It ought to feel different, the last first day of school. The freshmen pushing by do look a little younger than Castiel remembers seeing the year before, but he doesn’t necessarily feel any older. He certainly doesn’t feel senior. At least he knows where all his classes are without trying to sneak glances at the schedule on their phones they all pretend they don’t need. He slips by a knot of rowdy boys enthusiastically knocking each other into the lockers and heads into the door of the classroom, towards his favorite seat. Back corner, by the window. He’s smart, he does well in his classes, but he also likes to daydream, and he enjoys being able to look outside when his mind needs the chance to wander. He drops himself into the chair, resting his chin on his hand while he watches other students start to trickle in.

Their groups are pretty well-defined at this point; most of them have been at the same school for the last three years. Castiel knows he’s lucky to have the crew he does. Debate team was a pretty good way to single out the nerdier, more eccentric kids and drag them all together. He has a few friends outside of that group too. Well, he has one friend. As if he was summoned, Balthazar is the next through the door, heading straight for Castiel.

“Cassie, darling, we have so much to catch up on!” He doesn’t mind shouting over everyone else to be heard, but most of their classmates are aware that’s just Balthazar’s normal tone and ignore him. Balthazar settles in the seat next to Castiel, bottom lip pouting out. “Why didn’t you come to dinner last night?”

“I told you, we were already going out for my mom’s birthday.” Balthazar huffs and slumps back in his chair, arms coming to cross his chest. Even pouting the way he is, he manages to look more sophisticated and cultured than most 18 year old boys would ever get close to.

“Well, it better have been fun for you to blow off your best friend.” It’s no surprise that Balthazar was the star of most of the theater programs their school ran, he carried that drama with him constantly.

“I didn’t blow you off. You’ve met my family, you know it wasn’t fun,” Castiel replies, giving his eyes a bit of a roll. “Go on then, how was France?”

“Oh, it was fine. They’ve done so many repairs on the chateau this year, my room was actually functional.” His phone is out of his pocket and in Castiel’s face, pictures already pulled up as if Balthazar had been planning exactly how the conversation would play out. Knowing him, it was likely he had. The chateau is impressive, all classic gothic architecture. It doesn’t look like a place someone can live, with towers framing the entryway, small but intricately designed windows nestled into the thick stone of the old building. The outside looks the same as he’s seen every year, but there was some historical design that they weren’t supposed to change and it’s so beautiful Castiel can’t fathom why anyone would want to. They’d been modernizing the rooms inside, though, adding electricity to the ones that didn’t have it, updating plumbing, all the luxuries of the modern world.

“I’ve finally convinced father to get Wi-Fi routers on every floor. The signal was so awful last time I had to be in the main ballroom if I wanted to watch anything.” The next picture shows a massive television mounted in what Castiel thinks is Balthazar’s room.

A lot of their classmates think Balthazar is a snob. Castiel can understand why, if they’ve never actually spoken to him. He is jealous himself sometimes, his friend stealing away to some incredible castle in France every single summer, but he knows it’s not as fun as it seems. A nasty divorce left Balthazar’s father in France and his mother moving back to America. Castiel doesn’t quite understand why she would choose to settle back in Lawrence, Kansas after her jet-setting adventures, but he’s grateful he did if it means he gets to keep Balthazar around.

“Are you going back next year?” Castiel questions. Balthazar’s face drops slightly. Castiel knows he’s been avoiding the discussion all summer.

“Father’s trying to convince me to apply to university in France. We had to have a ‘discussion’ about it every night. I don’t know what he expects, though, even if I go to school there I’m not going to live with him. I couldn’t do very well in my courses if he never lets me out the bloody door.” That’s always been Balthazar’s main complaint about his summers. Apparently, even a giant, historical chateau quickly grew old when you were trapped inside it for three months with no one but maids and cooks to talk to.

