[FIC] Stop All the Clocks for writingpathways (2010, part 2)
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Stop All the Clocks (part 2 of 2)
Author: ”wolfrider89”
Recipient: ”writingpathways”
Rating: PG13
Warnings: offscreen minor character death, teacher/student kiss, poetry, slight partnerbetrayal by main character(kissing), offscreen partner betrayal, angst , schmoop, language,
Spoilers: None
Summary: The plan was fool proof: take Poetry Studies, meet chicks, the end. Dean was quite confident about it until Professor Castiel Novak walked into the lecture hall and opened his mouth. Who knew one course could change so much?
Part 1
“Winchester, do I sense man trouble on your end?” Pam said after she picked up on the first ring.
“Dammit, Pam, stop doing that, it freaks me out,” Dean said without heat. It was a widely accepted fact that Pam was freaky, even if Dean suspected she wasn’t so much psychic as very good at reading moods and guessing.
“What is it, Dean? Should I kick his ass?” Pam was also very protective. Dean could respect that; it wasn’t like he didn’t act that way around Sammy all the time.
“Do you have time to meet?” he asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he left the classroom and made sure it locked behind him.
“Sure thing. Where?” Pam said without a moment’s hesitation. Dean kind of wondered what he’d done to deserve such an awesome friend.
“The HHH Cafe in fifteen minutes? I’m on my way right now.”
“See you there!” Pam said before she hung up. Dean smiled at his cell phone. Pam had learned her phone manners from TV, so she never ever said goodbye, and more often than not, she wouldn’t say “hello” either, but Dean had learned to live with it.
Pam was already there when he arrived, flirting shamelessly with the waitress as she ordered, and Dean snuck up behind her to pull lightly at her earring.
“Leave Jo alone and get me an espresso instead,” he said by way of greeting.
Jo smiled gratefully at him and turned away to make him his coffee.
“Screw you, Winchester,” Pam said. “I was just talking.”
“Uhhuh. Sure.”
“You two can have a seat if you want, Mom said to give you the coffee on the house after last time,” Jo said, shooting Dean a smile over he shoulder.
“We only drank four coffees each,” Pam protested with a grin.
“Yeah, and Dean ate five pieces of pie, you had three muffins, and you both helped with the closing. Hence, free coffee,” Jo shot back without even looking at them.
“Don’t complain about the free coffee, Pam,” Dean said. He pulled her over to one of the corner tables they sat at whenever they had “important shit” to discuss. Sometimes, it felt like Dean had known Pam forever.
They waited until Jo had brought them their coffee, Pam laying off the flirting for once, only thanking Jo with a normal smile, before she fixed Dean with her stare of doom and raised an eyebrow. It was really cool that Pam could raise just one eyebrow like that, but Dean couldn’t appreciate it right now.
“I called him Cas,” he blurted out, feeling his cheeks go red once again. Damn, his fair skin was such a disadvantage sometimes.
“Wait. We’re still talking about Professor Novak, right? And you called him Cas?” Pam said, a note of disbelief in her voice.
“Yeah,” he admitted, not meeting Pam’s eyes. “It just kind of...slipped out.”
Pam leaned back in her chair.
“Wow. OK. Well, what did he say?”
“Nothing! He just brushed me off and ran away,” Dean said, gripping his tiny glass of espresso like that would help.
“Huh. OK. Dean, you’re really serious about this? I mean, you’re really in love with this guy, right? It’s not just some whim or experiment?” Pam asked, her serious face staving off any witty retort Dean might have had for that. Instead, he just nodded. “Then I think you need to know where he stands. It’s time to take a risk.”
Dean swallowed. Whenever Pam got that gleam in her eye, something crazy was about to happen.
“And what poem have you chosen to read for us, Mr. Winchester?” Cas asked, and Dean swallowed. This was it, now or never. He couldn’t believe he’d let Pam talk him into this.
“The Forest, by Ben Jonson, Sir,” he said, watching Cas’s eyes widen ever so slightly before he nodded.
“Very well. Please proceed,” he said, gesturing for Dean to take his place in front of the desk.
Dean brushed past him as the professor went to sit in the back, the electricity he could feel every time he was in the same room as the guy sparking between them. Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat that hadn’t really gone away since Cas had left him standing at his desk two days ago.
He hadn’t seen Cas since, and it had been driving him mad. Even Victor had noticed something was wrong, and that was saying something. Hell, Sam had threatened Dean to come to campus if he didn’t tell him what was wrong.
He resisted the urge to rub at his arm where it had brushed against Cas’s suit and turned to the class. They were all looking at him attentively, and he smiled a nervous smile at Pam when she winked at him. She might be crazy, but if this worked, he’d owe her for the rest of his life.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Winchester,” Cas said as he sat down across from Dean. Dean took a deep breath, and started to read.
“Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover
Can your favors keep, and cover,” Dean said, voice low, finding the rhythm of the words with practiced ease. His eyes locked onto blue ones across the room, trying to convey what he wanted to say without being so obvious that everyone would notice, trying not to let his fear show in his voice.
“When the common courting jay
All your bounties will betray.
Kiss again : no creature comes.
Kiss, and score up wealthy sums
On my lips, thus hardly sundred,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the other.”
Dean fought down the nervous flutter of what the fuck am I doing? that had taken up residence in his gut. He was going to finish this, dammit, and then he could quit the course and move to Canada or something. He kept looking at Cas, saw how he frowned, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Dean felt like throwing up, but he continued.
“Add a thousand, and so more :
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,
Or the drops in silver Thames,
Or the stars that gild his streams,
In the silent Summernights,
When youths ply their stolen delights ;
That the curious may not know
How to tell 'em as they flow,
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.”
The room was silent for a few seconds, everyone absorbing the words; Pam shot Cas a discreet look to gauge his reaction. Dean would have to ask her about that later, because he couldn't look at the guy a second longer. It felt like he'd laid his heart out on the floor, just waiting for Cas to stomp on it. This had been so stupid. So fucking stupid.
Without warning, he turned and left the room, gripping his notebook in his hands like his life depended on it. He hoped Pam would grab the rest of his stuff when the class was over, because there was no way he was going back in there right now. What the fuck had he been thinking, falling for a professor who was probably married with two point three kids and a dog? He hardly knew anything about the guy except that he had an amazing voice, and loved poetry, and used to be a plumber, and was generally awesome. How could he be so stupid?
Dean was unused to being the drama queen who left in the middle of class just because of some emotional shit-that was Sam's job-so he had no idea where to go while he waited for them to finish. He ended up in the library, sitting in a secluded corner and staring at his open notebook, trying to write. That was where Pam found him half an hour later, still staring at the same blank page.
“You OK?” she asked, sitting down in the chair next to him, her chains jangling against the wood.
“Peachy,” he said. “I feel like a fucking idiot. I just hope he didn't understand what I was trying to say.” Yeah, right, because he's stupid.
“Dude, he definitively got your message,” Pam said. “You should have seen his face when you ran out. I've never seen anyone look so turned on and so torn up about it at the same time.”
Dean's head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
“Pam, don't fuck with me right now.”
“Not fucking! I swear! He looked like he got your message and totally liked what it said. He’s probably just concerned about his job at this point.”
Dean swallowed down the hope threatening to take over him and took a deep breath.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“As sure as someone who hasn't studied his every expression like you have can be. I'm telling you, Dean, you should go see him. Now.”
“Dude, who was that?” Sam asked as soon as they got five minutes alone, grabbing Dean by the elbow and towing him away from wellwishing friends and relatives.
The ride over to Jess's parents' place had been weird, to say the least. It had been a long time since Sam and Dean had had to squeeze into the backseat of the Impala, and Dean hadn't been able to keep in a snicker when he saw Sam awkwardly fold his legs to try and fit. John had asked Sam about something that Dean hadn't caught, what with Novak asking him out for coffee and all, and Dean had spent the whole ride grinning like an idiot and trying to hide it from his parents while his family chatted happily around him.
