Chapter Text
Dean is awoken by Sam furiously shaking his shoulders. “Dean! Wake up! Wake up!” He opens his bleary eyes.
“The sign-ups are open!” Sam says, practically bubbling with excitement.
“What?” Dean mumbles. It’s too damn early for Sam to be doing this.
“Can’t we do this later?” he asks, turning onto his belly and hiding his face in his pillow.
“What? No! Come on!” Sam says, grabbing his arm and pulling.
Dean is a six-foot-tall, one-hundred and sixty-five-pound man. Sam is a gangly thirteen-year-old who is maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Not really an even match.
He ignores Sam’s valiant attempts to pull him out of bed. “Get me some coffee and then we can talk about this,” he says. His voice was slightly muffled by the pillow but his point must get across because Sam is out the door in a matter of seconds.
Sam seems to be thrilled about this whole thing. Suffice it to say, Dean is definitely not.
A few minutes later, Sam comes bolting up the stairs with a mug of coffee. He sits up and accepts the mug. The coffee is black, no sugar, no cream. Just the way he likes it.
He takes a long drag. The coffee is scalding and burns his tongue as it rolls past but it’s worth it. The caffeine perks him up. He’s awake enough to listen to whatever crap Sammy is spewing.
“Okay,” he finally says, setting the mug on the bedside table. “So, what’s this about sign-ups?” he asks.
“Well, the good news is that we can register you online,” Sam says, visibly brimming with excitement.
This makes Dean a little suspicious. “Okay, is there bad news, Sammy?” he asks.
“Well, um, yeah, kind of,” Sam says, shrugging slightly. “What is it?” he asks, eyeing Sam closely.
“You’ll have to go in for, like, a little interview thing and then they’ll take a picture of you for your form,” Sam says in one rush of breath.
“An interview? I thought this was supposed to be a random, luck of the draw-type thing!” Dean says. This is so damn stupid.
“I guess it’s just so that they can make sure you’re a decent fit?” Sam says. His tone makes it sound like a question.
“Whatever,” he says with a scoff. “Let’s just do this damn thing.” Dean’s exasperation with the Choosing has reached new levels.
Sam grins and bolts out of the room, presumably to get the laptop from downstairs. As soon as Sam is out of sight, Dean falls back into the pillows with a groan. He covers his face with his hands. This whole damn thing is a waste of time.
Dean would much rather stay here in poverty than sign his life away to some rich prince. He knows that there’s little to no chance of him getting picked, but still if he did… Well, that’s not something he’s going to dwell on.
When Sam comes back up, he is indeed carrying their laptop. He sighs and takes it from Sam - who still looks way too goddamn enthusiastic about this by the way - then quickly enters the password.
Sam directs him to the website. It’s an elegantly designed website, Dean will give them that. It has a light blue, gold, and white color scheme. It’s actually kind of nice.
Dean hits the register button and a form pops up on the screen. He has to enter all the generic stuff; first name, last name, email address, etc. He also has to enter some other, more interesting details, such as; height, weight, hair color, eye, and things of the sort.
It’s strange and a bit off-putting but Dean figures that it’s probably necessary. He also has to enter his address and the province he lives in. After all of that is done, he quickly checks it over. Everything seems to be in order so he clicks the ‘Send’ button at the bottom.
Another page pops up that has the location of the nearest factory where they’re doing the interviews and headshots. God, this whole thing is just so… Ugh. He thinks.
Sam is watching over Dean’s shoulder like some sort of hyperactive puppy. “We should head out there now,” Sam says, bolting up from the bed.
“Uh, say what, Sammy?” Dean asks.
“You heard me,” Sam says.
“You cannot be serious, dude,” he says, looking at the time. “It’s nine in the freakin’ morning. No way.”
“We want your application to be the first one in!”
“You mean you want mine to be the first one in,” he says. Sam pouts at him. Goddamn it, he’s using the freakin’ puppy dog eyes again. Dean is helpless when it comes to Sam and that look.
“Can I at least get dressed first?” he groans. Sam perks right up at that.