Meanwhile, Castiel would have killed for a little more time alone this summer. He thought that with Michael graduating and Luke out doing whatever he was that it might have ended up a little more peaceful. He didn’t expect Michael to move back in while he was job hunting, or for his presence to push their parents to breathe down Gabriel’s neck even more about what he was going to do this year. Castiel knows they’re just worried he’s going to end up like Luke, but he also knows that Gabriel resents that and the more their parents push the more insistent Gabriel is that he’s not going to do a damned thing. He isn’t sure if all that has anything to do with Anna’s new rebellious streak, or if it is just that she is starting high school herself, but every time there was a day of peace with Gabriel, it seemed like she took over the chaos. Castiel’s saving grace was the fact that his parents finally let him drive this year, and Samandriel. If they hadn’t had those afternoons out at the park or wandering around the mall, he doesn’t know that he would have stayed sane the entire summer.

“Are you still thinking about Juliard?” Castiel winces as Balthazar whacks his shoulder. “Ow!”

“Don’t say it out loud, it’s bad luck!”

“Fine. Are you still thinking about that one school in New York?” Balthazar opens his mouth to respond, but the bell sounds, cutting him off.

There’s plenty of noise as everyone shuffles towards their seats. A buzz hums through the room that Castiel doubts will be very common the rest of the term. Even for someone who loves it, starting the day with literature was going to be a chore. At least Mr. Shurley would be suffering alongside them. It’s only the first day and he already looks like he’s only half awake, coffee cup clutched in his hand as he comes in, shutting the door behind him and making his way to the front of the room. Castiel would assume that it’s only because 8:00 a.m. is too early for anyone to try to be functioning, but he’s had Mr. Shurley every year and no matter the time of day he seems like he’s struggling with the very concept of being awake. His room always smells overwhelmingly of coffee and Castiel’s never seen him without a mug within arms length.

“Alright guys, settle down.” It takes a few moments for the whispers and shuffling to settle. No one has taken the seat in front of Balthazar, who stretches out, cat-like, propping his feet up on it. “I know you’re all excited to start this year. For some of you, these are the last books I’ll ever get you to read.” A charitable laugh rumbles around the room. Despite being a little rough around the edges, Mr. Shurley is generally well liked, if only because he lets his students get away with doing what they want as long as they turn in their work when they’re supposed to.

He takes a sip from the coffee mug (one that many students theorize might have an extra ingredient or two) before setting it on his desk and turning to the white board. Most of the teachers prefer the newer digital whiteboards, but the originals have been kept up for the holdouts like Mr. Shurley. The marker shrieks as he scrawls across the board in slanting, nearly illegible script. “Wuthering Heights. One of the few classics we’ll recognize to be written by a woman.” A few girls in the class perk up slightly. They weren’t shy about voicing their disdain for the sausage fest that was classic literature.

“Charlie, Cole, let’s get these passed out.” There're two piles of well-worn copies of the book balancing on the table at the front of the room that they head to, starting around the room while Mr. Shurley turns back to the board.

“I’ll give you the only one not being held together with duct tape,” Charlie whispers as she comes to Castiel’s desk, grinning as she drops one of the better looking books in front of him. “Gays gotta stick together.” Balthazar lets out an indignant huff when she hands him a much more battered copy, the entire cover obscured by sticky silver tape trying to hold it to the binding.

“So much for gays sticking together,” he complains.

“We both know you’re not going to read it anyway, so I’m doing you a favor. Now you have an excuse.” Balthazar considers this for a moment before seeming to accept that, sinking back down in his seat and pushing the book to the corner of his desk.

“Emily Bronte wrote this in 1847. Anyone remember what we call that time period?” Mr. Shurley turns back to the class. Castiel knows, but he doesn’t volunteer often. He learned early on that if he lets his teachers know that he knows the answer they start to turn to him more and more often and it’s terrible on the days when he can’t be bothered to get himself out of his own head. A quiet falls over the class, the quietest they’ve been all morning. Mr. Shurley lets the silence hang for a moment, but before he can cave and give them the answer, the door opens. There’s an eerie unison to the way everyone’s head turns at the same time, all eyes on the boy stepping into the room. There’s another beat of silence as he hesitates, throwing a glance around the room.

“Is this senior lit?” He’s not someone Castiel recognizes. Their school isn’t tiny, but it’s small enough he’s seen just about everyone, and he knows that he would have remembered seeing him before. Despite everyone staring at him, the boy looks remarkably calm. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, over a leather coat that is at least a full size too big for him but manages to put on an air of nonchalance and not look like he’s playing dress-up like it would if Castiel tried to pull off something like that. Their eyes meet as the boy surveys the room again, a bright green that Castiel suddenly finds familiar.

