#profoundbc

The field was unsettling. It wasn’t exactly night, but the sun was making its descent and Dean estimated that he had about an hour before he would be engulfed in darkness. He really did not want to be on the fields when the sun went down. It was already creepy enough with the empty stands and the wind rustling through the goal posts. He could only imagine (and even then, he didn’t want to) the scariness factor darkness was going to impose.

  However it was still light enough to see and Dean mounted his broom and flew into the air, cloak, scarf and all. He loved the feeling of the being free, flying. It was one of the main reasons he started playing quidditch. When he was a kid he would stare out of the window and watch as the neighbors’ kids flew around on second-hand brooms and laughed as one of them got hit with a bludger, or listen as they cheered when the snitch was caught. Quidditch was always something fun for Dean, and he made sure that nobody could take it away from him.

  His cloak flapped loudly behind him as he whizzed through the air. The passing wind stung his eyes, bringing tears to them, but he didn’t stop, instead he just pushed enough further, harder until he swore his broom was going to break. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he had worn through a broom, and it most certainty wouldn’t have been his last. That was for sure.

  Dean stopped, breathing hard. He was already on the other side of the field. He turned around, trying to catch his breath. He looked down to the green field below him. Everything looked so small, so miniscule, as if he could pick anything up with the tips of his fingers and fling it around without even wasting a breath. The liberty he had, floating high in the sky with nothing to bring him down, was amazing. It was so much better than studying, that’s for sure.

  “Winchester!” he heard a voice yell out. Dean looked down, startled and his broom moved with the impact, hurtling down towards the ground. For a moment Dean panicked, then his natural instincts kicked in and his pulled up on his broom, leveling himself out. He heard laughter from below him and he scowled.

  “No, no! Don’t stop!” Another round of laughter, deep and accusing. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day! All week in fact!”

  Dean flew down and landed next to the source of the laughter. He should have known; he could recognize that unruly mop of hair from anywhere. (Hell, he probably could recognize it with his eyes closed.) It was probably messier than his, and Dean had just killed the last couple minutes flying. That had to be an achievement of some sorts.

  Castiel laughed again. “Why’d you stop? Afraid you’re going to fall?” He smirked wickedly. His eyes crinkled as he did so.

  “You’re a dick, you know that?” Dean leaned against his broom. It felt weird to be back on the ground again, and his legs were a bit shaky. Not like he would admit that fact to Castiel. The other boy would just find it amusing and use it as more fuel to taunt Dean with.

  “You seem to say that every time we meet.” Castiel threw something in the air, something small, shiny, and gold. It fell back in his hand with a soft thud. “Don’t you ever have something new to say?”

  Dean scoffed, why was this guy such a dick? Ever since their first year when they were assigned as partners in potions, Castiel had always looked down at Dean, rolled his eyes whenever Dean caught his eyes. From day one Castiel had just been a dick to him.

  At first Dean blamed it on the fact that they were in rival houses. Slytherins and Gryffindors weren’t supposed to get along, right? But one day Dean saw Castiel talking to one of his fellow housemates and that excuse was ruled out of the book.

  And then Dean put the blame on the fact that he wasn’t a pureblood (John, his father, was a muggle through and through. Dean always loved the story his mother told him about his father almost fainting when she had revealed that she was a witch. John was supposedly in shock for a few days, but came around to the idea. Mary knew he would. Dean’s mother knew John the best, even better than he did himself.) But then he realized that Castiel was a half-blood as well, leaving Dean utterly confused.

  The only conclusion that he could come up with was that Castiel just hated Dean because he was Dean. Dean was left with no other option that to reciprocate the action.

  Dean pouted his lips, mocking thinking. “I don’t know. How about maybe 'you’re an asshole?'” Dean winked as Castiel rolled his eyes in response. Castiel’s eyes were so blue, they seemed too impossible to be real. “That fits too.”

  “You’re so dull," Castiel huffed. He threw the small object up in the air again, but this time instead of landing back in his hand, it floated right by his head. Its wings moved too fast to see, creating a blur of motion.

