Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/887571.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Gabriel_
      (Supernatural), Anna_Milton, Ash_(Supernatural), Jo_Harvelle, Chuck
      Shurley
  Additional Tags:
      Highschool_AU, AU, hipster!cas, bigbro!gabriel
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-17 Updated: 2013-07-25 Chapters: 6/? Words: 6399
****** Blossom ******
by pushingthesenses
Summary
     Castiel was strange. Strange music, strange clothes, strange friends.
     In general, he was the embodiment of organised chaos. But somehow,
     don't ask me how, I wound up tangled in him.
Notes
     Alright, so, another generic Destiel HS AU. I originally wrote this
     story with original m/f characters, but when I re-read it, I realised
     it was pretty much a Destiel story with different names/genders. So,
     I figured I'd put it where it belongs. I also really love writing Cas
     as someone who's quirky and funny. I like to think, with Gabe as an
     older brother, he would have turned out somewhat like this as a high
     school kid.
***** September 7th 1996 *****
September 7th 1996
I remember this day well. Very well, in fact.
It was my first day of senior year at my new school – Lawrence High School,
Kansas. It was different than my previous schools in New York, and was far from
what I expected. I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit. Back in Long
Island, I was captain of the football team, and dated cheerleaders and
cheerleaders only. Lawrence High School didn't have a football team. At least,
not on a varsity level, which meant the football scholarship I had been
counting on went straight out the window. No, this school had a baseball team.
I couldn't hit a ball with a bat to save my life, I just didn't have that kind
of hand-eye co-ordination. I had very little of that in general, and thanked
God every day of my life that all I ever really had to do in football was run
around with a ball and tackle people. The cheerleaders were weird too. Really
weird.
I had gone from being top of the food chain, to the very bottom. I didn't know
a soul, nor did I understand how this school worked. I remember being lost.
Very lost. I was so used to being the centre of attention – the guy all the
girls, coaches and college scouts had their eye on. But in this new school,
this stupid, stupid school, I could kiss all of that goodbye.
So much for having that legendary senior party I've been planning for the past
four years.
First period English class was the worst class I have endured to this day. I
was late, because the idiot of a school secretary gave me the wrong schedule,
and I had ended up in a junior physics class instead of senior English. When I
eventually found the class, I instantly prayed to be back in that physics
class. For a fraction of a second, I even contemplated repeating my junior
year.
“New boy? Dean Winchester?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Papers.”
I raised an eyebrow. The teacher was tall, old, and looked as though he hated
teaching as much as his students hated having to listen to listen to him. His
suit was creased and his grey hair messy, as though he had ran his hands
through it in frustration a couple of times already.
"What?"
There were a couple of chuckle’s from the back row. It felt awfully strange,
not being able to shoot them ‘the look’. The same ‘look’ that hushed even the
loudest of jocks and the bravest of nerds. But that wasn't an option anymore.
New kids don’t have that kind of authority.
“Your papers, let me see them.”
He didn't wait for me to hand them over, and instead, grabbed them out of my
hands rather roughly.
I remember thinking about my dad.
“Go sit beside Castiel.”
“Who?”
“Castiel. Castiel Novak.”
In any other situation, I would have bit my tongue, but four hours of sleep the
night before had left me dysfunctional and, for want of a better word,
extremely cranky.
“Dude, I've been a student here for less than an hour, I don’t know who the
hell Castiel Novak even is.”
The murmuring class fell silent, and the teacher, who I later discovered was
called Mr Elroy, stared at me with such cold eyes that I almost apologized. But
I didn't.
Winchester’s don’t apologize. Not when they’re right.
“I’m Castiel,” a deep voice sounded from the back of the room. “Sorry, Dean, I
should have said so. It’s my bad, not yours.” He kept his eyes on Mr Elroy the
entire time he spoke, not once glancing at me. Not that I cared, he looked like
someone my dorky little brother would of hung out with anyway.
“Thanks,” I muttered as I sat down beside him. “You saved my ass from a
detention on the first day.”
