Chapter Text
The world is swallowed in darkness. There’s a faint buzzing noise somewhere off to Dean’s right. He fumbles around in the dark for his phone. Squinty-eyed, he opens the lock screen. Alarm. He thinks. His shift at the garage starts at eight. What time is it?
His phone tells him that it’s six o'clock. Thank god his alarm worked this time. The last thing he needs today is another reprimand from Rufus.
He sets his phone back down on the bedside table then forces himself out of bed and stumbles over to the deep blue curtains. There isn’t much light this early in the morning but it’s enough for him to see.
The room around him is small but tidy. He prides himself on at least keeping a clean room. You know, if you can’t have money, you can at least have a tidy freaking room.
He only slept in his boxers and an AC/DC t-shirt. It’s July, so there’s not much worry of overheating. He would usually sleep in just his boxers but he barely had the energy to take off his pants last night.
He’s been working so hard on this Chevy Volt - not the car he would pick if he was going with Chevy - and the hours he’s been taking to get it done are crazy. He wouldn’t normally work long hours but they need the money. And not to mention that it helps him focus.
He never feels more peaceful than when he’s under a car. He might not be able to solve all their stupid financial problems, but he can figure out what’s making a car fritz out.
Then there’s his boss, Rufus, who’s an old family friend so he’s been letting Dean work at the garage for years. Even before it was entirely legal. Rufus is a damn good boss even though he’s a bit of a hardass sometimes.
Dean stretches. He listens to his joints crackle and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies. At seventeen he already feels like an old man.
He walks to the door and slips out into the hallway. The house is relatively quiet in the morning. Well, except for Sammy, of course. Dean’s little brother loves to be up at the crack of dawn.
He walks down into the kitchen and is surprised to find that Sam isn’t awake yet. The kid is finally sleeping in on a Saturday. Sam can afford to sleep in on the weekends when he doesn’t have school. Dean doesn’t have that luxury. He has to work to support both Sam and Bobby.
School is pretty damn expensive. He’s almost glad that he’s never been able to go. Paying that off would be pricey. Plus, if he went to school, he couldn’t work as much.
He really wishes that Caelum hadn’t abolished public schools.
He walks to the fridge and digs out some stuff for breakfast. He’s got a hot pan of eggs in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. It’s one of those peaceful mornings where everything seems to be calm and tranquil. He doesn’t get many of those.
Soon enough though, he hears shuffling on the stairs off to his left.
“Mornin’, Sammy!” he says.
“Why’re you up so early?” Sam grumbles as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Dean watches as his younger brother takes a seat at the rickety old table.
“I’ve got work this morning,” he says.
“Again?” Sam asks. He’s looking at Dean like he just told him that his dog died.
“Uh, yeah. Some of us have to work for a living, Sammy,” he says with a slight shrug. He dishes out some of the scrambled eggs onto a plate. A piece of toast soon joins the eggs. He fills two glasses with some orange juice. He pops the plate of food and one of the orange juices in front of Sam before dishing up his own.
“My name is Sam,” he says with a petulant tone. God, for a thirteen-year-old he sure acts like a baby sometimes.
“If you had a little brother, Sammy, you’d mess with him too,” Dean says, setting his plate on the table. “Especially if he had hair like yours!” he says, messing up his little brother’s overly long hair. “Speaking of which, it needs a trim,” he says, mischievously.
Sam jerks away from him so fast that he almost knocks over the chair. “Geez, Sammy! It was a joke! Don’t hurt yourself,” he says with a light chuckle.
“Don’t touch my hair then,” Sam says, still acting like a petulant child. Dean sighs.
“Fine,” he says, dragging out the word. He sits down across from Sam. It doesn’t take long for him to practically inhale his food.
“I gotta get a shower then I’m going to work. If you need anything-” he starts to say.
“Just call the garage, I know the routine,” Sam says, still completely focused on his eggs.
He heads upstairs to his room to grab a change of clothes. He just needs something to go under his coveralls. He grabs a pair of old, worn-out jeans and a plain black tee. He’s about to leave for the bathroom when his phone buzzes on the bedside table.
He picks it up to see a text from Andy, one of his co-workers at the garage.
