Reg the Dogsled

So, I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be posting this one for real, but it's something sitting in my Google docs. If you want me to continue, give me a poke in the comments! I need more inspiration to keep writing at the moment, since the winter always kills my drive.

This is a modern omegaverse AU where Dean is an omega police detective and Castiel is the suit that comes in from Quantico planning to crack open the city's omega kidnapping ring. (There's illicit auctions, Dean is going to be kidnapped, but it's essentially a casefic.)


Dean had always passed. That was the key to his survival. More than anything else, passing as an Alpha was one of the things which kept him alive and kicking, free to go about his life without question or interference. He kept his head up, even when the possibility of surrendering to inevitability might have been the easier option, when all he wanted to do was sit back and let the world happen to him. He fought; he had to fight and keep fighting, and it was ceaseless, a drain of energy that he didn’t have.

Nobody knew, and to his credit they had no reason to suspect, either. Dean played the role well. He took the pills that his father gave him, sucked on lozenges that altered his scent, and exerted his dominance in every single interaction.

“I’ll not have an Omega bitch for a son,” he’d growled. “Pull yourself together, boy.”

Like it was that easy.

At times, it had been nigh impossible. It hadn’t helped that Dean had aimed high in his career. He’d hunted out positions of power, and while his father had made it plenty clear that following him into the military wasn’t possible, that hadn’t precluded law enforcement.

Now this Omega bitch was a Detective First Class, a fucking hero to the city who’d pulled two kids out of a fire not a week ago and was now shaking the Mayor’s hand with all the damn gusto he had. A firm handshake was just another part of the disguise, and he wore it well, jaw locked and eyes fixed hard on the man opposite him.

The Mayor was an Alpha too. Of course he was. Everyone of any consequence was.

Dean liked to think he was spitting in the eye of authority. He curled his lips into a slow smile. “Thank you, Sir,” he said, waving away the golden key he was being offered and instead turning his attention to the crowd. He stepped up onto the podium, tapping the microphone gently.

“It’s a real privilege to be offered this gift, really it is. But this ain’t it, folks. I saved a couple of kids from a fire, sure, and maybe it’s not what everyone here would do. Maybe not. But it’s what these guys would do.”

He waved down to the group of firefighters standing in the crowd to the left of the podium, then waved at them to start coming up. Within a few minutes there were three fire crews crowding the stage around him, all of them shifting awkwardly as Dean clapped the station chief on the shoulder, leaning back in toward the mic.

“These guys do that crap every day. Every day. We don’t even pay them all for the time they put in, you know, half these guys are volunteers. If anyone deserves the key to the city, it’s these guys.”

He waved his hand toward the Mayor, and wordlessly he shook the chief’s hand and handed over the key. Dean was all but carried off stage by the firefighters, of course, and needless to say, he figured that night he wasn’t going to be paying for drinks. Worth it--

He knew he was busted when the Mayor’s Aide caught up to him.

“Mayor King wants to speak to you about something, if you’d just wait here.”

It wasn’t like he had much choice. Forlornly Dean found himself waving goodbye to his new firefighter friends, waiting ever more impatiently until the crowd thinned out.

Michael King took his damn sweet time. To be fair, Dean had emasculated him on stage, so it wasn’t much of a surprise the man kept him waiting. It was almost twenty minutes later that King shook his last hand and made his way over, his charming campaign smile withering into strained contempt.

“You’re lucky you’re damn good.”

“Otherwise you’d transfer me? Haven’t heard that one before.”

King curled his lip.

“And it’s a campaign year,” Dean pressed. “So what is it?”

“Shut up.”

Dean shut up. He cocked his head to one side, eyebrows raised.

“I’m running for Congress next year. I need a win, something that’s going to guarantee I get over the finish line. That’s why I’m putting together a task force to solve one of the biggest problems this state has.”

“The drug trade?” Dean asked, perking up. The words ‘task force’, to him, were like a doorbell to a hyperactive Corgi.

“Sex trafficking,” King answered. “Specifically the kidnap and sale of Omegas. We know it’s happening. It’s always happening. But equal rights activists love this stuff. Even if you only save one, it’s a story I can hang a campaign on.”

“And I get to put task force leader on my CV. Sounds like a fair exchange.”

