Chapter Text
TARGET DOSSIER – SUNSHINE OPS
CODE NAME: Kingmaker
CLASSIFICATION: Tier-One Elimination
REQUESTED BY: Confidential
DELIVERY DATE: Open window – Preferably within the next 10 days
ASSIGNED TO: Winchester/Novak Team
PROFILE
Subject is male, approximately mid-50s, Caucasian, 5'10", well dressed at all times. Publicly known as a luxury antiquities dealer based out of a fortified estate in Manhattan, but intelligence confirms his primary occupation as a high-ranking organized crime figure. Internal name used by his network: “The King.”
He is heavily involved in black market arms, human trafficking (including high-value asset acquisitions), and high-level political bribes. Highly manipulative. Known to keep minimal contact with lower-tier enforcers, uses proxies whenever possible.
KNOWN ASSOCIATES
- Three personal security staff rotate day and night shifts. All ex-military, ex-private sector.
- One personal driver (possibly armed). Drives a black 2025 Maybach with rotating plates.
- Maid and live-in chef, neither considered threats.
- Occasional presence of an “heir” figure, estimated to be a son or nephew. No threat assessment needed. Does not reside on premises.
ROUTINE PATTERNS (From client intake)
- Wakes at 5:30 AM. Workout and sauna until 7.
- Leaves estate at 8 AM sharp three times a week for morning walk through Central Park with one unarmed escort—Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday.
- Returns home by 9:30 AM. Spends most of the day in his private office on the third floor.
- Security system disables outdoor sensors at 2 PM daily for maintenance/testing window. 15-minute window—automated schedule.
- Favorite cigar lounge: The Velvet Ember, Lower East Side. Visits Monday nights at 8 PM, drinks two glasses of GlenDronach 18, sits farthest booth near the rear exit.
- Attends underground poker game on alternating Saturdays in Brooklyn—location varies. Last confirmed location had no cameras, tight security, and no cell signals allowed inside.
ESTATE DETAILS
- Five floors, brownstone style. Reinforced windows and gated front. Back alley access with motion-detecting cameras.
- Rooftop garden and a helipad—has not been used in six months but is functional.
- Private security room in the basement. All feeds and panic systems route through it.
- Known weapons cache on second floor behind locked bookshelf in the study. Thumbprint lock.
WEAKNESSES
- Allergic to shellfish (lethal reaction).
- Suffers from cluster headaches—takes injectable medication he keeps in a safe in his office (code unknown).
- Has a compulsive routine and cannot deviate easily without causing personal stress or panic.
- Values image over security—often under-guarded during public appearances.
CLIENT NOTES
Client stated the target is “a plague” and “incapable of seeing anyone but himself at the top.”
Client also shared: “Make it loud or make it silent—I don’t care. Just make it permanent.”
Client has offered a substantial bonus if the body is never recovered.
RECOMMENDATIONS
Option 1: Silent in-home extraction during 2 PM window using rooftop entry.
Option 2: Public hit during Central Park walk—clean and quick, posing as mugging or jogger collision.
Option 3: Poisoned drink or allergic reaction setup via inside contact at The Velvet Ember. (Further recon required.)
ATTACHED:
- Floor plan sketches
- Photo references
- Schedule log
- Known security schematics
- Disguises and false IDs prepped (see Charlie for access)
_____________________________________
The alarm doesn’t get a chance to ring. Dean’s already half dressed in black, crouched by the bed, tying his boots with brisk, quiet efficiency. It took some getting used to, but early mornings come second nature now that they’ve gotten back into the groove of being on the farm. Granted, three am isn’t their usual, but today’s different. It’s day one of putting their ‘murder anything that moves’ ways behind them in favor of something a little more honest and stable.
The room is low-lit and still, the kind of still that comes just before a storm, or a kill. Across the room, Cas zips up one of the go bags and slips in the folder Amara gave them with the details on their target. His alpha’s scent is calm, steady.
Focused.
It helps keep Dean’s nerves in check.
“No glitter bombs this time,” Cas murmurs, not looking up.
The omega smirks, scent peaking with a burst of amusement. “Jack cried last time we left without a goodbye. Figured a little sparkle softened the blow.”
Cas raises an eyebrow. “He weaponized it against Claire. I had to unstick her from the couch with olive oil and prayer.”
Dean huffs a quiet laugh, grabbing his holster and shrugging on his jacket. “Kid’s got instincts. Gods help us.”
Cas crosses the room to stand behind him, his hands brushing against Dean’s shoulders as he fixes the collar. “They get that from you.”
Dean leans back into the touch just briefly, reveling in his mate’s scent before stepping away. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Heading to the dresser, Dean slides open the hidden panel, pulling out burner phones and IDs. He tosses one to Cas. “Alias of the day: Clint and Mike Holloway. Happily mated accountants, Des Moines, heading to a finance seminar.”
Cas catches his phone and ID out of mid air, joking, “We could at least pretend to be jewel thieves next time.”
“Next time,” Dean agrees with a soft chuckle, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Cas watches him, sapphire eyes squinting in concern, asking, “You ready?”
Dean breathes in calmly, nodding, “Yeah. Quick in, clean out. Take the bastard out before lunch.”
The alpha steps closer again, hand warm against the small of Dean’s back. “Yes, keep it clean, no improvising.”
Dean looks up at his mate, murmuring teasingly, “I’ll behave as long as you do. Get me out of there fast, and I’ll even let you pick the next alias.”
Before Cas can reply, small footsteps echo in the hallway. Jack’s sleepy voice follows from the doorway, “Papa?”
Dean turns fast, crouching down and catching Jack as the toddler stumbles in, dragging his blanket behind him. “Hey, hey, buddy. What are you doin’ up?”
“You leavin’ again?” He asks, through a tired yawn.
Dean sighs, lifting Jack into his arms. “Just for a couple days. Promise. You won’t even get a chance to miss us,” he swears, adding in their bribe, “Daddy left you some new plants to take care of while we’re gone.”
Cas kneels beside them, scenting his son’s hair gently as he adjusts the blanket. “And Claire’s in charge of the seeds. You’re in charge of making sure she doesn’t try to eat the dirt again.”
Jack yawns once more, bright blue eyes blinking slowly as the sleepy pup nods against Dean’s shoulder. “Can you bring pancakes?”
Dean presses a kiss to his curls. “You got it, kiddo. The biggest pancakes in New York.”
He’s not sure how they’ll manage, but he’ll try for his little guy. It’s better than getting in trouble again with Cas for giving the kid another glitter bomb.
Never again.
Cas stands first, Dean rising after him, reluctant but resigned. Charlie appears in the hallway, already dressed with coffee in hand and hair up in a messy bun, reaching for Jack.
“I got ‘em. You two go do what you do best. Just…don’t die. I am not explaining death to a toddler.”
Dean hands Jack over with a tired smirk. “I’ll try not to embarrass you in front of the other assassins, Charles.”
Charlie rolls her eyes with a huff. “Too late.”
Downstairs, a black SUV waits at the edge of the property. Cas walks a step ahead of Dean, silent and sharp eyed, already slipping into alpha on a mission mode. Dean watches the confident line of his shoulders, the calm stillness of him, and feels the bond hum warm in his chest.
He glances back once, just once, catching the tiny shape of Jack pressed against the upstairs window, Claire’s nearly identical face joining his a moment later.
Dean turns back to the road.
They’ve got a job to do.