Here we have some self-indulgent nerdy!Cas and jock!Dean who’s actually a huge sweetheart! (also on ao3)
Castiel was going to kill his brothers. He was going to slit their throats, eviscerate them, and burn their bodies just for fun. Right after he got out of the closet they had locked him.
He banged his fist against the door again. As expected, there was no response from either Gabriel or Balthazar, the fucking bastards. Trying again, he growled, "Gabriel! Let me out of here!"
"No can do, baby bro," Gabriel's sing-song voice sounded through the door, slightly muffled yet full of glee. "It hasn't even been a minute yet!"
"Let me out!" Castiel hissed, desperation bleeding into his voice. Smacking his palm against the door hard enough to make it tremble on its hinges, he snarled, "I'm gonna kick both of your asses!"
"Oh, please, Cassie. You couldn't kick your own ass," Balthazar scoffed from the other side of the door. Castiel could perfectly envision his brother's eye roll as he reported, in his smarmy accent, "Now, just enjoy your time with the hairless ape and send me a fruit basket later for my efforts."
"Give it up, dude," another voice instructed, this one much closer than Gabriel and Balthazar's. "They're not letting us out till our seven minutes are up."
Castiel let out a huff, pushing his glasses further up his nose, a habit of his exacerbated by stress and anxiety both of which he had in spades thanks to his siblings. Crossing his arms over his chest, Castiel narrowed his eyes at his closet cell mate.
In the low light of the closet, he could just barely make out Dean's defined features. He could see the firm, sharp line of Dean's jaw, the disheveled mess of his not quite light brown not quite dirty blonde hair, the soft plush pink of his bottom lip.
His shoulders were so wide he almost had to hunch them just to fit into the closet they had been unceremoniously shoved into. His gray Guns N' Roses t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest and biceps, half of the latter on full, unabashed display.
Cas shifted awkwardly, dipping his chin and staring down at his hands as he fiddled with the hem of his own t-shirt. He raised his head, snapping his eyes up to Dean's, when Dean grunted, "What's your problem, dude?"
Castiel's problem was that twenty eight years ago his father had decided to have another child, a son named Gabriel who made it his mission in life to torment his younger siblings. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was only one younger sibling Gabriel tormented. Castiel.
Why, Castiel didn't know, especially since Gabriel had an unusually large pool of younger siblings to pick from. But ever since he could remember, Gabriel had been a thorn in his side, a thorn he loved dearly but a thorn nonetheless.
Balthazar, who was two years younger than Gabriel and six years older than Castiel, had followed in his brother's footsteps and devoted his life to ruining Castiel's. It was a family business, apparently.
When Castiel was in junior high school, his older brothers had wrapped every single thing in his room in sparkly gold wrapping paper. And he meant everything. Every last pen, book, and article of clothing he had opened had to be unwrapped.
In high school, they had broken into the school in the middle of the night and filled his locker with glitter. For the next two years of high school, he had still been finding glitter in his textbooks and spiral notebooks.
Now, in his junior year of college, his older brothers had locked him in a closet with the guy he'd had a crush on for months. Because, as he'd said, his brothers were assholes and took advantage of his weakness for vodka to question him about the identity of his mysterious, pathetic crush.
When Gabriel and Balthazar had learned it was none other than Dean Winchester, resident overconfident, overcompensating butch jock, they'd had a field day. The teasing had seemed endless, full of jokes about Cas falling for a textbook example of a closet case and actual ballads written about the dorky English Literature major falling for the cocky football player.
Castiel had met Dean in his music class, an elective that would count as an art class. Balthazar had suggested that he take a music class rather than a visual art class since he was already a rather good painter, encouraging Castiel to learn a new skill.
Dean had caught his attention the second he walked into the room, sauntering in with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smirk. Castiel had been so captivated by Dean's good looks that he hadn't even noticed the green eyed man had taken a seat beside him and introduced himself.