  Dean’s eyes grew wide, a snitch. His finger’s itched to grab the fast moving object, a seeker’s habit. “How’d the hell did you manage to sneak that out?” He pointed towards the snitch.

  Castiel smiled and his eyes twinkled. (Since when in the hell did Dean think about twinkling eyes?) Castiel shrugged, his cloak flowing with his movements. “Doesn’t everybody have a little secret or two?” He cracked a smile and grabbed the snitch out of the air with a quick flick of his wrist. Dean had forgotten that Castiel too was a seeker, just for the Slytherin team. Damn those Slytherins with their cocky attitudes and ugly green scarves. 

  The wings folded in on itself as Castiel caught it. Dean wanted so badly to grab the piece of metal out of Castiel’s grip and- wait, what was Castiel doing out here in the first place? Castiel was the top student in their year and it made no sense for the smartest kid to be out on the quidditch field the day before their O.W.L.s. started. Castiel should be locked up in his common room, looking over his papers until his eyes were dry. “Cas, what the hell are you doing out here anyways?”

  Castiel arched an eyebrow. It disappeared under the bangs of his hair. Dean didn’t know how the other boy could manage having it so long. But then again this was Castiel they were talking about, and when did anything about him make sense? “So I’m ‘Cas’ now?” The dark haired boy looked like he was biting back a smile.

  Dean could feel heat swarming his face. He put the blame on the wind that had picked up, not the fact that he had let the nickname slip. It’s not like Dean called Castiel ‘Cas’ in his head in the first place. That would be ridiculous. “What? You really expect me to keep calling you Castiel?” Dean shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the situation. “No offense or anything, but that’s a fucking mouthful to say every time.”

  Castiel’s eyes lit up and he smiled, and not a leer that Dean usually received, but a real, genuine smile. It was a change, a good one. “It’s better than the other nicknames I’ve been called.” Dean started to say something but Castiel, Cas, pressed on. “But let’s not get into that conversation. How about a friendly game of quidditch?” And there was that smirk again, all condescending and brash. “But of course, just seeker against seeker?”

  “You don’t have a broom.”

  Castiel shook his head, as if saying 'Stupid Winchester'. He took his wand out of the folds of his robe. “Accio Firebolt.”

  A broom came flying towards them. Castiel caught it with practiced ease. He mounted it and took off his robe and scarf. He threw them roughly down on the ground in a pile of silver and green as if he didn’t need them anymore. Which, knowing Castiel’s background and the wealth their family had locked away at Gringotts, he probably didn’t need them. He probably had a different set of clothes for each day of the year. Bastard. 

  Castiel nodded towards Dean’s broom, another Firebolt, but a little worn with use. The twigs were uneven and a few of them were cracked in places. The handle of Dean's broom was marred with scratches and sweat stains. Castiel’s broom was newer, cleaner looking, as if it had just come out of the box.  “Same broom. It’ll just be down to skill. You up for it?”

  Dean didn’t have to think twice. He shed his robe and scarf as well, but with a little more care than Castiel had done. Dean needed his clothes to last the rest of the year, which wasn’t much, but he didn’t want to spend the last few weeks of his fifth year wearing ratty, grass-stained clothes. “Hell yes.”

  Dean climbed onto his broom, fingers flexing against the hilt. He could feel his nerves rising, a tight coil about to burst. He always got like this before games, but this time it was a stronger reaction. Maybe it was because he would be going against Cas, and just Cas. There were no bludgers to dodge or score to keep track of. It would just be the first one to the snitch, nothing more, nothing less. (And if it had to do with the fact that Dean was going up against Cas, Dean pushed the thought to the back of his head.)

  He heard the buzz of the snitch before he saw it, the little golden ball growing smaller as it flew away from them. The sun was low in the sky and everything had an orange tone to it. It would have been pretty, but Dean was too busy trying to focus on the increasingly small ball of metal in the distance. At least Dean thought it was the snitch. He was losing the sight of it.