“If it isn’t, I’m in trouble,” Mr. Shurley responds, drawing the boy’s gaze away from Castiel. “You must be Dean. There’s an open seat right back there.” He gestures to the chair Balthazar’s feet are propped on, giving him a pointed look. With a heavy sigh Balthazar pulls his feet back, but the look on his face tells Castiel that he’s also intrigued by the new kid. Mr. Shurley hands him - Dean, apparently - one of the remaining books, everyone watching him head towards his seat. “You can all harass him later. Now, has anyone come up with the name of the time period yet? We’ve only discussed three of them so you can at least put up a guess, come on.”

Castiel knows he’s staring. It’s a bad habit of his, really, and Dean is cute. More than that, though, there’s something about him that stirs a memory in the back of Castiel’s mind. He’s trying to place it when Dean picks up his book, jacket sleeve riding up and revealing a scar curling over the heel to the palm of his hand. Castiel knows that scar, Gabriel has one that is damned near identical.

The Dean that Castiel remembers is much smaller. A pudgy, round face, but the same sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Gabriel was only a year older than Castiel, but when he had his first grade friends over, he felt like the coolest kindergartner getting to hang out with them. He’d sat on the curb, watching Gabriel and Dean line up their bikes, each with a branch in hand. They’d gone out to see a pirate movie for Gabriel’s birthday, and the sword battles had left an impression. Gabriel had informed Castiel that he was too young to play, but he could be the judge, and he got the very exciting job of screaming, “Ready, set, go!”

There’s a surprising clarity in his memory, watching his brother and Dean racing directly towards each other, brandishing their branches while pedaling furiously. They were just sticks from a tree, they couldn’t be that sharp, that’s what they all assumed. Apparently, at high enough speeds, even a seemingly dull branch could puncture the skin. Castiel abandoned his job as judge to run inside shouting for his mom instead. They’d all gone to the hospital together, considering Gabriel and Dean had managed to impale both their hands on the same branch and nobody wanted to pull it out.

Sitting in the back seat, Gabriel was wailing next to Castiel, clutching his wrist and crying out every time the car jostled them in the slightest. It made Dean that much more impressive sitting next to him, the few tears he had let drop already dry, trying to tell Gabriel jokes to get him to calm down. Castiel wished he was sitting next to Dean and then immediately felt guilty for that, but Gabriel’s crying was making his head throb. It’d been a relief when they made it to the hospital. Luke and Michael managed to convince their mom to give them money for snacks and Castiel stayed out in the waiting room with them, watching cartoons and crunching through a bag of chips.

Gabriel emerged an hour later with his hand wrapped in a bandage, so excited to tell his brothers about the stitches hidden underneath he didn’t even bother trying to steal the crumbs out of Castiel’s bag. Dean’s parents had come in at some point but Castiel didn’t know who they were until they exited the doors with Dean. He was settled on his mom’s lap next to a tiny baby, his dad pushing the wheelchair. They came over and chatted, Castiel’s mother apologizing profusely for the accident. Cas remembers not being able to look away from Dean’s mom, though. There was something about the look on her face that disturbed him, sent him scuttling over to Michael’s side and hiding behind his leg. There were dark circles around her eyes, cheeks gaunt and bones too prominent, and when the bandana on her head slipped back Castiel didn’t see any hair underneath it. He didn’t understand how Dean could be so happy sitting on her lap.

He heard that a few weeks later, she had died. They didn’t see much of Dean after that, Gabriel said he only came to school a few times a week before he stopped showing up entirely. Eventually he learned that they had moved. He’d thought about Gabriel’s old friend here and there, but he certainly didn’t expect him to show up at his school.

“Alright, I want you all to get started on the first chapter,” Mr. Shurley announces, and immediately the room breaks into whispers. He doesn’t appear interested in fighting it today, going to his desk and dragging his coffee closer. Castiel is usually one to ignore everyone else and pick up his book, but curiosity is pressing at him. He clears his throat, gaining Balthazar’s attention as he does.