“Sure! Be downstairs in ten, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Bitch,” he says.
“Jerk!” Sam says as he all but skips out of the room.
Dean sighs and rubs his eyes, furiously grabbing his coffee cup and finishing off the last of it. He gets out of bed. Today is going to be a pain in the ass.
---
By the time he’s showered and in some of his nicer clothes - Sam insisted - he heads down to the living room. He’s wearing some of the only jeans he owns without grease stains and a long-sleeved plaid shirt.
Dean gives Sam a little spin when he gets into the living room. Sam looks him up and down and gives him an approving nod. Dean can’t help but laugh. “Someday, you’re gonna make some girl very happy by doing fashion shows with her,” he says.
Sam blushes a deep red. “Shut up!” the kid says, storming out the front door. Bobby, who was watching this whole encounter just laughs.
“Get a move on, boys,” he says, wheeling over to Dean as if to shoo him out.
“Sheesh, fine, we’ll get outta your hair, old man,” Dean says.
“Boy, if I wasn’t in this chair…” Bobby mutters. Dean follows Sam outside and Bobby slams the door behind them.
---
The line for the interviews is massive. It’s like a snake curving through the warehouse district of Hominum. There are people from all over the province there with varying degrees of wealth.
Some are dressed similarly to Dean; relatively clean jeans and the least ripped shirt they own. Some are dressed in simple but nicer clothing; a basic dress with a little makeup or some nice clean dress pants with a button-up. And some are dressed like crazy rich people.
A few of the girls look basically unrecognizable because they’re wearing so much unnecessary makeup. Expensive-looking jewelry is hanging off of them in spades. Some of the girls are wearing dresses that show off a little too much of their… Assets for Dean’s taste. And the girls aren’t the only ones showing off.
Dean has to shake his head at this exuberant display of wealth. We get it. You’re rich. Shut up about it now, will ya? Dean thinks.
The line moves slowly. Almost excruciatingly so, but soon enough, Dean is inside the massive warehouse they’re using. It’s packed with people; applicants reapplying makeup or rehearsing answers to questions. And staff members are bolting around, trying to keep everyone in order.
Everyone gets a number at the front desk and then they wait for it to be called. They have a few different rooms set up for interviews.
Dean shuffles through the line with Sam at his side. Sam is bouncing around like a kid at Christmas. Dean’s really not sure why Sam is so enchanted by this whole process, after all, this could be the last time his, or any of the other applicants' lives, are ever normal.
Once you’ve been a part of the Choosing, your life changes forever. People will ask you questions about it years after it happens. At least, that’s what people say. Apparently, Sam isn’t the only one who is far too enchanted by the Choosing.
Why bother people years after the fact? He understands that the Choosings themselves don’t happen that often, but just leave people alone. All they want is peace and quiet, is that too much to ask for? He’s hit by the realization, that if he becomes one of the Chosen, his life will be changed too.
He’s not an exception.
A whole new wave of dislike for the Choosing hits him. He hates this. He hates the whole damn thing. He takes a deep breath. He probably won’t get chosen anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be fine.
He likes things the way they are. Change is a new enemy.
Dean gets his number. Three-hundred and seventy-two. He and Sam sit down in two of the hard plastic chairs provided. These chairs are scattered all around the room and nearly all of them are filled.
For the first time, he feels a profound sense of anxiousness take over. He doesn’t usually get nervous. Especially not over meaningless things like this and yet… Damn, this could be a really good opportunity for them. He’d better not blow this.
It’s strange to have such a clash of emotions. Hatred versus necessity.
They wait together, listening as numbers are called out. Dean feels his palms start to sweat as number three-hundred and seventy-one is called.
He watches a girl comes out of one of the interview rooms crying. What the hell are they doing in there? He wonders.
His number is called.
Damn it. He stands up, leaving Sam behind.
“Good luck!” Sam calls after him as a staff member shows him to one of the interview rooms. He steps inside and is met with the sight of a middle-aged man sitting at a folding table.
“Please sit down, Mr. Winchester,” the man says.
