Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, no copyright infringement is intended in the production of this story.

Bound Hearts, Frayed Knotts

Chapter One

Thin shoulders tensed as he held his position by the door to his kennel. His ears strained for sound of heavy footsteps out in the hall. Although there were no clocks visible, omega 97 instinctively knew the time and had hurried to kneel in position fifteen minutes ago, just in case his keeper was early.

As always, his heartbeat accelerated when the muffled sound of boots against concrete at last permeated the door to the cell. Absently, he rubbed his midriff in an act of self-soothing. Blue eyes blurred as he held his focus on a spot six inches in front of him on the floor. Even though he expected it, 97 was hard pressed not to jump when the bolt was slammed open and the thick door cracked.

Outside the dim fluorescents flickered, painting the grey walls a melancholic blue.

"Okay, 97… Up. I haven't got all day!"

Even though he had not hesitated to obey, knees stiff from never-ending kneeling, he was still not fast enough. Thick fingers knotted into dark hair, pulling him upwards.

Noting the dust on the man's boots and faded denims, 97 supposed this Shepherd had recently been out in the gardens, most likely overseeing the empty omegas in their tending. He remembered when he'd first arrived at the Deacon's hold. He'd worked five seasons amidst the rows, and the smell of earth and sky, of growth, the feel of a breeze or the sun on his skin were memories he re-visited often in his lonely cell.

Sometimes when the Shepherds came in from outdoors they carried these nostalgic scents with them, but not today. 97's nose had been assaulted by the Alpha's pungent aroma the moment the seal to his door had been breached. It was one he knew and was wisely fearful of.

Lifted now to his feet, 97 cringed when the big man before him leaned in and began hungrily scenting his neck where it was tender and bare above his collar. In his current condition, his keen nose was even more sensitive and the closeness of his afternoon's Shepherd made him want to gag. The man smelled of moss and rotting wood, of stagnant pools crusted with algae.

Swallowing hard, 97 tried to keep down the bile he felt rising in his throat.

The Alpha's low voice growled beside him. "What ? No warm greeting for me?"

The Shepherd noted the subtle turn of the boy's head to the side as if to get away. Strong fingers stayed clamped into the rich, brown-almost black curls, holding, as his other hand slapped the omega's face.

Despite his upset, the blow was measured: hard enough to hurt, soft enough to leave no more than a lingering blush on the pale cheek.

Tear's filled the teen's eyes, both at the sting and the shame that filled him: he was being a bad omega.

This Alpha Better was here to take him out for his exercise, he should be grateful, wiggling with excitement, peppering his Shepherd's hands with kisses. Instead, he was just standing there, actively resisting his attentions. It didn't matter that he was doing so because the man's scent sickened him and he was struggling to keep his rebellious stomach under control.

"Please, Alpha…" The words were exhaled on a shaky breath. 97 kept his eyes down, not daring, from beneath his thick lashes, to even try to catch a glimpse of the face looming above. Though he really didn't need to; he could feel the barely restrained irritation, scent the oily musk of the Alpha's desire to hurt him.

A whimper designed to placate, escaped him.

He was not as worried today, however, as he would have been other times. It was a small but significant comfort to know that the Alpha, Azazel the other Shepherd's called him, wouldn't hurt him too badly, not since he'd been bred. Even so, lifting a hand from where it dangled submissively at his side, 97 cupped a palm protectively over his belly.

At least the Alphas weren't supposed to be rough now, though sometimes, despite the Deacon's warnings, Shepherds ravaged their omega flock anyways, this one in particular.

As if to illustrate this point, the fingers tangled in his dark mane tightened and jerked. New tears filled 97's eyes at the sudden burn of his scalp. An earlobe was nipped harshly and the Alpha hissed with ripe breath into his ear.

"Please is a good start. Go on…"

"P-please, Alpha… forgive…"

Blue eyes widened and the boy's breath caught when his warden nipped him again, hard, in response. This time on the side of his neck. He trembled and stuttered.

"T-thank you; omega is not worthy."

Chills shivered up his spine at the low chuckle Azazel offered in reply to this rote recitation. A thick tongue swept up his slap-pinked cheek. 97 did his best not to shudder at the sensation.

"No, 97 you're not worthy! So be grateful I feel like honoring you with my attentions!"

After hissing this, Azazel's alpha tongue continued its trek, leaving behind a glistening trail of thick spit. His ward tried to make himself pliant when the tongue retracted and his stubbled face leaned in. The omega's head was pulled back by the hand in his hair while Azazel's other suddenly seized 97's jaw.

