Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t like feeling dread. He was always prepared, always had a plan, something, anything to fall back on. He didn’t usually feel nervous, anxious. There is a way to do things and he follows that way, by the letter, every god damn time. This shouldn’t be different. He just needed to do it.

            He ran his hands over his face, pushing them up through his hair and back down over his scruff. First things first. Shower. Shave. Eat some breakfast. It’s just a normal morning, he berates himself; you’re just going away for a while. Everything is packed. But until that point it’s just a normal morning.

            He pushed off from the bed and pads around the room, disoriented by the empty shelves and dresser tops. Dean was usually neat but it was just eerily bare. He deftly stepped over the two boxes near the door, -who the fuck put those there?- and out into the hall way, listening for anyone stirring. He didn’t want to face John and Mary just yet. He knew he had to say goodbye but… still just wanted to plod through the morning as if it were any other. Just a few more minutes of denial.

            The shower was hot. No one else had gotten up yet. Usually Mary had breakfast cooking. If things were different she would have made this day a joyous things, made them all get up, see Dean off. He scrubs the thoughts out of his brain forcefully with his fingertips, letting the soap drip into his face and forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut tight enough to see shots of color. He blindly reached for his soap, his hand skipping over the one on the left, automatic, to his. It was getting smaller every day. He supposed it would sit there, untouched until the day the house died.

            Rinsed, warm, hair sticking up with water and a tiny bit of product Dean would never admit he used, he wrapped my towel around his waist and ducked his head out into the hall again. This time he spotted the top of John’s head disappearing down the steps, running a hand through his hair, exhausted. Dean slid back to his room, dressed and looked around for anything last minute he forgot.

            Jacket, toothbrush, shoes, backup shoes, shirts pants… childhood knife, his two books he owned and liked. The important stuff. He tapped his chest, feeling the familiar bump of his necklace. His necklace.

            He gathered up his duffel and hiked one box into his arms, knowing he’d need more than one trip. He made his way down the stairs carefully, listening-not-listening to John and Mary whisper to each other in the kitchen. His dad leaned against the counter, white shirt, grey sweats, his eyes bloodshot and his hair standing up. He was drinking black coffee, rubbing his eyes awake. Mary was at the fridge, leaning over, peering into it for anything to make. Dean made his way through the area, quiet and non-attention grabbing. He set the box down next to the door and ran back upstairs for the second one. When he finished Dean stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking at them both. Mary visibly sighed before looking over at him, her smile genuine but small. Dean walked forward, taking her into his arms gently. He was always baffled by how small she was. When she went from mighty to fragile. When she went from Mom to Mary.

            She patted him on the back and stepped back, sniffing gently and turning to the stove where she had started on some eggs. John clapped Dean affectionately on the back, squeezing his shoulder for a long moment and then stepping around him and to the door.

            “I’m, uh, going to work now. You… be safe Dean.”

            Dean nods, smiling at him. “I will. See you.”

            He nodded, holding the door handle for a long moment and then leaving without looking at Dean again.

            “Here honey.” Mary put the eggs on a plate and handed it to him. Dean pulled a stool up to the counter and sat, watching her as she hovered over the sink, absently rinsing a cup.

            “It’s okay Mom.” He says, taking a slow bite of eggs. His stomach turns from nerves but he knows it’s the last of her cooking he’ll have in a while. Even if it’s not the same as what she used to do. “It’s just college.”

            She smiled sadly at Dean over her shoulder, setting the glass down. “I know Dean. I just… we’ll miss you. And… We… I… We both….” She trailed off, crossing her arms and sighing.

            “I know Mom. I love you.” he stood and put his dish in the sink, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll call when I get there. Safe and sound.”

            There’s an absence there. A string of words she would have said. Back then. Everything would be fine. We were all looked after. Angels were watching over him.

            He shakes his head. There’s no angels here.

 

            Dean tries not to think about what a jerk he must look like, with his two boxes and duffel on the bus. But there weren’t a lot of options. They only have one car and it barely runs. He keeps his eyes down, listening for the stops. He’ll need to switch buses a total of seven times. It might have been easier to take the train but it was cheaper this way. He closes his eyes, sink into the rocking of the bus and keeps his mind quiet for time passing.

           

            The school is not as ‘wow look at me I’m a college’ as Dean thought it would be. There was a fair amount of pointless architecture and statues but it wasn’t all green-grass and posh glass walls. There were students rushing around, looking disheveled, hung over and tired. He held both boxes awkwardly in his arms, wondering where he should go first.

            A head of blonde stopped in front of his boxes, smirking up at Dean. “Got that big boy?”

            He resisted rolling my eyes, “I’m looking for the admissions office.”

            “You’re looking for a cart. Lemme grab you one, just…” she snorted, easy cheer on her face, “chill there for a sec.”

            Dean stood there, awkwardness and shame creeping up his neck. His face felt pinched and he could practically feel himself radiating ‘fuck you’ to all who passed, the crowd parting around him. And his fucking boxes.

            The girl came sliding back, pushing a Wal-Mart shopping cart. He dumped his boxes in it, hoisting his duffel higher on his shoulder. “Where’d you get that?”

            “You’re welcome.” She cocked her eyebrow at him. “And you’d had to have been there.”

            Dean shrugged, following her and the tracks she was carving into the lawn. She didn’t seem to care so he didn’t either.

            “The admissions office is over yonder, the big ugly yellow one, yeah. There are just two dorms, boys and girls. Though there’s lots of, uh, co-ed opportunities, so-to-speak.” She nudged him playfully in the side, pushing the cart onto the sidewalk and heading towards the yellow admissions building. People didn’t spare them two glances. He kept expecting to get stopped by a college employee and questioned as to why they had a fucking shopping cart but he guessed no one gave a shit. “It’s a pretty chill school, though don’t let the laid back atmosphere get you wrong. Everyone here is wicked smart, so keep up.”