6:31 >Andy: dude, have u heard?
6:31 >Me: heard what?
6:32 >Andy: apparently there’s gonna be a choosing soon!
6:32 >Me: cool ig. does it matter tho?
6:32: >Andy: ofc it does! the prince is hella hot!
6:33 >Me: ok Andy, ur being a weirdo again
6:34 >Andy: what? its true!
6:35 >Me: isnt the prince straight?? u wouldnt even be able 2 sign up dude
6:36 >Andy: cant a guy dream?
6:36 >Me: not when that guy is u
6:37 >Andy: ouch! u wound me, dean
6:38 >Me: yeah, yeah, ill see u at work.
6:38: >Andy: see u there.
He clicks his phone off. It’s not like the prince holding a Choosing would really matter for him anyway. Even if he is ‘hella hot’ as Andy says. Dean’s straight and so is Prince Novak. That’s all there is to it.
---
God this car is screwed up. Dean thinks as he slides out from underneath the Chevy Volt. It’s a compact car so you’d think it wouldn’t have so many goddamn problems.
He promised this guy he’d get it to him by the end of the month or even before. He’ll definitely get it done, it’ll just be unpleasant. This guy basically trashed his car and so far he’s found nine parts that need to be replaced.
This is gonna be a headache.
He takes a look at the outside. The car looks much better than the day it came in. Apparently, the owner crashed it into a tree. The front of the compact car has been repaired so that way he can replace parts in the hood.
He’s considering his next move when he hears Max and Ava gossiping loudly about something. “It’s happening soon though, right?” Max asks.
“Must be. Novak did just turn eighteen,” Ava says.
Not again with the freaking Choosing. He thinks. He’s tired of people fawning over this whole Choosing thing. It’s dumb and old-fashioned. You won’t find love by randomly picking fifty people and tossing them into a palace for a Hunger Games-like competition.
God, it’s going to be a catfight. Actually, that might be entertaining. Fifty girls practically tearing each other’s hair out for some stuck-up snob? Quality TV right there.
They don’t have Choosings very often so of course, it’ll be the prime gossip for the kingdom. At least for a little while. However, they haven’t even announced it yet so it’s kind of useless to giggle about it.
Dean thinks that everyone is far too enamored of this whole process. The prince will probably end up with a snobby rich girl who only likes him because he’s the prince. Oh, and he’ll only like her for her body. But yeah, super romantic, right?
The only truly good part of the Choosing is that the families of those who become part of the Chosen get money for it. Apparently, it’s some sort of ‘duty for the kingdom’ so you get compensated for participating. Kind of like if you get drafted but you’re paid way more for it.
And the cherry on top is that the rich families don’t get paid as much as the poor families do. The typical rich jackass doesn’t need the money. Dean relishes the image of pissed off rich people moaning and groaning about the king and queen not giving them piles and piles of extra cash.
“Only eighteen? Aren’t they rushing it a bit then?” Max asks snapping Dean out of his thoughts.
“I guess so. Then again, they might want to retire early,” Ava says with a laugh.
“The king and queen retiring early? No way.”
“Say what you will. The rumor is that they’re announcing the Choosing sometime in the next week,” Ava says with a slight shrug.
Dean sighs. Well, any wild hope that they weren’t talking about the Choosing is entirely gone. “Not you guys too!” he says. “It’s bad enough that Andy is obsessed with it.”
Ava and Max turn to look at him. “We’re not obsessed,” Ava says. “We’re just, um, interested.”
“Like I buy that,” he says with a scoff.
“Yeah, yeah, get back to work, Winchester,” Ava says. He fights the immature urge to stick his tongue out. “You know that you’d kill to be in the Choosing,” she says, turning away from him.
“Pfft, like hell I would,” he responds.
“Rumor has it that the prince doesn’t have a preference when it comes to gender so…” Ava says, trailing off.
Dean freezes. No preference? Seriously? He feels warmth rush to his face. “Well, I do have a preference so that doesn’t matter to me,” he says. At that, Ava just rolls her eyes like the sassy bitch that she is.