While a meeting of mouths with an omega was below most Shepherds, 97 knew too well that this one favored the transgression. Realizing that the Shepherd intended to attack his lips, he could too easily imagine the greasy, swamp-slick tongue opening him up.

It pleased Azazel to feel the lean body in his hands slip into an even more subdued state. A grin split his face when plush pink lips parted slightly, in what he anticipated, was eagerness for a Better's blessing of touch.

"Good boy."

The smile was lost in an instant, however, when 97's head spasmed in his hands and the acrid smell of bile filled the air as vomit spewed from his mouth.

In an instant the boy was on his knees, pushed away hard in disgust.

"What the… You stupid, worthless, omega bitch!"

"S-sorry… Please Alpha… Litter-sickness… Please forgive."

Each word was gasped out between retches as the slight omega curled in on himself, shielding his swelling midsection in case the Alpha decided to lash out with a kick. While he'd steeled himself for the anticipated blow, the boy had not braced himself for Azazel's cruel words.

"I can see why your family dumped you on the Deacon's doorstep! Ridding themselves of offal like you; that act alone might be enough to get their names on the white tablets."

As part of learning their place, Deacon Cowley required all omegas in the compound to attend scripture sessions, though Azazel thought the notion dangerously liberal and a waste. In his mind, pure omegas were less than animals, just a few functions above brainless and he doubted that the crumpled boy now brokenly sobbing at his feet even comprehended half of what he said. Still this didn't stop him from using scripture to make his points, and even if 97 couldn't appreciate the complexities of Brethren doctrine, there was no doubt the omega understood his tone and could smell his disgust.

Azazel sneered, continuing his verbal attack, "You'd think with as many times as you've whelped, you'd be past this sort of sorriness!

"What a foul omega you must be for Spirit to make your bearing so troubled. I am amazed Creator would even allow pure Alpha seed to take root in a vessel as irredeemable! But then again, you lost the last one, didn't you?"

A wicked grin split Azazel's crude face. Since the bitch was bearing he couldn't properly chastise 97 for his transgression, but, on the off chance the omega did have any kind of comprehension, there were other ways to inflict damage.

"No wonder Deacon Crowley takes your pups as soon as your sorry omega slit spits them out! Who the hell would let any innocent remain in such a corrupt presence?"

Though he tried to hold it back, a low keening built in 97's throat. The Deacon had told him that if he was good, after what had happened last time, he might be able to keep this pup with him, at least until it was designated. Now he'd made a Shepard angry there was no way this would ever happen.

Azazel would tell on him and his favor would fall even further.

Internally 97 quailed, fearing that the Deacon would somehow be aware of his transgression already.

Deacon Crowley knew most everything.

"Speaking of the Deacon, you better cut out that sniveling and get up. He wants to see you after your exercises."

Azazel was pleased to note his omega charge stopped crying almost immediately at these words, nor was he blind to how 97's lean frame began to tremor. This reaction didn't surprise him in the least. He knew he had nothing on Crowley when it came to maintaining discipline in the Flock.

The Deacon was also the only one on the compound allowed to fully use a pregnant Deacon was a lucky bastard: Azazel thought it must be immensely satisfying to spill seed over another Alpha's spawn... especially in an unbonded omega, swollen and helpless.

Chosen by Spirit as he was, if an omega miscarried after Crowley's attentions, it meant the vessel had been tainted and the pup shouldn't have been allowed to see light.

Azazel wondered what the Deacon wanted the omega for and if Crowley would deign to enter 97 again after what had happened last time. It had cost the Brethren a pretty penny, losing the pup fees and having to offer a free breeding, since 97 had been bred by an Alpha outside the compound. Little 97 was a cash cow normally with all his pretty pups. In fact, he couldn't remember 97 ever being free bred by one of the Brethren compound's internal sanctified Alphas.

Maybe I should see if Crowley would give me a go. He certainly owes me.

He was jarred from these thoughts when his omega charge shakily rose, making sure to keep his head down, shoulders bowed.

"We're late for your PT; so you can clean your mess later. Remember, your vessel belongs to your Betters and all you have to do is keep it pleasing and producing.

"You don't want to add a fat ass to your long list of sins, do you?"

Azazel's chuckle at his own witty remark drifted into a snort of disgust when 97 remained silent.