  “On three,” he heard Castiel announced, smooth and soft. He turned his head to quickly look at the boy. His profile was nice especially in the orange light, but his eyes were squinted tight in concentration and his lips were pulled up into a pout. Dean looked back towards the field and he couldn’t find the snitch anywhere. Great.

  “One.”

  Dean breathed in deeply, eyes scanning furiously.

  “Three.”

  Castiel was off before Dean even realized that the other boy had completely skipped over the second number. Dean quickly took off, the wind running besides his ears. He still had no idea where the snitch was, but Cas seemed to know where it was, so Dean stuck right behind him in hopes of getting a glance at the prize before the Slytherin.

  Dean saw something flit in his peripheral vision. He turned on instinct, but Castiel had seen it too and was flying towards the source. Dean was hot on his heels (Was it still heels if they were in the air?) He leaned forward on his broom, trying to gain more speed, more momentum so he could pass the stupid Slytherin boy in front of him.

  Castiel turned to the right suddenly and Dean followed his movements, jerking his handle to turn directions. Then suddenly Castiel stopped and Dean flew right into him. The impact knocked the wind out of Dean and he almost fell off his broom.

  He heard Castiel’s laugh echo through the empty stadium as the other boy took off again.

  Douchebag.

  Dean shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts before leaning over and flying after Castiel. He knew by now that Castiel probably already had the snitch, but it was still worth the try, right?

  By the time he had caught up with Castiel, the boy was relaxing, swinging his dangling legs leisurely. Cas ran a hand through his hair and ended up just sticking it up even more. “Why is your last name Winchester if you can’t win at anything?” Castiel held the snitch in middle of his index finger and thumb, showing it off. “Seems kind of an ironic name too me.”

  Dean huffed. “You know what’s ironic? Your family all being named after angels but ending up in the evil house anyways.”

  “Stereotypes, Dean. Stereotypes. Funny, I pinned you to be above them. But then again you try so hard at the “macho straight jock” image. It’s pathetic, really.”

  Dean locked his jaw, ignoring the insult. “You fucking cheated!”

  “Did not,” Castiel said back immediately. What were they? Five years old?

  “You almost made me fall off my broom. I’m pretty sure that’s cheating!” Dean felt his grip on his broom tighten with the growing urge to knock the other boy out of the air.

  Castiel blinked slowly, looking bored. “Just because you suck at keeping yourself up in the air does not mean you can start putting the blame on the people around you. That’s not how it works.”

  Dean threw his arms up in the air in exasperation, which just caused Castiel to start another round of laugher. Dean lunged at him, fists at the ready. But Castiel was probably ready for the swing, seeing as he moved away and dodged the attack without flinching.

  Without anything to run into, Dean was off balance and he toppled off from his broom like a ragdoll. He reached blindly for his broom, but he couldn’t get a firm hold on it. He was rushing fast towards the ground and he could picture the conversation that was bound to happen.

  “And he just fell?”

  Castiel rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I mean, he is kind of clumsy. Have you noticed?”

  He did hit something, but it wasn’t the ground. It was too soft and smelled all wrong. It didn’t smell like mud and sweat and blood, but instead smelled sweet, a bit like peppermint actually.

  “Get back on your broom, Winchester,” said a deep voice. It took Dean a moment to recognize the voice as Castiel’s. “I’m surprised you’re broom can even hold you for so long. You’re heavier than you look.”

  Dean gripped his broom, his grasp a little wobbly. He was a bit winded and he swore that his stomach was in his throat. At least it felt like it. “Fuck you, Cas.” His tongue was dry, sandpaper in his mouth. That fall (Could you even call it a fall if you never landed?) must have had really taken it out of him.

  Castiel laughed. “You’ll have to take me on a few dates first, Dean. I’m not that cheap.”

  “What?” Dean blinked.