“Uh, hey. Dean, right?” He turns around, and another look straight at his face convinces Castiel this has to be the same person. “Dean Winchester?” Dean’s eyes narrow slightly as he examines Castiel’s face before a smile practically explodes across his lips, bringing light to his expression.

“Oh shit, it’s been ages. I didn’t think anyone would remember me. Castiel, right?” Dean twists around in his seat, not doing much to keep his voice down, but the rest of the class isn’t trying too hard either.

“Yeah! I didn’t think you’d remember me either,” Castiel admits. He’d expect Dean to remember Gabriel, maybe, they were actually friends, but as far as he could tell he was just the annoying little brother who insisted on hanging out with them.

“Well don’t be rude. Introduce me to your friend, Cassie,” Balthazar interrupts, leaning his elbows on his desk.

“Oh, he’s not my friend,” Castiel says quickly. He hasn’t seen Dean in 12 years, he didn’t think he could call him a friend.

“Ouch. My first day and you’re already singling me out, huh?” Castiel flounders, looking for an appropriate answer, but Dean just laughs and shakes his head. “I’m kidding, dude. I used to live around here, I hung out with Gabriel for a little while.” He turns to Balthazar, offering him a warm smile.

“You used to be in his class, didn’t you? Why are you in ours?” Not until the words are out of his mouth does Castiel realize he probably shouldn’t be asking, it’s none of his business, and again he’s left trying to pull his foot out of his mouth.

“I was a dumb kid. Still am but they let me go to the next grade now,” Dean answers casually. Castiel’s cheeks go pink and he shakes his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-” Dean cuts him off, grinning.

“Hey don’t worry about it. It’s nice to know someone here. And your friend…” He trails off, looking to Balthazar.

“Oh! Oh, yes, sorry. This is Balthazar. He is my friend,” he clarifies, not wanting to make the same mistake again. Balthazar wouldn’t be as willing to let it go, even if he didn’t take it seriously. Balthazar extends his hand, something that looks to catch Dean by surprise, but he reaches out to meet him anyway, giving his hand a small shake.

“Balthazar? Damn, your name is even more wild than Castiel. No offense.” Balthazar’s eyes narrow momentarily, like he’s considering if he should take offense, before his expression relaxes.

“None taken. Nice to meet you, Dean.” Balthazar settles back, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re lucky you’ve got Shurley for literature. I’ve heard that the new lady is a bitch.” Dean snorts the same time Castiel scoffs.

“Thaz, you’ve never even met her. It’s the first day, how is anyone supposed to know she’s a bitch?”

“Hey, it seems like this guy is hard to beat.” Dean looks back at the desk where Mr. Shurley is settled, staring intently at his computer screen with his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Does he always let people screw around in class like this?”

“Oh absolutely.” Balthazar had a goal of distracting Castiel as much as possible during class, so it seemed, and he’s grinning like he may have just found someone to assist him with that.

“Sweet. Hey, what other classes do you guys have? You can give me all the dirt.” Castiel knows that Balthazar is all too happy to gossip, he’s heard stories about all of their teachers at least once and Balthazar doesn’t seem too bothered by what’s true as long as it’s a good tale. Castiel watches the two of them, letting the words become nothing more than a soft buzz in his ears.

Dean is an athlete.

He plays football in the fall, does wrestling in the winter, and waterpolo in the summer.

Castiel is an academic.

He does Mathletes in the fall, chemistry Olympiad in the winter, and science bowl in the summer.

Dean’s tall and handsome and fit—made up of all muscle and thick bones. He’s outgoing and kind to everyone and largely regarded at the school’s heartthrob even if he’s not known for dating. Dean is popular in his social circles, and well known on the other side of things.

Castiel is short and cute and chubby—squishy in the best way possible and loves his body. He’s shy and gets flustered easily, but he’s the one you want to have in your corner at the end of the day and people know it. He’s popular too on his side of things, and known through the other half of the school.

Dean thinks Castiel is the cutest human to ever walk the planet. He loves the passing period between third and fourth because he gets to trail behind Castiel and watch him talking animatedly about whatever they discussed in his class that day. Dean’s completely enamored with him and wishes so badly he had the courage to actually talk to Castiel, but he’s firmly got the mindset that Castiel is so far out of his league it’s looped all the way past not being funny that it’s funny again.