"Why I waste my good humor…" Though truthfully, if 97 had answered the alpha would have beaten him for it as severely as possible within the limits of his state

Reaching into his jean pocket, Azazel pulled out a lead and clipped this to the collar on the same ring that bore the tag indicating 97's flock number. Once secured, he gave the leash a sharp tug.

"Come on. I forgive... For now." Azazel smirked and grabbed his crotch. "You can do your penance later."

Breeding a pregnant omega's ass might be forbidden to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't bless the boy's mouth with his seed. And what a mouth 97 had. Even better, he knew that with the omega's litter-sickness, he'd be in his rights for pushing the level of punishment if the boy couldn't keep his spend down: it was a significant sin for an omega to spill any Alpha seed.

"What do you say, omega?"

Although his head was down, the Shepherd's crude gesture had not gone unnoticed and, despite Azazel's thoughts on omega intelligence, 97 had understood every word. He had simply learned long ago that there was safety in pretending simplicity.

No one liked a smart omega.

"Thank you, Alpha."

His words were correct, but there was no life in them. The Shepherd's taunts had torn through the curtain of fantasy that he'd been nurturing and he realized now that his arms would never hold the new pup growing within him, his fifth in seven years.

Dipping his head lower as a different sort of sickness took hold of him, 97's empty arms shifted, slipping behind his back. He clasped his hands together there in the perfect posture of submission.

With a grunt of approval, Azazel turned sharply on his booted heels. Another hard jerk on the lead had 97 following dispiritedly after him.

Dean's manicured hand idly spun the two fingers of aged scotch that had been set out for him five minutes prior. The bar was relatively crowded with office and young executive types catching a drink after working into the evening, and those, like him, who were waiting for their table to open in the busy restaurant next door. Dean could only imagine the scents swirling in the air of this swinging locale.

Despite the crowd, the stool next to him where he sat at the end of the counter remained open. His strong alpha energy emitted a discernible "don't bother me vibe," that outside a few longing looks from seeking beta's and even one obvious omega, had managed to keep most of the bar's other patron's away.

"Whiskey sour."

Green eyes shifted over and he watched another alpha slip onto the seat beside him. In his rumpled suit and heavy beard, the guy looked out of place amidst the teems of upwardly-mobile twenty and thirty-somethings that populated the trendy watering hole.

"You're feeling brave, Old Man."

"It'll take more than a five-hundred dollar suit and a snarl to intimidate me, Young Blood." The older Alpha snorted.

A smile twisted Dean's lips for the first time that evening. "Good to see you, Bobby." He held out his hand.

Bobby took it, his grip holding its usual warmth and strength. "Nice to see you too. It's been a while."

To an outside observer, the exchange would look like just two guys, casually meeting, the kind of thing that happened in bars a million times a night. Turning around, Bobby set his elbows on the bar. His eyes made what he hoped would be interpreted as the standard alpha sweep of a new space.

"Wow, you get to hang out in places like this all the time? Must be rough for a poor boy like you: all this fanciness!"

"This is nothing," Dean brought his glass to his lips and swallowed. Knowing that he popped two alcohol arresters in the cab before coming in, the burn of the scotch wasn't nearly as pleasing.

"You should see the place I'm having dinner." He motioned to the opening that connected the bar to restaurant next door. "The price will break your wallet, the portion will fit in your breast pocket, and service is rated by how rude the waiters are.

"Do you know how many pizzas I could order and get delivered with a smile for what they charge at that place?"

"Nice to know your promotion hasn't been all perks then." Bobby settled in after his eyes found nothing in the immediate surroundings to cause concern. "I was worried I might have to start feeling jealous."

"You know I'd trade places with you any day... I miss the unit."

Looking over, Bobby met Dean's eyes. "Feeling's mutual, Squirt."

In the three year's he'd been deep undercover and away from the team, Dean noted that the older alpha's face had acquired more lines, marks etched both by the stress of the job and by the terrible things that he saw every day as the head of the FBI's Omega Protection and Recovery Program. He wondered how his own face looked now too, in comparison to when he'd started this gig.

What he'd seen and done in his stint undercover had been miles away from easy. Even so, Dean felt a familiar guilt rise inside him. Others had it far harder than he.

Although he knew the three years were necessary, one guilt beget another and, despite the fact he'd promised himself he wouldn't ask, the question spilled out of him.

"You seen Sammy lately?"