Castiel had belatedly snapped to attention and shaken Dean's hand, introducing himself and trying not to drool at the adorably confused look Dean had given him. Then, he'd had to refrain from sighing dreamily when Dean gave him a nickname, the name Cas sounding so sweet on his lips.
The only thing sweeter was the melody Dean strummed on an acoustic guitar for the class after admitting to their professor that he already knew how to play a few instruments.
Over the rest of the semester, he had gotten to know Dean much better whenever their professor paired them up, Dean more than happy to help Castiel with remembering chords on the guitar. Three months after first meeting the model gorgeous football player, Castiel knew all sorts of things about him: he had a younger brother named Sam; drove a 1967 Chevy Impala; was majoring in automotive technologies so he could work at his family friend Bobby's garage; loved pie more than life itself; and was a proud bisexual despite all of his machismo that screamed 'white straight dude'.
But even knowing that Dean was in fact attracted to men, Castiel had no delusions about Dean having any interest in him. Dean was extremely out of his league, in a whole other world, with his rugged handsomeness and brilliant mind.
He had told his brothers as much since they were complete assholes, they had taken it upon themselves to drag Castiel to each and every one of Dean's football games. Castiel had never been one to enjoy sports but he had certainly taken guilty pleasure in watching Dean on the field as his brothers shouted all sorts of obscenities at the opposing team.
They had outright told him that they would never let him live his crush down. Which is why he should have been more suspicious when they both stopped mentioning Dean altogether.
He should have been more suspicious when they announced they were throwing a party at their house. When they invited a bunch of college kids despite the fact that they were both nearing their thirties.
But he hadn't been. Mostly because he had plans to barricade himself in his bedroom with some snacks so he could catch up on Game of Thrones.
Yet, an hour into the party, Gabriel practically carried him out of his bedroom and downstairs to where a crowd of people were drinking from red solo cups and dancing horribly to songs that barely had any lyrics. His grumbling had only been stopped by Balthazar thrusting a cup of vodka into his hand, the liquor mellowing him out a bit.
Enough that he didn't put up any fight when his brothers guided him over to the back room where a group of people were sitting in a circle on the floor, an empty beer bottle in the center of the circle. He was too focused on the fact that Dean was sitting in the circle, wearing a faded GNR shirt and dark jeans, his hair messy and the stubble on his jaw longer than usual.
Castiel had been just buzzed enough to not be suspicious of his brothers, just buzzed enough to completely tune Gabriel out as he explained the rules of the game. He had been too busy gazing at Dean with a dreamy smile on his face, riveted to the way Dean stuck the tip of his tongue out as he spun the empty Heineken bottle.
The next thing he knew, he was being led into the hallway closet with Dean as the others in the circle tittered like a bunch of old biddies. Among the cacophony of sounds from the party, Castiel managed to hear someone mumble a phrase he recognized, "Seven minutes in heaven."
Of course, the words only registered once his brothers locked the closet door, trapping him and Dean inside. Running a hand through his hair, he huffed and answered Dean's question, "My problem is that my brothers are assholes and locked me in a closet."
"Kinda the whole point of seven minutes in heaven, Cas," Dean pointed out, the use of the nickname making a swarm of butterflies take flight in Castiel's stomach. Scratching his jaw, Dean wondered aloud, "Were you even listening?"
Castiel felt himself blush. Rubbing his arm, he stared down at his shoes and reluctantly admitted, "Not really, no. I was a somewhat distracted."
"Oh, really?" Dean hummed, as though Castiel's confession was extremely fascinating. Castiel glanced up out of curiosity, finding Dean taking a few small steps closer, tipping his head to the side to meet Castiel's gaze. "Any reason you were so distracted?"
Castiel froze, his eyes widening as he blinked up at Dean. There was no way Dean could know, right? Castiel was always very careful about not being too obvious with his pathetic pining.
Then again, he'd had enough vodka to make him forget about his inhibitions for just a little while. And he had been doing some intense staring while sitting in that stupid circle.