Sam’s grip on Dean’s elbow was almost painfully hard, and Dean contemplated playing dumb, but the truth was that he was dying to talk about it. Besides Pam, Sam was the only one who knew the whole story. Well, except for Novak's name, because Dean hadn't told his brother that part in some weird attempt to protect the professor.
“That was Professor Castiel Novak, I had him for Poetry Studies six years ago,” he said instead, waiting for Sam to connect the dots.
It took no time at all, what with Sam being way too smart for his own good and everything.
“That's... That's the guy,” he said, his voice low, concerned, his hand still gripping Dean’s elbow.
“Yeah, Sam, that's the guy,” Dean said, staring down at the beer bottle Jess had pressed into his hand as soon as they arrived. Gotta love a girl who handed out Corona at three in the afternoon.
Sam had found a good one in her.
“You OK?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, Sam, I’m great, actually,” Dean said, grinning. “He asked me out.”
“He asked you out?” Sam exclaimed, his voice a little to loud for Dean’s liking.
“Yeah, Sam, he did. Keep it down, would you?” Dean hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard. No one paid them any attention; there was food to be had, after all.
“Sorry,” Sam said, trying to shrink in on himself like that would somehow make him quieter. “But, Dean, I thought you said...”
“I know what I said, Sam.” Dean interrupted. “That was six years ago. I really like him, OK?”
Sam’s worried frown softened, and he let go of Dean’s elbow.
“Yeah, OK, Dean. I guess I should be saying congratulations or something, then?” he said with a small smile.
“Boyfriend!”
Dean was saved from coming up with something to say to that by Jess throwing herself into Sam’s arms, almost knocking the beer bottle out of his hand in the process. Sam laughed and hugged her back.
“What are you boys standing over here whispering about? There’s a party going on, you know,” Jess said when she had untangled herself from Sam to smile at Dean.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Dean said dryly, taking a swallow of his beer.
“Well, c’mon, I want you to meet everyone!” Jess said as she grabbed Sam’s hand.
Dean let himself be herded away to meet Jess’s second cousins on her father’s side and tried to keep his mind on the party. It was even harder than it usually was.
Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest like it was trying to escape, beating an almost painful rhythm against his ribs. He swept his sweaty hands over his thighs, the denim of his jeans rough against his palms. He was pretty sure he was going to throw up even as he raised one hand and knocked on the door to Cas’s office. His knuckles made a hollow sound when they connected with the door, like the room beyond was completely empty.
He should turn around and walk away right now. Walk away, and try to forget what an idiot he’d been to fall for a pair of pretty eyes and a stupidly hot voice. He could do it. He could turn around right now, before the professor opened his door, and-
The door opened.
“Dean,” Cas said, and Dean couldn’t look away. Cas looked... Well, he looked wrecked. His hair was wilder than Dean had ever seen it before, his eyes were red, and the furrow between his eyes was so deep Dean was sure it would get stuck that way. His tie was untied, slung around his neck, and he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The hand not holding the door open was balled into a fist at his side.
“Are you OK?” Dean asked, his hand stretching out to touch without his permission, freezing in midair when Cas flinched back from it.
“No, Dean, I’m... Why don’t you come in?” Cas said, wiping a hand over his eyes like he was exhausted.
Dean did as he was asked, choosing to keep standing as Cas closed the door behind him and went to lean against a shelf.
“Listen, Dean, I...” Cas started, staring down at the floor, and Dean got the feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say next. “It’s not that I don’t feel the same way, because as much as I shouldn’t, there’s just something there whenever you’re around, you know?” he went on, looking up at Dean like he was begging for understanding. “But I-”
Dean was pretty sure Cas was about to say “can’t,” so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed him. He grabbed the front of his white shirt with one hand, the side of his neck with the other, and pressed their mouths together as desperation flooded through him. If Cas was about to say “no,” if he was about to shoot down Dean’s hopes, then Dean wanted just one kiss. Just one.
Was that too much to ask for?
There was a second when Dean was sure he’d screwed it all up even more, when Cas’s lips were frozen and hard against his own and Cas’s body was stiff and uninviting under his hands. Then he felt him raise his arms to grip at Dean’s hips as he opened his mouth to kiss him back. Dean’s gut clenched as Cas pulled him in even tighter, one hand slipping up his back under his tshirt as his tongue met Dean’s.
It was a rough kiss, desperate and hard even as Dean let go of Cas’s shirt and slid his hand up to tease at the open shirt at his neck. It was as hot as Dean had dreamed it would be, and he let out a small moan as Cas’s tongue swirled around his own.
Cas stiffened again, the hands that had pulled him in a moment ago now pushing him away, his head pulling back to break the kiss even as Dean tried to figure out what had happened. He blinked his eyes open, wondering when he’d closed them, and tried to focus on Cas’s face.
The pain was plain to see on his face, his eyes once again not meeting Dean’s.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice even lower than what Dean was used to. “I can’t do this.”
“Cas, if this is about you being my teacher, then-” Dean began, but he was interrupted by Cas’s bitter laugh.
“I wish it was that simple, Dean. It’s not. I’m sorry, I should have told you a long time ago, when I first realized where this was headed, but I...I couldn’t stand the thought of making you stop.”
Dean hands were still touching Cas’s skin, and he forced himself to take a step back, to focus on the professor’s face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m... Dean, I have a boyfriend.”
Of all the things Dean had thought the professor might say, that one hadn’t even crossed his mind.
He felt sick. Dirty. He didn’t do this, didn’t try and steal other people’s loved ones from them. He took another step back, wiping his hands on his shirt like it could somehow wipe away what he’d done, what he’d wanted to do. What part of him was still telling him to do.
“No,” he said, like saying the word could make it true. God, this wasn’t the sort of guy he’d thought Cas was. “How could you kiss me back when...when you have someone... You really are a bastard, you know that?” Dean said, anger creeping into his voice.
Cas dragged his hand over his face again, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes.
“He moved out,” he whispered. “Six months ago. He said he wanted a break, said he needed some space.”
Dean didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he wanted to say anything, so he just let him continue.
“And I... God, I was so hurt. I thought it had been going great, you know, I loved him, and he wanted to move out. I had no idea what was wrong.”
Dean’s brain was slowly catching up to the conversation, fighting its way through the disgust to actually listen to what Cas had to say.
“And then you came along. And for a while, I was kind of glad he’d moved, because I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about...everything. But that’s just fucked up, Dean, I know that. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Dean nodded.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he said, and turned around to leave.
“Dean, please-” Cas began behind him, but he was interrupted by his phone ringing. Without knowing why, Dean turned around again as Cas answered it. Maybe he wasn’t ready to give it all up just yet, or maybe he wanted to hit the bastard in the face. He wasn’t really sure right then.
“Castiel Novak,” Cas said into to the phone, his frown deepening even further at whatever the person on the other line was saying. “Yes, I know him. I’m his emergency contact number.” Dean froze when he saw the look of horror on Cas’s face.
The world spun out of control after that.
The hospital looked like hospitals did on TV. Dean had been fortunate enough to have never had to visit one in real life before, but the nurses wore the same kinds of uniforms that TV nurses did, and the walls were the same stark white that they were on TV, and everyone seemed just as rushed.
Cas didn’t look like someone on TV, though. He looked like Dean’s college professor, only without that spark in his eyes. He looked completely shut down, and it scared Dean.
He’d driven Cas here because he sure as hell wasn’t fit to drive himself. Dean had decided to push back everything that was between them in order to keep the guy alive, which was why he was standing in the middle of an emergency room in central Los Angeles and trying to catch the nurse’s attention. Cas sure as hell wasn’t going to do it; he was just standing there, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his face completely blank, like he couldn’t deal.
Dean wasn’t sure of the details; he’d only taken the phone when Cas had let his hand fall from his ear and stared at Dean in shock, but he knew that someone named Alec Wills was at this hospital, and that there had been an accident. He suspected he knew who the guy was, but he didn’t want to think about it too hard. It was still too raw.
He finally caught the nurse’s attention and pulled Cas forward by the elbow.
“Excuse me,” he said. “They said we should come right away, the guy’s name is Alec Wills?”
“You relatives?” the nurse asked as he typed something into his computer.