He shrugged, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
“Whatever, no one deserves a fight with Mr Elroy on their first day. He’s just
cranky ‘cuz he’s been here thirty years and still hasn't got the raise he asked
for during his third year.”
That’s when I looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was wearing faded jeans, and those doc marten boots that the goths in Long
Island used to wear every day, even in the summer heat. His knitted sweater was
a weird, but somehow pretty, olive colour and it was a little too big for him.
He really was...Something. Something...Well, for the want of a less pathetic
word - beautiful. And well, fuck, because I’d never even thought about a girl
as beautiful before, much less a guy. Sure, the girls I had dated in the past
were hot, but all the cheerleaders looked the same. I'd had fleeting phases of
being attracted to some of the guys on my team, but that's all they were -
phases. Phases I never admitted to anyone, and only barely admitted to myself.
It wasn't until I really looked at Castiel, that I saw he was a different kind
of attractive, a different kind of beautiful. I probably would have told him,
too, if I was feeling my usual self (hey, new state, new slate, I was no ladies
man in Lawrence). But I wasn't, so I didn't. I just chuckled instead, and told
him he was funny.
“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m just saying. Where are you from?”
“Long Island.”
“In New York?”
“Yup, home sweet home.”
He raised her eyebrows, impressed, and said no more.
He had pretty eyes. Very pretty blue eyes.
I spent the next ten minutes wondering, had this dude of gone to my old high
school, would I have even given him the time of day?
“Winchester!”
I jumped, looking up at Mr Elroy.
“Repeat what I just said!”
It took every ounce of strength in me to refrain from groaning and telling the
old bastard where to go. Instead, I decided to just do what I would have done
back home.
Be a dick.
“I would…Only whatever you were saying didn't really interest me so I tuned
out.”
“I noticed.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“You've just earned yourself a trip to the principal’s office on your first
day, Winchester. Enjoy it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Castiel repressing a chuckle. Just as
the bell rang, he stood up clapped me on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper
in my ear.
“The work of an amateur. A suspension on the first day would have made you a
legend."
***** September 8th 1996 *****
September 8th 1996
“You take Sam to school, you get to class, you pick him up from school and then
you look after him, you hear me?”
It was 6AM and my father was standing over my bed, dishing out orders. I stared
up at him, bleary-eyed, thinking about what I’d make for breakfast.
Pancakes sound awesome right about now...
“Uh-huh.”
“Dean!”
“Yes, dad, I hear you! When have I ever gotten it wrong, huh?”
“Don’t back-talk me, young man.”
I was quick to shut up.
“I’ll be back sometime next week, I’ll call when I can. You know the drill, no
parties, no girls, no leaving the house after dark and no leaving Sam alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, and turned to leave.
“I love you, son.”
“I love you too, dad.”
My father traveled a lot with work, although I never really knew what it was he
was doing. Nor did I care. As long as he was safe and could put a roof over our
heads, I had nothing to complain about. I suppose that’s probably why we moved
to Kansas to begin with, although I never really knew how, or why, we ended up
in the mid-west. I knew better than to question my father’s choices.
I did as I was told.
I dropped my thirteen year old brother off at junior high in dad's old Impala,
ruffling his shaggy hair as he leapt from the front seat, knocking his books
out of his hands in the process.
“Careful, alright?”
He nodded, inspecting his books for any injuries.
“Anyone pushes you around – anyone at all, you tell me and I’ll take care of
‘em, you hear?”
“I hear,” he adjusted his rucksack and looked up at me. He looked scared.
Really scared. “Hey, Dean?”
“What?”
“Everything will be okay, right? I’m not gonna get hurt again, am I?”
“New slate, buddy. Just remember what I told you last time.”
*
 
As I approached my locker, I noticed Castiel digging books out of his. I hadn't
noticed that it was right beside mine.
“Hey, Castiel.”
“Cas,” he said, not looking up. “You can call me Cas.”
“Alright,” I smirked. “Cas.”
“Dean.”
I chuckled, taking the few books I needed out of my locker.
“So, Cas,” I spoke with a playful tone. “What does one do around here for
lunch?”