He ignores her and slides back under the car. It doesn’t matter to him that Prince Novak has no preference. It doesn’t! Okay, maybe he’s a little intrigued by it but other than that, he doesn’t care.
How does having no preference work? He wonders. Don’t you have to be attracted to one gender? He’s heard of other sexualities but he didn’t realize that someone could have no preference at all.
He resolves to do some more research as soon as he gets off of work.
---
The second he walks through the door he is met with an armful of excited Sammy. His little brother grabs his arm and pulls him into the living room. The television is already on.
“What’s got you so hot and bothered?” Dean asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“The Choosing! I heard that they might be holding one this year! And soon by the sounds of it!” Sam says. Dean groans in exasperation.
“How the hell did you hear about this?” he asks.
“The internet,” Sam says as if that explains everything
He runs his fingers through his hair, frustration bleeding into every action. “You know, it’s bad enough that my co-workers are gossiping about this but now you too? This whole thing is way more trouble than it’s worth,” he says.
“But it’s romantic!” Sam says.
“You sound like a girl, Sam,” he says.
“I do not!” Sam replies petulantly. That seems to be Sam’s default tone these days.
Dean lets the silence hang around them for a few moments before speaking. “Where’s Bobby?” he asks.
“Kitchen,” Sam replies still sounding like a pouty toddler. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his features.
He walks into the kitchen to find Bobby grabbing ingredients out of the fridge. “Good timing, boy, I need you to cut up the onions,” he says, looking up at Dean from his wheelchair.
“Will do. Why isn’t Sammy in here helping?” Dean asks.
“I ain’t no invalid, boy. I can still throw together a damn good chili,” Bobby says. They both laugh and start to work on dinner.
---
When everyone has a bowl of chili and a plate of cornbread, they all plop down on the couch. Except for Bobby, of course. He stays in his wheelchair off to the side and even though they could lift him onto the couch, Bobby insists on staying in the damn chair.
The local news is on. This is a specific broadcast for all kingdom-related news. Announcements and such are made via this one channel. Most people tune in to watch it just because it’s that important and can, on occasion, have vital information.
They open with the typical newscaster, an older man named Marv Armstrong. “Welcome back to Saturday Night News!” Marv announces in a very over-the-top voice. “We have with us today His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen, but as a special surprise, they brought along His Royal Highness, Prince of Caelum.”
The camera pans over to three people sitting in chairs around a semi-circle table. The first, Dean automatically recognizes as King Charles. He has curly brown hair and a kind-looking face. The second is Queen Naomi, a stern-looking woman with auburn hair tied in a tight bun.
The last must be Prince Castiel. He barely ever appears on the news or in pictures in the media so he’s less recognizable. However, even from here, Dean can tell that Prince Castiel radiates an uptight air. He’s wearing a clean, dark suit and, even more interestingly, there’s a tan trenchcoat swung over the back of his chair.
He has black hair which seems to be completely and hopelessly screwed up. Did no one try to style it before they went on air? He also has some of the bluest eyes he has ever seen. Really, who has eyes like that? Even so, he seems very familiar to Dean...
“I’m told you have a special announcement to make,” Marv Armstrong says, walking over to King Charles.
“Oh yes, yes indeed,” King Charles says with an almost sheepish grin. “I think it would be best if Castiel himself explained it.”
Prince Castiel doesn’t react. Or at least, he doesn’t seem to. He looks like a damn immovable wall when the camera pans back over to him. God, he’s expressionless. And uptight. It’s almost irritating.
It’s even worse when he speaks.
“This year, my family has- I have seen fit to hold a Choosing as I have just turned eighteen,” Prince Castiel says and suddenly, there’s noise everywhere. Sam, along with seemingly everyone else on set (and probably everyone in the kingdom) gasps.
There’s a pause where Marv Armstrong says something that Dean doesn’t catch.
“God, I feel bad for whatever poor girl has to marry this uptight snob. I mean, honestly, how stilted can you-” Before Dean can finish, Prince Castiel starts speaking again.
“The rules of the Choosing are, of course, evident. However, there is a small change to the, um, ruleset,” Prince Castiel says.