            She stopped outside the hall, squinting inside. “Well I have shit to do, so return the cart to the girls dorm whenever. Oh, and by the way, name’s Jo.”

            She stuck her hand into his space, smiling confidently up at him.

            He felt his face soften, and he took the hand, returning her firm shake. “Dean.”

            “Dean. Good name. See ya around Dean.” She flicked a two fingered salute at him and twirled around, her hair swirling around her face and shoulders. Dean watched her walk away absently for a long moment, glanced at his shit in the cart, shook his head and went inside. He doubted anyone was desperate enough to steal his crappy stuff.

            The room was warm compared to the northwest ever-lasting chill outside. There were two younger people sitting in chairs to the right and a woman at the desk in front of Dean. He looked at the students, rubbing the back of his neck and pressing his lips together. Taking a breath he sauntered forward, knocking once on the counter to get the lady’s attention. “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester.” He smiled at her, “Just checking in.”

            She blinked at him for a moment and then with a startled “oh!” she pushed papers around for a second, pulling something up on her computer. “Um,  yeah, here…” she punched in a few things, squinting at the screen.

            “Need these?” Dean picked a pair of glasses placed on the desk.

            She blinked at them, her eyes pinched tight. “Oh!” She plucked them from him, smiling absently and pushing them on. “Sorry, long day.”

            “I imagine, take your time.”

            She hmm’d him, clicking on a few more things and then printing something. “Alrighty Mr. Winchester, I have your room assignment and…” she plucked the paper from the printer, “Your official schedule. If anything doesn’t match up with what was previously sent to you or if anything has changed and won’t work just come let us know. It looks like you got everything you need filled out before hand, if I could just glance at your ID…” he flicked it out for her, she verified it, smiled, he tucked it back in his pant pocket, “You’re all set. Here is a key to your dorm, your RA will have your room key.” She handed him a small key on a ring.

            “Thanks.” He took the key and turned back out the door. “Take a break.”

            She laughed, sighing and starting back up on whatever she had been working on.

            Dean stood outside, looking at his dorm instructions, glancing around at the buildings, wishing he’d signed up for rooms earlier. He was pretty sure he was getting a spare room, it would be smaller, but he wouldn’t have to deal with a roommate. He was okay with that. He wasn’t much in the mood for dealing with people these days. Talking. Sharing. Family. He didn’t want to deal with any of it.

            His schedule was busy. He signed up for as many classes as he could work out with the financial aid department. They were happy to accommodate him, reminding him he need to keep up a certain GPA to keep his aid. He was fine with that. He wanted to drown.

            After speaking to his scrawny RA and receiving his key and depositing his boxes in his room (third floor, no elevators, yay), he pushed the cart back to where Jo had instructed him to leave it. He stood there, looking at it, wondering if it was really okay to just leave it. Shrugging he went back to the boys dorm, shut his door, disappeared.

 

            Classes started the next day. Dean supposed he had been expected to show up a few days earlier and join some clubs or get settled and all that shit, but he wasn’t bothered. He just wanted to do his school work. He was taking twenty credits of classes. While he’d never been the one in the family who was the best at school, he knew how to work hard. And now it just seemed right that he go to college and try to make something of his life.

            His first class was just plain English 101. His teacher was a flighty older lady who seemed unsure in everything she said and hopped around the front of the room, wringing her hands. Dean sat in the back, tapping his pencil quietly on his knee, jotting things down on his syllabus.

            He only had two classes that were every day. The other two were Monday Wednesday and Friday. So on those days he had four classes total. Since each class was at least two hours long and staggered throughout the day they were guaranteed to be at least ten hour days.

            “Perfect.” He muttered, flipping through his schedule for the location of his next class, which was some theatre class. He had told the lady to sign him up for some rounded classes, something in each distribution. Theatre. Whatever, it would probably be an easy A.

            The theatre was in an odd corner of the compound, past the boys dorms and tucked up an uneven hilled path. The trees ducked over the trail, coloring the air green and dotting the ground with leaves and shadows. Dean made his way up the hill, circling to take in all his surroundings and nervously hitching his rucksack higher on his shoulder. There was a small queue of students outside of the double doors. The teacher was late.

            Dean leaned, irritated, against a tree, tucking his foot against it and crossing his arms.

            “Where’s the teacher?”

            A skinny dark haired somebody stood straight next to him. Dean hadn’t noticed him walk up. Taken aback Dean stood up straight, blinking at the boy.

            “I, uh. I dunno, I just got here.”

            “Hmm.” The boy said, walking forward without sparing Dean another glance to ask someone else.

            What the fuck is with the trench-coat?

            Dean shrugged, brushing his arm off and rejoining the group next to the door. He overheard the trench-coat boy ask a blonde girl where the teacher was.

            “Oh hey you, she’s late. You know Pam.”

            Dean realized the blonde was the girl who’d helped him with his stuff the night before. Jo. Small school.

            Right then a figure approached the door       

            Curly dark hair framed a snarky smile, big brown eyes blinking out at them apologetically.

            “Hello lovelies, come on in, sorry I kept ya.” She waved them in, affectionately patting each on the back while they walked through. She reserved a hair ruffle for the boy in the trench-coat, who blinked at her and kept walking.

            She smiled broadly at Dean. “Oh, haven’t seen you around. Showed up a bit late?”