“Well, one would usually go to the cafeteria or sit by the bleachers. You’d
think you’d of figured that out yesterday.”
“I spent most of yesterday in the principal’s office. Missed lunch.”
He smiled. “I still think you could have done better.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen half of it. You should have seen me in Spanish class back
home. I should have won awards.”
“What classes do we have together?”
“I dunno. English, and a couple of others, I think.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” He said, closing his locker. He looked...Outstanding
that day. Even more so than the day before. Not that I'd have admitted that to
myself at the time. He still had those goth shoes on, but somehow, they looked
good on him. They didn't look scary, like they did on everyone else. “You show
me the real stuff, and you can eat lunch with us.”
“Deal.”
“Gotta shake on it, man.” He held out his hand. He had a ring on his right ring
finger.
“Deal,” I repeated, shaking his hand. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
 
*
A Winchester never goes back on his word. So I sat beside Cas in Spanish class,
and made enough of a scene to earn myself an after-school detention for Friday.
“Impressive,” he said, “Impressive.”
“So, lunch?”
“Lunch. Hope you don’t mind, but my friends aren't exactly ex-jock friendly.”
“How did you know I used to be a jock?”
He winked, and gestured to a group of people sitting around a table at the back
of the cafeteria. I could already tell that these were the kind of people I
would have completely ignored back home. One guy had long ginger hair, fierce
acne and dressed a little like Kurt Cobain. I didn't know much about Kurt
Cobain at the time, just that he died a couple of years beforehand and dressed
like a hobo. There was a girl who had green streaks through her blonde hair.
There was one guy who looked pretty normal, if you didn't count the mullet and
redness around his eyes from smoking pot.
“Guys, this is Dean. He’s our newest recruit.”
Recruit? What is this, the freak army?
“Dean,” He pushed me towards the group and gestured to each individual. “This
is Brad, Jo, Ash and Chuck.”
I glanced at Chuck, who I hadn't previously noticed. He had his head buried in
a huge book, not even looking up when his name was mentioned. He simply grunted
and waved a hand dismissively in my direction.
I smiled and gave a general nod. I half expected them to stare me down and spit
on me or something, but that wasn't the case. Despite their somewhat off-
putting appearances, they were all very friendly and talkative. They asked a
lot of questions about Long Island and the city, and what I wanted to do in
college. I said I wasn't sure. I didn't tell them that I had planned on playing
football. I’m not sure why I didn't tell them. It was probably the fear of
rejection.
“So, the big question,” Brad, the Kurt Cobain wannabe, sighed. “Music and the
arts.”
I raised my eyebrows.
The arts?
“Who’s your favourite band?” Jo, the girl with the blonde hair and green
streaks, asked through a mouthful of pizza.
“Uh, Led Zeppelin, actually,” I shrugged. I didn't listen to a lot of music,
mostly because the type of music I liked wasn't much appreciated by my past
peers. The music I did listen to, however, could be found in my dad’s vinyl
collection. “Been listening to them since I was a kid.”
“Not bad, not bad.”
“You really think I’d introduce you guys to someone with shit taste?” Cas
interjected as he leafed through a book.
Ash grunted in agreement, and the group continued their questions and
conversation. I couldn't help but notice how intelligent and cultured they all
were. It made me feel like a ditz, and their group made my previous peers seem
like four year old's in a sandbox. Maybe they weren't freaks, or dorks, or
weirdo’s. Maybe they were simply open minded. Maybe they just had minds and
opinions of their own. Maybe they weren't afraid to just be.
***** September 13th 1996 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
September 13th 1996
 
Had you of strolled into my crowded homeroom in Long Island on September 13th
1995, and told me that a year on, I would be sitting on the carpeted floor of a
pot-head’s basement in Kansas, listening to Billie Holiday and smoking
cigarettes, I would have laughed in your face. Laughed right in it.
Yet there I was, on Brad's basement floor, one of Castiel's DIY cigarettes
between my fingers.