Not that it was the only thing on Dean’s mind. The truth was, Omega trafficking was one of the things that filled him with fear. He wasn’t the only one. Young Omega were trained to protect themselves in way that Alphas never had to. Going out in public was a constant risk, particularly without an Alpha present to protect them, and Omega were encouraged to find a mate at the first possible opportunity. It wasn’t safe, otherwise. Trafficking was one of the boogeymen that all Omega were taught to fear; that they would be seized, carried away from their family and all they knew, and sold to be mated.

Dean had feared it enough as a child too. What if he didn’t pass? What if they found out, and carried him away like the others? That fear had never really gone away; even now, even confident and independent, Dean still feared being found out. It was the one thing in his life which still gave him any nightmares.

“I didn’t say you were going to be task force leader,” Mayor King interrupted, “This is a joint task force with the F.B.I. They’re going to be sending you a partner. Deputy Director Shurley agreed with me that what we needed to crack this was a combination of federal power and local knowledge. You’ll be able to select some officers to join you, of course, as will your partner, but the two of you will be in charge together. Any successes will belong to you both.”

“And any failures too, I’m guessing?”

King was shaking his head. “Failure isn’t an option, Detective. I expect results, otherwise you will be getting that transfer.”

Great, Dean thought. This was exactly the sort of guy he needed as an enemy. Mayor of the city he called home and perhaps even a future Congressman. Awesome.

Dean rubbed his thumb against his eyebrow. “Got it. So?”

“So?”

“When do I meet this guy? When do we start?”


-----------------------------------------------


A week didn’t seem like long enough to prepare. He had paperwork to do, cases to finish up with, interviews to give about the key ceremony and he still had to schedule minutes to crash into other officers, equally busy, and catch them up on the cases that he would have to hand over unfinished. He deputized Jo, an up and comer in VICE, and Charlie, his nerdy buddy from Cyber - which was to say, the only person in the whole division who understood how to use a computer for more than Google and Grindr.


Just before the weekend, the LT led him down a long hallway, past his office, and out into a space which was sometimes used as an extension to the waiting room, and more often leant over to federal investigators working out of the precinct. Now, Dean supposed, that would include the other members of the joint taskforce, including this new guy he was supposed to be sharing the limelight with.

To say that Dean was fearing the worst was putting it lightly. He’d worked with Feebs before, which was to say that he’d been talked down to and snubbed and belittled by jumped up suits more times than he could count. They didn’t know the lay of the land, they just flew as soon as cases got interesting and rubbed their asses over anything of value, took none of the risks and all of the glory.

He had every reason to believe that this ‘partnership’ was more likely to be a constant battle, a daily dick measuring contest where the suit kicked Dean round the city doing the real work, and cherrypicked anything that sounded fruitful or easy. The idea that they’d be sharing command over their task force was laughable at best. Dean knew that. Lieutenant Singer knew that. So did the Mayor. It was meant to bring him down a peg, and Dean could already feel it working.

And then it was Monday morning, the day the shit hit the fan, and Dean picked up his phone to a cranky voice at six forty five growling. “I was told you would be picking me up from the airport. Where are you?”

“What?” Dean asked, stunned and bleary eyed. Who was this, and how had they gotten his number.

There must have been enough sleep in his voice to put off the owner of the gruff voice, because he said: “Nevermind, I’ll see you at the precinct,” and that was that.

Dean didn’t rush to get to work. He showered, chewed his cereal, took his blockers, chewed his gum, sprayed cologne on everything, and checked into the task force at five minutes past nine, ignoring the sudden presence of people he didn’t know and throwing himself bodily on Charlie’s temporary desk, grinning down at her.

“So guess who marathoned The Haunting of Hill House all day yesterday, like you suggested?”

Charlie blinked owlishly up at him, then broke into a grin. “You did? I’ve been dying to have someone to talk to about it! Did you notice the grief thing? That was totally cool.”

“The grief thing?” Dean asked, hesitantly.

“The siblings, Dean! They’re the five stages of grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. Luke was the older twin by a few minutes, right, so--”

Whatever Charlie had been trying to say, it stopped dead. She was looking at something through the gap underneath Dean’s arm, and when he turned around he found himself pinned by blue eyes. Angry, angry blue eyes.

“Yeah,” said Charlie, ever so softly so that only Dean could hear. “I guess he’s sort of pissed he had to take a cab or something.”

“In my defense,” Dean declared, raising his hands up in front of him as though to guard against the man’s piercing gaze. “I had no idea I was supposed to pick you up.”

The FBI guy had frosty going for him in spades. Dean could feel it sending a chill up the back of his neck, but he held his head up anyway. He’d spent his whole life refusing to buckle underneath society’s agressions, and he’d be damned if he let this guy walk all over him.