            Dean smiled and shrugged. Most kids showed up a week or so before class started, getting to know the campus, the people, the teachers. It was starting to sink in how close knit and small this school was.

            “Had some stuff to take care of.”

            She nodded, waving him in with the rest, squeezing his shoulder for a moment.

            They all gathered in a room off to the left, it was large and circular, with chairs in rows that lined half the room, going up these shallow steps. The other half was taken up by a wooden area, totally clear except for a piano and a white board.

            Dean took a seat in one far corner, dropping his ruck sack next to him and crossing his arms, leaning back and preparing to plod his way through the artsy bullshit.

            He watched Jo sit next to some other spunky people who all laughed very loud and obviously knew each other. She spotted him, winked, and left him to his solitude. The boy in the trench-coat also sat alone, on the opposite end of the room as Dean, sitting ramrod straight, squinting intently at the teacher.

            The teach was writing something on the board, slowly and dramatically, her back to the class.

            Four letters.

            Rent.

            Dean scowled, what the hell did that mean? What were they supposed to be renting? College was costing them all enough, what the fuck did this lady want from them?

            The rest of the class seemed to be getting a little more out of the words, slowly as they all saw the word on the board they shut up, little gasps and squeaks scattering about the room.

            Dean saw the other loner boy sit forward just slightly, his hands clasping in front of him.

            He focused.

            “Hello sweeties. My name is Pam. I know what it says on your schedules and your syllabi and all that bullshit, but here, in my domain, I am Pam.” She pulled a stool out from behind the piano and sat, tucking her hands under her and hunching forward contentedly.

            “There are many ways to teach this class. I could have you read poetry, project, study Shakespeare, memorize the dancing in Cats, write essay upon essay about the Crucible or the Phantom. All of these are valid ways to teach theatre. But I believe this is not something that can be truly taught. To understand theatre, where it comes from, why it exists, you must experience it.”

            She chuckled heartily, “Damn, that sounds cheesy doesn’t it? Well, theatre is a bit cheesy, and we should all be able to laugh at ourselves.”

            She paused, looking at them intently.

            “I’ve wanted to do this play here at this school for a while, but haven’t had the right group. I’m hoping my instincts are correct. I think you guys can pull it off.”

            She hopped off the stool and started pacing.

            “This course is going to be broken up four chunks, some of which will be much longer than the others. First we’ll cover monologues and the proper way to audition for a part, we’ll be going through the auditioning process just like at a professional theatre. Next we’ll be memorizing and blocking. I’ll expect you all to be familiar with the script by the time you get your parts, which is in two weeks, so memorizing your part should be easy. It should be done within a week of you getting your part. I want you off book and ready to fully block and start getting in deep with your lines and how I want them to be given. We’re going to be doing a rather different take on the play, so be prepared.

            “Next comes practice. This will be bulk of the semester. Be prepared for extra class time and spending more time with the people in this room than you thought possible. This is an emotional journey, you can’t do it alone.”

            She looked right at Dean for that. He looked at his shoes.

            “Finally performance. It’s your final. No exceptions.”

            She stood there, crossing her arms and looking into each of their eyes.

            “Oh, and disclaimer, any homophobes should leave.” She winked, “It’s a very gay play.”

            What the fuck have I gotten into. 

Chapter Text

Jo wasn’t in any more of Dean’s classes, although she did invite Dean to sit with her group of friends at lunch, he declined, saying he already had a mountain of homework he needed to start looking over. She smiled sadly at him, nodded and let him be. He ate in his room.

            His next class was some science class he knew he just needed to memorize shit for and muddle through. The last class was sociology. Which he guessed was his social science class. Otherwise he was taking way too many humanities classes and he would have to have words with his councilor.

            The first thing he noticed walking into the classroom, which was thankfully located in the one normal, class oriented building on campus, was the dark haired boy from drama.

            Dean stopped in the doorway, looking at his options for seats. The boy was next to the window, sitting just a little hunched over, his hands folded, peering thoughtfully out the window. Dean’s throat felt tight, his hands started to sweat and he froze, unsure of what he should do. He forcefully bit his lip, ducking his head and stormed into the class, gruffly claiming a spot behind the boy. Insisting to himself it was because the guy seemed smart and the teacher would look over Dean more readily.

            The guy didn’t look at Dean as Dean brushed past him, didn’t acknowledge Dean’s noisy bag rustles or Dean dropping his pencil and swearing fairly loudly. He didn’t even acknowledge the teacher walking in and starting class. Dean was almost excruciatingly distracted by him, placidly staring out the window the whole class, never writing anything down. Never opening his pack.

            The teacher prattled on about the class guidelines, what they would be covering, tests, schedules, disclaiming any controversial subject matter.

            “It’s a bit of a racy subject, sociology.” He smiled excitedly, shuffling his papers. “You’d be amazed at the things that come up.” He peered at his class, practically bouncing on his feet. If their fairly unenthusiastic attitude back at him deterred him at all he didn’t show it.

            The teacher ended the class early, having finished going through the syllabus and telling them which chapter to be familiar with by Wednesday.

            Dean waited until trench-coat boy was getting up and leaving to stand up. He couldn’t get the nagging thought of the boys absent stare out the window out of his head. Some part of him just wanted to at least make sure he got to wherever he was going safely. He seemed so out of it. Did he do drugs? Why did he seem so vacant?