I’d always promised my father that I wouldn't smoke after my mother died of
smoke inhalation when our house caught fire well over a decade ago. But
somehow, for the first time in my life, I didn't care. I didn't care about my
father’s expectations, and I didn't care about the fact I’d dropped Sam off at
his new friend’s house to spend the night. I didn't care about how angry my dad
would be if he were to find out about that – although I took all necessary
precautions and told Sam he’d never live to see the light of day if he told
dad. He didn't dare challenge that threat.
I just didn't care. I was surrounded by good music and, to my surprise, good
people. Good, intelligent people, and I knew they could teach me a thing or two
about life. At the time, I was more than a little hesitant to let these people
show me the ways of their world, but that's not to say I wasn't drawn in. I
was, admittedly, slightly – or very – uncultured and a little dim, no thanks to
my previous rank on the popularity scale. You just couldn't have that prestige
and still be smart. It simply never worked that way. As far as I know, that
still is, and probably always will be the case.
“Must say, Dean,” Brad was sitting on the floor, his head tipped back against
the seat of the couch, eyes closed as he took another drag from his cigarette.
“Wouldn't of taken you for one of us.”
“That’s cause he ain't!” Cas called from the kitchen. He materialized into view
through the smoke and the dark, his electric eyes lighting up the hazy room.
“He’s a jock!”
“I am not!” I had, and still have, the worst habit of speaking without really
thinking.
“You were!”
“You…” Jo began, lifting the needle from the record player, introducing an
unwanted silence. “Were a jock?”
“Dude, why didn't you tell us?” Brad sounded offended, and for a moment, I
really didn't know what to do.
It’s that fear. That fear of rejection that seems to be integrated in the
majority of teenagers – and humans in general. The same fear that sits on a
throne in the back of your mind and whispers in your ear, guiding your every
move through the difficult journey of adolescence. But why? Why did I, Dean
Winchester, former captain of the football team, care about being accepted by
these…well, freaks? It didn't make sense. I didn't understand. To be honest, I
didn't understand much of anything about myself during my teenage years. But
that confusion only increased when I moved to Kansas.
Go figure. The city boy can't handle the country dwellers.
So, in the nine seconds I had spent internally panicking, while all eyes were
focused on my visibly nervous features, I decided to do something I rarely did
when caught in a sticky situation.
I told the truth.
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I mean, I really don’t know. I think, maybe, I was just
scared of rejection. Which is funny, really, ‘cuz as an ex-jock, you’d think
it’d be the last of my worries…” I trailed off as I felt Castiel's hand on my
shoulder. “Whatever, it doesn't matter, you know what you know.” I never was
all that comfortable with talking about my feelings, fears, or, well, anything
that had to do with my psyche.
Just like dad.
I’m not sure what I expected, but I definitely did not expect their hysterical
laughter. To this day, I don’t know whether it was because some of them were
high as kites, or if it was because they felt the same way I did. I’m sure, had
you of walked into their homeroom on September 13th 1995 and told them that a
year on, they would be entertaining an ex-jock on a Friday night with Billie
Holiday and cigarettes in Brad’s basement, they probably would also have
laughed right in your face.
These people…These strange, intriguing, artistic people, had already influenced
my thinking. I couldn't help but picture myself at the end of the school year.
Would I be another walking, talking Kurt Cobain dedication?
No sir, no thank you.
“Dude, you’re hilarious,” Ash chuckled. “Fuckin’ hilarious.”
“You fit right in, Dean,” Cas smirked. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of
yours.”
 
*
 
The night was cold. Very cold. And it was late. Very, very late.
"You got a ride home, jockie?" Cas appeared behind me as I sat on the front
steps, leaning back on my elbows and observing the street before me. It was
homely. It was sweet. It was very cold, but I ignored that. The stars were
brighter in Lawrence, much brighter than Long Island.
Which one is the brightest?
"Uh-huh. Car's over there."
"That's your car? That piece of crap?"
"Wait, did you just call me 'jockie'?"
"That's one crappy looking car, dude."
"Hey! Don't call me 'jockie', alright?" I flicked my seventh cigarette of the
night into the darkness. "And it ain't a piece of crap, it's an Impala and it's
damn indestructible."
"Sure thing," He got to his feet. "Jockie."
