It’s not Personal. It’s Political (Dean WinchesterAU)
Summary: Dean Winchester is a highly respected campaign manager, and when a face from the past comes to the races... He can only control himself so much.
Parings: Past&Future DeanxReader
Words: 950
Part 2 tomorrow.
“We’ve got an issue.” Jo announced as she pushed open the doors and braced her hands on her hips.
“What kind of issues?” Dean questioned, his green eyes were slightly worried.
“Guess who Lucifer just hired to run his campaign?” She asked, yanking the remote from Dean’s desk.
The pissed off blonde clicked on the TV, and on the screen was a beautiful woman with intelligent Y/E/C eyes. Dean knew those eyes better than his own. And now standing behind Lucifer, with her hair shining and those lips painted that stupid deep red that made him a little weak in the knees, she had a look in those eyes that was hungry. She wanted to win.
“Wh-what? I thought she was handling a senate campaign in Colorado just last week?” Dean choked, completely confused as to why she would do this.
“Yeah, she won. So now she’s here. In New York. And I don’t think she plans on losing to you.” Jo fumed, then plopped down onto the couch that Dean had faced towards the window.
Dean began running through every situation in his head, and most of them came out with his candidate losing. Which was a huge shame because Gabriel’s politics were better, they benefited the people more. Dean needed to do something right then, but Jo’s groaning was getting the best of him.
“What?” He snapped.
Jo sat up and looked at Dean.
“Call her.”
One blink. One moment of silence.
“Dean Winchester. Call. Her. Now.” Jo enunciated as she made her way to Dean’s desk.
“I’m not calling my ex-wife.” Dean announced with a shake of his head.
Jo stared at him, exasperated. Then started muttering curse words as she stormed out of the room. Dean looked down at the phone on his desk. He knew her number by heart, all he had to do was dial. And maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk away from Lucifer and the harm he would do.
But Y/N didn’t care about the people, she didn’t care about this city. She only cared about herself and what she could do to make her life easier. Oh and she must have KNOWN that it would drive Dean crazy. She had to have known that would piss him off. Which was why Dean picked up his cell phone and dialed.
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Lucifer may not have been a good man, but he sure knew how to throw a party. Champagne was spilling, the room was covered in gold decor, pictures of his faces were plastered everywhere, and all of the fat cat politicians were very pleased with his speech.
Your phone began to ring, you let it ring for a few times as you grabbed a flute of champagne.
“Hello, Dean.” You smiled into the phone.
You knew that Dean would call, and you knew exactly what he would say. But you also knew that this opportunity to beat him in his own game was better than sex.
“Y/N. We need to talk.” That gruff voice sounded from over the phone.
You smirked, and made your way to one of the only empty chairs in the place.
“I thought that was what we were doing, Dean. Or is this something else now.”
He paused for a minute in frustration. This made you happy. It had been seven months since you had talked to Dean, and you liked a little challenge from time to time.
“Y/N. Listen… I know that you probably think that this would be an amazing way to get one over on me. But listen… You are the only person who has the slightest chance of beating me, and I mean razor-thin chances. But Lucifer is a crook. He won’t be good for this city. Trust me. He will run it into the ground.” Dean’s voice was full of pleading.
That was something you liked to hear.
“Sorry Deano. But you know I can’t do that.”
“Oh why, because the paycheck is all you care for?” There was an extra bit of venom in his voice that reminded you of countless fights.
“Yes Dean. I do care about getting paid, you know why…” He didn’t say anything.
You let him sit there for a while in silence, giving the room a once over and hearing the soft music in the background and seeing Lucifer making positive connections snapped you back into business mode.
“Because I’m the best. So I deserve to get paid the best by the highest bidder. I don’t care about running a clean campaign because I don’t have to. Dean, sweetheart, you know that I don’t care about the actual politics. Like you said. You are a righteous man, so you’ll run a righteous campaign. And that is why you will lose. Because you’re afraid.” Your tone was scathing and your words were brutal.
“You know what you are Y/N.” Dean was about to go off.
“I’m a monster, I know. Next time you want to chat, call my office during business hours. Goodbye, Dean.” With that you hung up.
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Dean was fuming. It had been ten minutes since his phone call with the devil herself and he was at his desk, staring at his phone. Trying not to smash it. He took a deep breath and then picked up his work phone.
It rang once, twice.
“Hello?”
“Charlie! How are ya kiddo?” Dean asked.
“Pretty good, but from the looks of the news, you’re not.” Charlie’s voice teased.
“About that…” He heard a sigh. “I need you to get into her company’s system. You’ll be paid extremely well.”
Time to be ready, 4 PM, to arrive by 5:30 PM.
Request for a favourite dress and to feel good.
He’s going to ask, I know it.
We park the car near the old home.
Memories of our spontaneous adventure,
over three years ago, come flooding back.
We smile at the assessment birthday celebrations,
angry wontons, games at The Hive and more to be told.
We sit and await the train,
admiring the brilliant minds of children painted on the wall,
and giggle at how we miraculously came together.
Truly, how miraculous it is that we came together.
Particularly after all our trials and tribulations.
We giggle, smile eternally and arrive at one of the best views.
Remarking about how lucky we are to live in a world where such a view,
and that of the Quay,
is available for all and freely provided.
Hand in hand,
we descend the steps,
swinging hands like children and I’m six again.
Giggles, smiles, skips and more laughter,
as we bathe in a glorious sunshine,
with the chuckle and hum of ferries passing by,
while we walk to our treat.
We enjoy the most amazing meal,
with view of The Bridge,
party of a cruise,
and the life giving sun hiding behind the towers of man.
No better view could be provided to accompany the sweet,
the delicious, and the spectacular meal we shared.
Why did I deserve such treatment?
We left with a content and satisfying feeling,
a new tradition to be born and repeated each year.
Boardwalks, music, sunset and chocolate,
photographs, poses and wind in hair,
followed by the most intense laughter spectacular to be experienced in all of my twenty-seven years.
An amazing La Soiree.
Magic, being able to laugh without omission and giggle with delight,
next to the man of my dreams.
We then prance to the train,
then squeal with delight,
as our favourite sweet desert was served by a familiar face,
right in the shadow of the Quay.
We board, alight, then walk through darkness,
smiling about the old days,
the new, and the to come.
It was time to go home,
for the little monster creeped back in.
We drove past our first adventure, a second and a third.
Talked of many more,
and then headed straight to a place so special to our hearts.
We walked to the top,
laid our feet to rest,
and talked of life, love, challenge and muster.
But also of friendship and trust.
We moved to the trees,
enjoying their silhouettes,
and I questioned out loud whether it’d be fair.
But it wasn’t my choice.
And his thoughts were already made.
Through tears with a full and happy heart,
he asked that I stand,
bent down on knee,
speaking the sweetest words to ever leave his lips.
It was not ‘okay’,
but instead it was, ‘of course I will!’.