Dean sits in the chair across from him. A woman sits next to the man - Gadreel, as his nametag says - with a notepad in hand.
The interviewer, Gadreel, has a computer in front of him.
“So, you’re seventeen?” Mr. Gadreel asks.
“Yes, sir,” Dean says.
The interviewer looks him up and down, then returns his focus to the computer.
“Do you work?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a mechanic.”
“Family?”
“A brother and a... Guardian.”
Dean’s not sure why any of this matters but he goes along with it.
“Guardian?”
Oh hell no. He is not talking about his messed-up family with this guy.
“Yeah, so?” he snaps.
He immediately knows that was the wrong choice when even the notetaker looks up. How the hell does he fix this now?
He shifts awkwardly in his chair. The lady taking notes writes something down. Damn it.
“He, uh, he’s our uncle,” Dean lies through his teeth.
The interviewer nods, seemingly satisfied by his answer. For some reason.
“Why are you signing up for the Choosing?” Mr. Gadreel asks.
Dean considers this. He could screw up this interview with this answer. Well, screw it up more in any case.
“I mean, who wouldn’t? Isn’t this like, the childhood dream of everyone in Caelum? I just happen to meet the requirements this year. Woulda thunk?”
The interviewer raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe his answer.
“You live on the outskirts of Caelum, yes? Just barely inside the kingdom’s limits?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So you are aware of the monetary compensation that the Chosen are granted?”
Dean swallows. “Yes, I’m, uh, aware of that.”
Mr. Gadreel nods. “We just have one more question for you, Mr. Winchester.”
“Shoot,” he says.
“You’re a virgin, correct?”
He sputters. What the hell?
“Uh, excuse me? What kind of question is that?”
“We just need to verify-”
“That’s a stupid question. Are you asking everyone that? That’s freakin’ private, ain’t it?”
“Well, yes, but it’s part of the procedure.”
“Then fix your damn procedure!”
“Mr. Winchester, please answer the question.”
Dean fights the urge to stand up and storm out. What kind of question is that? Asking people if they’re goddamn virgins. Who cares if someone’s gotten laid before?
“Yeah. I’m a freaking virgin. We good?”
Mr. Gadreel stares at him. His gaze is sharp. “We’re done here. If you would, Mr. Winchester,” he says pointedly, gesturing towards the door.
Dean stands up and all but storms out of the room.
---
The walk home is quiet. Sam doesn’t ask why Dean is so pissy. Dean doesn’t say anything about how the interview went. They step in through the front door of their ramshackle house. The place is practically falling apart. They’ve never had enough money to repair anything. He plops down on the couch, putting an arm over his face.
“What happened to him?” Bobby asks from somewhere off to his right.
“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging. “I think the interview went wrong.”
He groans. He’s still pissed. Who the hell asks someone if they’re a virgin? He hears the sound of Bobby wheeling over to him.
“What happened, boy?” Bobby asks.
“Nothing.”
“So, you ain’t gonna tell me?”
“What does it matter to you?” he snaps, standing up.
Sam pops his head in. “What happened, Dean?”
“Piss off!” he growls.
“Sam, you deal with ‘im. I ain’t dealing with this idjit tonight.” Bobby gets the hell outta there. Even in a wheelchair, Bobby Singer is still the fastest man alive. At least when it comes to getting out of uncomfortable situations.
“Seriously, Dean, it couldn’t have been that bad!” Sam says, crossing over to him. He’s holding a bowl with some of the leftover chili in it. Sam watches him a little nervously.
“It was pretty damn bad, Sammy.”
“What’d they ask?” Sam asks with his big puppy dog eyes in full effect. Dean can’t resist them. Damn it.
“It wasn’t even about the questions, Sam! It was about the whole damn thing. This whole competition is stupid! It’s a waste of my goddamn time. I could’ve been working today instead of filling your childhood fantasies!”
“They’re not my fantasies, Dean! I just want us to-”
“To have a better life, I know! That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Do you know how long I’ve been taking care of you, Sam? Do you?”
