Chapter Text
“You know you don’t have to do it.” Dean sighed into the phone, because of course Sam was right. Sam was always right, that was his thing, even from across the world. But Dean wasn’t listening, because he’d thought of all of this before, obviously. He knew no one could force him to take the job, and if he was smarter, maybe he wouldn’t have taken it. But he had already agreed, and he was already off his flight and waiting for the car to pick him up.
“Yeah, I know.” Dean answered.
“But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” His little brother sounded exhausted and long suffering, which was fair, because Dean could be a bit of a mess. Sam was the calmer of the two. He had just gotten into law school, just gotten engaged, and his life was all set up with a pretty pink bow. Dean, on the other hand, was constantly moving around, taking different security and bodyguarding jobs in different areas and at different times. He found it hard to be in one place too long, and he wasn’t always the best at connecting to people. He moved around a lot as a kid, and while Sam had longed for that normalcy, Dean had never really had the opportunity for it.
For a long time, he wasn’t sure what he would do after school. He thought maybe he would be a mechanic. College was never really an option; while Sam had had a chance to study and not worry too much about all the rest of it, Dean had always been the Dad in the family. Sam was his responsibility, and grades were the least of his concern when he had to worry about putting food on the table. It was less of a case of finding something he actually enjoyed, and more about finding something that would put money in his hands and Sam’s college fund.
Still, he was good at what he did, and a job like this? Would change the quality of his life forever. Sam’s too, if he could help out, though Sam was less likely to accept his help these days. Even if he only did it for a few months, it was a totally different thing. The quality of work he got in future would change, the amount of money was far better… There was no good reason for him to say no.
Except, of course, for the fact that Dean really, really didn’t want to do the job. Maybe he was judgemental, and maybe it was a cliche, but he had absolutely no interest in royalty. People who were special by the very nature of their birth and absolutely nothing at all else. What made them different from anyone else? A bloodline chosen at random decades before and nothing more. It seemed like such a privileged state of being.
“Yep.” He answered, “I’m waiting in the airport for the person to come pick me up and take me there now.”
For someone like Dean, who had grown up with nothing, that privilege seemed… ludicrous. Money and assets and security for doing nothing but having the good fortune to be born into wealth and power. While the average person scraped and worked their ass off for food and shelter, they sat around in palaces and pretended to be there for the good of the people rather than the good of themselves. Economic benefits aside, there were better ways to benefit the society than this hegemonic system. At least in Dean’s eyes.
And true, Dean hadn’t made any attempt to keep up with the new King in this major country, but it wasn’t his country, and he doubted this one would be any different than the last.
He was young , but that was really all that had changed. Unusual as it was, being young didn’t necessarily make him any different, especially growing up as privileged and sheltered as Royalty were. He was still raised in a lily white, heteronormative monarchy that wanted for nothing and had everything. Dean had raised his little brother when he was a child himself, had regularly gone without food so Sammy could eat, had grown up with next to nothing. He really had no time or energy to give to the royal family.
“Good luck, Dean. Don’t assassinate the King, will you?”
Despite Dean’s distaste for royalty, the new King was willing to pay handsomely for protection. Specifically for him and his little brother. From what Dean had been told in his briefing, King Castiel Novak was twenty-nine years old and had only been in power for a year. He had several younger siblings, one of whom was significantly younger than the others, at only four years old. After him, there was Prince Michael, twenty-seven, Prince Gabriel, twenty-five, Princess Anael, twenty-three and Prince Samandriel, eighteen. Then, significantly younger, was Jack, age four. Dean didn’t really care about the semantics of their ages or why they were so spread out, it wasn’t his business to care. It was his business to know that most of the siblings still technically lived at home, but were not ever actually there, off travelling or ‘volunteering’ or whatever other thing. It was his job to know that King Charles, affectionately referred to as Chuck, had died suddenly, and Prince Castiel had not been particularly ready for the job. It was his job to know that former Queen Consort Naomi (now called the Queen Mother) wasn’t able to take the crown due to her grief and her consort status, and thus their eldest son took the throne.
“‘Course not, Sam. I’ll call you later. Say hi to Jess for me.”
It was also his job to know that due to these factors, King Castiel was virtually raising Prince Jack, which the public seemed to love him for, though Dean didn’t particularly understand the hype. He had raised a sibling without anyone throwing him a parade about it.