“This year, we will pick fifty people, twenty-five women, and twenty-five men.” Yet another gasp. “Anyone between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two is eligible. I wish you all the best of luck,” Prince Castiel finishes.
The whole time when Prince Castiel was speaking, he seemed completely unfazed by his words. He was cold and calculated through the entire speech. The whole thing couldn’t have sounded more scripted but the impact was the same.
“Well, thank you, Your Royal Highness! Your Majesty, is there anything you wish to add?” Marv Armstrong asks, turning his attention to King Charles. The king laughs kind of awkwardly.
“No, I believe my son summed it up… accurately.”
Dean can tell that almost everyone is extraordinarily uncomfortable. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so damn awkward.
The broadcast continues with the regular bevy of news. More trouble in Infernos (a kingdom that neighbors Caelum) and yet another fire in Gratia (another province). There are five provinces in Caelum; Pura Animarum, Gratia, Alis, Angelus, and Hominum.
He, Bobby, and Sam all live on the outskirts of Hominum. Just barely inside the borders of Caelum at all. Hominum is one of the most impoverished provinces. They have far too many people and far too few jobs.
He’s lucky that he managed to find work as a mechanic. Even day laborer jobs are filled. Everyone needs work and there just isn’t enough to go around. So many hungry mouths… Dean shudders at the thought.
Financially, they’re barely holding on. He and Bobby work as many hours as they can. Bobby balances the books for Rufus. Sam is too young to start working and even if he wasn’t… Well, he’s a bright kid. He won’t be stuck under a car fixing the issues that rich people create.
Nah, Sammy is gonna be some hotshot lawyer. At least that’s what Dean hopes.
Once the broadcast is over, they clean up after dinner. The second Bobby is out of sight, Sam starts babbling.
“Dean! You’re going to sign up tomorrow, right?” Sam asks.
“What? No,” he says with an incredulous laugh. Sam cannot actually be suggesting that he sign up.
“What?” Sam looks completely taken aback. “Y-you have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Dean replies.
“Dean, you know that the competitors make money right?” Sam asks, looking as incredulous as Dean feels.
“Of course I know that. His Royal Highness, the Uptight Snob just really isn’t my type, Sam,” he says, frustrated.
“Don’t give me that, Dean,” Sam says as he crosses his arms.
He sputters, not quite believing the situation. Sam cannot actually be suggesting what he thinks the kid is suggesting.
“I’m not gay, Sammy!”
“You know there’s more than just being gay right? You can like guys and girls. It’s a thing,” Sam says.
“Either way, it doesn’t matter! He’s not my type in more than one way. Plus, it’s not like I’d get picked anyway,” he says.
“No harm done then, right? Could you please just sign up?” Sam begs.
He sighs in complete and utter frustration. This is his happiness. This is his goddamn life. He could be basically marrying himself off for money. But it’s not like he’d try to win. No, he could just stay long enough to get them set for a while.
Then they wouldn’t need to worry about money.
And this prince would probably end up with a snobby rich girl anyway. “Okay, fine,” he says, resignation quite evident in his voice, “I’ll do it.”
Suddenly, he’s got an armful of excited little brother. “Thank you!” Sam says. He can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face. He loves Sammy. Even if he won’t flat out say it.
“I’d do it, Dean, but I’m... y’know,” Sam says.
“I wouldn’t ask you to sign up anyway,” Dean says. This elicits a grimace from Sam.
“I’m sorry, Dean, I just thought it would be a good opportunity, after all, we won’t get another chance like this for years, or maybe even ever, and-”
He cuts off Sam’s babbling. “I get it, Sammy,” he says. Truthfully? The only reason he’s okay with doing this is the simple fact that he probably won’t get picked. There will be tens of thousands of men and women signed up.
Only fifty names get drawn. He won’t even get close.
He thinks about this as he falls asleep that night. It would be kind of nice if he did get in though. The money would be useful.
He drifts off thinking about the Choosing and Prince Castiel Novak.
---
This is completely foolish. Castiel thinks as he collapses into a chair in his library.
“Your Royal Highness?” his advisor, Gabriel, asks timidly.
“Yes, Gabriel?” Castiel says. He’s irritated by the idea of the Choosing. He cannot believe that he has to participate in such an old-fashioned tradition.
