Chapter Text
If there is anything Dean Winchester has learned in the past 5 years it's that being in the Secret Service is definitely not as cool as it appears to be in movies. In fact, if it weren't for the pay grade and that he got to work in the same general department as his brother, he might even consider going back to homicide. If they ever let him resign. Which seems unlikely. Especially considering how his Unit Chief has decided that Agent Dean Winchester is the next best thing since apple pie (Barnes' words, not Dean's) and has upgraded him.
As of, Dean checked his watch, one hour, twelve minutes, and twenty-seven seconds ago, Unit Chief Pamela Barnes had called him into her office and informed him of the promotion. Because that's how things are done around here. You don't get offered promotions, you get informed of them.
"You're the Special Agent in Charge of President-elect Novak's Presidential Protection Division."
Honestly, what do you even say to that? (Besides the totally obvious, "Yes, ma'am!"?) He was recruited at the ripe age of 24 by the legendary Director of the Secret Service, Bobby Singer himself, after finally putting to rest Topeka's most prolific serial killer. Dean had barely had time to congratulate himself on a job well done (and was just looking forward to a cold beer and finally getting a good night's sleep) before he was suddenly shaking hands with a gruff man in flannel who looked a hybrid between someone's Grandpa and a starring character on Duck Dynasty. The next thing he knew he was agreeing to pack up his life and move halfway across the country to the Washington, D.C. field office and work as part of the Uniformed Division. The only consolation to patrolling the White House grounds (besides, I mean, the White House grounds, hello!) was that Singer had recruited Sam to work as a computer analyst. It had taken two and a half years before Dean was assigned to be the back-up to the back-up to the then-SAIC and another two years to work his way up to the actual back-up.
And then Anna Milton lost the re-election to Castiel Novak. Which is why (among other reasons, including, but not limited to, the incident with the Bulgarian Ambassador which resulted in four broken ribs and two months hospital leave, but a very grateful Bulgarian Ambassador) Dean was suddenly the SAIC to the first openly gay President-elect. Because of course he was. Dean wasn't even sure he voted for the guy. (Let the record show he hadn't voted for Anna either; there had been some inital attraction there, but there was nothing like following her around for four years to uproot all such feelings. She was definitely not all she was cracked up to be or all she pretended to be on national television.) It's not that Dean was homophobic, because he absolutely was not. His nearly two year relationship with Eliot in Topeka had obviously proved that one, it's just that with the country in its current half-LGBTQ-friendly/half-LGBTQ-they-should-all-burn-in-hell, protecting Castiel Novak was going to be that much more difficult.
But at the moment he had more important things to worry about. Unit Chief Barnes had given him three hours to put together a team of four (from a pool of 25), brief them, grab his go-bag, and catch a jet to Chicago, Illinois to meet the President-elect for the first time. And breathe a fervent prayer somewhere in there that he wouldn't screw this up from the start. Because four years is a very, very long time to be someone's constant shadow.
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If there is anything Castiel Novak has learned in the past 18 months it's that running for President is a lot more stressful than he had ever anticipated it being. And that was the true understatement of the century. Sure, running for Mayor of Chicago and then Governor of Illinois was stressful. But not like this stressful. Not like going through every decision and indescretion since kindergarten stressful. There had been quite a few moments that Castiel seriously despaired of ever making it through and most of those moments were directly linked to his twin brother Gabriel. The things that man did! Castiel had set his sights on politics in fifth grade and had never looked back. Everything he had done from that point on was weighed on a giant scale swinging between This Truly Doesn't Matter & No One Will Elect Me If I Choose This Option. Gabriel had set his sights on becoming the Single Most Obnoxious Human In the Western Hemisphere and had never looked back.
Pairing with Fergus Crowley, the shrewd Senator from California was a decision that Castiel had come under a lot of heat for. But it wasn't one he regretted. At least not every single day, maybe once a week. Castiel had chosen Crowley for several reasons but the top two were his sharp understanding of politics (he had risen through the ranks faster than any other political figure in 15 years) and his complete opposite personality. Where Castiel's formal demeanor made the meet-and-greets hell and his popularity ratings see-saw, Crowley's calm "Hello, Citizens" was one of the things that had pushed Novak/Crowley 2012 to the very top. And they truly did balance each other out. Castiel had kicked Anna Milton's ass in the debates (in the shocked words of several well-known TV anchors) and Crowley and Adam Milligan had...well, that debate was something the history books would be trying to understand for years to come.
Castiel had made sacrifices for this, many of them. And one of them was in choosing to remain single. Well, with the exception of a brief affair in college with a man with the unfortunate name of Balthazar and a love of v-neck shirts. And that affair had made headline news for three whole weeks. Three weeks! First Openly Gay President...it was a Big Thing and not the sort of Big Thing that Castiel had planned on running under. There were more important issues, financial issues, gun control issues, foreign policy issues. Why couldn't he be known for that? But no, it was by his sexuality. He had been met with extreme opposition since the beginning, but he was running against Anna Milton who was going to be remembered for her radical ideas, mismanagement of government funding, and several unconfirmed, but still highly possible psychotic breaks. Castiel's policies were just enough this side of conservative for the majority of right-wing Republicans to throw their hat in his ring, but the election had shown the highest percentage of third party voting in the history of Presidential voting.
But it was over and as of 2 am last night, he was officially the President-elect. Castiel heaved a sigh as he reached for another cup of coffee, his fifth for the morning in case anyone was counting. Which for the next four hours no one would. But in four hours, he was meeting his own particular special agent/bodyguard and then he wouldn't have five minutes to himself for the next four years (or eight, preferrably eight).