            He followed at a subtle distance behind him. The guy hugged the wall, staring at the floor now, his hair hanging over his face and his toes dragging a bit. Dean thought for a second he was going to walk into the wall but he carefully turned just in time, his fingers trailing just so on the wall. He looked small. So small. Dean didn’t remember ever seeing someone so small in his life. Someone who physically was just as tall as Dean, maybe an inch or so shorter, was as lean as Dean, probably as strong as him, but still so small. His shoulders drooped and his head looked weighted and there was something dead in his eyes. Blue eyes. Dean cut through a hall and circled out in front of where the boy was headed. He leaned casually against the wall, pretending to fiddle with his phone while he watched the boy walk past him. He needn’t have bothered. He wouldn’t have noticed if Dean had blatantly gawked.

            They were near the front of the building now, which opened into the main plaza where there was the one mini through way for cars and buses and carpool vans. Most of the students stayed in the dorms so it was usually more full of loitering students than actual vehicles. At this time of day, at the end of what could be considered an evening class, there were only a small handful of cars idling in the loop.

            Dean followed the boy out the doors and started towards the dorms, where he assumed trench-coat boy would be headed. But he stopped at the curb, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands in pockets. Dean paused, turning to actually blatantly stare now.

            “Castiel.”

            There weren’t many students on the sidewalk now, mostly just the ones that had just gotten out of their class and most of them were already across the plaza or getting into cars. The deep voice rang out in the dusk clearly and with obvious menace.

            “Michael.”

            It was only the second time Dean had heard his trench-coat boy speak, but it felt like a completely different person speaking.

            The man who was standing next to a black Mercedes towered over trench-coat boy. Castiel. What the fuck kind of name was that? He held the passenger door open, standing almost directly in front of it.

            “Get in.”

            Castiel nodded, ducking under the bigger mans arm and wiggling around him to get in. The guy, Michael, waited until Castiel was situated and then shut the door, walking around to the drivers side, got in and pulled away.

            Except now Dean was on the outside of the glass that Castiel was peering out of.

           

            Dean stayed up late doing his homework. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, just for a few hours, he kept hearing the noises. It only happened when he was really stressed these days. Not every night like at first.

            Whispering glass. Tortured metal. Twisted bones and air and light.

            He read the play instead. Poured over his science text book. Poked at his English assignment half heartedly. Once he picked up the script of Rent though, he couldn’t put it down until it literally dropped from his fingers as his eyes shut. He found himself caught in the cadence of the characters, their easy fight against the shit in their lives. Some part of him wanted to mark it as faggy and move on. But he had a lot of fucking respect for the whole lot of them.

            It was so hard to pick yourself up again after you’ve fallen to the bottom.

 

            The next day it was just drama class and science. The door was propped open when Dean arrived. He was just in time, a few other kids in the class were there also, shuffling hurriedly through the door. He sat in the same spot he did last time, crossing his arms and pushing his pack under his chair with his foot. Pam was at the front of the room, shuffling through some papers and biting her lip. When the class settled down and quieted in preparation for her to start she looked up, blinking at them for a moment as if she’d forgotten there was a class there.

            “Hello! Alright. Well as we talked about yesterday I said we’ll be working on monologues and tryouts first. I have a huge selection of monologues here for you to sift through. They’re vaguely sorted into genres like fluffly, campy, serious, tearful, scary, obnoxious… you know, the works.” She pushed her hair back, absently picking up a headband off the table and shoving it up her forehead. She put her hands on her hands, pursing her lips at the class. “Yes. Well. Obviously you’d usually pick your own monoluges, or you’d do something from the play or your agent would pick something. But for the purposes of grading and the class and so we don’t hear the same monologues fifteen times I thought I’d provide us with selection. After all this is a theatre class, not just a wanking session over Rent.” She smirked and sat back on her stool. “Well, go on.” She waved her hands at the table.

            The class timidly picked their way up to the front. Groups of people clumping together, unsure, poking at pieces of paper and skimming this or that.

            Dean hovered at the edge, wondering how hard he should work the ‘uninterested I’m just here for the grade thug’ angle or if he should just dive in.

            He saw Castiel get up from some corner of the room, where Dean hadn’t even noticed him and make his way to a mostly empty table. He didn’t touch the papers, just peered at them each closely, squinting and tilting his head so his hair fell just over his eyes. Dean stared unabashedly, his fingers picking up some random paper and gripping it tightly. He pretended to be looking at the words when his eyes were locked onto those blue eyes. Focused.

            Dean went back to his chair, shaken and blushing. This fucking class.

            He looked down at his monologue.

            Tammi’s Little Brother Is Dead, by Peg Kehret.

            He blinked. Inhaled. Coughed. Blinked again.

            “Okay.” He steeled himself. “Son of a bitch.”

            From the front of the room Pam chirps out that once they finish reading through their monologue to group together and read in front of their peers. Out loud. Unpracticed. Learn to laugh at themselves. Learn to be under pressure.

            Dean wondered if he could trade out for a different sheet but she was already shuffling the papers away. He didn’t want to seem like a total pussy, asking for a different one. Not to mention idiotic. He should have read the damn thing before he fucking picked it up. His fists shook he clenched them so tightly. Taking a deep breath he pushed his panic down, swallowed it, ignored it, strangled it tightly and buried it deep. He was fine. So fucking fine.

            He looked around the room, at the people starting to circle into small groups. Jo was swaggering her way towards him with the scrawny trench-coat boy in tow. Castiel.

            “Hey Dean boy. Mind if we join you?” She plopped herself down on a chair next to him, not waiting for him to agree. Castiel hovered awkwardly next to them. So unsure. “This is Castiel”

            “Sit.” Dean said, pushing a chair towards him. Castiel nodded, took the chair. He sat stiff, his eyes down, his fists in his lap, shoulders hunched. He was so guarded. It almost hurt to look at him, Dean felt like if he whispered too loud the boy would fall over, shatter. Be ended. “It’s okay Cas.” He reached over absently and gripped Castiel’s shoulder. Cas flinched, just slightly but otherwise didn’t react. Dean let his hand fall and looked back at Jo.