“Are you okay? You looked, um, angry on the news tonight,” Gabriel says, inching closer to him and Castiel scoffs.
“I find this whole ordeal to be quite trying on my nerves. It’s a ridiculous tradition that will not guarantee a good king or queen for Caelum.” A part of him burns with rage that his parents decided to do this so soon. They could have waited, but no, apparently Castiel is so socially inept that this is the only way.
“The chances of finding love in a competition like this is minimal,” he says to Gabriel, fiddling with the ring on his necklace.
“May I offer my opinion?” Gabriel asks. As if Castiel is going to say no.
“Of course, Gabriel. Always,” he responds.
“You don’t have to love ‘em, you just have to like them. Well, that and rule beside them,” Gabriel says. He’s standing awkwardly off to the side and watching him carefully.
“So what you’re saying is that I’ll be committing my life to someone that I am not in love with?” Castiel asks. Simply to clarify. He may be venting a little bit too.
“I’m saying that love isn’t really the goal of the Choosing. You’re supposed to be finding someone who’ll be good for the kingdom,” Gabriel says. He sounds sympathetic but Castiel is far too aggravated at the moment.
“I’ll be sacrificing my own happiness for Caelum,” Castiel says, sighing partly in frustration and partly in resignation. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. Sacrifice is part of the job.
“It sucks.” Gabriel voices Castiel’s own thoughts. He has a tendency of doing that.
“It’s certainly not ideal,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Shouldn’t marriage be for love?” He looks over at Gabriel.
“Yeah, it should be. When you’re the heir to a kingdom? Love is optional,” Gabriel says, sounding almost sad.
“Love should never be optional. Not when it comes to spending the rest of your life with someone,” Castiel says tiredly. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
They both stay quiet for some time after that. Neither of them really sure what to say.
“I saw that you managed to get both men and women for the Choosing. How’d you do that, sir?” Gabriel asks. Castiel doesn’t care for people addressing him as ‘Your Royal Highness’ or ‘Sir’. It’s aggravating and puts him on a pedestal.
“It took a lot of convincing,” Castiel says with a sigh. It was quite difficult. His mother and father are very… traditional.
Gabriel chuckles. “Who knew you could be so manipulative, sir?”
The silence settles again. “So, if you had to choose, would you choose a lady or a guy, sir?” Gabriel asks. Castiel wants to correct him, but he knows the honorific is ‘necessary’.
“I have no preference,” Castiel says honestly.
“There have to be upsides and downsides though.”
“I suppose there are. I think the King and Queen would be slightly upset if I chose a male,” he says.
“One more reason to pick a guy, sir,” Gabriel says with a light chuckle.
“True. I suppose that females would be able to produce an heir whereas males could not.” He shrugs slightly as if to punctuate his sentence. His lack of preference is astounding to some, but to him, it’s simply a way of life. When he was little, he didn’t realize that finding both boys and girls beautiful wasn’t normal.
Though, he firmly believes that people should stop saying that heterosexuality is the norm and thus what is expected of you.
“If you married a man, you’d probably have to adopt,” Gabriel says.
“I suppose I would. Many children do need adopting after all,” Castiel says absentmindedly. He likes the idea of adopting a child. Those who are in need of a home should get one. No one should be abandoned and unloved. Especially not a child.
Opening his home and arms to someone like that is a frightening idea but… It fills him with an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time: joy.
They sit in silence for a while. There’s nothing left to say. Gabriel is a good man but he cannot imagine the challenge that Castiel is facing. Eventually, he decides to go to bed. He bids Gabriel goodnight and walks out of the library.
As he climbs the stairs to his room, thoughts of how unfair this whole situation is flood his mind. He will be bound to someone for his entire life and they won’t even be someone that he loves. It’s naïve to imagine that he will find true love in a competition like the Choosing.
He collapses into his comfortable armchair that stands as a fixture of his room.
This whole old-fashioned tradition is so idiotic! He thinks, anger and frustration flowing through him. He wishes he could just marry whoever he likes. That would be the day…
He twists the golden ring hanging from his necklace, then goes to get ready for bed.