His worst fears were confirmed when Dean spoke again. A smirk curling his lips, he shifted closer and casually inquired, "Maybe you were staring at someone?"
There was a cocky, teasing note in his voice that made Castiel's blood boil. Yes, he had been gawking at Dean and yes, he had a ridiculous crush on him but Dean didn't have to be such an asshole about it.
He said as much as he glared at Dean, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay, I like you. You happy now?"
"Wasn't expecting you to admit it that easily," Dean commented, raising his brows. He continued inching closer, drifting into Castiel's personal space. Setting his hands on Castiel's hips, he tacked on, "But since you asked... I'm very happy."
With that, he bent his head and kissed Castiel.
Having never been kissed before, much to his brothers' amusement, Castiel had no idea what he was supposed to do. He flailed a little as Dean pressed their lips together in a surprisingly chaste kiss before laying a hand on Dean's upper arm to steady himself.
Dean pulled back a moment later, reopening his eyes with a smile that could only be described as dopey. His brows drew together and he huffed out a laugh, his breath warm against Castiel's lips as he teased, "Never woulda thought you'd be the type to kiss with your eyes open."
Castiel flushed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole so he could escape his embarrassment. Of course, he was supposed to close his eyes while kissing. God, he was such an idiot.
"I'm not the type to kiss. Period," Castiel admitted, lowering his eyes again. When he chanced a look upward, he was greeted by Dean's incredulous expression.
"You've never been kissed before?" Dean asked softly, inexplicable disbelief hushing his voice. When Castiel nodded, Dean blurted, "Really? But you're so cute!"
Castiel was immensely flattered by that, ducking his chin as he bit his bottom lip. He could feel his face flush with heat, thankful for the darkness in the room.
"Oh, shit," he heard Dean curse, the football player taking a step back. Castiel's eyes shot up when Dean apologetically rambled, "Are you ace? Or aro? Are you not into kissing? Shit, I'm sorry, I thought—"
"Dean," Castiel said simply, cutting Dean off before he could apologize for anything else. He tightened his grip on Dean's arm, reeling him in again as he explained, "I've just never had occasion to kiss anyone. I'm not asexual or aromantic."
"Oh," Dean murmured, nodding thoughtfully. It took another second for the apologetic look on his face to melt away into a charming grin as Dean announced, "Well, that's a relief. Because I'd really like to kiss you again."
"What are you waiting for?" Castiel asked, Dean's confession sparking his own boldness. He curled his fingers into the fabric of Dean's sleeve as he whispered, "We have a few more minutes left in heaven."
With that said, he leaned up to kiss Dean, remembering to close his eyes this time. Heaven is right, Castiel thought as Dean eagerly returned the kiss.
Maybe his brothers weren't such assholes after all. He was still going to kick their asses, though.
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Prompt: Bamf tattooed doctor Cas & shy nerdy cute patient Dean (bamf cas is my undoing 🙈🙈🙉) Please and thank you!!!!
Not sure if I really managed the BAMF Cas or the shy/nerdy Dean but I hope you like it anyway! (also on ao3!)
Dean may or may not have had a doctor kink.
He blamed it on all of those hours he had spent binge watching Dr. Sexy. And the few times he had watched Grey's Anatomy out of curiosity.
And House M.D. Even Scrubs once or twice.
Okay, so he definitely had a doctor kink. But it wasn't his fault. Really!
How could anyone not find those white lab coats and ties and scrubs not ridiculously hot? No one that's who.
So when Doctor Novak entered the exam room with his sex hair and the dark stubble peppering his jaw, in his pristine white coat, it was no surprise that Dean's brain promptly went offline. Especially when the doctor turned his unimaginably blue eyes on him.
He ended up just gaping at Doctor Novak as he read off the clipboard in his hands, reiterating the information about Dean's injury. His voice was low and intriguingly gravelly as he read off the description of the injury, Dean focusing on just the sound of his voice instead of his actual words.
He was too busy running his eyes over the bow of Doctor Novak's plush pink lips as he spoke, watching the way he formed his words. His lips were chapped, Dean noted, only slightly but enough to be noticeable.