“Uh,” Dean began, but Cas spoke for the first time since he had gotten the phone call.
“He’s my boyfriend,” he said, his voice so low and soft it was almost inaudible. “I’m listed as his emergency contact.”
“Castiel Novak?” the nurse asked, and Cas nodded. “Right, I’ll let you come right on through.” He looked at Dean. “And who are you?”
“No one,” Dean mumbled as Cas’s eyes finally focused on him. “I’m no one.”
Dean had no idea what to wear. This date had not been the plan; the plan had been to come down to Stanford for a few days, hang with Sam, and go home to San Francisco again. He had no “getting a coffee with Castiel Novak” clothes with him. He was being a cliché, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but to freak about his wardrobe a little.
It was ridiculous, really, and Dean groaned when he saw Sam standing in the doorway, grinning at him in a really worrying way.
“Need any help picking out your dress for the prom, Dean?” Sam said, looking like he’d just gotten ammunition for a lifetime of teasing. Which he kind of had, actually.
“Shut up, bitch,” Dean shot back, deciding that he’d just have to go with the Motörhead tshirt he was currently wearing. No way he was changing again, not when Sam was still standing there grinning at him. The jeans, though? He wasn’t so sure showing up in jeans with a ripped knee was a good idea.
“Dean, you do know it’s like five to four, right?” Sam said just as Dean had decided to throw his pride out the window and change pants.
“No fucking way,” Dean exclaimed; he looked at the clock on the wall behind him and almost had a heart attack. “Fuck, shit, motherfucker,” he swore, pulling his boots on faster than he ever had before.
“You get so eloquent when you’re stressed,” Sam said conversationally as he handed Dean his wallet.
“Sam, shut the fuck up and find my phone,” Dean growled, almost ripping the bed sheets in his haste to find the damn thing.
“Here,” Sam said, giving it to him. “Now go. It’s only a ten minute walk, you’ll be fine.”
Dean shot one last look in the mirror, pushed his phone into his jeans pocket, and squared his shoulders.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered. Just as he left the room, he heard Sam say his name. He turned around, and Sam gave him a genuine smile.
“Good luck,” he said. Dean nodded. He felt like he was going to need it.
Sam picked Dean up from the hospital, because there was no way Dean was going to deal with anyone else right then. No fucking way. Sam had borrowed their dad’s Impala, and Dean relaxed when he heard the familiar rumble, letting it carry him forward to the curb where he stood waiting as Sam pulled up.
It was weird to see Sam behind the wheel of that car. He’d only just gotten his license, and Dean had never seen him drive the Impala before. Sam must have given their dad a pretty good shot with the puppy eyes to even get to borrow it that night. Dean knew he hadn’t told him why he needed it, though, because if he could trust anyone, he could trust Sam to keep a secret.
“Dean, you OK?” Sam asked as soon as Dean slid into the passenger seat.
“Not really,” he admitted, motioning for Sam to drive.
“Tell me everything,” Sam commanded, and Dean did.
“My name is Anna Milton, and I’ll be your Poetry professor for the few weeks left of this
semester, and possibly next year too. Professor Novak has had to take some time off for personal reasons,” the redhead at the desk said, and Dean wished his heart didn’t do that painful constricting thing at just the mention of the guy’s name. He wasn’t sure that he even liked the guy right now, but he couldn’t help missing him.
He didn’t listen to a word the woman had to say for the whole lecture, instead remembering all the times he and Cas had sat at that desk, the way Cas would smile when Dean said something smart or funny, the way he would listen to the songs Dean liked with a little furrow between his brows like he was concentrating very hard. It was his smile Dean kept coming back to, though, over and over again, and he couldn’t help but think that a guy who smiled at him like that couldn’t be all bad. Right?
Well, shit. Dean would have to go and see him, wouldn’t he? Sam had been right when he said as much, and that just sucked out loud. Sam should never be right, it made him smug and insufferable, and no matter what Dean did, he’d have that little smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. Someday, Dean would have to get over Sam being so damn smart, but it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. He had his big brother pride, after all.
“Dean, you OK?” Pam asked, poking him in the ear with her pen. She’d been unusually quiet since he had told her what had happened that night, and Dean was glad to see she’d gotten some of her old self back today. There was more than enough emo crap going on without adding her guilt to the mix.
“I need to find Cas,” he told her, and she nodded like she’d known he’d say that.
“OK. So this is the part where I tell you I kind of looked up his address and you tell me you love me, right?” Pam said, a small, teasing smile on her lips.
“No, this is the part where you tell me the address and I kiss you,” Dean shot back, unable to believe he had such an awesome friend.
“Well, who can say no to that?” Pam smirked and handed him a note. “You let me know how it goes, OK?”
Cas lived in one of those apartments where someone always left the gate unlocked and the buzzer was constantly broken. Dean wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It seemed so...normal. Cas was anything but normal in Dean’s eyes.
And he really wished he could stop thinking that. He was just here to talk to the guy, ask him if there was any chance of salvaging something from the clusterfuck that was their notquite-friendship, and thinking about how special he thought he was just didn’t fit into that plan. The plan was to maybe have a friend at the end of this shitfest. Nothing more.
Dean could live with friend, because as much as he wanted to hate Cas for leading him on, or for cheating on his boyfriend, the fact was that Dean didn’t really feel led on. And he wasn’t sure he’d call someone who moved out of Cas’s apartment to get away from him a “boyfriend.” Not to mention the small fact that Cas had actually been about to tell him about Alec when Dean kissed him. Really, this was mostly Dean’s mess.
Dean opened the front door to the apartment complex, looking around for a sign or mailboxes so he could be sure he was in the right building. His snooping was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind Dean’s back. Dean startled and turned around, trying his damnedest not to look surprised or guilty as he laid eyes on the oldest living thing he’d ever seen.
“Can I help you, boy?” the old, old, old person asked, and Dean tried to figure out if it was male or female under all those layers of knitted sweaters. He wasn’t successful, but it wasn’t like it mattered much.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m looking for Castiel Novak? He lives in this building.”
“Novak’s gone,” the old person said dismissively, continuing its path towards the front door with small, shuffling steps, leaning heavily on a crutch. “Moved out two days ago, said he wasn’t coming back.”
“You sure?” Dean demanded, feeling his heart sink.
“Boy, I might be old, but I’m not senile. Novak lived right next door to me. He’s moved, and I have no idea where. It came right out of the blue, too, so don’t ask me why he did it.”
“No, I... Thank you,” Dean muttered, not even sure what he was saying anymore, watching as the man/woman pushed the door open and made their way out onto the street outside. It took Dean a few minutes, but he figured out that the only way to find out which floor Cas live on was to check the buzzer. He made his way upstairs and stared at the door.
It didn’t have a name on it, but he knocked anyway. He knocked, and knocked, and knocked.
Nothing happened. There was no one in there. He should go home and study and talk to Victor, maybe listen to some Led Zeppelin. He should. But he didn’t. He went to a bus stop, caught a bus to his parents’ place, and made his way through the empty house to his old room. He collapsed in his bed, thankful that not a single significant thought had passed through his head since he left Cas’s building.
His ceiling was covered in those glowinthedark stars that no selfrespecting teenage boy would ever admit to still having up, and he stared at them now, trying to figure out why it felt like his heart was about to implode. Finally, unable to just lie there anymore, he pulled out his notebook and wrote.
The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain, there is healing
In your name I find meaning
He wasn’t sure where the words came from; they didn’t exactly describe how he was feeling, but they felt right, somehow. They felt like he meant them, and more than anything, he wished he could show them to Professor Castiel Novak, his teacher, because this was it. This was what he wanted to do with his life, and he had no idea why this moment, of every moment of his life, was the one where he figured that out. All he knew was that as much as his heart might implode, some small part of his brain had figured out what he wanted to do with his future.
Dean ate dinner with his family, dodged questions about why exactly he was there on a school night, went to bed in his teendecorated room, and tried to figure out just how he was going to live with this ache in his chest.