“A long time.”
“Since Dad left. Since Mom died. Since the day my life went to hell!” He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing through their living room. Sam takes a slow step forward with a calming hand up, almost like he’s trying to cull an angry animal, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s off on a tangent now.
“I haven’t gotten a single day of peace and goddamn quiet for years. Do you get that, Sam? Freakin’ years. I’m tired, man! This competition will destroy any peace I could ever have if I get in. I’m not saying I will but just the chance is sickening.”
Dean throws himself back down on the couch. He’s worn himself out with all of this anger. He’s so tired of being angry.
“Dean, I’m sorry. I know how hard you work. I know how much you’ve sacrificed for me. It’s unfair for me to ask you to do this. To possibly give up the chance of having the life you want but... “
“I know, Sammy. Trust me, I know.”
“If you really don’t want to even think about marrying Prince Novak, then you don’t have to. We can withdraw. It was never a sure thing anyway and there’s got to be another way to find the money. I’m sure if we just-”
“Sam. Enough. It’s okay. I’m not going to freaking withdraw. There’s no point anyway. I blew up at the interviewers, so there is no way in hell I’m getting in. I’m pretty damn sure Prince Novak doesn’t want anyone with a brain or personality. Probably just wants a trophy to keep around.”
Sam sighs and gently moves Dean’s legs out of the way so he can sit down next to him. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t be pushing you like this.”
“It’s okay,” Dean says as he sits up and throws an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “I just wish we didn’t have to sacrifice so much not to starve. There ain’t a way in hell I’m getting picked. Don’t worry about it though, Sammy. We’ll find another way. We always do.” He gently punches Sam’s shoulder.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t just start working?” Sam asks, looking up at him with big doe eyes.
“No way. You are not working. One, you’re not old enough and two, we don’t need you under some car somewhere, Sam. We need you getting your education. Out of the whole Winchester family, you’re the one who’s got a shot. You might end up with a well-paying job, a wife, two and a half kids, and a nice mansion up in Pura Animarum.”
Dean can just see Sam and his kids. A picket fence, a beautiful wife. The perfect apple pie life. That’s what Sam deserves and Dean is gonna make damn sure that’s what his little brother gets.
“Who says I’d live up there? Boring! No adventure with a life like that.”
“Don’t worry about adventure, Sam. Just worry about living a happy life. A life where you don’t have to worry about getting food on the table. Now, before this turns into a chick flick, let’s go and start cleaning up. We should make today count if we can.”
Sam nods and hops up. His bowl of chili still resides safely in his hands. Dean stands up and heads to his room.
The house is a mess. Stacks of books are everywhere, even on the stairs. A fine layer of dust coats every surface. Almost everything they own is in disrepair. Dean sighs. They have a lot of work to do.
He wonders, as he climbs the stairs, what life would have been like if his dad hadn’t have left. If his mom didn’t die. He remembers the night his life went to hell in perfect detail. Almost like it happened yesterday when in reality, it happened almost thirteen years ago.
Thirteen Years Ago
Dean wakes to the smell of smoke. He hears loud noises coming from down the hall. Sam? He thinks as he exits his room. He bolts down the hallway only to see his dad standing at the end of it, already holding Sam in his arms.
The smell of smoke is thick in the air. And bright, flickering light shines out of Sam’s room. It’s on fire. He can feel the heat even from here.
“Take your brother outside! And no matter what happens, make sure he’s safe, got that, Dean?” His dad asks, handing Sammy to him.
He nods in response. He cradles Sam as he bolts down the stairs and out of the house. Dean watches as the house goes up in flames.
There are sirens somewhere off in the distance. He doesn’t move or speak, he just holds Sam tighter to his chest. He wants to scream. He wants to beg someone for help. He just can’t do it. So, he watches as his life falls apart.
He’s not sure how much time passes. It could have been minutes, hours, years. All he knows is that something went very, very wrong. Eventually, his father stumbles out of their house.