“Office,” said the FBI guy, with a gesture of his head.

When Dean followed behind him, he couldn’t help but think back to his father. It was always orders with him, uncompromising authority. To tell the truth, while Dean was good at following those orders, he also rankled at them. That was the problem, really. He’d jumped on the career ladder where one day he might be the one telling people what to do, but there always seemed to be someone else, someone higher, someone more important.

They were supposed to be partners, Dean sulked, which meant they were meant to be sharing the office. Ha. Like he’d ever expected that to end up happening.

Scowling at the back of the guy’s shoes - could he even run in those? - he followed him miserably into the corner office.

Feebs closed the door behind him, and Dean’s nerves prickled. He felt like he’d been called to the headmaster’s office, and it sucked to feel so trapped.

“So,” he said. “If you’re still mad about the mix up…”

The FBI agent sat down at the big desk. It seemed strangely offset, considering the size of the office, but maybe the guy just wanted the floorspace for something. Maybe he did yoga. Dean licked his lips, not at all letting his mind drift off with thoughts of what he’d look like doing the downward dog. It seemed fair game to objectify him considering he was an asshole.

“You did me a favor,” the man answered, curtly. “I wanted these people to respect me, and you’ve done most of that work for me.”

Dean bristled. What the fuck was this guy’s problem, anyway? They were supposed to be working together. He’d stormed in here, stolen all the office space and now he was rubbing Dean’s nose in it, smug as a bug in gucci.

“Now listen up, asshole--” Dean snapped, striding forward. “We’re supposed to be partners. You know what that means, right? Partners. They have those in the F.B.I.?”

“I left my partner to come here, yes. And you?”

Dean thought glumly of his former partner, Crowley, and shook his head. That was one of his biggest failures, and not exactly something he wanted to chat about this with his new greatest enemy.

He glowered right into the man’s face, and put his hands down on the desk.

“This is our office, and those people out there are my people, they’re not here for you to walk all over and boss around, they’re our team.”

One dark eyebrow raised in the other man’s expression. “Are you done?”

“Not really,” Dean muttered.

It didn’t seem to matter. The man spoke without acknowledging his murmur. “I never said this was my office. That’s why I left space for another desk. As for our team; you’ve had years to foster respect and teach them to listen to you. I’ve only just met them. So I will take whatever small hint of acknowledgement that I can that they can learn to follow my orders without question, especially since it may come to be that both our lives depend on it.”

Well, if that wasn’t a dressing down, then Dean didn’t know what was. He felt his shoulders sinking, and he glanced across the room, considering the big open space all over again. Somehow, he almost prefered it when the F.B.I. guy was a bossy douchebag who liked yoga. Now Dean had to concede that he was thoughtful and maybe pretty smart, and that rankled almost as much as the perceived insults.

“I didn’t even get your name,” Dean said, as though it were any kind of victory now.

“It’s Castiel Novak.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Got it, Cas. Special Agent Cas?”

“Castiel.”

Dean flashed a maligning smile. “Nicknames are cute, Cas. You should embrace it. You’re the one who wants to bond with the team, right? One of the guys? So Cas it is.”

He couldn’t help the thrill of victory at the knowledge that he’d whipped Castiel with his comment. The other man lowered his head minutely, defeated by Dean’s logic. Smug, Dean pushed himself away from the desk, winking at Cas.

“I’m going to go find some furniture. Then we should check in with the troops. I’ve had Garth in filing pull all the missing persons cases for us digitally. Jo worked VICE, and she’s got some leads we can pick up on right away, but Charlie’s the one who’s gonna pull this thing to pieces for us. She’s a wiz with data. If there’s any correlation between where people are disappearing, or the kinds of people they’re snapping up, she’s the one who’ll find it.

Cas nodded slowly. He clearly had no idea who Dean’s people were, suggesting that what was most likely was he’d introduced himself without actually asking them who they were and what they did.

“What about your team?” Dean asked, after a moment. “Singer said you weren’t coming down here on your own, you’ve got people with you?”

“I have. Agent Milton is actually a friend of mine, we’ve worked together on trafficking cases before, but in that case it was very young children. Her speciality is getting people to talk who have been traumatized. And there’s Jack Kline…”

“Not an agent?”

“A trainee. It’s his first year in the field, and he was assigned to me to show him the lay of the land.”

“They sent a trainee?”

“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but the F.B.I is preoccupied with federal issues. We must manage our manpower carefully.”

