Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Warning, this fic contains a polygamous relationship.

MY ROD AND STAFF

Dean turned a page. It was his third time reading A Tale of Two Cities and it still absolutely held his attention. Without taking his eyes off the book, he reached down and grabbed a couple of balled-up socks before throwing them sharply at the two men noisily intertwined on the bed that dominated the room.

"You're not gonna put me off my stride," Seth tossed over his shoulder by way of reply.

"Better fucking not," Roman snapped onto the end of Seth's sentence.

Dean took a level look at them. It was exactly the view he'd expected – Roman's larger figure beneath Seth's sinewy steeliness, Roman's hands clamped to Seth's hips as Seth thrust forward with unerring rhythm and power. They were both glistening with sweat, long hair swinging and teeth bared with effort and triumphant pleasure. It was one of Dean's favorite views.

He turned a page with a sharp grin. "Payback. Now we're even."

Seth laughed, his rhythm not faltering at all. Roman's hands were going to leave delicious bruises on his hips. Dean looked forward to seeing them.

When the chopper landed, Roman peeled off a handful of bills for the pilot. Whenever a chopper was possible, the Shield hired a small company that could use the business and kept admirably closed books. A helicopter wasn't always possible though and the Shield never relied on a single mode of transport. They always had an exit strategy.

It was the same with bases of operation. There was a crash pad near the airport – small, cramped, but essential – that got a lot of use. Three names were on the lease, though not necessarily the ones that the Shield used every day. Now though, the Shield were making their way towards another house with their names on. It was where they spent most of their off-days.

Roman got behind the wheel of a dinged-up boxy car that no one would look twice at and sporadically checked the rear-view mirror. Dean was contemplative, gazing out of the tinted windows, a million different plans resting on his brow; he was silently considering each one in turn. The Shield was a group of equals, which worked so well because they were each confident in what they brought to the team. Dean was a man of many plans, able to see several different perspectives all at once and able to squeeze as much use as possible out of them all for the betterment of the Shield.

One of his hands was buried in Seth's hair, Seth himself was half-lying out, as well as he could, across the backseat. He was focused almost entirely on his phone, making clicking noises with his tongue as he played a game. His hair needed a re-dye and Dean was scratching at his scalp, frequently twisting Seth's hair through his fingers and tugging on it tight enough to make Seth hiss, pleasure bright in his eyes.

Roman drove the car to a quiet, almost suburban street. It was late enough that the sky was a dark velvet blue and the street itself was deserted. By the time they were parked up in their driveway, someone was flashing a signal from a house across the street, a couple of clicks of light and then a long pause. No emergencies, but there was news.

Once inside, Roman did a thorough walkthrough. They'd set-up a lot of invisible markers - if any had been broken, they'd know how far someone had gotten and maybe what the intruder had been aiming for. Nothing so far, except that Marley had left a box of homemade brownies and had watered Dean's plants. Suburbia had its positives – who would look for the Shield there?

There was also a note, lying on the mat by the back door – 'He's back.' Roman cracked his knuckles. Sometimes justice had to be served several times before someone got the message.

"We'll make it stick tonight," Seth said through the two brownies that he'd crammed into his mouth all at once.

Dean's smile was pleased and feral; it was a good look on him. "We have the time."

Roman grinned with teeth and headed for the backdoor. Welcome home. Justice would be served again.

Seth screwed up his face and wiped hair-dye off his ear. There was a thick bassline and driving drum-beat playing loudly from the iPod and speakers set-up near the basin and someone was working out in the next door room, probably Roman with the free-weights before he headed out to do football drills. Seth liked hearing that, but right now he was more focused on what he could see. He leaned closer to the mirror, nope; he still wasn't getting it right.

He inhaled the sharp scent of the dye, feeling it burn his nostrils, just as a pair of hands spanned his hips. They pressed firmly against the bruises there. Seth's breathing grew ragged, his eyes locking onto the image he saw in the mirror. Dean smirked.

"Need a hand?"

Katrina turned up on their doorstep just as Seth was nuking hotdogs for dinner. Dean opened the door and stared at her until she spoke. She was wearing a sweater two-sizes too-large and ballet flats that weren't right for the weather at all. She'd recently taken off some jewelry too; there were tell-tale white bands of skin on her fingers and wrist. Her eyes focused on Dean entirely, his focus on her was just as absolute. The make-up job covering her black eye was almost decent.

"You had no right," she began at last, her voice low and intense.

Dean leaned against the doorjam, confident that Roman and Seth were not only listening in but were also ready for action. His gaze flickered over Katrina only once.

"Hotdogs and brownies, in or out?"

He stepped back expectantly and Katrina stared at him for a moment, before jaggedly putting one foot in front of the other. In the kitchen, Seth handed her a plate of hotdogs and buns and shoved the squeezy yellow mustard towards her. Katrina ate methodically and silently, all three members of the Shield looking at her without apology.

Seth broke the silent stalemate after his sixth hotdog. "When're you due?"

Katrina choked out a laugh that was edged with tears. "Seven months."

Dean number-crunched in his head and nodded. Roman was already mashing something into his phone. Katrina was looking at them like they were doing something strange. Seth ate a last brownie and kept a keen eye on the window.

"You're not even going to ask…"

Katrina sounded somewhere between disbelieving and angry. None of them tried to comfort her.

"Nope," was Dean's emphatic reply.

They were a shield against injustice, period. Everything else was nothing to do with them.

"And Neil?"

Roman snorted out a laugh and completed his texting, without sliding even one look towards the others to confirm what they already knew. It was done.

They knew each other's strengths – it was why they were such a complete team, they each brought something unique to the party and all three strengths worked cohesively together, rather than against each other.

But they also knew each other's weaknesses.

Roman was allergic to peanuts and had a football injury in his right leg that he more than compensated for. He always kept his large multi-layered family in the loop so that they'd be able to contact him at any time. He hadn't spoken to two of his cousins in almost five years.

There was a tattoo on Seth's left calf that included a name. He never talked about it. He had a police record thanks to some juvenile troubles, though he'd never served a day in jail. He always got melancholy around April, frequently singing a song under his breath that sounded like a lullaby.

Dean couldn't watch certain hospital dramas without tensing up to the point of freaking-out. One time, he locked himself in the bathroom for over three hours. The way he sometimes looked at himself in the mirror was beyond disturbing. A bracelet often circled his wrist, made of leather and wooden beads. On closer inspection, the beads seemed to be strung on a lock of long dark hair.

"Here."

Seth pressed a beer bottle into Roman's hand and swooped in to mouth at his neck. Roman growled at the scrape of teeth and fluidly wrapped a possessive arm around Seth. Dean nonchalantly stole a slice of pickle off Seth's plate.

When he later pressed his lips to theirs, his kisses were stinging, and tasted of vinegar and hops. But underneath, he always tasted of the Shield. They all did.

-the end