There are men in uniforms everywhere, running around and asking questions. Their dad makes a beeline straight for them. “Dean! Is Sam okay?” Dean nods, showing the bundle of blankets in his arms.
“Good. It’s time to go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Far away from here.”
Nine Years Later
“Dad, where are you going?” Dean asks, stepping into his father’s bedroom. His dad is packing a suitcase and it looks like he’s taking everything. Not that they have many belongings in the first place.
Clothes, a toothbrush, his shoes. He’s leaving somewhere. Longterm. His father adds a photograph of him, Sammy and Dean, to the pile.
“Out.”
“You…you look like you’re leaving.”
“I’ll be back soon.” His dad zips up his suitcase, moving it from the bed to the ground. His features look tired and gaunt.
“How soon is soon?” Dean takes a step closer. He’s just trying to understand. His father turns around, fiddling with something on the bed. He knows this move far too well. He hates it when his father just turns his back on him. Like not seeing the problem makes it non-existent.
“Damn it, Dean! Stop asking questions. You don’t need to know,” his father murmurs.
He steps closer again. His dad is angry right now but if he could just…
“But I-”
His dad turns on him, fury in his eyes. Every feature is twisted into pure frustration and anger.
“What the hell did I just tell you? Stop asking questions!” his father shouts.
He shrinks back, stumbling over his feet to get out of the room. His dad follows him, grabbing his wrist. He jerks Dean to a halt and sinks down to one knee in front of him.
“Hey, easy there. I’m just… I’m leaving for a little while, Dean.” John Winchester’s voice is softer now. There’s less anger. Less frustration, however, Dean is still scared. Even as a thirteen-year-old, he finds his father terrifying.
“When will you be back?” Dean asks in a small voice. He doesn’t dare move while his father watches him like this.
“I don’t know.” His father runs his fingers through his own hair. His eyes are tired and worn as he stares at Dean intensely.
“Listen, bud, you’ve gotta take care of Sammy while I’m gone, okay? He needs you. Got that?” His dad asks, patting his shoulder gently. Dean resists the urge to flinch.
He nods in response. He can do that. Taking care of Sammy is easy. Sam is just a moody ten-year-old now. Not much harder to deal with than a moody nine-year-old.
“Good. Okay. I’ll see you soon.” His dad goes back into his room and comes out with his suitcase in hand. He makes his way to the door of their tiny apartment.
“Bye, kiddo. Be careful, okay?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, Dad.”
As soon as the door closes behind his dad, he goes searching for Sam. He finds him lying on his bed in their shared room. Sam isn’t facing Dean when he walks into the room.
“Hey, Sammy,” he says, trying to smile.
“Hey. What were you and Dad talking about?” Sam asks in a small voice. He still hasn’t looked up at Dean.
Dean sighs and slowly sits down next to his baby brother on the bed. Sam sits up slowly. There’s a doe-eyed look of confusion on his face.
Dean resists the urge to scream. He’s so angry and so tired of their dad’s antics. He’s never around when they need him. Never. Now he’s just left again. He knows that their dad never leaves permanently, but this time feels different.
It’s not a ‘bye. I’ll be back in a couple days’ kind of leave. It’s more of a ‘I might not be coming back. See ya!’ kind of leave. He’s terrified of what would happen if their father never comes back. He’s just a kid, he’s not able to take care of Sam. Not on his own.
He takes a deep breath. It won’t come to that. It never has before and it won’t now. He puts an arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“He’s just leaving for a couple days, Sammy. Nothing to be worried about.”
“Again?” Sam asks as he stands up and shrugs Dean’s arm off of his shoulders. Dean tries not to look hurt by this. He knows Sam isn’t angry at him. He knows that. It still stings though.
“Yeah, Sammy, again,” he says with a sigh. He’s resigned. He accepts that this whole process will never change. Their father leaves for months at a time and comes back with stacks of money tucked away in his suitcase.
Dean hasn’t asked what their father does in a long time.
The first time he asked, his dad had told him he worked as a mechanic. What kind of mechanic leaves their family for months at a time and gets paid in cash like that? Dean knows his father is a liar. He’s known it since before he can remember.