“So they sent a trainee,” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Alright. Guess we needed someone to fetch coffee anyway.”

Castiel was positively stormy when he was pissed. The blue of his eyes seemed almost to darken as he rose to meet Dean’s height. “Jack qualified nearly at the top of his class at Quantico. He’s been judged capable of field status, which is why he’s here; to learn from us; from both of us. I’d very much prefer if you didn’t teach him to expect stubborn interference when combining forces with local law enforcement, no matter what your personal opinions about the F.B.I. may happen to be.”

Dean waited it out like he was waiting out Sam, his little brother, when there were no marshmallow pieces left in the Lucky Charms.

“Got it. Respect the badge. Whatever you say.”

Dean didn’t need to hide his face when he rolled his eyes. Castiel was already stepping past him, leading the way back out into the other room and putting an end to the conversation.

Their colleagues waited around the room, pretending that they’d been occupied with various other tasks and had just hushed up when they walked in, rather than trying to listen to them through the wall, which was probably much closer to the truth.

Dean took a moment to suss out the newcomers. Hannah was a very attractive looking woman with tousled brown hair that fell about her shoulder, and crisp blue eyes that made her seem almost like a female version of Castiel. Jack, who seemed to have been making no pretense of not listening, had his head tilted over to one side like a quizzical puppy, his face soft and otherwise completely empty.

Propping his hands on his hips, Dean waited for Cas to speak, but found himself waiting in vain. It was Castiel who ended up turning back toward him, after what felt like forever, eyebrows raised high.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Weird. It was just weird, Dean thought, looking around as though for help. Castiel was striding about demanding respect and insisting he was the boss, and then he just… wasn’t. Having the man concede space to him was by far the oddest thing yet, not least because Dean couldn’t remember a single Alpha in his life who had ever given him an inch of room. It was always a pissing contest, always a fight.

He licked his bottom lip once, barely aware of even making the submissive gesture, and stepped forward to address the room.

“So we’re going to dive right in. You’ve met Castiel Novak, I’m sure. I’m Dean Winchester, for those who don’t know me. Hannah and Jack, right?” He nodded to each of them. “Got it. This is Charlie and Jo. We don’t have time to set aside to get to know each other, so you’ll be doing that on the job. Cas and I are going to work leads together, and Hannah and Jack are going to function as go betweens, running the leads we can’t, and using federal powers to expand on the info you guys dig up.”

And then, to his shame, he said “That sound about right with you, Agent Novak?” deferring to the other Alpha despite himself.

What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, the guy had a pretty face, but that was really no excuse. Dean had had a whole lifetime to teach himself to give no quarter, to beat Alphas at their own game, and here was Castiel getting under his skin with his concessions, tricking him into a game of chicken where he ended up backing down just because Castiel did, and making the other guy look good by default.

It got his hackles up just thinking about it, but it was too late now.

“Charlie,” Castiel said. “May I call you Charlie? Perhaps you could start us off. As I understand it you’ve been building a database of missing Omega?”

The morning passed in an exhausting blur of facts and more facts. Not much of it sank in, though Dean did his best. Charlie told them that since the hurricane, there were parts of the city that had never recovered, and people disappeared from those spots all the time, but she also pointed out that the tourist areas of the city had been just as hard hit. Omegas traveling alone in the city had been snatched, as well as some traveling with their families. Charlie suggested that this was just the tip of the iceberg, the disappearances that had been reported. Then she went on to explain that slightly more than half of the actual disappearances that were declared to law enforcement were in fact resolved, and so they could expect half of these cases to resolve as well.

Those who had gone missing turned up. Some declared that they’d found their new mates. Others reappeared in other countries. One in every fifty was found dead, but at least they were found. On average 2 in 5 of the kidnapped Omega never reappeared at all.

There was no obvious pattern to which missing Omega met which fate, but slightly more of the tourists were found. More of the locals disappeared without a trace. So Dean and Castiel agreed that an investigation would have to start in the Old Quarter, even if they knew they wouldn’t fit in so well in that part of town. The folks there were suspicious of the cops, and rightly so, but a white cop and a white federal agent would be more unwelcome still, Dean was sure of it, and he’d be lucky if even his own contacts would speak to him there.

He knew where to start, though.

“We can follow up this first lead and grab lunch at the same time,” Dean said, pointing toward the riverfront. “Missouri makes great hamburgers, and for an extra couple of Andrew Jacksons she’ll read our fortune as well.”