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Dean's hands were sweating where he was clutching them together in his lap and his knees felt weak with nervousness. His eyes felt a bit unfocused and Dean tried to tell himself that he didn't make a mistake when he decided not to take the anti-nausea pill his father had offered him in the morning. You're an omega, he had told him, you need all the help you can get. Dean had just rolled his eyes, telling his father he would be fine.

Now he took a deep breath and lifted his head, narrowing his eyes to focus them consciously. He looked around the mostly bare room he was sitting in, studying  the other men seated in uncomfortable plastic chairs. They all seemed fairly competent, well except that wiry guy in glasses that sat right next to the door, but Dean wasn't really worried since he was more than competent too.

He was waiting for a job interview at the local auto shop, hoping to get his first real job after he finisher school the year before. He was nineteen and despite his father telling him that he didn't have to worry about money because Sammy would soon be old enough to pull his weight and Dean would be able to stay home so he could care about the household, Dean wanted something else to do. He had always been interested in cars, helping his father numerous times to fix the beautiful black Impala that Sammy would get if he presented as an alpha.

He was secretly hoping his younger brother would present as an omega, since then John would give the Impala to Dean. Sammy didn't really care about the car anyway and wouldn't really know what to do with it.

Dean straightened in his seat as the door to the office opened and a tall muscled guy with fiery red hair stepped out. He wore a grim expression on his face and Dean hoped that meant he hadn't got the job.

"Dean Winchester," said a slightly raspy voice from the inside of the office and Dean immediately stood up to go in.

"Good morning," he greeted as he stepped inside.

He was met with a stocky guy in a expensive-looking suit and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Hello," he said in a posh English accent, "my name is Crowley, the manager of Hell's Autoshop. Sit down, boy."

Dean did as he was told, not daring to argue about being called a boy. He had already presented, he was no boy anymore.

"So you want to be a mechanic?" asked Crowley, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his desk.

"Yes sir," answered Dean respectfully, smelling a strong beta scent coming off of the other man and instinctively assuming a more subservient position.

"Do you have any experience?"

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir. I have experience mainly on classic cars like '67 Chevrolet Impala or '70 Ford Mustang but I have worked on some newer models as well."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Worked?"

"Mainly oil changes, brakes, spark plugs or vacuum lines but I have had to repair some car accident damages too."

The man opposite him hummed quietly. "How old are you again?"


Another hum. "And you're an omega."

It wasn't a question but Dean still felt compelled to answer. "Yes?"

Crowley sighed and stood up. "I'm sorry Dean but I can't offer you a position."

Dean gape. "What? Why?"

The Brit shrugged. "You're an omega. Sooner or later you're going to take a mate, have a bunch of kids and you'll request enormous amount of pregnancy leaves. I need someone who's priority would be his job, not puttering about kitchen."

Dean stood as well, finding himself several inches taller than the Auto Shop manager. "I don't want kids, sir. The job would be my priority."

Crowley's professional smile dropped slightly, his patience thinning. "They all say that, kiddo. Look, I'm sorry but I can't offer you a job. That's final."

Dean scowled in anger and disappointment but managed to shake hands with the man nonetheless and leave with his head held high. Let the other men in the plastic chairs think he got the job.  He walked out, heading for the closest bus stop.

Who did the British clown think he was? Saying Dean wouldn't think the job was important just because he was an omega. What sort of opinion was that? Being omega had been mostly to his advantage till now, people reacting to his sweet smell with protectiveness and complaisance. His father had told him that as an omega, he didn't have as many responsibilities as an alpha, not having to earn money for his family or make important decisions. He had taught him how to behave in public, being respectful to other sexes, always dressing as not to provoke hot-headed alphas and never going out alone after dark.

John had never told him that as an omega, he wouldn't be able to get a job as a mechanic, which had been his dream occupation since he was six and watched his father change the Impala's spark plugs for the first time.

As Dean sat on the bus, having been freed a seat by a middle-aged beta, he thought about how unfair his life was. Why was his sex so important? He understood that omegas were naturally nurturing and usually wanted a big family with many children but that didn't mean that every single omega was the same. His high school girlfriend Lisa who had presented omega when she was fourteen, a whole year before Dean himself went into his first heat, had been a very delicate and caring person and wanted a whole bunch of kids. That was also the reason she broke up with him right after he presented, as omegas couldn't impregnate anyone and Lisa hadn't wanted to waste time with him, while there were perfectly fertile betas and alphas on the school's football team.

Completely and ridiculously unfair, he repeated to himself as he stomped down the street leading to their humble house. He had wanted to get a job in the first place so that he could help with the bills at home, so there was no chance of him having children at the moment as they wouldn't be able to support them. So what the hell did that Crowley guy have a problem with?

Dean unlocked the front door, stepping into the small hallway and chucking his jacket on the hanger and toeing off his shoes violently, leaving them in the middle of the floor.

His father looked up from where he was reading a newspaper on the couch as Dean passed him in the living room. He raised an eyebrow at Dean's behaviour. "How did it go?"

Dean scowled. "Don't ask."

"What's for dinner?" asked his father instead.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No idea," he snapped and ran up the stairs to lock himself in his room. He wasn't in the mood for one of John's lectures about proper omega behaviour. It always sounded as if omegas were supposed to be nice and sweet smelling all the time, regardless of their actual mood.

Dean flopped down on his bed, powering up the laptop he shared with Sammy. He typed in his password, opening up the browser.

"omegas can't work" he typed in the search engine he used and scowled at the screen as he scrolled through the results. The links were full of articles and rants written by arrogant alphas who claimed omegas can't work for a toffee.

Frustrated, Dean tried a different approach: "omega discrimination". While this also got him a fair share of alpha rants, Dean also came upon a few web pages containing omega rights articles. He clicked on a link for Wikipedia's page on something called 'omegaism' and started reading.

"Omegaism is a social and political movement dedicated to define, establish, and achieve equal political, economic, cultural, personal, and social rights for omegas. This includes seeking to establish equal opportunities for omegas in education and employment."

And employment, thought Dean as he went back to the search bar and wrote 'omegaism' in it, that sounded just like the thing he was interested in.

The search spat out a website called and Dean immediately clicked on it. It had a pleasant greenish layout - which was a lot easier on his eyes than most of the glittery sites he had visited until then - and seemed to be an official webpage of an Omegaist group. He spent the rest of the evening browsing through the articles.