Turning back to the bar, Bobby picked up his drink and swirled it around thoughtfully.

"That's not the kind of thing you should be thinking about. Not with what's about to go down in a couple hours."

After taking a deep draught of the whiskey, Bobby turned back. He shook his head.

The kid might be able to keep his features schooled enough for deep cover, but when it came to Sam, Dean was an open book. He could tell at once that Winchester had misinterpreted his response, thinking that there was something wrong with his brother and not that he'd been concerned with Dean's focus in light of tonight's precarious operation.

"Sam's fine," Bobby murmured at last. "Saw him just last week, in fact." He sighed silently seeing the stiffness suddenly leave Dean's shoulders.

"I promised you I'd look out for him while you were gone and I have. Sam cusses me out every time for bothering him with my weekly calls to the center; tells me he doesn't need babysitting, he gets enough of that with the staff."

A light smile curled the corner of Dean's lips.

"Sounds like him. They haven't threatened to throw him out again lately, have they?"

Bobby gave him a lopsided grin back. "Nah. But every time they get a new doc at that place they want to have him put through the designation process again, just to make sure he's really an omega."

At the word "omega" both men frowned. They were of the mind that classifying people on the base of their biology was atrocious and antiquated and each had omegas in their lives who had suffered immensely for nothing more than the random throw of genetics' die.

It was being witness to this that had brought them together in the effort to do what they could to prevent other omegas from experiencing the same terrible kinds of abuse. But unfortunately, while things had improved over the last decade in most states and being an omega had certainly shifted in status in many ways, there was still way too much to be done.

It had been one of the hardest decision's in Dean's life to agree to take on the assignment that would hopefully come to its conclusion later tonight.

Knowing that he'd have no contact at all with Sam for three years would have been unbearable without Bobby's assurance he'd keep tabs on him. But after what Sam had been through, there was also no way that Dean could have rightfully brought himself to turn down the opportunity to take on this particular job.

His mind flashed back, to what had happened to them and to what his baby brother had been reduced to when he'd finally found him again.

No, I can't go there now.

Steering himself from the past and back to the present was a skill that Dean had worked hard to master. Now, he just wanted tonight to be over; maybe take a little time off after; re-connect with Sammy again. He could feel the instinctive alpha protectiveness he'd always carried for his younger brother tight in his gut.

"Everything ready?" Dean downed the last of his scotch and straightened.

"Locked, cocked, and ready to rock, as the young guys like to say," Bobby growled. "Though I wish to hell you were going in with a weapon. Just having us hanging out like that Dean, waiting…"

Dean shook his head. They both knew that these guys were big time and thorough. Any weapon found on him would only end up with him dead and the whole mission, his three years, and the rest of all the teams' work, down the shitter for nothing.

Bobby nodded, but his expression was grim. There was nothing more to say.

Dean watched as the older man reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his billfold. With impressive skill, Bobby pulled out a bill to hand to the bartender, managing at the same time to slip a thin white packet under the napkin his glass had been set on.

Noticing his dinner date had shown up at the bar's entrance and was scanning the crowd for him, Dean made a show of setting his glass down on Bobby's napkin and pulling out his own wallet. He pushed Bobby's extended twenty aside. "Let me get that drink for you, Old-timer."

Bobby too had seen the target. He set his glass down on the polished wood and pushed himself away from the bar. "Nice to know a pure alpha like yourself still has manners enough to respect his elders. Thanks."

He gave Dean a curt nod and headed off into the crowd moving in the direction of the men's room.

Dean turned back to the bar and swept the napkin, and what was under it, into his suit's breast pocket along with his wallet. He ordered another scotch before looking back and catching his dinner companion's eye with a wave of his fingers.

His new drink arrived on the bar before him at the same time as his low alpha contact drew up alongside.

"Tanner." He greeted. "Took you long enough. I thought you'd backed out and neglected to call me." Despite the light rebuff in his tone, Dean gave the man a bright smile and a handshake, though in truth, Duane Tanner and all he stood for made his skin crawl.

"Hamilton," Tanner greeted back addressing Dean by his alias. His manner was reserved, as always. "Traffic. What can I say?" He cocked his head towards the open door that lead into the restaurant. "Ready for our dinner meeting?"

Dean widened his grin, turning on his all-American alpha charm.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving."

He bent and picked up the briefcase that had been sitting at the floor by his feet and patted the rich leather. "But even more than dinner, I'm really interested to see what you might have on the menu for dessert."

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