His hair, thoroughly disheveled as though he had just rolled out of bed and thrown on a lab coat, looked extremely soft, almost fluffy. It curled behind his ears.
His eyes, narrowed as he squinted down at the clipboard, were a startlingly clear blue, like a cloudless spring morning. They were so beautiful that Dean briefly wondered if Doctor Novak was wearing colored contacts.
His eyes strayed further down the doctor's body in a purely curious manner, idly wondering what the insanely good-looking doctor wore under his lab coat. It turned out that he was wearing a white button up and black slacks. His tie, a deep blue one a few shades lighter than navy, was backwards.
"Mr. Winchester? Mr. Winchester?" A voice called, but Dean was too busy admiring the definition in his doctor's thighs through the fabric of his slacks. "Did he sustain injuries that affected his hearing?"
A second later something jabbed him in ribs, hard enough to drag a rough front from him. He whipped his head to the side to glare at his giant of a brother, snapping, "The hell, Sam?!"
"You were spaced out, dude," Sam informed him, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest. Dean had a mind to reach up and yank his too long hair.
The only thing that stopped him was the sudden realization of where exactly he was, the day's events running through his head.
He had been driving in to work, Bobby calling him in early to help out with restoring an old '69 Mustang, when he had noticed a car pulled over on the side of the road. A woman had been trying to use a jack, a lug wrench lying on the pavement beside her.
Figuring he could help out with the easy task of changing a tire and get his good deed for the day over and done with, he had pulled over. Flashing a charming grin, he had explained that he was a mechanic and offered to help out.
It had been going perfectly fine until he somehow managed to cut his right hand open on the car jack. The woman he had been helping had nearly fainted at the sight of blood so Dean had to calm her down while wrapping a dirty rag around his hand.
He finished up with changing the tire much to the woman's delight, earning him a kiss on the cheek before she flounced back into her car and drove off. With a resigned sigh, he had called Bobby and explained that he had to run to the hospital for his hand.
He managed to drive one handed to the closest urgent care that was conveniently a few blocks away from the law firm where Sam was working. In the waiting room, crammed between an old lady who hacking up a lung and a shaggy haired teenager who had a weird looking rash on his arm, he had texted his brother and asked him to come over to the urgent care.
Sam walked in right as the receptionist called Dean's name and handed him off to a nurse with dark hair and horrible people skills. She had muttered under her breath about him being an idiot as she poked and prodded at the cut on his hand, ignoring his grunts and groans.
When she had left the room after jotting something down on a clipboard, announcing that Doctor Novak would be in soon, Dean and Sam had exchanged shared looks of incredulity. Then Doctor Novak had arrived, putting McDreamy to shame.
"Oh. Uh, sorry," Dean apologized, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks heated before holding out his hand to shake Doctor Novak's. His palm was a bit rough, slightly callused but not as much as Dean's own hand. "Dean Winchester. Uh, you already knew that."
"Doctor Castiel Novak," the gorgeous doctor introduced himself, smiling brightly enough to take Dean's breath away. Still smiling, he turned to the side and started shrugging out of his lab coat, nearly making Dean swallow his tongue.
He coughed a few times, curling his left hand into a fist to bang against his chest. He pointedly ignored the look Sam gave him, recognizing it as the one he used whenever he noticed that Dean had the hots for someone.
Swallowing heavily once the coughing fit passed, he watched with wide eyes as Doctor Novak unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the action revealing tattoos covering his forearms. If Dean's mouth hadn't gone dry at the sight, he would have started drooling.
On the inside of one forearm, a statuesque angel robed in white stood, its large wings spread as it raised its hands skyward. A cluster of brightly colored flowers served as the angel's backdrop, making the monochrome figure stand out in stark contrast.
The other forearm bore a scattering of bees, striped and furry as they buzzed around on the lightly haired skin. A banner was stretched across the inner forearm, running perpendicular to the veins in his arm. Dean couldn't make out what was written on the banner.