Castiel thinks Dean is the hottest person to ever be born. Ever. Past, present, future—no one will compare to Dean’s hotness. Dean is the only reason Castiel tells his mother he has recycling club every day of the week (instead of just Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays) because then he gets to sit outside his French classroom and watch Dean practice during football season. (Because sometimes Dean takes his shirt off and Castiel just about faints.) He’s completely gone on Dean Winchester, but believes there’s no chance for anything to happen because Dean could get anyone he wanted…so why would Dean want him?

Charlie is friends with both of them and has had to sit through hours upon hours since day one in Freshman year of them pining for each other.

At first she was patient. She tried to suggest maybe they should just try talking to each other. But they’re both so firm in their beliefs that the other could never, ever, ever, ever be interested.

It’s no surprise that not even a month into Sophomore year that she drags them both to a table at lunch and sits them down, fixing them both with a look that would make the devil shrink.

“Look, I’ve given you both time. I’ve listened to you both bitch and moan and cry about how horrible it is that he could never like you back. Well, I’m over it. You both like each other. Okay? Dean, I’m so fucking tired of hearing you talk about how you could cuddle with him for days and never want to let go. And you, Cas, I'm tired of hearing how badly you want to kiss the lips right off his face. I swear you two need to grow a vag and sit the fuck down and actually talk to the other instead of just stare dreamily when the other isn't looking.”

And then Charlie walks off.

And thank god for her patience thinning because not even a week later, Dean and Castiel are dating and they’re happier than they ever thought they could be.

And some more thoughts??? About how cute they’d be??????

Since Dean is obviously fit and has a lot of muscle, his letterman jacket would still be big on Castiel, and Dean can’t help but just hug him so tight and keep kissing him anywhere and everywhere because he’s just so irresistibly cute!!!

And Dean is so happy that Castiel and him are dating that it’s just too hard not to be touching him.

Just imagine, cute little chubby Castiel making his handsome tall strong boyfriend Dean blush with just the simplest of things? When Castiel smiles at him, Dean’s cheeks turn pink. When Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his and threads their fingers together, you can bet your life that Dean’s cheeks will be pink (and when Castiel kisses Dean’s hand? That pink turns red). When Castiel kisses Dean’s cheek, Dean’s whole face heats up so much that even his ears are a rosy color.

Castiel just makes Dean blush so much, and Dean loves it.

Senior year they’re voted “most likely to get married” because no matter when or where you see them, they’re always happy if the other is around.

When they end up sharing a class, Castiel is teased (in good nature) by some of his friends because the moment Dean walks into the classroom each day, Castiel’s face lights up like you wouldn’t believe and it’s just so obvious that he’s completely and totally gone on Dean.

At lunch, Dean is called out (also in good nature) for bringing these extravagant homemade lunches every day for him and Castiel to share, but Dean doesn’t care. It’s leftovers from the dinner he made the night before and not only does he like the compliments Castiel gives him, but he likes being able to provide for Castiel.

And one last thought I leave you with??? Because Dean is super strong, and Castiel is just too cute??????

Dean would absolutely love carrying Castiel in his arms and having him sit in his lap because he wants Castiel close to him always. Always touching, always near him, always together.

Castiel pulls his books for English out of his locker with jerky movements, rushed, thanks to the kinetic nervousness making itself at home in his gut. He doesn’t notice Meg coming up behind him, and he startles when she suddenly speaks, dropping his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five with a dull thump.

“You alright there, angel-face? Lookin’ a little… stressed.”

Castiel whips his head up to glare at her, a thunderous expression which only serves to earn him a raised eyebrow. He drops to pick up his book and shoves it into his bag. “It’s nothing,” he bites out, “don’t worry about it.”

“…Right.” Meg shifts to lean against the wall of lockers beside him, her hip popped out and arms folded. “So other than the fact that that’s total bullshit, should I be concerned?”

“No.” Castiel slams his locker shut, and turns on his heel, away from Meg. She makes an offended sound, but not even that stops him from storming off toward his first class.

If he doesn’t talk about it, he can go on pretending it isn’t happening. And, most importantly, he can go on pretending he doesn’t wish it was real.