It was his job to know that he had been hired after threats had been made to both King Castiel and Prince Jack. He knew that the King didn’t see it as much of a real threat, but that his staff and family did. He knew that the King had denied getting a personal bodyguard, only agreeing when something had happened to force his hand.
He thought about it all, went over it all, even as he got into the town car that had been sent for him, and made his way to the Palace that would be his home for the next few months, at least.
He took note of the city, what it looked like, what the people were like. It seemed nice, the buildings were old and pretty to look at, he didn’t see any major signs of poverty, which he could only conceivably take in a positive way. He noted the way people dressed, and he read over his binder of information once more.
By the time the car pulled up at the Castle, Dean was already exhausted. The timezones were different, but all of these things were his responsibility to combat. He was on duty now, from the second he stepped inside the laughably big Castle. There were people milling around outside, looking in and seeming as though they were meeting a rockstar. A person with no particular talents was not the famous person Dean would personally choose to meet, but hey, doing the job he did, he’d met a lot of famous people, and he knew better than anyone how much it was not as exciting as it seemed to be.
They were just people. Always.
When he stepped out of the car, Dean was immediately greeted by a blonde woman who introduced herself as Joanna Beth Harvelle (‘Call me Jo, the rest of it is pointless’). He liked her off the bat, because she seemed businesslike and serious, the sort of person who probably shared Dean’s general distaste for the hero worship of royals, he thought. She was friendly enough too, and Dean had a feeling he would be spending any off time with the staff. But she was the head of security, and Dean was just King Castiel and Prince Jack’s personal security detail.
He also met Benny, who was general security for the family, and Hannah, who was their live-in PR. He was told about Kelly, who was apparently both the King’s best friend and Jack’s nanny. There were others too, people he knew he had listed down in his binder, but whose names he didn’t quite remember just yet.
He was taken around the Castle, and mostly, he found that he didn’t really care for it. It was big and heavy handed. Heavy golden bannisters and high, intricate ceiling art. Every piece of decor looked fragile and important or thick, ornate and outdated. Everyone stood around so carefully, so seriously. It felt like living in a completely different world, a world where only .02 percent of people mattered and everyone else was merely staff, serious and more tool than person. He was sure he’d get lost at least 20 times, and decided he’d have to map the place out if he was going to live here.
Finally, he was taken to the places he would need most. His own room, larger than any bodyguard (or single person, for that matter) could possibly need and sporting a four-poster bed that looked bigger than his entire childhood home (which, to be fair, was often just the backseat of a car). His room had a huge window and balcony, but he was told that if he wasn’t careful, paparazzi and the like would get pictures of him through it, so he best be careful. He wanted to tell them that no paparazzi would ever be interested in him, because he was nobody, but he refrained, realising these people were just doing their jobs, and it was their job to warn him. Their job to protect the crown-- and that included Dean now on some level, what he did would reflect on them, for better or for worse.
He was shown that his room was next door to the King’s, and the King’s was adjoined to the young Prince’s. He was told how there was an intercom between rooms, so Dean would be on call for the King all hours of the day. All of that was fine and mostly standard, it was a twenty-four hour job, one created only out of necessity. He was being paid to have no life outside of the King and his little brother.
“Fair warning, he’s very… friendly.” Jo said casually, a small smile pulling at her face. Dean liked her, he’d decided as much already. She seemed like a good person, and clever to boot. Besides, he would need a friend here if he’d be living here for the foreseeable future. And she seemed as good of one as any, considering she was sort of his boss. Not technically, but she was the head of his security, which put her in some kind of position of authority. He didn’t mind that, though he’d never been great with authority.
“Friendly?” Dean asked, pausing in the doorway. He shifted his tie, making himself as presentable as possible. Whether or not he liked the King or royalty in general, he wasn’t intending to be in any way unprofessional about it. He would do his job and nothing more. Friends with the staff was one thing. Friends with the mark was something else again.
Jo paused, as if considering her words carefully. “Have you worked for someone this high profile before?” She asked.
Dean shrugged, “Celebrities, politicians, influencers. Hard to rate because royalty is different again, but… I’d say pretty close, yeah. Why?”
“Right.” She nodded, blonde ponytail bobbing along with her, her lips pressed together. “So then you know that mostly people don’t get to that profile without being… well, assholes.” She didn’t mince her words, and Dean decided he liked that fact too. He would rather honesty than placations. “Castiel is… not like that. He’s… unusually friendly for someone in his position.”
