.

Dean stepped forward cautiously, tablet still in hand. He’d seen nests before, but never been invited into one. Not like this.