~

The following morning, Meg is already standing beside Castiel’s locker when he arrives. He doesn’t think twice about it at first, but as he approaches, she grins and holds out her index finger. There’s a bright pink sticky note stuck to it.

Castiel’s stomach drops.

“Looks like you got a fan, Clarence,” she coos, the sweetness in her voice at-odds with her wicked grin. She holds the note out to him and recites it from memory, adopting a dreamy, love-struck tone. Even from a few feet away, he can read the neat, blocky letters that line up with what she says. “Cas, your smile lights up a room. You should do it more.” She glances slyly at Castiel. “Looks like you’ve been keeping secrets. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Castiel rips the sticky note away from her and, once he’s managed to quell his shaking hands long enough to get his locker open, shoves it in the back to join the growing collection of notes there. His cheeks burn and Meg’s amusement isn’t helping anything. He tries to ignore her. He wants to pretend she doesn't exist. He wants to pretend he doesn't exist, for god’s sake. He doesn't want any of this to be happening.

Meg’s continued teasing doesn't make his pretending easy. She's too skilled at reading him for her own good.

“Oh, dear,” she says, tone sweeping and dramatic, with no little amount of amusement, “you don't even know, do you, angel cake. A secret admirer—and here I was thinking I'd seen all of the best cliches. Gotta say, whoever this kid is, they're good. They must be pretty damn crazy about you, if they're leaving you stuff that tooth-rotting.”

Castiel slams his locker closed with a scowl. He thought his stomach was in knots before—it's only getting worse the longer Meg goes on. He doesn’t know what to do with the thought of anyone being crazy about him. Him, Castiel Novak. He considers himself lucky to have people he can call friends, what could he possibly have done to be worthy of potential romantic interest?

“Maybe this’ll be that chance you’ve been waiting for to finally get laid, huh?” Meg adds, and the last of Castiel’s resilience crumbles away to nothing. He doesn’t want to deal with this shit any more.

Fuck it. Who needs class, anyway?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he growls, pointedly ignoring her smug grin as he turns away. He shoves past some meathead in a varsity jacket who was standing much too close to his locker, and beelines toward the exit. He doesn't give a damn who it was, and he pays them no attention. After that, everyone sees him coming and steers clear, parting before him like the Red Sea.

He doesn't look back to see the varsity jacket boy staring after him in mute shock.

He wouldn’t care, anyway. He’s just anxious to get home.

~

His locker is note-less the next morning. After the scuffle he had with Meg over it—a scuffle which was later continued over text, much to Castiel’s chagrin—he's grateful for the reprieve. He can tell that she still wants to make a comment when the two of them reach the blank metal door of his locker, can see the wicked glint in her eyes, but he silences her with a glare, and for once, it has the desired effect.

He resolutely tells himself that he’s not disappointed that his so-called ‘secret admirer’ looks to have been scared away—he’s just surprised, is all. A note-leaving pattern of close to two weeks has been broken. That’s all it is. Even if this is Raphael or someone, it’s odd. Obviously. There’s no other emotions, there.

God, he’s like a prepubescent girl.

He listens with half an ear while Meg talks his head off about some incident with Luc, her on-again-off-again boyfriend from the other side of town, and keeps his answers to monosyllabic grunts. His lack of enthusiasm doesn't deter her, and she continues on well through their shared first period. His second hour is a blessing of silence, as is his third, but there's a trickle of tension in his gut that inspires him to keep to himself even more than usual. Through all of his classes, he keeps a book propped open on his lap beneath his desk, and reads to escape his thoughts.

It works well, until he gets to English.

“Vonnegut, huh?” a voice to his left says, and Castiel startles so hard that the book falls closed in his lap. He’s sure he can find his place again, but logic isn’t enough to quell his burst of irritation as he turns a glare up at the speaker.

Said speaker turns out to be a boy Castiel is vaguely familiar with. Or--okay, very familiar with. Everyone in the school knows the captain of the wrestling team/varsity tight end on the football team/ASB vice president, Dean Winchester. And alright, maybe Castiel has, well, taken note of him in the past. Several times. Often. Maybe he’s caught himself staring a few times.

So he knows exactly who Dean Winchester is. Who doesn’t?