"Fuck off."
Wait, since when do I say 'ain't'?
"Al's coffee place, tomorrow, four o'clock." He winked, turning to go back
indoors.
"Wait, we're not all gonna get high in a coffee shop, are we?"
"No," He said, so innocently that I almost believed him. "Just me and you."
Chapter End Notes
     I really like playing around with Gabriel's influence as a big
     brother on Cas. Mostly his new habit of teasing Dean.
***** September 14th 1996 *****
September 14th 1996
I was ridiculously nervous all day, and was especially irritable after I was
rudely awoken at 9AM by Sam banging down the front door, eager to get inside to
steal a further two hours sleep in his own bed. He never was one for sleeping
anywhere but his own bed.
“Why’re you so jittery, Dean?”
“I’m not jittery, eat your cereal.”
“You’re jittery.”
“Sam,” My ‘dad’ voice never failed. “Drop it.”
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”
At least, it had never failed before. When I didn’t answer – mostly due to my
own internal debate as to whether or not my unusual and, quite frankly,
unwanted feelings for Castiel could be put under the same label as ‘girl or guy
problems’ – Sam only began to dig deeper.
“It is! It’s a girl!”
“Sam!”
“Dean's got a girlfriend, Dean's got a girlfriend!”
“I do not have a girlfriend, alright, now quit it.”
“Then where were you last night?”
“I told you, I was working on a project with a friend.”
“Was it a girl?”
“No,” I sighed. “He’s a dude, and if he ever found out you asked if he was a
girl, he’d kill you.”
“What’s his name, then?”
“Brad.”
To this day, I couldn't tell you why I didn't just tell Sam that his name was
Castiel. I guess it might have had something to do with the fact that my
feelings for Castiel could have been considered a 'guy problem'.
“What does he look like?”
“Like an idiot, actually, but we’ll keep that between you and me. If you want
proof, he lives 3 blocks over, go and ask him where I was last night.”
Satisfied with my answer, Sam trotted into the living room to watch cartoons,
leaving me with my Spanish assignment. Which, due to my denied apprehension and
sweating palms, was impossible to even look at. For a brief moment, I almost
felt like vomiting all over it. I’d promised myself that I’d pull my own weight
throughout senior year and get the work done.
Of course, within my first couple of weeks, that promise was well and truly
shattered. Nothing new there.
*
When four o’clock finally rolled around, I was at breaking point, and my
jitters had only been increasing steadily since I began chain smoking and
drinking black coffee in a pathetic attempt to calm myself down. This wasn't
Dean Winchester.
Dean Winchester doesn't get nervous talking to hot cheerleaders. Dean
Winchester can get a date without a hitch. Dean Winchester sure as shit does
not get nervous about having coffee with a friend. Who's a dude. He doesn't.
“You look like you’re gonna vomit,” Cas appeared in the seat next to me, his
own cup in hand. “Don’t get it on my shoes, please, I still haven’t gotten rid
of Chuck's vomit stains from last year’s homecoming.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, glancing at his cup. The liquid was green, and I scrunched
up my nose at the sight. “What kind of coffee is that?”
“It’s not coffee, it’s herbal tea, dumbass.”
Smooth.
“So, what’s up? Why am I here?”
He stared at me, the kind of stare that sees right through you.
“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”
“You lost me.” I shrugged, without the faintest idea of what he meant. He could
have been talking about anything – Castiel was like that. He seen things, took
note of things that most people wouldn’t notice. He could see right through me,
and everyone else around him. He knew what lay behind the masks, the costumes
teenagers and adults alike wore to fit in to society. He could see it all,
right down to the bone.
“This is what I mean, Dean, you pretend.”
“Cas, c'mon, what the hell are you talking about?” I paused, evaluating the
situation. “And speak in English, I don’t understand your philosophical talk
ninety percent of the time.”
He sighed, resting his cup of fancy herbal tea on the table.
“I see you, Dean, I see you,”
I waited.
“I see how you feel about everyone and everything. I notice these things, and
you don’t have to hide them. Not from me.”
And that was when he kissed me.