Dean was only seven minutes late, but he was sweaty and disgusting by the time he got there, cursing under his breath and probably looking like hell. This had not been the impression he wanted to make, but it wasn’t like he could go back now.
Novak was sitting in one of the armchairs inside the coffee shop-apparently he had chosen AC over tanning, for which Dean was eternally grateful-with his nose buried in a book. Dean half expected it to be some sort of poetry book, but as he got closer, he could see it was, in fact, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Which was just so weird that he couldn’t contain his snort of laughter.
Novak looked up from his book at the sound and smiled when he saw Dean.
“Mr. Winchester,” he said, his smile spilling over into his voice and making him sound happy.
Dean filed the sound away to replace the one he had of Novak’s dead voice the last time he’d heard him. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Sorry,” Dean said, scratching his neck. “I would blame Sam, but I don’t think I can do that in good conscience. So I’m just gonna have to go with a traffic jam or the cat ate my homework or something.”
Novak laughed at that, and Dean’s heart did a little flip thing at the sound. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was a date-Novak could still be together with that Alec guy, for all Dean knew-but he knew he wanted it to be. He had wanted Novak since he was 20 years old, and seeing him again hadn’t changed that in the least.
Dean got his coffee-Novak having already ordered his while he waited-and sat down on the opposite side of the little round table Novak was sitting by.
“So do you like Stanford, Professor?” Dean asked, because he sucked at small talk, especially when there were so many damn things he really wanted to ask the guy. Like why the hell he had moved, and why he hadn’t told Dean, and... Yeah. There were a few things Dean wanted to know.
“I do, yes,” Novak said. He hesitated for a second before he went on. “Do you think... Dean, could we skip the formalities?”
Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding and smiled at him.
“Yeah, Cas, let’s do that.”
“Thank you,” Cas said, returning Dean’s smile. “So where do you live now? I...I know you moved from your old apartment and that you quit UCLA.” Cas’s ears turned red like they had that time, an eternity ago, when he’d given Dean the Metallica book. The book that still stood on Dean’s bookshelf.
“Wait. How do you know that?” Dean asked.
Cas looked down at his coffee cup.
“I came back, and I wanted to find you, but you were gone.” There was almost something accusatory about how he said it, and Dean bristled.
“Hey. You’re the one who left in the first place. What the fuck was up with that, anyway? The least you could have done was say goodbye.” Dean had thought he was over it. Apparently not.
“Alec died,” Cas said, and Dean felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
“What?”
“Alec. His injuries were too severe, he died that same night. And Dean...all I could think was that I had been kissing you while it happened.”
Dean felt nauseous, so he put his coffee down on the table.
“So I moved,” Cas went on. “I put all my stuff in storage and went to Wisconsin to live with my parents for a while. I wanted to say goodbye, I really did, but it felt like I wanted it too much. Like I shouldn’t be thinking about you at all when Alec had just died. I mean, wasn’t it enough that I almost cheated on him, should I really care about saying goodbye to the guy I kissed on top of that?”
Cas looked guilty for a second, and then he laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. Dean had no idea how their potential date had come to this, but it was probably inevitable. Their history kind of made it so.
“You know what I found out, though? You know what that bastard was doing when he ran into that SUV? He was getting a fucking blow job from a fucking hooker.”
There was so much Dean could say to that, so many ways to respond, but none of them were coming to mind.
“Dude, that sucks!” he blurted out. He’d always thought the expression “wanting to be swallowed up by the earth” was kind of lame, but now he got it. Could it be more of an understatement? Cas laughed, though.
“Yeah, it kind of did,” he said, looking up at Dean again. “So I went back to LA to find you, maybe get my job back, but you were gone. Where did you go? You didn’t drop out, did you?” he asked, and Dean could almost laugh at the worry in his voice. Almost.
“Nah, I moved to San Francisco, finished my last year at SFAI. Don’t ask me how I managed that, because to this day I have no idea.”
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas said, sounding so regretful that Dean just wanted to hug him.
“Dude, I forgave you a long time ago. I just hoped you could do the same,” Dean said honestly.
“You always did kind of surprise me,” Cas murmured. “It was one of the things I liked most about you.”
“Cas,” Dean said. “Do you forgive me? For not listening, for kissing you?”
“Of course. Of course I forgive you,” Cas said, sounding surprised that Dean even had to ask.
“Great. Now that that’s out of the way, have you heard the new Metallica album?”
Cas snorted.
“I see your topic changing skills haven’t improved over the years.”
“Oh, shut up, I rule.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t. I just observed that certain things never change,” Cas said, his eyes sparkling.
“Well, you certainly never stop surprising me with your book choices,” Dean shot back, easily falling into banter that he wasn’t sure had even been there the last time. He certainly couldn’t remember feeling this at ease. “I mean, Shakespeare is one thing, but Harry Potter? Really?”
“I’ll have you know they are a very good read,” Cas said haughtily. “And I’m a poetry professor, so my word counts for something.”
“Of course it does,” Dean said, mockserious. “It just means that even poetry professors have bad taste.”
“Hey! Have you even read them?”
When Dean admitted he hadn’t, Cas laughed triumphantly and went on to explain just why Dean should read them as soon as possible. Hell, by the end of the lecture, Dean was pretty sure he had to read them, Cas was that convincing. Maybe he should have been a motivational speaker? Or a PR agent.
They went on to actually discuss the latest Metallica album, in great detail, arguing over why exactly it wasn’t like their earlier stuff. It was when they almost slipped into an argument, even if it was just a friendly one, that Dean mentioned that he had written his own lyrics for the instrumental version of Suicide & Redemption. Cas immediately stopped arguing and leaned forward.
“You kept writing?”
Dean flushed. Oh, yeah, he should maybe have mentioned that to the guy who read his first ever song. Well, he’d had other things on his mind.
“Yeah, I did. I’ve actually sold a few songs over the years.” He couldn’t help the note of pride that snuck into his voice, and when he saw that pride reflected in Cas’s face, he broke into a grin.
“Some of them I keep for myself, though, because there’s no guarantee that the end product would be what I want it to be. I don’t perform or anything, but...some are just too personal to sell.”
“I’d love to hear them someday, if you’d let me.” There was more behind that than just Cas wanting to hear Dean’s music, and Dean suspected he knew what. He hadn’t forgotten that the last time he’d shown Cas what he’d written, everything went to hell.
“Yeah, of course,” he said easily, watching Cas’s shoulders relax.
“Do you write the music as well?” Cas asked, and Dean launched into an in-depth explanation of how he worked, Cas nodding along with that exact same crease between his eyebrows that Dean had loved six yeas ago. It was hours later that they decided to leave, their waitress apparently relieved to get rid of them if the way she rushed forward to clear their table was anything to go by.
Cas actually walked Dean home. It was ridiculous and romantic and Dean was very happy about it, because he’d only just found the guy again. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. They reached Sam’s building way too soon for Dean’s liking, and he found himself dragging his feet, trying to come up with an excuse to invite Cas upstairs. He couldn’t really ask if he wanted coffee, though; they’d just had three cups each.
“When are you going back home?” Cas asked as they reached the door to the building.
“Day after tomorrow,” Dean answered. “Gotta get back to my daytime job. The kids can’t go too long without their awesomest teacher.” He ignored the lump in his throat at the thought of going so far away from Cas.
“Then tomorrow, you and me, we’re going to a restaurant for an actual date,” Cas said, and Dean’s face split into a grin.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Cas confirmed, before he leaned in and kissed Dean.
It was just a soft press of lips against lips, gentle, tentative. Everything their first kiss hadn’t been, and Cas pulled back before Dean got the chance to enjoy it as much as he wanted.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for six years,” Cas said, and Dean nodded.
“Me too. Let’s do it again.”
Cas didn’t need any more prompting, meeting Dean for another kiss, this one deeper, full of promise. There were things to discuss, like distance and their history and many other complications, but for now, Dean just wanted to kiss Cas. Kiss him, and feel the last six years melt away until all there was was him, and Cas, and whatever they chose to make of the future.