But whether he knows of him or not, this is definitely a first. They’ve never spoken, Dean and Castiel. Jock and punk don’t exactly mix well, at least in the eyes of the broader social sphere of a high school. He can’t quite understand why it’s happening now—which is why his surprise is quickly hidden behind a mask of disgruntlement.

“Vonnegut,” he confirms a beat later, eyes narrowed slightly. He doesn’t know what to do here; does he go on the defensive, or assume that Dean’s comment is good-natured? He hedges neutrally, “You’re… familiar with his works?”

For all of Castiel’s paranoia, however, Dean just seems genuinely enthusiastic about his choice in novel. His eyes (so very green; Castiel rarely allows himself the opportunity to look at them, not eager to be caught staring) are bright with excitement. “Hell yeah, I know his works! My favorite is Cat’s Cradle, but Slaughterhouse-Five is a damn close second. I’ve got a copy at home that I’ve read, like, a dozen times.”

Castiel blinks. Dean Winchester, a reader? And of pulpy sci-fi at that. Sure, they share an AP English class, but he’d always assumed…

Well. He’s not quite sure what he assumed, actually. Maybe he should feel guilty for that.

He wets his lips and searches for something to say in return. He comes up woefully short, but eventually settles on, “I’m not a huge fan of Cat’s Cradle. The ending was too bizarre for me.”

Dean laughs, loud and bright. It makes Castiel’s heart swell. “It's not for everyone,” he concedes. There's a moment of hesitation, then, and though Dean’s good mood remains in place, he starts to look a bit nervous.

When Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow, Dean’s nervousness takes on a degree of embarrassment. He bites his lower lip, and the sight definitely should not hold the entirety of Castiel’s attention like it does. He's so distracted that he nearly misses it when Dean eventually speaks.

“You weren't in class yesterday.”

“I was sick.” The lie falls from Castiel’s tongue without a second thought. It's only once he's spoken that he recognizes the implication that Dean noticed his absence. His cheeks warm. “I—”

“Do you want the notes?” Dean asks. He's already flipping back a few pages in his notebook, and rambling on as if his lines were already prepared long before Castiel even gave his answer. “I can take pictures of what I have and text them to you, if you want? Or, I mean, you can take pictures yourself, but sometimes I'm not always clear with what I write, so I could explain things, and we talked about the next project we’re doing, so—”

“Mr. Winchester,” a voice calls from the front of the room, and Dean immediately falls silent. His eyes, unfortunately, leave Castiel as he turns to the front of the room, looking cowed. Castiel would know; he can't tear his eyes away.

Mrs. Mills continues sternly, “If you and Mr. Novak can't behave yourselves and stop chatting, I will be forced to both separate you, and discipline you. This is supposed to be a quiet work time. So help me god, Dean, I will make you run lines at practice today if I have to.”

Castiel wonders if Mrs. Mills targeted Dean instead of himself because she's his coach (for which sport, he hasn't the slightest idea) or because he was clearly the instigator, but regardless, he's oddly glad for it. Dean’s blush is a beautiful sight to behold. He doesn't mind getting yelled at by his teachers, but lord, this is so much better.

“And Mr. Novak.”

Damnit.

He finally turns his attention forward, frowning to let his teacher know just how displeased he is with the development.

She isn't fazed. She never is. It's admirable, really.

“I have a task for you. Come up here, please?”

Castiel represses an eyeroll, but goes obediently to the front of the room. The ‘task’ turns out to be a trip to the library to pick up a copy of their new assigned reading book. It’s a bit obnoxious, having to go all the way across the school, but he does need the book, so he shuts his mouth and goes.

When he returns to class twenty minutes later, there’s a pink sticky note protruding from between the pages, and Dean is gone. The sight of it shocks Castiel to his core. He pointedly ignores the way his hands tremble when he reaches for the book, and flips it open to the marked page. His eyes go to the note, first.

Cas—

I should’ve worked up the courage to talk to you a long time ago.

It’s okay if you’re not interested in me. I get it. But just know… everything I said in the notes is true.

Castiel can’t breathe. His gaze slides to the illustration on the opposite page, and his heart clenches.

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

~

The following morning, he stakes out early.