And if Dean had a doctor kink the size of Kansas itself, which he definitely did, then his tattoo kink was the size of Texas.
He wasn't proud of it, especially since his little brother was in the room, but he was suddenly sporting a semi. Just at the sight of some tattoos. So much for him being a cool, suave Lothario.
Doctor Novak crossed to the sink and washed his hands before taking a seat on the wheeled chair by the counter and moving over to sit directly in front of Dean. He caught of whiff of some sort of cologne as Doctor Novak said, "You're definitely going to need some stitches but there won't be much scarring and you'll have full function of your hand."
"Good, that's the hand I use to jerk off," Dean hummed in response. He regretted the words the second they left his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing as Sam groaned aloud.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam complained in a whine, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm gonna go wait in the car."
Doctor Novak chuckled as the door shut behind Sam, smiling as he claimed, "Your boyfriend seems very nice."
"God, no! Eww," Dean immediately balked, sticking his tongue out. At Doctor Novak's confused expression, tilting his head to the side, Dean rushed to explain, "Sam's not my boyfriend. He's my brother. I don't have a boyfriend. Not because I'm straight or anything... I'm bi!—" he groaned and facepalmed "—Why can't I shut up?"
"Pain has a way of inhibiting our brain to mouth filters," Doctor Novak announced as he spread some numbing gel over the cut on Dean's hand. "And that is, of course, the medical term."
"I'm sure," Dean laughed, relaxing a bit as the edge of pain lessened. He followed the gentle path of Doctor Novak's thumb as he rubbed in the gel. "Y'know, you're a lot gentler than your nurse."
"Yes, I suppose Meg's bedside manner could use some improvement," the doctor conceded as he finished applying the gel. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, "But everyone here is too afraid to tell her."
Dean chuckled, conceding the fact that Meg was, in fact, a little bit scary, as Doctor Novak picked up forceps and some surgical thread. He winced as he turned back to Dean, explaining, "This part won't be too much fun but it won't hurt."
"This when you tell me to close my eyes and think of England?" Dean quipped as he took a few deep breaths. It wasn't the first time he had gotten stitches but it was never a pretty sight.
He may have had a pretty strong stomach but the sight of flesh literally getting sewn back together? That was enough to make him lose his lunch.
"If it helps," Doctor Novak intoned as he started the sutures.
Dean tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and hummed "the Memory Remains". He reopened his eyes when he heard Doctor Novak chuckle under his breath. He quirked a brow at the doctor, wondering what was so funny about stitches.
"Metallica?" Doctor Novak asked, his lips curling up at the corner. "Interesting choice. Though I would've picked Enter Sandman."
"It calms me down," Dean admitted with a one-shouldered shrug. He offered a smile as he inquired, "So, you like Metallica, doc? Bit of a badass?"
"My brothers would beg to differ but I like to think so," Doctor Novak answered easily, continuing the stitching. "I have the tattoos and the motorcycle to prove it."
"Whoa, you ride a motorcycle?" Dean whistled, impressed. A motorcycle explained the windblown hair, though he was sure a doctor would wear a helmet. "What kind?"
"Harley-Davidson. Softail Slim S," Doctor Novak relayed as he finished the stitches. Setting down his forceps, he beamed over at Dean before suggesting, "Maybe I could take you for a ride sometime, if I'm not being too forward."
"Really?" Dean asked a little breathlessly, feeling his face heat up again. When Doctor Novak nodded, he blurted, "Hell yeah!"
Laughing softly, Doctor Novak stood and quickly washed his hands before grabbing something out of his lab coat pocket. He scribbled something on the business card he had pulled out before handing it over to Dean.
"The receptionist will give you instructions for your hand," he explained as Dean stood, turning over the business card in his hand to look at Doctor Novak's cell phone number. "And you can call me whenever you're up for a ride."
Tucking the business card into his pocket, Dean smiled and returned, "Sure thing, Cas."