            “So let’s do this.” She shook out her paper, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “I’ll start.”

            Her monologue was funny, cheeky with a weird murderous twist. Dean didn’t recognize it, he assumed it was from some obscure play. He clapped when she finished, laughing. He had one leg hiked up on his chair, his arm draped around it casually. He was having fun. He looked down at his paper. His leg dropped to the floor. He supposed it was his turn.

            “Go on Winchester.” Jo pushed on his leg.

            He cleared his throat.

            “I just grabbed one.” He chocked out a chuckle, “I don’t even know what the fuck this is… but here goes.”

            “Tammi’s little brother is dead. Billy. I can’t…” breathe “I can’t believe it. How can Billy be dead… when he is only… nine years old?” Shut off, shut down, it’s just words Dean. Just some fucking words. “Tammi’s family went on a vacation, a camping trip in the mountains.” Keep breathing. God. He was a little kid. “Billy apparently tried to wade across a river and slipped and fell and… hit his head… on a rock.” Just a kid. It wasn’t his fault. “They aren’t sure if the rock killed him or if he drowned.” It was so wet outside. There was so much rain. “It doesn’t matter. Dead is dead… not matter how it happened.” The how. The questions. The looks. “When Tammi told me Billy died… I didn’t know what to say.” No one does. “I was too shocked to respond. Tammi sounded scared. As if everything had happened to fast…” the lights flashing, the yells, the quiet, the infinite world of muffled sound and noise and chocked sobs. “And she didn’t know yet… how she was going to deal with it.” Keep breathing Dean. “This afternoon I bought some flowers and took them to Tammi’s house.” He hates the smell of flowers. “and… we sat in her room for a long time… and talked…” they still couldn’t talk about it. His house was so quiet. “about Billy. And how… even when we said our brothers were a pain in the butt…” His fucking brother. “We didn’t really mean it.” Sammy. 

            He blinked. Came back down to the planet. His chair. The drama room. The hum and laughter of students around him. He blinked again looking up at Jo and Cas. They were both staring at him, Jo with her mouth a open, her eyes wide. Castiel with this intense squint, like he could see every layer and inch of Deans being, peeling back one by one. Dean blinked, looked back down at the now slightly crumpled paper. Just some words on a piece of paper. He inhaled sharply, setting the paper down and running his hands over his jeans.

            “Bit, uh… dark don’t you think?” He muttered, not making eye contact. “That’s what I get for not reading it first.”

            Jo snorted, rolling her eyes and snatching up the paper. “Tammi’s brother is dead… God you didn’t even glance at this did you? Fuck Winchester that’s super dark. You gonna be able to handle it?”

            Dean laughed hollowly, shrugging and pushing his hands through his hair. Leaning back in his chair he nodded at Castiel, who was still sitting, squinting at Dean. “Your turn Cas.”

            “Castiel.” The guy said, shaking his head, looking genuinely confused.

            “What?”

            “You kept calling me Cas.”

            Dean raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to snicker. “It’s a nickname.”    

            “Oh.” Cas literally didn’t seem to know what to do with this information. He looked down at his papers cleared his throat and continued. “I guess it’s my turn then.”

            “Knock ‘em dead.” Jo smiled.

            Cas nodded at her and cleared his throat.

            “By Ellen Hopkins. I hate this feeling like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t.” Cas’s voice was almost deadpan, but with a stirring in it that pulled at Dean’s chest. Like he was holding rigidly onto control, the way Dean had tried to. “Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here and escape… lives just past that snowy window. Cool and crisp as the February air.” Cas takes a deep breath, Dean finds himself sucking in air with him. “I consider the streets beyond, bleak as the bleached bones of wilderness scaffolding my heart.” Dean willed it to be melodramatic and stupid. Tried to detach. But Castiel’s eyes pulled him in and trapped him there, feeling the rise and fall of the words. “Just a stone’s throw away.” Cas pauses again, swallowing. “But he’s out there. Stalking me, haunting me. I know he can’t get me in here. Besides. I’m too tired to pick myself up and make a break for it.” Cas’s entire body was tense. Like he really was about to run away. “So I just sit here, brain wobbling. Tipping. Tripping on Prozac.”

            Cas sets the papers down and Jo and Dean stare at him.

            “Well shit you two, we aren’t exactly a group of rainbows are we?” Jo puffs, looking taken aback by the starkly emotional piece. Dean’s felt almost garish next to it.

            Dean snorted a laugh, leaning back in his chair and nodding approval to Cas, who was looking a bit lost. Cas smiled hesitantly back at Dean, looking down at his paper with more assuredness.

            Pam chirped at them to give each other a bit of feedback, go over them a few times and then they’d start doing them for the class. She would give them pointers, talking about the pros and cons of blocking for audition monologues and maybe show some clips of some of the more famous ones.

            Dean settled into his chair, rereading his piece, compartmentalizing it and settling on channeling. He didn’t have to feel everything. He could control it. He took a deep breath, waiting on Jo to go again, his new realization sinking in. He could control it. He had the power.

           

            Dean caught Cas outside of class later, walking towards the main building. He couldn’t tell if Cas was headed towards the cafeteria or to the car loop again. He found himself hoping for the former even before he said anything to the guy.

            “What part are you hoping for?” Dean chirped, figuring it was a normal enough question.

            “I’m not sure I’m exactly fitted for any of them.”

            Dean looked at him closely for a long minute. “There’s singing right?”

