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The right kind of wrong

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Dean was livid. Oh, he was damn good at not showing it and that was lucky for him because if his dad didn’t rip him a new one for ruining this, the dude on the other side of the table certainly would.

Because John Winchester was in the process of finalizing an agreement between the Winchesters and the Krushnics and fuck you Dean if you even so much as breathed wrong right now. John wanted this alliance and the fact that it was Dean’s life he was signing away didn’t seem to faze the man because this was business, this was profit, this was protect the family, Dean.

The Winchesters was an old and well-established family down in Brighton Beach, New York, that much was true. They were well-known for their prowess and ever since Dean’s grandfather, Henry Winchester, had steered the family away from explicit violence they had also slowly gained the respect they now deserved. When Uncle Bobby — who wasn’t really Dean’s uncle but who the hell wasn’t really related to someone in this shit part of town? — long ago suggested money laundering none of the Winchesters had batted an eye. Because seriously, how perfect wasn’t that? And it was so easy too.

So here they were now, four generations thick, growing like weed, literally pulling money out of their asses and somehow, somehow, Dean’s father had thought it would be a good idea to expand. To explore. To form alliances, pacts.

Dean mentally snorted at the mere notion even now, as he sat and watched the appropriate documents being signed.

They fucking had allies. There was the whole Singer/Harvelle-bunch. There was Victor Henriksen, the extremely corrupted police officer, and there were several other, independent contractors. God, Dean could name ten people off the top of his mind that he would willingly trust with his life. And yet here they were, signing an alliance with the fucking Russian mob because why the hell not?

Dean could still not really believe this was happening.



Excuse me, you’re what? Dean had to make a real effort not to scream at his dad.

John sighed as he arranged with the papers he had just shown his son. Don’t get so upset, Dean, this will be good for business.

Good for what business? Who’s gonna benefit from dealing with the fucking mob?

Keep your voice down. John hissed and they both glanced at the door but none of them hear the pitter-patter of Sam’s sleepy feet. Me and Bobby’s been discussing this for a long time. Mr. Krushnic has been interested in the organization we’ve built and we’ve been talking on and off for the last six months, this is not news.

Dean’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Well it’s fucking news to me.

John sighed and boy, Dean really hated that sigh. That sigh that said he was still too young to really understand how the world worked but oh he knew. He knew all too fucking well.

This will be good, Dean. John said with finality. Our organization will benefit, Mr. Krushnic’s Bratva will benefit. He directed his best worried look at Dean and Dean really hated him in that moment. It’ll be best for Sam.

Fuck you for using Sam against me. Dean bit out but John wasn’t deterred at all.

Mr. Krushnic will give us security and a way to move our business over-seas. You will do this for the family, Dean.

It wasn’t said demandingly but the implication was there and fuck it all, Dean knew his dad was right. He would do anything for his family, especially since Mary had passed away. Losing their mother had been a hard hit for the boys and Dean could see where John was coming from. If something happened to him and John Sam would have to move in with one of their friends but if all of them were dragged down as well then Sam would have no one. This way, if that Mr. Krushnic was sincere, Sam would be welcomed there. Then again, it would also mean that Dean’s fourteen-year-old little brother would be pawned off to a gang of skunky Russians and Dean didn’t like that one fucking bit.

I wanna be there when you sign this shit. He stated as a way of answering and John looked pleased, which only served to infuriate Dean more.

Wouldn’t want it any other way, Dean. You’re the insurance, after all.

Dean blinked so rapidly he almost gave himself an epileptic seizure. What?

Well, John harrumphed and tapped the stack of papers in his hand. Me and Mr. Krushnic think we can trust each other but we can’t really be sure, can we?

That’s exactly my fucking point, dad.

That’s why our children will be marrying.

The silence that fell between the two Winchesters was long and very loaded. Outside their little house on Dover Street a dog barked and a car passed by, its headlights briefly illuminating the otherwise rather bleak study they were standing in.