Dean snorted instinctively, and Jo shot him a look. “I’m sorry,” He said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I don’t mean to be… dismissive or anything. It’s just… you’re not the first employer who’s told me as much. It’s just that usually, as time goes on, I find out that’s more of a company line than the truth.”
She shook her head, “You’ll see, trust me. It’s easy to be cynical, but he’s… genuinely unusual.” She didn’t seem offended, and Dean was glad.
“Usually I find the more power someone has, the less they care about people beneath them.” Dean explained, feeling a little guilty for being so cynical so upfront.
“I know.” She agreed, “I assumed that once too. But like I said… just you wait. He’ll prove you wrong.”
Then, finally, he was taken to meet the King. He knew he would have to be on his best behaviour. Be nice and pretend to care at all about any of this— when really, he had nothing but contempt for the entire tradition.
He was taken into an elegant and huge study, which looked like it would have been fancy once, but had long since become a family room. There were blocks, legos and miscellaneous toys scattered across the entire floor, and pictures hung up on all the walls. Drawings clearly done by a child, some beyond recognition of anything, others clearly done recently, pictures of dogs or little families or the sun over a beach. It was cute, Dean thought, and sort of reminded him of when Sammy was young. He still had a drawing like these in his wallet.
He told himself he wasn’t softening on his contempt for the family, but that he simply had a soft spot for children. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, after all, that he was born into this. He was still an infant, and hadn’t done his part to further burden the working class yet.
The little boy was on the floor, on a scruffy and worn carpet, cross legged and in the process of building something out of his legos. He wasn’t wearing the tiny prison suit that Dean was expecting, instead, he wore floral yellow overalls and a little navy t-shirt beneath. Dean couldn’t help but smile at him, and little Jack beamed back, only one front tooth visible.
The King, who also looked different than Dean had expected, wore dark jeans and a button down shirt, and looked somewhat dishevelled. If Dean had to guess, he hadn’t brushed his hair in at least a day and was folded over whatever he was doing at his desk.
“Excuse me, your Majesty.” Jo began, and the King turned. He had bags under his eyes and looked tired, but he brightened visibly when he saw Dean.
He jumped to his feet and moved forward, a smile on his face. “Good morning, you must be Dean Winchester, our new personal security.” He moved to scoop Jack up, who went happily, giggling and running his little chubby hand over the King’s scruffy cheeks. The way he spoke was serious and formal, but nothing else about him seemed to reflect that seriousness. Everything else about him reflected the same dedicated older brother Dean himself had been, from the sleepless bags under his eyes to the loving way he looked down at his brother.
Dean was trying hard to maintain his grouchy attitude, but it was hard to deny that this display was adorable.
He bowed, as he was taught, waiting for the King to give him permission to rise, but King Castiel instantly shooed it away, nudging Dean’s shoulder as if to tell him to stand. “Please, let’s not stand on ceremony! You’re going to be spending countless hours with us, let’s not do the formality. I’m Castiel and this is my little brother, Jack. You need only use our full names or titles in public or in front of other nobles, with the exception of any of my close friends, but I’ll let you know when that’s the case. The rest of the time, we’re just people, and you’re helping us. While you’re here, you’re a friend of all of us.” He offered, unexpectedly friendly.
Dean sized him up. He seemed polite enough, and Dean could see why people liked him. Physically, he was nice enough to look at. Wide blue eyes and a friendly face. He was tall and proportional, and Dean was sure women everywhere in this country dreamt about being the woman he picked as his own consort. Still, appearance was nothing really, and Dean didn’t believe his nice act for a second. He’d met enough powerful people to know they didn’t stay that way by being kind.
“Jacky, say hi. This is our new friend, Dean, and he’s going to be hanging out with us for a little while.” Castiel’s voice softened when he addressed Jack, and there was audible affection in his tone. Dean would give him that at least, though he still wasn’t sold on the whole ‘nice guy King’ act.
Jack’s little pudgy hand waved at Dean, and his tongue poked through the hole where his missing front tooth was meant to be. Dean, softening for the sake of the child, gave a little wave back, and Jack instantly held his hands out to Dean, as if he wanted Dean to take him.
King Castiel and Dean instantly looked at each other, as if both waiting for the other to give a good reason why Dean shouldn’t take the child in front of him. Finally, finding nothing, Dean reached his arms out and took Jack.