            Cas glanced at him. “Have you seen the play?”

            “No.”

            “Oh. You should. It’s a wonderful play.”

            “So is there singing?”

            Cas nodded. “Lot’s. Almost the whole play.”

            “Wonder if Pam knows who can sing or not.”

            Castiel shrugged, opening the doors to the main building. He politely waited for Dean to enter, then followed. “Most people can sing. You’d be surprised.”

            Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah well, my showerhead might disagree with you.”

            Unexpectedly Cas let out a loud laugh. Just a single, from the gut ‘Ha!’ but still. It had more heart than any laugh Dean had heard all day. Pure.

            “Would you like to watch it?” Cas continued after a few moments.

            Dean clenched his fists in his pockets, heart stuttering suddenly. “Yeah, I mean, it’d be good for the class and um. Yeah.”

            Cas nodded. Dean licked his lips.

            “Do you own it?” Dean ventured, keeping his eyes on the ground.

            “Yes.”

            “Oh.”

            What was with this guy? Dean found himself simultaneously intrigued and pissed off. Couldn’t he get a fucking clue?

            “Did you want to watch it sometime?” Dean couldn’t be more obvious.

            “That’d be good.” Cas nodded.

            They had reached the split in the path that led to either the cafeteria or around the building to the parking loop. Cas paused and turned towards.

            “My brother, Michael, picks me up every day. He doesn’t…” He glanced behind him towards the parking lot. “He doesn’t like it when I come home late. Or have people over. But let’s say tomorrow? Do you have any classes between drama and Sociology?”

            So he did notice they were in Sociology together.

            Yeah, Dean had science but… “Nothing I can’t miss.”

            Cas quirked his head at that, a small smile on his face.

            “Okay Dean.” Sparks. “Let’s see if we can find time to watch it together.”

            Dean smiled, feeling it hit his eyes. His cheeks ached.

            “Yeah. See you then Cas.”

            Cas’s smile deepened at the use of the nickname. Without another word he turned on his heel and proceeded down the path.

            Dean stood there watching him and a while after he’d gone. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? 

Chapter Text

Dean stayed up late that night trying to get ahead in his science text book so missing a class wouldn’t put him off to much. Thankfully it was a huge class and not a lab so the process of taking attendance was theoretical at best. Dean was using financial aid so he knew he had to be careful about missing classes. He plowed through the text book, memorizing page after page, feeling pretty secure that he’d be fine. It was just one class.

            He resisted the urge to just look up the movie on the internet. He wanted to see it with Cas. He wanted to be sitting next to him and experience it.

            Well past one he was lying on his bed with his light off, having just turned in for the night, starring at nothing on his ceiling. He thought about sitting next to Cas and talking to him and making him smile and his stomach clenched. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the feeling deep inside him. He’d had these thoughts before. They weren’t alien to him. He knew what they meant. And for the most part he was okay with it.

            Another part of him screamed of smashed glass and twisted metal and young blood on his hands.

            He didn’t deserve this feeling in his gut.

            He deserved hollow emptiness.

            He deserved darkness.

 

           

            English the next morning was excruciating. He spent a little of his meager spending change on a coffee and sipped it secretly in the class, blearily tuning in and out of the teachers prattles about their reading material and their first paper. He’d already started.

            By the time drama rolled around Dean had that feeling in his gut again. That tense nervous good feeling. Like something warm and fluffy was trying to crawl up his esophagus. He kept taking deep breathes to choke it back down, resisting the urge to blatantly clutch his stomach.

            He went into class, nodding at Jo and sitting next to her, leaving an empty spot on the other side of her for Cas. Who was late. Dean kept an eye on the door, wondering if Cas and Michael had run into traffic.

            Pam came in, chatting with a few of the students who had questions and then cleared her throat. Ready to begin.

            Dean resisted the urge to shout out to wait, they had to wait for Cas. He ducked down lower in his seat the happy fluffy feeling in his gut twisting and dying abruptly.

            Pam announced they’d be doing their monologues for the class today. They weren’t required to have them memorized yet, but they would by the end of the week. This was a chance for more feedback and learning to laugh at themselves.

            Dean’s last name was Winchester so he knew he had time to wait.

            They’d gotten through the first quarter of the names when there was a small motion at the door. Dean looked so fast he thought he heard his neck crack.

            It was Cas, sneaking into the door looking abashed. Pam eyed him warningly and he nodded, looking at his feet.

            Dean felt a sudden irrational urge to pounce up and grasp him by the shoulders. To make him look at Dean so Dean could make sure he was okay. There was something off about him. Not that Dean was an expert. But he had that small feeling about him again. Like in the hall that first day Dean had seen him.

            Cas eyed the class, spotted the seat next to Dean, paused and sat down on the other side of the class. He kept his eyes on the ground until his name was called.

            “Castiel Novak.”

            He spoke loudly, his deep voice ringing out with a sharp edge of emotion. He didn’t look at the class, he didn’t have to. He looked up and off to the side. As if he just happened to be talking out loud. As if these thoughts were just bubbling up from inside him and painting themselves onto their minds. He was the only one who had their monologue completely memorized.

            There was a moment of silence when he finished as if no one knew how to respond to that. Pam cleared her throat and without comment, there was no feedback for that, called the next name.