Marrying? Dean asked after an unfathomable amount of time, during which he and John had only been staring at each other.

Yes. John stated. My oldest to his youngest.

Your oldest? Dean echoed, hardly hearing himself over the rushing in his ears.

John made a face. Would you rather I married Sam off? The kid’s still a kid, Dean, don't be ridiculous.

I wasn’t—! he was cut off when John shushed him loudly. I wasn’t saying take Sam instead. He finished in a hiss. Why take any of your kids? This isn’t colonial times.

John snorted. What did you think I meant when I said you’d do this for us?

Agree to the merge. Dean exclaimed exasperatedly and his frustration only grew when John rolled his eyes at him.

There’s no merge, Dean. We’re just two families helping each other out. One happens to be kind of mob-ish but that’s fine. You’ll like your husband, I hear he’s real smart.

I—wait. Dean straightened and regarded his father with caution. Husband?

John nodded and had the audacity to roll his eyes again when Dean just stared at him. Oh come on, Dean. I’m your father and we’re the Winchesters, do you really think you can sneak around with that Lafitte boy without me knowing about it? he cocked his head to the side and regarded Dean with furrowed eyebrows when Dean just gaped at him. I’m disappointed in your training boy, maybe marrying you off is for the best after all.

Fuck John Winchester for knowing how to push all of Dean’s buttons. Just God-fucking-damnit.

I stopped seeing Benny months ago. He bit out, not really knowing what that had to do with anything.

Good, you don’t have feelings for him, do you?

I had pretty strong feelings about his dick. Dean sneered and watched with satisfaction how John scowled at him. Hah. If John was gonna be insulting then Dean would be nasty. But no, I don’t like him or some shit like that.

Good. John looked away and nodded to himself. That’s good.

Shit. Dean just realized that he probably should have declared his undying love for Benny because ever since Mary died John had become a goddamn sucker for true love and shit like that. Goddamnit, Dean had just had his way out of this whole deal and he had fucking blown it. He groaned and slumped back against John’s desk.

You said youngest, he’s not Sam’s age or something creepy like that, is he? he muttered, hoping against hope that that was the case and that John simply didn’t know yet. That John would back out when they found out Mr. Krushnic was trying to marry Dean to a toddler. Because marrying for his family’s benefit was one thing but he wasn’t gonna bed a child, that was for fucking sure.

To his disdain John shook his head. No, no he’s… He’s older than you.

Dean rolled his eyes. Great, I’m gonna be some old geezer’s playboy. Thanks dad.

It’s not gonna be like that. John said in a tone that totally sounded like he thought it was a possibility. God, Dean felt sick to the stomach.

What the hell does he even want with me? Not like I’m gonna be crapping out babies any time soon.

John actually guffawed at that. At the image, if nothing else, Dean supposed sourly. I really don’t know, son. All I know is that Mr. Krushnic was adamant that our alliance was sealed with a marriage, he didn’t seem very concerned with who of our kids was marrying who. I told him I only have two sons and that only one of you is legal to marry. I gave him your picture and next time we met he was very positive.

Dean frowned. Yeah?

Yeah. Apparently two of his sons fancied you.

As a goddamn trophy wife, I’m a fighter dad. Dean whined. He couldn’t help it and it didn’t matter right now. It was only him and his father and he was feeling like his whole life was slipping through his fingers. And to think only this afternoon he had been playing with Sam and laughing. Only last week he had been helping John and Bobby during a trade-off down in the docks, forged purses for a case full of newly printed cash.

And now he was informed that his father had been planning for months to sell him off like some whore, like commodity, and to Russians at that. Everyone knew that the Russians in Brighton Beach were not to be joked about. Dean’s family dealt in forged money and counterfeit merchandise. The Russians dealt in drugs, human trafficking, and assassinations.

Dean was suddenly shaking because this was dangerous stuff and John just treated it like another one of their scams. Except he couldn’t be expecting Dean to be conning his way through a marriage, could he?