~¤¤~
Songs and poems used in order of appearance:
Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin
The Forest by Ben Jonson
Broken by Lifehouse
Title: Stop All the Clocks (part 2 of 2)
Author: ”wolfrider89”
Recipient: ”writingpathways”
Rating: PG13
Warnings: offscreen minor character death, teacher/student kiss, poetry, slight partnerbetrayal by main character(kissing), offscreen partner betrayal, angst , schmoop, language,
Spoilers: None
Summary: The plan was fool proof: take Poetry Studies, meet chicks, the end. Dean was quite confident about it until Professor Castiel Novak walked into the lecture hall and opened his mouth. Who knew one course could change so much?
Part 1
“Winchester, do I sense man trouble on your end?” Pam said after she picked up on the first ring.
“Dammit, Pam, stop doing that, it freaks me out,” Dean said without heat. It was a widely accepted fact that Pam was freaky, even if Dean suspected she wasn’t so much psychic as very good at reading moods and guessing.
“What is it, Dean? Should I kick his ass?” Pam was also very protective. Dean could respect that; it wasn’t like he didn’t act that way around Sammy all the time.
“Do you have time to meet?” he asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he left the classroom and made sure it locked behind him.
“Sure thing. Where?” Pam said without a moment’s hesitation. Dean kind of wondered what he’d done to deserve such an awesome friend.
“The HHH Cafe in fifteen minutes? I’m on my way right now.”
“See you there!” Pam said before she hung up. Dean smiled at his cell phone. Pam had learned her phone manners from TV, so she never ever said goodbye, and more often than not, she wouldn’t say “hello” either, but Dean had learned to live with it.
Pam was already there when he arrived, flirting shamelessly with the waitress as she ordered, and Dean snuck up behind her to pull lightly at her earring.
“Leave Jo alone and get me an espresso instead,” he said by way of greeting.
Jo smiled gratefully at him and turned away to make him his coffee.
“Screw you, Winchester,” Pam said. “I was just talking.”
“Uhhuh. Sure.”
“You two can have a seat if you want, Mom said to give you the coffee on the house after last time,” Jo said, shooting Dean a smile over he shoulder.
“We only drank four coffees each,” Pam protested with a grin.
“Yeah, and Dean ate five pieces of pie, you had three muffins, and you both helped with the closing. Hence, free coffee,” Jo shot back without even looking at them.
“Don’t complain about the free coffee, Pam,” Dean said. He pulled her over to one of the corner tables they sat at whenever they had “important shit” to discuss. Sometimes, it felt like Dean had known Pam forever.
They waited until Jo had brought them their coffee, Pam laying off the flirting for once, only thanking Jo with a normal smile, before she fixed Dean with her stare of doom and raised an eyebrow. It was really cool that Pam could raise just one eyebrow like that, but Dean couldn’t appreciate it right now.
“I called him Cas,” he blurted out, feeling his cheeks go red once again. Damn, his fair skin was such a disadvantage sometimes.
“Wait. We’re still talking about Professor Novak, right? And you called him Cas?” Pam said, a note of disbelief in her voice.
“Yeah,” he admitted, not meeting Pam’s eyes. “It just kind of...slipped out.”
Pam leaned back in her chair.
“Wow. OK. Well, what did he say?”
“Nothing! He just brushed me off and ran away,” Dean said, gripping his tiny glass of espresso like that would help.
“Huh. OK. Dean, you’re really serious about this? I mean, you’re really in love with this guy, right? It’s not just some whim or experiment?” Pam asked, her serious face staving off any witty retort Dean might have had for that. Instead, he just nodded. “Then I think you need to know where he stands. It’s time to take a risk.”
Dean swallowed. Whenever Pam got that gleam in her eye, something crazy was about to happen.
“And what poem have you chosen to read for us, Mr. Winchester?” Cas asked, and Dean swallowed. This was it, now or never. He couldn’t believe he’d let Pam talk him into this.
“The Forest, by Ben Jonson, Sir,” he said, watching Cas’s eyes widen ever so slightly before he nodded.
“Very well. Please proceed,” he said, gesturing for Dean to take his place in front of the desk.
Dean brushed past him as the professor went to sit in the back, the electricity he could feel every time he was in the same room as the guy sparking between them. Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat that hadn’t really gone away since Cas had left him standing at his desk two days ago.
He hadn’t seen Cas since, and it had been driving him mad. Even Victor had noticed something was wrong, and that was saying something. Hell, Sam had threatened Dean to come to campus if he didn’t tell him what was wrong.
He resisted the urge to rub at his arm where it had brushed against Cas’s suit and turned to the class. They were all looking at him attentively, and he smiled a nervous smile at Pam when she winked at him. She might be crazy, but if this worked, he’d owe her for the rest of his life.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Winchester,” Cas said as he sat down across from Dean. Dean took a deep breath, and started to read.
“Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover
Can your favors keep, and cover,” Dean said, voice low, finding the rhythm of the words with practiced ease. His eyes locked onto blue ones across the room, trying to convey what he wanted to say without being so obvious that everyone would notice, trying not to let his fear show in his voice.
“When the common courting jay
All your bounties will betray.
Kiss again : no creature comes.
Kiss, and score up wealthy sums
On my lips, thus hardly sundred,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the other.”
Dean fought down the nervous flutter of what the fuck am I doing? that had taken up residence in his gut. He was going to finish this, dammit, and then he could quit the course and move to Canada or something. He kept looking at Cas, saw how he frowned, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Dean felt like throwing up, but he continued.
“Add a thousand, and so more :
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,
Or the drops in silver Thames,
Or the stars that gild his streams,
In the silent Summernights,
When youths ply their stolen delights ;
That the curious may not know
How to tell 'em as they flow,
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.”
The room was silent for a few seconds, everyone absorbing the words; Pam shot Cas a discreet look to gauge his reaction. Dean would have to ask her about that later, because he couldn't look at the guy a second longer. It felt like he'd laid his heart out on the floor, just waiting for Cas to stomp on it. This had been so stupid. So fucking stupid.
Without warning, he turned and left the room, gripping his notebook in his hands like his life depended on it. He hoped Pam would grab the rest of his stuff when the class was over, because there was no way he was going back in there right now. What the fuck had he been thinking, falling for a professor who was probably married with two point three kids and a dog? He hardly knew anything about the guy except that he had an amazing voice, and loved poetry, and used to be a plumber, and was generally awesome. How could he be so stupid?
Dean was unused to being the drama queen who left in the middle of class just because of some emotional shit-that was Sam's job-so he had no idea where to go while he waited for them to finish. He ended up in the library, sitting in a secluded corner and staring at his open notebook, trying to write. That was where Pam found him half an hour later, still staring at the same blank page.
“You OK?” she asked, sitting down in the chair next to him, her chains jangling against the wood.
“Peachy,” he said. “I feel like a fucking idiot. I just hope he didn't understand what I was trying to say.” Yeah, right, because he's stupid.
“Dude, he definitively got your message,” Pam said. “You should have seen his face when you ran out. I've never seen anyone look so turned on and so torn up about it at the same time.”
Dean's head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
“Pam, don't fuck with me right now.”
“Not fucking! I swear! He looked like he got your message and totally liked what it said. He’s probably just concerned about his job at this point.”
Dean swallowed down the hope threatening to take over him and took a deep breath.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“As sure as someone who hasn't studied his every expression like you have can be. I'm telling you, Dean, you should go see him. Now.”
“Dude, who was that?” Sam asked as soon as they got five minutes alone, grabbing Dean by the elbow and towing him away from wellwishing friends and relatives.
The ride over to Jess's parents' place had been weird, to say the least. It had been a long time since Sam and Dean had had to squeeze into the backseat of the Impala, and Dean hadn't been able to keep in a snicker when he saw Sam awkwardly fold his legs to try and fit. John had asked Sam about something that Dean hadn't caught, what with Novak asking him out for coffee and all, and Dean had spent the whole ride grinning like an idiot and trying to hide it from his parents while his family chatted happily around him.
Sam’s grip on Dean’s elbow was almost painfully hard, and Dean contemplated playing dumb, but the truth was that he was dying to talk about it. Besides Pam, Sam was the only one who knew the whole story. Well, except for Novak's name, because Dean hadn't told his brother that part in some weird attempt to protect the professor.