  Cas continued as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “I mean, we could go like to Honeydukes and you could buy me some candy, then I would maybe think about getting into bed with you. Although butterbeer does sound pretty nice too.”

  Dean almost fell off his broom again. “What?” he repeated.

  “Jeez, you really are as dumb as you look.  Maybe the whole dumb ass jock stereotype thing you have going on isn't all an act,” Castiel scoffed, but his tone was light, teasing, not mocking. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

  “No.” Dean shook his head. “But you called me Dean.”

  Castiel rolled his eyes so far back that Dean was afraid that they were going to pop out of his head. “Isn’t that your name, Winchester?”

  Dean laughed softly. “You know what? Never mind.” He started his decent downwards and Castiel followed suit. “It doesn’t change the fact that you cheated.”

  “I did not cheat!” Castiel jumped off his broom a few feet off the ground. Show off. He landed near his pile of disregarded clothes.

  “Asshole,” Dean murmured. He landed on the ground by his scarf and cloak. It felt weird to have something solid underneath his feet again.

  Castiel sighed. “So uncreative.” 

  “What word would you use then, Mr. Know It All?”

  Castiel bit his lip, thinking. “Cunning,” he said after a moment. “Smart, resourceful, and of course you can’t forget handsome.”

  “You’re an airhead.”

  “Bravo, Winchester. Broadening your vocabulary. I’m proud.”

  Dean leaned against his broom; it was a comfortable, natural position for him. “You know you never did answer my question.”

  Castiel titled his head and Dean did not think it was adorable. “Your question?”

  “Yeah.” Dean licked his lips. “Like what the hell are you doing out here the night before O.W.L.s.?”

  A look of shook passed through Castiel’s face, but it was quickly smoothed back into its regular brand of cocky, but bored. “I don’t know. I found a snitch and decided to go out and play with it. You just happened to be here as well.”

  Dean knew he was lying. “Yeah, you found a snitch. I’m pretty sure the only way you could have found a snitch is if you went through Bobby’s office.”

  Cas rocked back and forth on his heels. It was weird seeing the Slytherin boy nervous. And the fact that it was Dean making him nervous was just an added bonus. “I might have convinced Mr. Singer to let me borrow a snitch.”

  The story still didn’t quite add up. “But what about studying?”

  “Dean, you can’t study every hour of everyday. You would fry your brain out.” Castiel sounded exasperated.

  Dean smiled at the sound of his name leaving the other boy’s mouth.

  “What are you smiling at, Winchester?” Castiel asked. It only made Dean smile bigger. “God, you are such an asshole.”

  “Now look who’s the one with the limited vocabulary. Oh, how the tables have turned.” Dean started laughing and Castiel kicked the bottom of Dean’s broom out from underneath him. Dean caught himself before he hit the ground.

  Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking me so many questions, Dean?”

  Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe because this is the longest we’ve hung out since we’ve met? It’s fucking weird.”

  Castiel flinched slightly, and Dean would’ve missed it if he had blinked. Good thing he didn’t. “You think I’m weird?” Castiel’s voice was missing the smug edge it always had.

  “Sometimes, yeah,” Dean admitted. He quickly realized it was the wrong thing to say when a look of hurt flashed over the dark haired boy’s features. “Well, not really,” he backtracked, “like it was fun right now, even if you cheated.”

  Castiel smiled and Dean called it a success. “For the last time, I did not cheat. Winchester, you are making stuff up. If it’s anything, you’re the cheater here.”

  Dean gaped. “How the hell am I the one doing the cheating here? You know what, I demand a rematch.” Dean hopped back on his broom. “Loser has to buy the winner a round of butterbeers the next time we take a trip to Hogsmeade.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like a date, Dean.” Castiel swung a leg over his broom. “You’re going to be paying for my drink after all.”

  Dean did not blush when Cas called it a date. “Full of yourself much?”

  Cas winked. “Only when I know I’m going to win.”

  “Just throw the damn snitch in the air, Slytherin. And this time count to three like a proper human being. Hurry, before it gets dark.”