He usually doesn’t care that his father won’t tell him the truth. It hurts a little, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. However, when it endangers Sam. That’s when he cares.
“My name is Sam!” Sam shouts.
Even though Dean is resigned, Sam is not. He’s so much like their dad that every argument is like the same person arguing different views. They butt heads so much that Dean just lets them go at it now. He doesn’t even try to intervene.
“I know, Sammy. I know,” he says softly.
Sam takes a step towards him before collapsing back onto the bed. Sam falls right into his arms. And then everything is normal again. Dean clutches his little brother to his chest, just like always.
It’s always just been the two of them against the world. That will never change.
---
His father never comes back. Well, not for long at least. He stops in a couple of times over the years to ask Dean for money.
Dean was a teenager working an illegal job to support his baby brother. And his father - his goddamn father - was asking him for money.
His father always used to beg him and told him, ’This is the last time! I swear!’. And it was always a lie. It’s never been the truth and it never will be. But for some goddamn reason, Dean always caves. He always gives his dad whatever money he needs.
Then, his dad leaves again. He’s even more exhausted and Sam is even angrier.
It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle.
Everything got really bad when Dean turned fifteen. He still couldn’t work any legal jobs. He begged on the street for a while and did anything he could. Any work he could get was barely enough to get food on the table.
He was desperate.
They ended up on the street. Food was scarce and so was shelter. It got cold at night and there was nothing to do but huddle for warmth.
It took a long time for Bobby to find them.
Once he did, though, they had a place to stay. A roof over their heads. Dean will always remember that night in perfect clarity.
“Where are we going, Dean?” Sam asks as they walk down the street. A tough-looking man with a beard had come to them. He told them he knew their father. Usually, Dean wouldn’t trust anyone who had an in with their father, but he was desperate.
He still is.
“Somewhere better. Don’t think about it too much, kiddo.” They follow him to a beat-up old Chevy Chevelle.
“Get in, boys. We’re goin’ home.” The man, Bobby, jerks his head.
“Home?” Sam and Dean ask together.
“Yeah. Yer dad left ya, I’m gonna give you boys a home, fer as long as ya need.”
Dean clenches his jaw. This could go very, very wrong. You don’t just get into some random stranger’s car, but… God, they’re cold. And hungry. He nods. “Okay. Sam, get in. I’m just gonna talk to Bobby here for a minute.”
Sam looks up at him with that big doe-eyed expression on his face. “Go. I’ll only be a minute.” Sam nods slowly. He walks over to the Chevy and climbs in. Dean turns to face Bobby. “How do you know my dad?”
Bobby doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he almost looks… Proud. “We used to work together.”
“Work together?” Dean gnaws on his lower lip. He feels a profound sense of unease root deep in his chest. His father’s work was always a subject they never touched. Never mentioned.
Bobby grunts as an affirmation.
“What ‘work’ did you two do together?” he asks, carefully examining Bobby’s face.
“Did John feed you that mechanic story bull?”
He clenches his fists. So, he was right. His dad is a filthy liar. Of course, he is. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s not like anyone can be relied upon to tell the goddamn truth.
“From the look on yer face, he ain’t said a word about his real job.” Bobby takes off his hat and rubs it against his forehead. “Idjit,” Bobby mutters.
“What is his real job?” he asks.
Bobby shrugs. “If he didn’t tell you, there’s a damn good reason, boy. Don’t worry about it fer now. We can talk about that later.”
Dean takes a deep breath. Bobby has a rough nature to him, but he thinks that they can trust him. Even though he seems a little too much like their father for his liking. Dean hops into the passenger seat of the Chevy. “Hey, Bobby? What the hell happened to this damn car? And why does it smell like roadkill?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.
Bobby gives him a look. There’s a lot of mixed emotions in that look. “Boy, you never stop talkin’, do ya?”
Dean laughs. The first real laugh in a while. “Nope. I’ve been told it’s a problem.”
“They told ya right.”
Sam even laughs at that. They’re happy for once.