It takes some careful maneuvering, admittedly—he has to make sure Meg is occupied, so that she can't blow his cover, and he has to actually beg Gabriel to drive him to school earlier than usual, since his elder brother is typically half-asleep at their normal time. But in the end, Castiel manages to pull it all off. And that’s how, at seven o’clock in the morning, Castiel finds himself the only student in the hallways, lurking in an alcove and mostly-hidden behind a bank of lockers, just down the way from his own.

At this hour, the school is almost unnaturally silent. It gives him too much space to think, to ruminate over what an idiot he’s probably being, because there’s still a good chance he’s being pranked—but it also gives him time to think about how this might possibly go down, and, more importantly, it gives him the ability to hear every set of footsteps that approaches.

He really, really hopes he understands what’s happening here, correctly.

For the first fifteen minutes of his stakeout, not much happens. A few teachers walk past him in either direction, but aside from one exchanged, “Good morning,” with Castiel’s AP Bio teacher, none of them pay him any mind. A number of students start to filter through, as well, but there’s still not much going on.

Until a telltale varsity jacket hurries past his hiding place.

Castiel’s heart just about stops in his chest, but thankfully, he isn’t seen. He holds his breath for a few seconds, remaining as still and silent as he can, and then carefully turns and peers around the edge of the lockers beside him to spy down the hallway.

Even through the heavy fabric of his jacket, the set of Dean’s shoulders looks nervous. He glances left, then right, then slides his backpack off of his shoulder and reaches into the outermost pocket. When he draws out a stack of pink sticky notes and a pen, peeling one off and starting to scribble a message across it, Castiel pushes off of the wall he’s been waiting against and closes the distance between them with silent feet.

When he reaches him, Castiel grabs Dean’s shoulder and flips him around, then boxes him in against the lockers with his arms. They’re so close that Castiel can taste Dean’s surprised exhalation, can hear the almost-whimper that he clearly tries to stifle.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, and Dean just makes that sound again.

“I…” The other boy—the most perfect boy in the entire school, probably in the entire world, if Castiel is being honest—seems at a loss for words. He swallows audibly, his eyes wide as they sweep across Castiel’s face. “I told you yesterday that I mean it, I don't know—”

“You said,” Castiel interrupts, “that it's okay if I'm not interested in you. Was that to say that you are interested in me?”

Dean’s face is bright red with embarrassment. It takes him a moment, but he nods.

Castiel’s stomach swoops in a way it never has before. A part of him wants to ask why, wants to figure out how, not just anyone, but Dean Winchester could have feelings for him—but the larger part of him is tired of drawing this out. He presses closer to the boy, and is thrilled when he doesn't so much as lean away.

“You're right,” Castiel says, “you should have talked to me sooner.”

He seals his lips against Dean’s, then, kissing him before he can talk himself out of it. Dean’s lips are soft and plush, and he eagerly kisses back, once he gets with the program.

“Fuck yeah, I should’ve,” Dean breathes when they part. He cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but only seems to recognize the significance of the action after he's done it. He looks overjoyed, then pushes both of his hands into Castiel’s locks, purely because he can. “Jesus Christ, I knew it’d be soft.”

Castiel can't help but laugh. “Keep saying nice things to me, and I'll let you touch it whenever you want.”

Dean’s eyes somehow light up even more at that. “How about this Friday? Can I touch it then, maybe after some burgers and a movie?”

It's a bit rash, but Castiel is helpless but to kiss him again. He needs to remind himself that this is really happening, and it's far more effective than a pinch to the arm would have been. When he pulls back a few moments later to give them both the chance to breathe, he grins. “Friday sounds great to me.”

~

The notes continue after they start dating, of course. They’re not always daily, but Castiel still finds them often enough, and the sight never fails to fill him with happiness. Only now, he doesn’t hide them in a crumpled pile at the back of his locker. No, the notes from Dean, so precious and loved, have a special place at home, tucked neatly away in his desk drawer.

Cas—

You're gorgeous when you talk about your passions. You shouldn't hide them as much as you do.

Cas—

You’re kinder than you let on. You’re better than you think you are.

Cas—

You outshine everyone here.

Cas—

I wish you could see how incredible you are.

Cas—

I love you.

Castiel considers himself to be very fortunate in his life. And he always makes sure to express the same sappy sentiments in return—only, he always says it to his boyfriend’s face.