            Dean was so distracted by Cas’s obvious preoccupation he didn’t have time to be nervous for his turn. He just hopped up on command when he heard his name and went to the front. Almost unthinking he churned through his, feeling emotions hit his face and fought them off of his heart tooth and nail. He reached the end of his piece before he realized, blinking and focusing more clearly on the class. Pam was nodding, the rest of the class looked a mix of surprised and emotional. He gulped, feeling weird about evoking emotions in people like this. It was weird. Like they all suddenly had a closer view on his heart. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

            Some people gave him comments on to slow down some parts, one girl said he should make more eye contact. He bit back a remark about how he was still reading off the damn paper. Pam didn’t say anything, just nodding slowly and jotting something down. Awkwardly he nodded thanks and went back to his seat, looking semi slyly at Cas. Cas was looking down at his feet, biting his bottom lip, his hands twisted together so tightly they almost seemed to tremble. His entire body was rigid. Not an inch of movement. Dean watched him until Pam called the end of class, thanked them and instructed them to have their monologues memorized by next class.

            Dean practically sprang from his chair and walked up to Cas, his heart pounding. What was wrong? Had he done something? Was Cas okay? Was he angry? Hurt?

            “Hey.” Was all he could spit out.

            Cas didn’t respond, gathering his bag and standing slowly in front of Dean. He pulled his trench-coat tighter around him, keeping his eyes on the ground.

            “Hey, Cas?” Dean tried again. This time Cas blinked up, just for a moment.

            “Hello Dean.”

            Cas started towards the door, not saying anything else. Dean stood there for a moment, dazed by the guys brush off before charging forward.

            “Cas, what the hell…?” He followed Cas outside where the rest of the class had mostly dispersed, walking off down various pathways. They stood off to the side of the door, Cas looking into the woods blankly. Dean had grabbed his jacket sleeve and Castiel’s hand hung limply against the fabric, not resisting Dean’s pull at all.

            Dean let go.

            “My brother wouldn’t let me borrow the movie.”

            He turned and went down the pathway, not looking at Dean again.

 

           

            Dean went to science hungry, having spent his entire lunch period standing in front of the soda machine trying to figure out how buttons worked. He was so angry he was seeing red. And so confused he felt like he wanted to pull his hair out. And most infuriatingly he was so hurt he felt like he could vomit. He shouldn’t be hurt. It wasn’t anything. Just a fucking movie. Just a fucking stupid ass musical for some stupid ass class he shouldn’t even be in.

            He scribbled down notes, pissed he’d stayed up so late for nothing, pissed that he already knew everything the teacher was saying and pissed that he let some fucking boy in an idiotic trench-coat get under his skin.

            The thing that made him the angriest was a huge chunk him needed to see him in Sociology.

 

 

            Dean shoved a few quarters into a vending machine, ripping open the bag of chips and scarfing them down. He’d forgotten to eat during his lunch time and he was starving. He made his way to the sociology class, dragging his feet.

            He made it to class with under a minute to spare, hunching his shoulders and looking down at the floor as he scooted past people to his seat. Cas was already seated. This time he wasn’t staring out the window but had all his books out, his pen waiting expectantly in his hand, his gaze fixed on the front of the class. The teacher wasn’t even up there.

            Dean walked past him without comment, Cas didn’t look up. Dean sat down and pulled out a notebook, trying not to stare at the tense lines in Cas’s neck or the way his shoulders were almost quivering with intensity.

            The class started and the teacher bounded up to the front. Dean glanced down at his syllabus realizing he had no idea what the guys name was. Professor Garth. Weird name.

            Garth pulled out a few stacks of paper, starting around the class to hand them out. He had that annoying bounce in his step again and Dean couldn’t decide if he was already feeling pissy or if it really bugged him that much.   

            “Okay class!” Garth tapped his papers in a nice stack, setting them off to the side and sitting on the edge of his desk, looking out at all of them. Dean had a feeling they were about to get a “let’s be buddies” talk. “I’m so excited to have you all here. For the first section of this course we’re going to be covering interpersonal and familial connections and communication methods. Meaning, ways that we connect with people around us and with our family and how that has been effected by society and social structures.”

            Dean blinked, taken aback by how complicated it sounded. He’d written this class off as a fruity bullshit thing. He looked down at his thick textbook, a heavy feeling in his gut.

            Garth went on to explain about the history of communicating and how we’ve progressed and, more importantly, he said, how we’ve regressed.

            Dean’s eyes wandered to Castiel who was fervently scribbling away. Dean wanted to lean closer and look and see what exactly he was writing. This was introductory stuff, he couldn’t possibly be taking notes?

            Garth spent most of the class lecturing, but he spoke with this open animation that kept everyone’s attention. He paced the front of the class, talking with his hands, his eyes glowing. Dean kept his eyes on the back of Cas’s neck for most of the class, stopping to jot down important things here and there.

            There was a ten minute break this time, since last class he’d let them out early. Dean stood up, stretching his shoulders and popping his back.

            Castiel didn’t move.

            He sat rigid, his hand practically shaking, staring right at where Garth had been standing a moment before he stopped class.

            Should he talk to him? What was there to say? Were they friends? Dean felt so lost in his standing of their relationship. He barely knew the kid. Why the fuck was he so invested.

            Before he could talk himself out of it he put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. Cas reacted sharply, flinching away and into his desk, hitting his knees on the underside and almost falling out his chair. Dean flinched back, taken aback by the extreme reaction.

            “Whoa, dude, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

            Castiel glanced at him and then back at the front of the class.

            “A bit jumpy?” Dean pulled up a chair from the neighboring row, sitting next to Cas.

            Cas glanced at him again, still not saying anything.

            “Hey man, are you okay?”

            “I’m fine Dean.”

            “I’m not mad about the movie, you know.” Well, not in a way that makes logical sense.

            Cas looked down at his desk and then again at Dean. “You’re not?”

            Dean cracked a grin, patting Cas’s arm again. He didn’t flinch this time. “Nah man, shit happens. Don’t stress.”