“That was Professor Castiel Novak, I had him for Poetry Studies six years ago,” he said instead, waiting for Sam to connect the dots.
It took no time at all, what with Sam being way too smart for his own good and everything.
“That's... That's the guy,” he said, his voice low, concerned, his hand still gripping Dean’s elbow.
“Yeah, Sam, that's the guy,” Dean said, staring down at the beer bottle Jess had pressed into his hand as soon as they arrived. Gotta love a girl who handed out Corona at three in the afternoon.
Sam had found a good one in her.
“You OK?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, Sam, I’m great, actually,” Dean said, grinning. “He asked me out.”
“He asked you out?” Sam exclaimed, his voice a little to loud for Dean’s liking.
“Yeah, Sam, he did. Keep it down, would you?” Dean hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard. No one paid them any attention; there was food to be had, after all.
“Sorry,” Sam said, trying to shrink in on himself like that would somehow make him quieter. “But, Dean, I thought you said...”
“I know what I said, Sam.” Dean interrupted. “That was six years ago. I really like him, OK?”
Sam’s worried frown softened, and he let go of Dean’s elbow.
“Yeah, OK, Dean. I guess I should be saying congratulations or something, then?” he said with a small smile.
“Boyfriend!”
Dean was saved from coming up with something to say to that by Jess throwing herself into Sam’s arms, almost knocking the beer bottle out of his hand in the process. Sam laughed and hugged her back.
“What are you boys standing over here whispering about? There’s a party going on, you know,” Jess said when she had untangled herself from Sam to smile at Dean.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Dean said dryly, taking a swallow of his beer.
“Well, c’mon, I want you to meet everyone!” Jess said as she grabbed Sam’s hand.
Dean let himself be herded away to meet Jess’s second cousins on her father’s side and tried to keep his mind on the party. It was even harder than it usually was.
Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest like it was trying to escape, beating an almost painful rhythm against his ribs. He swept his sweaty hands over his thighs, the denim of his jeans rough against his palms. He was pretty sure he was going to throw up even as he raised one hand and knocked on the door to Cas’s office. His knuckles made a hollow sound when they connected with the door, like the room beyond was completely empty.
He should turn around and walk away right now. Walk away, and try to forget what an idiot he’d been to fall for a pair of pretty eyes and a stupidly hot voice. He could do it. He could turn around right now, before the professor opened his door, and-
The door opened.
“Dean,” Cas said, and Dean couldn’t look away. Cas looked... Well, he looked wrecked. His hair was wilder than Dean had ever seen it before, his eyes were red, and the furrow between his eyes was so deep Dean was sure it would get stuck that way. His tie was untied, slung around his neck, and he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The hand not holding the door open was balled into a fist at his side.
“Are you OK?” Dean asked, his hand stretching out to touch without his permission, freezing in midair when Cas flinched back from it.
“No, Dean, I’m... Why don’t you come in?” Cas said, wiping a hand over his eyes like he was exhausted.
Dean did as he was asked, choosing to keep standing as Cas closed the door behind him and went to lean against a shelf.
“Listen, Dean, I...” Cas started, staring down at the floor, and Dean got the feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say next. “It’s not that I don’t feel the same way, because as much as I shouldn’t, there’s just something there whenever you’re around, you know?” he went on, looking up at Dean like he was begging for understanding. “But I-”
Dean was pretty sure Cas was about to say “can’t,” so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed him. He grabbed the front of his white shirt with one hand, the side of his neck with the other, and pressed their mouths together as desperation flooded through him. If Cas was about to say “no,” if he was about to shoot down Dean’s hopes, then Dean wanted just one kiss. Just one.
Was that too much to ask for?
There was a second when Dean was sure he’d screwed it all up even more, when Cas’s lips were frozen and hard against his own and Cas’s body was stiff and uninviting under his hands. Then he felt him raise his arms to grip at Dean’s hips as he opened his mouth to kiss him back. Dean’s gut clenched as Cas pulled him in even tighter, one hand slipping up his back under his tshirt as his tongue met Dean’s.
It was a rough kiss, desperate and hard even as Dean let go of Cas’s shirt and slid his hand up to tease at the open shirt at his neck. It was as hot as Dean had dreamed it would be, and he let out a small moan as Cas’s tongue swirled around his own.
Cas stiffened again, the hands that had pulled him in a moment ago now pushing him away, his head pulling back to break the kiss even as Dean tried to figure out what had happened. He blinked his eyes open, wondering when he’d closed them, and tried to focus on Cas’s face.
The pain was plain to see on his face, his eyes once again not meeting Dean’s.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice even lower than what Dean was used to. “I can’t do this.”
“Cas, if this is about you being my teacher, then-” Dean began, but he was interrupted by Cas’s bitter laugh.
“I wish it was that simple, Dean. It’s not. I’m sorry, I should have told you a long time ago, when I first realized where this was headed, but I...I couldn’t stand the thought of making you stop.”
Dean hands were still touching Cas’s skin, and he forced himself to take a step back, to focus on the professor’s face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m... Dean, I have a boyfriend.”
Of all the things Dean had thought the professor might say, that one hadn’t even crossed his mind.
He felt sick. Dirty. He didn’t do this, didn’t try and steal other people’s loved ones from them. He took another step back, wiping his hands on his shirt like it could somehow wipe away what he’d done, what he’d wanted to do. What part of him was still telling him to do.
“No,” he said, like saying the word could make it true. God, this wasn’t the sort of guy he’d thought Cas was. “How could you kiss me back when...when you have someone... You really are a bastard, you know that?” Dean said, anger creeping into his voice.
Cas dragged his hand over his face again, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes.
“He moved out,” he whispered. “Six months ago. He said he wanted a break, said he needed some space.”
Dean didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he wanted to say anything, so he just let him continue.
“And I... God, I was so hurt. I thought it had been going great, you know, I loved him, and he wanted to move out. I had no idea what was wrong.”
Dean’s brain was slowly catching up to the conversation, fighting its way through the disgust to actually listen to what Cas had to say.
“And then you came along. And for a while, I was kind of glad he’d moved, because I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about...everything. But that’s just fucked up, Dean, I know that. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Dean nodded.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he said, and turned around to leave.
“Dean, please-” Cas began behind him, but he was interrupted by his phone ringing. Without knowing why, Dean turned around again as Cas answered it. Maybe he wasn’t ready to give it all up just yet, or maybe he wanted to hit the bastard in the face. He wasn’t really sure right then.
“Castiel Novak,” Cas said into to the phone, his frown deepening even further at whatever the person on the other line was saying. “Yes, I know him. I’m his emergency contact number.” Dean froze when he saw the look of horror on Cas’s face.
The world spun out of control after that.
The hospital looked like hospitals did on TV. Dean had been fortunate enough to have never had to visit one in real life before, but the nurses wore the same kinds of uniforms that TV nurses did, and the walls were the same stark white that they were on TV, and everyone seemed just as rushed.
Cas didn’t look like someone on TV, though. He looked like Dean’s college professor, only without that spark in his eyes. He looked completely shut down, and it scared Dean.
He’d driven Cas here because he sure as hell wasn’t fit to drive himself. Dean had decided to push back everything that was between them in order to keep the guy alive, which was why he was standing in the middle of an emergency room in central Los Angeles and trying to catch the nurse’s attention. Cas sure as hell wasn’t going to do it; he was just standing there, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his face completely blank, like he couldn’t deal.
Dean wasn’t sure of the details; he’d only taken the phone when Cas had let his hand fall from his ear and stared at Dean in shock, but he knew that someone named Alec Wills was at this hospital, and that there had been an accident. He suspected he knew who the guy was, but he didn’t want to think about it too hard. It was still too raw.
He finally caught the nurse’s attention and pulled Cas forward by the elbow.
“Excuse me,” he said. “They said we should come right away, the guy’s name is Alec Wills?”
“You relatives?” the nurse asked as he typed something into his computer.