***** October 2nd 1996 *****
October 2nd 1996
Cue my big gay freak-out.
There’s something about Cas. When he kissed me, I couldn’t help but kiss back.
It was like he was holding on to something inside me, something that kept my
feet on the ground and my head - and I'll never admit to saying this again -
very much in the clouds.
The kiss was soft, but not hesitant. He didn’t seem one bit worried about
rejection, or being pushed away. It was strong but tender and as sweet as they
come. And it was most definitely the best kiss of my life. Way better than the
head cheerleader back home, or her sister, or her best friend. It was so damn
good that I almost whined like a needy thirteen year old girl when he pulled
away.
I hadn’t noticed that I’d been holding his left arm as his hand held my face. I
hadn’t noticed anything outside that kiss – Johnny Dillinger’s ghost could have
raided the diner and I wouldn’t have noticed a thing.
But when he pulled away, everything came crashing down. Whatever connection was
there, whatever hold Castiel over me was broken. I felt as though I’d been
electrocuted, and jumped slightly away. Cas just smirked.
“I think this is something you need to figure out on your own,” He leaned in
again and kissed my cheek, while I sat in half-horror, half amazement.
What in the fuck just happened?
“I’ll see you on Monday, Dean.”
*
After our first kiss, I went home and face-planted my bed. I’d already accepted
the fact that I found the guy attractive, but a kiss…a kiss was the furthest my
sporadic attraction to the male gender had ever gone. It had become physical,
and it freaked me out. Because that made it real.
But if I didn’t want it…If I didn’t like it, I would have pushed him away.
After a weekend of pacing around the house and snapping at Sam, I decided to
just go with it.
New state, new slate, right? What more can I do? If I went around ignoring the
fact it happened, I'd upset Cas and everyone else in the process. He'd just see
right through me anyhow. Get over it, Dean, man the fuck up.
*
The weeks in between the kiss at the diner and this day were, for want of a
better word...insane. They were filled with parties and cigarettes and stolen
kisses behind Brad’s refrigerator, which was, for reasons unknown, more or less
in the centre of the kitchen. I told Cas that I didn’t want the group to know
about us – not yet. It wasn’t because I was ashamed, or scared (or maybe I was,
and didn’t want to admit it)…more so because I wasn’t quite sure what it was
that was happening to me. I couldn’t understand, no matter how hard I tried,
how it came to be that I could change into an entirely different person within
a matter of weeks.
Is this me? Is this who I’ve always been?
But I didn’t need to tell him that part.
He already knew.
My father had come home, and left again, leaving behind the same orders, and a
crate of cornflakes. Sam was missing the time we’d usually spend together, and
was beginning to detest having to spend more time than necessary with his
friends. If you ever wanted to meet a hermit, my brother is, and always has
been, the top dog.
I felt bad, I did, but what could I do? I couldn’t take him with me, nor could
I stay home – if I decided to stay home, they’d bring the party to me. Don’t
get me wrong; I loved these parties, mostly because they weren’t really
parties. It was a gathering of people who loved each other, listening to good
music together and having a good time. But it wasn’t a good example for Sam.
Not at all.
Of course, my friends knew about my dad travelling and Sam spending so much
time at his friends’ houses, but they understood my point of view. Although,
they were desperate to meet the kid. I’ll never know why.
“Come on, Dean, let’s meet the kid!” Jo would say, always enthusiastic.
“I don’t think he’s your type, Jo….” I’d wink and we’d laugh and change the
subject.
But today wasn’t that kind of day.
“We’re meeting your brother today.” Jo stated, plonking herself down on the
bleachers beside me.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, we’re all going to meet him after school, and if you don’t take us, we’ll
just stalk you until you eventually go home and barge right on in-“
“Alright, alright!” I laughed at their enthusiasm about my dork of a little
brother. “You can meet him.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to meet him – I did. And it wasn’t like Sam
embarrassed me or anything. It was just…He was my brother. My little brother,
who I spent far too much time with. But in a way, he was almost like a son,
too, with how I had to practically raise him. It was always up to me to look
out for Sam. The last thing I wanted to do was introduce him to a bunch of
people that may scare him, or who weren’t worth it.