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Dean grinned inwardly as he surveyed the four agents in front of him. This was the team. The security detail guarding Castiel Novak for the next four years. It hadn't been a particularly hard choice, but it did raise Barnes' eyebrows when he handed her the completed list. He was 99% sure he had chosen the four agents that had been thrown on the list by chance. But it didn't matter what she thought, only that she had signed off on it. And sign off she did. And so here he was, sitting in a jet 10,000 feet in the air (and when had he agreed to make flying a part of his every day job?) with this slight mismatch of agents. But Dean had faith in every one of them.
Benny Lafitte was the first. His personnel file was so secret it had more black-outs than actual words. Up until four hours ago, he was the leader of the Countersniper Support Unit. He was one of the deadliest shots in America and possibly a few other countries. Dean and Benny had been recruited within two weeks of one another and gone through training together. They had bonded, the mechanic-turned-Detective from Kansas and the soft-spoken Louisiana boy with a heart of gold and a gaze of steel. Despite the questionable rules on fraternizing (read: drinking on the rare weekend off) between units, Benny & Dean had found time to form a solid friendship.
Jo Harvelle was by far the youngest agent on the team. She had fought hard for everything she had achieved and heaven help anyone who stood between her and her goals. Dean had worked with Jo in the Uniformed Division and her no-holds-barred approach to everything she did had earned his complete respect. Jo refused to be pushed around by the mostly testosterone-filled unit she had worked for and was well on her way to promotion before Dean had discovered her name on his list that morning.
Garth Fitzgerald IV took some getting used to. For reasons known only to the higher-ups Garth had resigned from his dental practice in Missouri, applied to the Secret Service, and been accepted in the span of three weeks. His role in the greater Secret Service was the stuff of rumors, but he was well-known and generally well-liked and the few occasions Dean had needed to interact with him, he had definitely come through for him. Despite his barely 5' 7" frame, Garth knew how to get the job done and had one of the best track records in the Secret Service. Besides, Dean liked things a little crazy.
Charlie Bradbury was in a class all her own. Word on the street was that she had been recruited straight from high school after hacking into the Department of Homeland Security for a senior research paper. Why she hadn't ended up in the "Geek Squad" with Sam and his posse was something Dean was never entirely sure on, but definitely one he wasn't questioning. He had connected with Charlie from the word go and her name was the first he had chosen.
Dean nodded with satisfaction and closed his eyes against the slight turbulence. No need in letting the agents see their new team leader put off by the potential of freefalling to their deaths. He let his mind drift back to his conversation with Sam from that morning.
"Dude, guess what?"
"You got promoted to being head of security for Novak." Sam's voice echoed back to him from the other end of the line.
"Have I ever mentioned that I hate you? How do you even know that? I literally found out fifteen minutes ago."
"Does the term Technical Analyst mean anything to you? Anything at all?" Dean could practically hear the accompanying bitchface.
"Yeah, it means you're a geek who gets paid a bunch of money to sit behind a computer all day."
"Maybe, but now I'm the geek who is in charge of a bunch of other geeks in charge of keeping you safe."
"What?"
"I got promoted too Dean. I'm leading your technical back-up team."
"Whoa! Seriously? That's awesome, Sammy!"
"Sam, it's Sam, Dean. I'm not a chubby 12 year old."
"Yeah, now you're an overgrown moose."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Sam Winchester was the best little brother anyone could ask for and no one could convince Dean otherwise. Growing up in the backwoods of Kansas with a alcoholic single father was a lot of things, but easy wasn't one of them. But Sam had done alright with himself, his ridiculously genius testing levels helping out a lot. And just knowing that he was leading a Geek Squad (which included such notable names as Kevin Tran, Ash Miles, & Chuck Shurley) made Dean breathe that much easier. Which was good because the plane was starting to descend into the Chicago airspace and Dean had to divide his attention between not puking all over his good shoes and prepping himself to meet the President-elect in t-27 minutes.
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Castiel paced the length of the hallway outside of acting-Governor Mills' chambers for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. It had been nearly 18 hours now since the last result had come in and he was still half expecting someone to tell him it was just a joke and could he please deal with the uprising of crime in downtown Springfield. But no, he was no longer the Governor. And he had two months to somehow compromise with Crowley enough to choose his Cabinet members and White House staff.
"There you are Novak." Speak of the devil himself, there he was.
"Crowley, I need five more minutes. Just five."
"Sorry, no can do mate. The press would like a word and you're meeting your security detail in five."
Oh yes, security detail. Somehow in the past three hours of hyperventilating about whether Michael Myers or Meg Masters would piss off the least amount of voting constituents (and could he twist Crowley's arm to going for Michael), Castiel had completely forgotten about that. "Fine. Lead the way. Or at least, point me in the general vicinity."
Crowley chuckled. "I can do you one better. They're just getting off the elevator."
Castiel glanced up just in time to see five people in dark suits, sunglasses, & earpieces exiting the elevator and swiftly making their way towards him. He rolled his eyes at Crowley and stepped forward slightly to meet the group. The man at the head of the group, the leader if Castiel was to hazard a guess, flipped off his sunglasses and extended his hand as they approached.
"Mr President-elect, I'm Agent Dean Winchester & I'm the head of your new security detail."
Castiel had to tilt his head back just slightly as he met a pair of green eyes. They sparkled with determination and perhaps a touch of hidden amusement.
"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Winchester."
Castiel barely listened to the agent as he introduced the rest of his team. He caught the fact that there were two men and two women and they looked a bit...unique, but most of his attention was focused on the Agent standing directly in front of him. He tuned back in just in time to hear Agent Winchester ("Dean") say, "...and we'll do a full security brief on the plane, but for now I understand you have a press conference to attend to."
Crowley caught his elbow at that, smiled at the agents, & directed them back towards the elevator. The only conscious thought in Castiel's mind was, "Well, this is not convenient."