“Uh,” Dean began, but Cas spoke for the first time since he had gotten the phone call.
“He’s my boyfriend,” he said, his voice so low and soft it was almost inaudible. “I’m listed as his emergency contact.”
“Castiel Novak?” the nurse asked, and Cas nodded. “Right, I’ll let you come right on through.” He looked at Dean. “And who are you?”
“No one,” Dean mumbled as Cas’s eyes finally focused on him. “I’m no one.”
Dean had no idea what to wear. This date had not been the plan; the plan had been to come down to Stanford for a few days, hang with Sam, and go home to San Francisco again. He had no “getting a coffee with Castiel Novak” clothes with him. He was being a cliché, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but to freak about his wardrobe a little.
It was ridiculous, really, and Dean groaned when he saw Sam standing in the doorway, grinning at him in a really worrying way.
“Need any help picking out your dress for the prom, Dean?” Sam said, looking like he’d just gotten ammunition for a lifetime of teasing. Which he kind of had, actually.
“Shut up, bitch,” Dean shot back, deciding that he’d just have to go with the Motörhead tshirt he was currently wearing. No way he was changing again, not when Sam was still standing there grinning at him. The jeans, though? He wasn’t so sure showing up in jeans with a ripped knee was a good idea.
“Dean, you do know it’s like five to four, right?” Sam said just as Dean had decided to throw his pride out the window and change pants.
“No fucking way,” Dean exclaimed; he looked at the clock on the wall behind him and almost had a heart attack. “Fuck, shit, motherfucker,” he swore, pulling his boots on faster than he ever had before.
“You get so eloquent when you’re stressed,” Sam said conversationally as he handed Dean his wallet.
“Sam, shut the fuck up and find my phone,” Dean growled, almost ripping the bed sheets in his haste to find the damn thing.
“Here,” Sam said, giving it to him. “Now go. It’s only a ten minute walk, you’ll be fine.”
Dean shot one last look in the mirror, pushed his phone into his jeans pocket, and squared his shoulders.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered. Just as he left the room, he heard Sam say his name. He turned around, and Sam gave him a genuine smile.
“Good luck,” he said. Dean nodded. He felt like he was going to need it.
Sam picked Dean up from the hospital, because there was no way Dean was going to deal with anyone else right then. No fucking way. Sam had borrowed their dad’s Impala, and Dean relaxed when he heard the familiar rumble, letting it carry him forward to the curb where he stood waiting as Sam pulled up.
It was weird to see Sam behind the wheel of that car. He’d only just gotten his license, and Dean had never seen him drive the Impala before. Sam must have given their dad a pretty good shot with the puppy eyes to even get to borrow it that night. Dean knew he hadn’t told him why he needed it, though, because if he could trust anyone, he could trust Sam to keep a secret.
“Dean, you OK?” Sam asked as soon as Dean slid into the passenger seat.
“Not really,” he admitted, motioning for Sam to drive.
“Tell me everything,” Sam commanded, and Dean did.
“My name is Anna Milton, and I’ll be your Poetry professor for the few weeks left of this
semester, and possibly next year too. Professor Novak has had to take some time off for personal reasons,” the redhead at the desk said, and Dean wished his heart didn’t do that painful constricting thing at just the mention of the guy’s name. He wasn’t sure that he even liked the guy right now, but he couldn’t help missing him.
He didn’t listen to a word the woman had to say for the whole lecture, instead remembering all the times he and Cas had sat at that desk, the way Cas would smile when Dean said something smart or funny, the way he would listen to the songs Dean liked with a little furrow between his brows like he was concentrating very hard. It was his smile Dean kept coming back to, though, over and over again, and he couldn’t help but think that a guy who smiled at him like that couldn’t be all bad. Right?
Well, shit. Dean would have to go and see him, wouldn’t he? Sam had been right when he said as much, and that just sucked out loud. Sam should never be right, it made him smug and insufferable, and no matter what Dean did, he’d have that little smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. Someday, Dean would have to get over Sam being so damn smart, but it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. He had his big brother pride, after all.
“Dean, you OK?” Pam asked, poking him in the ear with her pen. She’d been unusually quiet since he had told her what had happened that night, and Dean was glad to see she’d gotten some of her old self back today. There was more than enough emo crap going on without adding her guilt to the mix.
“I need to find Cas,” he told her, and she nodded like she’d known he’d say that.
“OK. So this is the part where I tell you I kind of looked up his address and you tell me you love me, right?” Pam said, a small, teasing smile on her lips.
“No, this is the part where you tell me the address and I kiss you,” Dean shot back, unable to believe he had such an awesome friend.
“Well, who can say no to that?” Pam smirked and handed him a note. “You let me know how it goes, OK?”
Cas lived in one of those apartments where someone always left the gate unlocked and the buzzer was constantly broken. Dean wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It seemed so...normal. Cas was anything but normal in Dean’s eyes.
And he really wished he could stop thinking that. He was just here to talk to the guy, ask him if there was any chance of salvaging something from the clusterfuck that was their notquite-friendship, and thinking about how special he thought he was just didn’t fit into that plan. The plan was to maybe have a friend at the end of this shitfest. Nothing more.
Dean could live with friend, because as much as he wanted to hate Cas for leading him on, or for cheating on his boyfriend, the fact was that Dean didn’t really feel led on. And he wasn’t sure he’d call someone who moved out of Cas’s apartment to get away from him a “boyfriend.” Not to mention the small fact that Cas had actually been about to tell him about Alec when Dean kissed him. Really, this was mostly Dean’s mess.
Dean opened the front door to the apartment complex, looking around for a sign or mailboxes so he could be sure he was in the right building. His snooping was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind Dean’s back. Dean startled and turned around, trying his damnedest not to look surprised or guilty as he laid eyes on the oldest living thing he’d ever seen.
“Can I help you, boy?” the old, old, old person asked, and Dean tried to figure out if it was male or female under all those layers of knitted sweaters. He wasn’t successful, but it wasn’t like it mattered much.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m looking for Castiel Novak? He lives in this building.”
“Novak’s gone,” the old person said dismissively, continuing its path towards the front door with small, shuffling steps, leaning heavily on a crutch. “Moved out two days ago, said he wasn’t coming back.”
“You sure?” Dean demanded, feeling his heart sink.
“Boy, I might be old, but I’m not senile. Novak lived right next door to me. He’s moved, and I have no idea where. It came right out of the blue, too, so don’t ask me why he did it.”
“No, I... Thank you,” Dean muttered, not even sure what he was saying anymore, watching as the man/woman pushed the door open and made their way out onto the street outside. It took Dean a few minutes, but he figured out that the only way to find out which floor Cas live on was to check the buzzer. He made his way upstairs and stared at the door.
It didn’t have a name on it, but he knocked anyway. He knocked, and knocked, and knocked.
Nothing happened. There was no one in there. He should go home and study and talk to Victor, maybe listen to some Led Zeppelin. He should. But he didn’t. He went to a bus stop, caught a bus to his parents’ place, and made his way through the empty house to his old room. He collapsed in his bed, thankful that not a single significant thought had passed through his head since he left Cas’s building.
His ceiling was covered in those glowinthedark stars that no selfrespecting teenage boy would ever admit to still having up, and he stared at them now, trying to figure out why it felt like his heart was about to implode. Finally, unable to just lie there anymore, he pulled out his notebook and wrote.
The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain, there is healing
In your name I find meaning
He wasn’t sure where the words came from; they didn’t exactly describe how he was feeling, but they felt right, somehow. They felt like he meant them, and more than anything, he wished he could show them to Professor Castiel Novak, his teacher, because this was it. This was what he wanted to do with his life, and he had no idea why this moment, of every moment of his life, was the one where he figured that out. All he knew was that as much as his heart might implode, some small part of his brain had figured out what he wanted to do with his future.
Dean ate dinner with his family, dodged questions about why exactly he was there on a school night, went to bed in his teendecorated room, and tried to figure out just how he was going to live with this ache in his chest.