            Cas nodded looking back at his desk. The tension in his shoulders seemed to visibly melt and he slumped a little back into his comfortable slouch he normally had.

            “I’m glad. I had thought… Michael always said that…” Cas shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

            “We can still watch the movie you know.” Dean pushed gently, “I can download it.”

            Cas nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes that’d be… nice. I’ll… see if I can.” He looked out the window, a blank look ebbing into his eyes. “If… I can…”

            He was gone. Dean could see the awareness of his surroundings practically fall away from Castiel’s body. He was zoned out, staring out the window like the first class they’d had here.

            Dean went back to his seat, knowing he’d meant to take a piss and resigning himself to holding it. He watched the back of Castiel’s head some more, wondering what caused him to draw so inward. To close the shutters so tightly.

            What caused someone to be so totally alone?

 

 

            Again Dean followed Cas down the hall after class, although this time he was less creepy about it. He walked just next to Cas.

            “When do you wanna meet up?”

            Cas slowed in his stride, glancing at Dean and then hurrying forward again.

            “I’m sorry Dean I can’t talk now my brother is waiting.”

            “Okay…”

            “Here.”

            Cas stopped abruptly, Dean nearly faced planted into his back. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled a pen out his pocket. Then, like something out of a bad rom-com he scrawled a number on Dean’s palm.

            “Your handwriting is atrocious.”

            Cas laughed, again the single loud heartfelt laugh from yesterday. Dean grinned all the way to his eyes in return.

            “Call me. After eight. Before ten. Ask for me. Don’t talk to anyone else. Okay?”

            What was this? Fort Knox? “Okay Cas. I’ll call.”

            “I must go now.”

            “See you tomorr- oh.” Cas had taken off, practically running down the hall. “You really suck at goodbyes.” Dean rolled his eyes, squinting down at the number on his hand. He closed his fist, shoving his hand in his pocket and allowing himself a small smile.

            Was this so bad? Would he allow himself this? Could he?

            He didn’t know who the bad guy was anymore.

 

 

 

            “Hi, uh, can I speak with Cas? I mean, um, Castiel?” Dean dug a knuckle against his forehead, horrified at how horribly this was already going.

            “May I ask who’s calling?”

            Don’t talk to anyone. “He knows I’m calling.”

            There was an awkward pause as the man on the line tangibly deliberated.

            “Very well. One moment sir.”

            Sir? Did they have a fucking butler?

            There was a moment of slow beeping as Dean was put on hold. What kind of household had a hold line?

            “Dean?” Cas’s almost breathless voice was there and it went straight to Dean’s crotch. Dean bit his lip, sitting down heavily on his bed and leaning forward. “Dean?” Cas repeated, his voice coming back down to its usual deep gruffness.

            “Hey, yeah it’s me Cas.” Dean choked out, the blush receding from his face and some of his composer returning. He cleared his throat. “What’s up?”

            Cas paused. “This is where I say ‘not much’ correct?”

            Dean laughed, from his gut, echoing into the phone. He could almost feel Cas’s reciprocated smile. “Yeah. Exactly.”

            “Well. Not much Dean. And you?”

            “Not much man.”

            “Okay then. Thank you for calling.”

            Dean laid down on his bed, trying to get himself to relax. “You’re welcome?”

            He could picture Cas sitting on some stool in the corner of a kitchen or standing in a hall with the phone pressed tightly to his cheek. Or in his room, perched on the side of his bed. Dean closed his eyes holding the image of a tense Castiel sitting on the edge of his giant bed, that intensity in his eyes while he talked to Dean.

            “I do want to see the movie with you. I apologize for my behavior earlier today. I can’t talk for long… But I can try to… maybe stay after our drama class tomorrow?”

            There was a tone that crept into his voice here that made Dean sit up. Icicles. Fear.

            “Don’t… Don’t get yourself in trouble Cas.” What was wrong with that household that Cas was too scared to ask to stay late at college? Who still had to ask permission for a few hours of free time at their age? Dean’s parents hadn’t even called him. So maybe he didn’t really have room to judge, but still.

            “I’ll be fine. Michael can be… difficult.” Cas spoke the last word so quietly Dean wasn’t even sure he said it. “Anyways. I have to go, I’m not supposed to be on the phone this long. Thank you for calling Dean. Can I call you on this number if I need to?”

            If I need to. God Dean wanted to promise anything and everything to him.

            “Yeah, of course. It’s my cellphone.”   

            “Okay, I’ll make note of the number. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow then Dean.”

            “See you-”

Click.

Dean shook his head, flipping his phone closed. What a social dork.

He held the phone to his chest feeling like a twelve year old school girl. His chest was ridiculously tight for how short a time they’d known each other. He shouldn’t be feeling this invested. He shouldn’t be feeling anything.

He laid back down, tossing his phone over the side of his bed, crossing his hands behind his head. Here in the dark with his emotions making his heart pound and the roaring in his ears drowning out reality everything felt too close. His eyes squeezed shut he ignored the sounds that were creeping up on him like they did in the dark. The impossible scream of metal. A monster. A demon. Just a car. Opening its ugly mouth and swallowing them whole. The biggest ugliest silence in the world afterwards. Broken only by Dean’s quick, fucking alive, breaths.

            Dean sat up suddenly, gasping out air, trying to bring himself down to where he was right now. He’d been caught in that ugly place between dream and waking. When everything just felt too fucking real.

            He rubbed his face getting up to brush his teeth and wash his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking at his face in the unforgiving light of the bathroom. He needed to sleep more.

            Sleeping knowing Sammy never would again.