Jack settled easily on his hip, and his bright blue eyes stared into Dean’s. He looked a lot like his brother, Dean decided. They both had sort of heart shaped faces, and though Jack’s cheeks were far chubbier, he could see the same smile there too. Jack seemed happy as he stared at Dean, as if learning his features. He brought both little hands up to Dean’s face, gently touching it, fascinated with something Dean didn’t understand.
“Jack…” Cas sighed, “We don’t just touch strangers’ faces. It’s not very nice, Dean might not like that.”
“He’s spotty.” Jack decided, giggling. He had a little bit of a lisp, which Dean suspected was due to his tooth situation, but it was only cute at that age.
Castiel rubbed a hand over his face, chuckling tiredly. “They’re called freckles, Jacky. He’s not spotty.”
“Freckles…” Prince Jack repeated, though with his little kid accent, it sounded more like ‘fweckles’, and Dean softened somewhat. “Why?” He directed the question at Cas, then turned back to Dean, pointing a little finger at each freckle, as if making note of them all and where they were. He was counting softly under his breath, but Dean noted that the numbers were neither in order nor correct at a certain point. He was pretty sure Jack had given up and started making numbers up a little while ago. Dean barely restrained a chuckle, trying to remember that he was pointedly not buying into the cute little royal family act. “Why do you have spots?” He asked Dean.
“Oh,” Dean half smiled, having absolutely no idea how to explain what they were, “I don’t know. When I’m in the sun, more come up though.” He told the child, and Jack’s expression brightened.
“Cassie, can I go in the sun and get spots?”
“Not sure, bee. I’m sure Jo will take you for a walk around the garden later though.” He looked up, the expression in his eyes plain. He was telling her to, presumably so he could speak to Dean without alarming the child-- or about more serious matters, at least.
Jo took the little boy’s hand when he got on the floor, and the two walked off together, discussing the spots and why only Dean had them. He must not have met very many people with that complexion then, because it seemed he now thought it was some special trait of Dean’s, rather than a very normal thing that people got.
“Please come in, Dean.” Cas said when the others had gone, leaving Dean and him alone in the study. He moved further into the room, keeping his back straight and his chin raised. Dean wasn’t going to abandon all his political beliefs and professional affectations just because the King was good with his kid brother. Dean was good with kids too, that wasn’t special.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Dean said as he entered, moving to sit in the seat across from the King, an old leather chair that was actually comfortable. Probably because of a child jumping in it, he imagined. He took a moment to really look around the room. The noble architecture was a stark juxtaposition from the childish drawings and toys strewn around, and Dean thought that without them, it would probably feel very cold in the room. Or uncomfortable, maybe. As it was, it seemed like a home, rather than the study of a King, and Dean could appreciate that, at the very least.
“Please, like I said, no need to stand on ceremony. I’d rather you call me Castiel.”
“If it’s alright with you, your Majesty, I’d rather keep things professional.” Maybe he was speaking out of turn, and very likely it would be seen as disrespectful, but Dean was rubbed the wrong way by title and position without even meaning to be. He kept his expression as neutral as possible, but at only twenty-seven, he’d already seen a lot of bad, and he wasn’t trying to get tied in with some royal family. It was a job. A well paying job, but a job nonetheless.
Castiel gave him a look, looking him up and down as he was trying to size him up, or see through whatever he was doing.
“If that’s what you prefer.” He began, clearly carefully composed. “I hope your quarters are to your satisfaction.”
He snorted, unable to help himself, “Bigger than anything I’ve ever had.” He answered, and though it was technically a compliment to the space, it felt and sounded like an insult coming out of his mouth. The King just stared at him. “What I mean is, thank you. It’s very generous. I’m just not used to that.” He explained with a curt smile. It was an awkward first meeting, and that was entirely Dean’s fault, but he wasn’t looking to get charmed by someone who’d never worked for anything in their life.
Castiel half smiled, but his lips were pressed into a frown. “Have I done something to offend you, Mr Winchester?” He asked, and Dean wondered if he had been too forthright with his distaste for monarchs.
“No.” Dean said easily, “Of course not, your Majesty. I’m just not typically the type to get attached to the people I’m being paid to protect, that’s all.”
“Well,” Cas said with a half smile, “I think you’ll find that Jack will do everything in his power to change your mind on that. And, frankly, resistance is futile where he’s involved.”