Dad. He said in a suddenly very little voice. Don’t make me do this.

Hey now. John said and put a steady hand on Dean’s shoulder. Weren’t you a fighter just a moment ago? he fixed Dean with his best authoritative stare and Dean knew he was screwed. So fight to make this work, Dean. For the family.

Sacrifice yourself for the family. Yes, the message was clear and it was so old and so imprinted in Dean that it was practically a part of his DNA. Protect the family, protect Sam.

I hate you, dad. He bit out but thankfully held any tears back.

John smiled kindly and patted his cheek. I love you too, son.



And so here Dean was now. In a small conference room in the Brighton Towers, practically surrounded by Russians, with his father to his right and Mr. Krushnic senior on the other side of the table, both men talking animatedly while signing Dean’s future away. And all he could do was seethe, so seethe he would.

This is good, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Krushnic said and smiled down at their contract. I am most pleased.

God, Dean hated how the man said Winchester. Vinchester.

Yes. John answered and clapped Dean on his shoulder. I think we shall both truly benefit from this.

Mr. Krushnic nodded. Castiel will be pleased as well, I am sure.

If Dean’s future husband talked like his father Dean wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to resist socking him in the face. Fuck, everything about this just irked him.

You named your son Castiel? Dean asked instead, just to take his mind of things.

John’s hand on his shoulder tightened to the point where Dean knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut but fuck you, dad.

I did. Mr. Krushnic nodded, obviously not fazed at all. I named all my children after Christian angels, for protection.

Beautiful. Dean mumbled, nearly buckling under the pressure of John’s hand.

Mr. Krushnic smiled again and stood up, to which Dean and John responded by getting to their feet as well. Oh, they were making a seemingly equal deal between their families but there was no doubt as to whom was actually in charge. Mr. Krushnic’s many bodyguards were one indication, if nothing else. Dean wished they had brought someone — Rufus, Bobby, someone — so they wouldn’t have looked so bare, naked; unprofessional.

Arrangements are being made for suitable living quarters. Mr. Krushnic informed John and Dean gritted his teeth at the men talking over his head. Should have probably kept his trap shut after all. You will have to give us time.

No problem. John answered breezily. We’ll wait for you to contact us.

Mr. Krushnic nodded and swept a hand to the door, clearly inviting them to leave and the Winchesters were smart enough to just leave it at that. So far this whole deal sounded pretty straight-forward and, for the exception of forced marriage, Dean actually thought everything was very neat. Mr. Krushnic seemed kind, too kind for a mob boss, and the Russians that lined the walls were stone-faced at best but didn’t seem threatening, at least.

Dean sighed as he followed John to the door. No matter how must he tried to tell himself that this didn’t seem so bad he couldn’t escape the fact that his father effectively had signed off his own flesh and blood. Dean didn’t know who or what he hated the most at this point. He only prayed that his future husband didn’t talk like a freak and was at least good-looking. Yeah, Dean was that shallow at this point, so sue him. He would probably have to sexually please the man, no harm in wishing he was at least easy on the eyes.

He had hoped that his fiancé would be attending the meeting but no. And looking at his father had yielded nothing; Dean had never seen such a plain man in his life.

The door opened just as they reached it and they saw the man that had let them in standing on the other side, holding the door open. The man was tall, almost as tall as John, with dark hair and a strong jaw. Dean had noticed him on the way in as well, guarding the door with a more relaxed demeanor than the rest.

Thank you. John said as they passed.

The man’s piercingly blue eyes skittered over Dean’s face before they landed on John. Pozhaluysta. He said in a low murmur and a little shiver ran through Dean at the sound of the man’s deep voice.

God, if his husband looked and sounded anything like this Dean would count himself lucky. He snuck a glance over his shoulder just as they turned a corner in the corridor outside the conference room and found that the man’s eyes were trained on Dean. He blushed when the man smiled, a barely there quirk of his lips, and Dean had to hurry after his father so as not to embarrass himself.