My friends in Long Island never met my brother.
However, Cas must have told them all of this, because they all seemed to know
how I felt. Of course, I never told Cas anything, because he just seemed to
figure it out by himself. I’d come to the conclusion that he was psychic after
having known him for only two weeks.
The sun was setting when we got to the house – I’d instructed Sam to walk home
from school, as it wasn’t very far, and that I’d have a surprise for him when
he got home. For reasons also unknown to me, Sam was very eager to meet my
friends too.
“Sam?”
“Huh?!”
“Come downstairs a minute.”
“If this surprise is something lame like a Clint Eastwood movie, I’m gonna kill
you.” He trudged down the stairs, and I still remember so clearly how his eyes
lit up when he saw my friends smiling up at him from the front door.
“How adorable is he?!” Jo whispered to Cas, who stepped forward and held out
his hand.
“Hey, Sam!” His smile was wide. And true. It was very, very true. “I’m Cas.
It’s an honour to finally meet you.”
Honour.
To this day, I haven’t seen Sam smile as wide as he did at that moment.
Sam got along with the group remarkably well. He loved James Taylor, and as it
turned out, so did Chuck and Brad, so he spent the majority of the night
talking excitedly about his music, while the rest of us devoured pizza and root
beer.
“Your brother is a gem, Dean,” Cas said through a mouthful of pizza. “You’re
right to be so proud of him. He’s a truly wonderful boy.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it – because he was right. He really was a gem.
“Who knows, he might even be our next recruit,” Jo winked, and then turned to
Sam. “Whaddy’a think about that, huh, Sam? Join our little club?”
“Yes! Yes!”
Everyone laughed; Ash even ruffled Sam’s floppy hair. And for the first time in
a long, long time, I really felt okay. Like everything was going to turn out
alright. I wasn’t worried about the next game or what the cheerleaders would
think of my new haircut or if I had anything witty left to say in Spanish
class. All that mattered was my friends and pizza and James Taylor and my
brother.
At least, until my father unexpectedly walked through the front door. Then he
mattered a little more than all of that.
***** October 3rd 1996 *****
October 3rd 1996
The next day, and the evening before, was painful. Literally.
My father had not been happy, not at all. He spent that entire evening – after,
of course, screaming at my friends to get ‘out of his house’ - booming at me
about them being a “lousy influence” on Sam.
“I thought you had normal friends, Dean!” He yelled, even though Sam was now
asleep in bed. “Like your friends from Long Island! I thought you were
popular!”
“Is that what matters to you?” I blinked, fairly shocked by my fathers words.
Is that really all he cares about? Popularity?
He sighed. “Dean-“
“No, no, you’ve been talking all damn night, let me speak!” I stunned myself
with the volume of my voice. I never, ever challenged my father. “Back home?
That wasn’t me! I was just…It doesn’t matter, but when we came here, I found
some real interesting people, who’re a hell of a lot smarter than me, and a
hell of a lot better as people. They’re real, they don’t pretend, dad! They’re
no one but themselves and I downright fucking admire that, because it’s
something I need to fucking learn. Screw being popular, screw sports teams,
screw everyone back home! This is where I’m at right now and this is where I’m
staying. If you don’t like it, then fuck it, I could fucking care less.”
Needless to say, I received a hefty clout to the jaw. “That’s for swearing at
me.” He added, before storming upstairs.
He didn’t look at me for the rest of the night, and I was thankful for that. He
was leaving again the next day, which meant I didn’t have to worry about him.
At least, not for another week or two, anyway.
 
*
 
I spent the entirety of the following day dodging interrogation from my
friends, Sam and teachers alike, regarding my bruised face. Avoiding such
questions was an art I had mastered in middle school; when all I ever managed
to do was get into fights at the arcade.
The joys of being popular.
But when Cas looked at me, I knew that he knew. His eyes were soft, his
features sympathetic. He never questioned me. He simply put a tender hand to my
jaw and shook his head.
“You stood up for what’s right.” He whispered, before offering a small nod and
turning to speak to Ash.