Dean was only seven minutes late, but he was sweaty and disgusting by the time he got there, cursing under his breath and probably looking like hell. This had not been the impression he wanted to make, but it wasn’t like he could go back now.
Novak was sitting in one of the armchairs inside the coffee shop-apparently he had chosen AC over tanning, for which Dean was eternally grateful-with his nose buried in a book. Dean half expected it to be some sort of poetry book, but as he got closer, he could see it was, in fact, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Which was just so weird that he couldn’t contain his snort of laughter.
Novak looked up from his book at the sound and smiled when he saw Dean.
“Mr. Winchester,” he said, his smile spilling over into his voice and making him sound happy.
Dean filed the sound away to replace the one he had of Novak’s dead voice the last time he’d heard him. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Sorry,” Dean said, scratching his neck. “I would blame Sam, but I don’t think I can do that in good conscience. So I’m just gonna have to go with a traffic jam or the cat ate my homework or something.”
Novak laughed at that, and Dean’s heart did a little flip thing at the sound. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was a date-Novak could still be together with that Alec guy, for all Dean knew-but he knew he wanted it to be. He had wanted Novak since he was 20 years old, and seeing him again hadn’t changed that in the least.
Dean got his coffee-Novak having already ordered his while he waited-and sat down on the opposite side of the little round table Novak was sitting by.
“So do you like Stanford, Professor?” Dean asked, because he sucked at small talk, especially when there were so many damn things he really wanted to ask the guy. Like why the hell he had moved, and why he hadn’t told Dean, and... Yeah. There were a few things Dean wanted to know.
“I do, yes,” Novak said. He hesitated for a second before he went on. “Do you think... Dean, could we skip the formalities?”
Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding and smiled at him.
“Yeah, Cas, let’s do that.”
“Thank you,” Cas said, returning Dean’s smile. “So where do you live now? I...I know you moved from your old apartment and that you quit UCLA.” Cas’s ears turned red like they had that time, an eternity ago, when he’d given Dean the Metallica book. The book that still stood on Dean’s bookshelf.
“Wait. How do you know that?” Dean asked.
Cas looked down at his coffee cup.
“I came back, and I wanted to find you, but you were gone.” There was almost something accusatory about how he said it, and Dean bristled.
“Hey. You’re the one who left in the first place. What the fuck was up with that, anyway? The least you could have done was say goodbye.” Dean had thought he was over it. Apparently not.
“Alec died,” Cas said, and Dean felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
“What?”
“Alec. His injuries were too severe, he died that same night. And Dean...all I could think was that I had been kissing you while it happened.”
Dean felt nauseous, so he put his coffee down on the table.
“So I moved,” Cas went on. “I put all my stuff in storage and went to Wisconsin to live with my parents for a while. I wanted to say goodbye, I really did, but it felt like I wanted it too much. Like I shouldn’t be thinking about you at all when Alec had just died. I mean, wasn’t it enough that I almost cheated on him, should I really care about saying goodbye to the guy I kissed on top of that?”
Cas looked guilty for a second, and then he laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. Dean had no idea how their potential date had come to this, but it was probably inevitable. Their history kind of made it so.
“You know what I found out, though? You know what that bastard was doing when he ran into that SUV? He was getting a fucking blow job from a fucking hooker.”
There was so much Dean could say to that, so many ways to respond, but none of them were coming to mind.
“Dude, that sucks!” he blurted out. He’d always thought the expression “wanting to be swallowed up by the earth” was kind of lame, but now he got it. Could it be more of an understatement? Cas laughed, though.
“Yeah, it kind of did,” he said, looking up at Dean again. “So I went back to LA to find you, maybe get my job back, but you were gone. Where did you go? You didn’t drop out, did you?” he asked, and Dean could almost laugh at the worry in his voice. Almost.
“Nah, I moved to San Francisco, finished my last year at SFAI. Don’t ask me how I managed that, because to this day I have no idea.”
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas said, sounding so regretful that Dean just wanted to hug him.
“Dude, I forgave you a long time ago. I just hoped you could do the same,” Dean said honestly.
“You always did kind of surprise me,” Cas murmured. “It was one of the things I liked most about you.”
“Cas,” Dean said. “Do you forgive me? For not listening, for kissing you?”
“Of course. Of course I forgive you,” Cas said, sounding surprised that Dean even had to ask.
“Great. Now that that’s out of the way, have you heard the new Metallica album?”
Cas snorted.
“I see your topic changing skills haven’t improved over the years.”
“Oh, shut up, I rule.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t. I just observed that certain things never change,” Cas said, his eyes sparkling.
“Well, you certainly never stop surprising me with your book choices,” Dean shot back, easily falling into banter that he wasn’t sure had even been there the last time. He certainly couldn’t remember feeling this at ease. “I mean, Shakespeare is one thing, but Harry Potter? Really?”
“I’ll have you know they are a very good read,” Cas said haughtily. “And I’m a poetry professor, so my word counts for something.”
“Of course it does,” Dean said, mockserious. “It just means that even poetry professors have bad taste.”
“Hey! Have you even read them?”
When Dean admitted he hadn’t, Cas laughed triumphantly and went on to explain just why Dean should read them as soon as possible. Hell, by the end of the lecture, Dean was pretty sure he had to read them, Cas was that convincing. Maybe he should have been a motivational speaker? Or a PR agent.
They went on to actually discuss the latest Metallica album, in great detail, arguing over why exactly it wasn’t like their earlier stuff. It was when they almost slipped into an argument, even if it was just a friendly one, that Dean mentioned that he had written his own lyrics for the instrumental version of Suicide & Redemption. Cas immediately stopped arguing and leaned forward.
“You kept writing?”
Dean flushed. Oh, yeah, he should maybe have mentioned that to the guy who read his first ever song. Well, he’d had other things on his mind.
“Yeah, I did. I’ve actually sold a few songs over the years.” He couldn’t help the note of pride that snuck into his voice, and when he saw that pride reflected in Cas’s face, he broke into a grin.
“Some of them I keep for myself, though, because there’s no guarantee that the end product would be what I want it to be. I don’t perform or anything, but...some are just too personal to sell.”
“I’d love to hear them someday, if you’d let me.” There was more behind that than just Cas wanting to hear Dean’s music, and Dean suspected he knew what. He hadn’t forgotten that the last time he’d shown Cas what he’d written, everything went to hell.
“Yeah, of course,” he said easily, watching Cas’s shoulders relax.
“Do you write the music as well?” Cas asked, and Dean launched into an in-depth explanation of how he worked, Cas nodding along with that exact same crease between his eyebrows that Dean had loved six yeas ago. It was hours later that they decided to leave, their waitress apparently relieved to get rid of them if the way she rushed forward to clear their table was anything to go by.
Cas actually walked Dean home. It was ridiculous and romantic and Dean was very happy about it, because he’d only just found the guy again. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. They reached Sam’s building way too soon for Dean’s liking, and he found himself dragging his feet, trying to come up with an excuse to invite Cas upstairs. He couldn’t really ask if he wanted coffee, though; they’d just had three cups each.
“When are you going back home?” Cas asked as they reached the door to the building.
“Day after tomorrow,” Dean answered. “Gotta get back to my daytime job. The kids can’t go too long without their awesomest teacher.” He ignored the lump in his throat at the thought of going so far away from Cas.
“Then tomorrow, you and me, we’re going to a restaurant for an actual date,” Cas said, and Dean’s face split into a grin.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Cas confirmed, before he leaned in and kissed Dean.
It was just a soft press of lips against lips, gentle, tentative. Everything their first kiss hadn’t been, and Cas pulled back before Dean got the chance to enjoy it as much as he wanted.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for six years,” Cas said, and Dean nodded.
“Me too. Let’s do it again.”
Cas didn’t need any more prompting, meeting Dean for another kiss, this one deeper, full of promise. There were things to discuss, like distance and their history and many other complications, but for now, Dean just wanted to kiss Cas. Kiss him, and feel the last six years melt away until all there was was him, and Cas, and whatever they chose to make of the future.
~¤¤~
Songs and poems used in order of appearance:
Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin
The Forest by Ben Jonson
Broken by Lifehouse