How does he know? How does he know everything?
I made a mental note to interrogate him on his unrealistic abilities to know
absolutely fucking everything.
“Hey, Cas?” I asked, as he finished up his brief conversation about Ash’s
missing cigarettes.
“Hm?”
“You free later?”
“I’ll be at your place by six.” He winked, quickly kissing my cheek while all
eyes were on Ash, as he loudly accused Chuck of stealing his cigarettes.
“I know you have em’, man, who the fuck else has em’!”
 
*
 
Six O’clock rolled around remarkably fast, what with homework, helping Sam with
his, and going on our daily jog. I’d been encouraging Sam to get off his lazy
ass all summer, and when school started, he finally agreed to go jogging after
homework. Sure, we both hated it, but beauty is pain. Or exhaustion. Or
whatever.
“Dean?” Cas called, walking through the door without knocking. If it were
anyone else, I would have found that extremely annoying, but with Cas, it
simply seemed endearing.
“In the living room!” I called, shoving Sam’s nerdy comics under the coffee
table.
“No need to hide em’, I have em’ too,” He smiled, sitting down on the sofa.
“I’m guessing you wanna talk?”
“Lil’ bit,” I smiled, sitting down beside him. I was just about to speak when
Sam cheekily popped his head around the doorframe. “Scram, you little shit! Go
watch a movie upstairs!”
“But Deaaan, the good ones are all down here!”
“Sam, I swear to God-“
“Don’t mind your bastard brother, Sam,” Cas got to his feet and strolled
towards the half un-packed box of videotapes sitting beside the television.
“I’ll help you pick out a good one. C’mere.”
And there he sat, for a good ten minutes, sorting through various movies and
recorded football games. Sam eventually settled on The Lost Boys, which he
loved, because the ‘coolest’ guy had the same name as him- the ‘coolest’ guy
being the annoying little brother, but whatever.
Let him dream.
“He is such an annoying little asshole.” I muttered as soon as Sam had
scampered upstairs.
“You don’t mean that,” he smiled warmly. “You love him like a son.”
I shrugged shyly. It wasn’t something I talked about very often.
“Anyway,” he sighed, patting my knee. “What’s up? Or is asking a stupid
question?”
“I just kinda wanna know how the hell you know absolutely everything…” I
trailed off, realising what I was about to say sounded a little crazy. “Are you
psychic?”
He stared at me for a moment, and for a split second, I thought he just might
be, in fact, psychic, and was debating on how to tell me. However, he burst out
laughing seconds later, which shattered that idea.
“Jesus!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “Jesus, no! I’m just observant!” His
laugh was beautiful. He threw his head back like a child, and then lunged
forward, doubling over and holding his stomach. It sounded a little like music.
It sounded…Happy.
He finally settled, and turned to look at me. Really look at me.
“Dean…I see things. I notice things that other people pass off. I study people.
I just do, I always have, and I guess I just put the pieces together like a
jigsaw puzzle. Not everyone is easy to read, and I’m not saying I can read
everyone…”
“But you can read me.” I concluded, slightly offended that I was ‘easy to
read’.
“No. I can just see you,” he smiled at my puzzled expression. “Let me
elaborate. I see how you love your brother, and I see how much you look up to
your father, even though he isn’t the best role model. I see how confused you
are, going from one extreme to the other on the social scale, and how you don’t
know what’s going on around you, or why you feel the way you do about me. I get
it, Dean, I do, and no one’s pressuring you to have all the answers. Just go
with it. That’s the best advice I can give to you. Just go with it, and do what
feels right.”
That was the moment I realized I loved Castiel Novak. It was 6.17PM on a
Thursday evening, and I loved him. I really loved him.
Before I knew what was happening, Cas was straddling my hips and we were
connected again. I felt lightheaded, like his lips were the only thing keeping
me conscious. I was so lost in him, that I didn’t hear the living room door
swing open. I didn’t hear the yelling. I wasn’t aware of any of it – not until
Cas was pulled from my arms and thrown into the coffee table.
I was very, very much aware of the commotion then.
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