fic, SPN: the Emily Brontë book club (Dean/Castiel), pg13
Title: the Emily Brontë book club
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel; Sam, Bobby and John also star.
Word count: ∼8200
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: none for the show, some for the books mentioned and the ending of at least two of them (Emma, Wuthering Heights, Slaughterhouse Five), if you consider that spoiling.
Warnings: blink and miss references to past alcoholism, I guess homophobia though no character actually appearing is guilty of that. Then, none really.
Summary: college AU wherein Dean hates his English literature assignment, Castiel is the only one in his class agreeing with him, both like Emily Brontë a lot better than Jane Austen and that's totally a good enough reason to help each other out.
A/N: so basically this exists because I owe cassiopeia7 a lot of packets of tissues for making her bawl her eyes out while beta-ing the most depressing thing I ever wrote in my entire life. But sending tissues to the US might be a problem. So I went for fic-tissues. And I know she doesn't like Jane Austen and I agree with her on that, so that's it. And as this was supposed to be virtual tissues, it's unrepentant rom-com material. By the way: if you're a Jane Austen fan, sorry in advance for the opinions stated within, but hey, you can be consoled by knowing that you're in the majority. ;) Using for my au_bingo wild card square (high school, though it's college. Well, I guess it's close enough). Also cassiopeia7 I definitely hope this is valid as tissue-material. ;)
He shouldn’t have taken English Lit in his last year, dammit.
That’s all Dean Winchester can think about right now, even if he should be concentrating on more pressing matters. Like finishing this stupid book he has to read so that he can write a stupid paper on it and four others - a paper for which he’ll get a probably horrible grade therefore ruining his hard-earned final grade. No, wait. He can also think about all the petty reasons for which he hasn’t signed up for that class in the previous three years he has spent at the University of Kansas, and why is that required for an engineering degree anyway? Alright, not the point. Those reasons all seem so petty now. It was Joyce in his first year and he had discarded it because it was too much to study, then Defoe on the second and he kind of really hates Robinson Crusoe and so he had skipped that as well. He could have totally taken the one on Huxley last year, but the professor had mentioned doing one on Vonnegut this year, and since Vonnegut is Dean’s favorite he had figured that he could wait and get a good grade.
And then the stupid professor had changed idea and now he’s stuck with the most useless book he has ever had the displeasure to read all his life.
I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly, he re-reads again for the fourth time (he hasn’t been able to turn the page since half an hour), and then he groans and closes the book, giving up on it for the moment.
“This is fucking hopeless,” he says to no one. At least he isn’t holed up in his dorm, since it’s a lovely day and he figured he could read in the college’s park. Which was a darn good idea, if you ask him. The lovely weather, albeit cold as fuck, is the only reason he hasn’t found a sharp object to commit hara-kiri with. It makes the whole matter slightly less miserable.
“May I help you?” comes from behind him, and Dean jolts because he hadn’t heard anyone coming. And he isn’t sure he knows anyone with a voice as deep and smooth as the one he has just heard. He turns on his side and he recognizes the person behind him alright.
Castiel Milton, who has had the best grades average in the campus at least in the English majors field, and who’s taking the same class with him. Also famous for working with four different charity organizations operating on campus (you always see him raising funds during weekends) and for lack of other social skills (okay, Dean wouldn’t have an idea about that if he hadn’t taken the English class, but apparently everyone else taking his major complains about Milton not having many friends and a bunch of other crap of the kind). Dean doesn’t really know him, but since they’re both living in the dorms and they enrolled in the same year he knew who he was even before they took a class together. A class during which they never spoke and during which Dean never stated his opinion, or he’d have probably been eaten alive. And considering all of that, he has no idea of why Castiel should be talking to him right now.
“Well,” Dean sighs, “can you tell me exactly everything that happens in the second half of this thing? Because I did get through the other three books even if I don’t give a shit about privileged rich people with nothing to do in their lives, but this one? It’s so insufferable that I can’t just take it,” he says handing over his used copy of Emma (like hell he was going to spend more than five bucks on it, considering how well he liked the other three). He’s ready to hear a lecture - implying that good old Jane Austen is insufferable to any person he meets who studies literature has gained him just silence and stares that said ‘damn, but you’re really an ignorant hick’.
Except that Castiel nods and sits next to him, looking nothing short of sympathetic.
“I cannot blame you. That book is insufferable. To be entirely honest, I find Jane Austen highly overrated, but yes, this one in particular… it just is.”
Dean can’t believe that someone actually agrees with him. And someone who’s supposed to be good at their job.
“I know? I mean, she, Emma, she’s such a spoiled brat. I don’t know who ever saw an emancipated woman in her or whatever crap professor Crowley has decided she is, but I just want to tell her to shut up whenever she opens her mouth. And I’d never hit a woman, really. And I need to write a stupid paper that will pretty much fuck up my final grade if I say what I really think, but then again I can’t if I don’t finish it and I really don’t want to finish it. And I hate everyone else, not just her,” he rants, shutting up as soon as he realizes that he has unloaded all of that on a perfect stranger.
But Castiel’s lips quirk up for a second before he gives Dean another nod. It’s strange to see him half-smiling; in class he’s usually the embodiment of seriousness. But it looks nice on him, Dean thinks; it does reach his eyes, and considering that Castiel has some seriously out of this world eyes (huge, of a clear but deep shade of blue), it isn’t a bad look on him. Also the fact that Castiel wears some classy (albeit obviously cheap) square glasses just makes them stand out more.
“I can’t say that I don’t agree on your feelings about wishing she’d rather stay silent.”
“That makes me feel less alone. Also just indulge me here, but does she end up with the guy who’s been eyeing her since the beginning?”
“Well, it seems to me like the rest of this book will be no surprise to you if you already guessed the ending.”
“I didn’t guess it, it’s just that it happens in all the others! I can’t take any more women marrying the supposedly right rich men that have been waiting for them all the time and who by the way never really fuck up - and if they do they have a good excuse. Actually I think I can’t take this whole thing about marrying a guy with a good income anymore.”
“I can’t fault you,” Castiel agrees. “That’s exactly what I thought, but when I pointed it out in another occasion… let’s say that I was torn to shreds. I’m waiting for a more stable academic position before I state my feelings on that matter again.”
“You? Well, I’m just glad I never tried to say it or I’d have flunked that class even with an A-worthy paper. Which won’t happen, but that’s another point.”
“I think you need a break from that book,” Castiel states, and Dean shakes his head.
“Man, I’d love to, but the paper’s due in a week. You probably wrote it already, but I haven’t taken a lit class since high school and I’ll be barely on time if I manage to finish the book and the paper,” he says, but Castiel shakes his head in return and then starts rummaging in his backpack. Dean just sees the top of his head, covered in unruly dark brown hair as he searches and takes out notebook after notebook, until Castiel fishes out this old battered paperback. He takes a sheet out of one of the notebooks, writes something on it, folds it, places it in the book and then hands it over to Dean.
Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë. What?
“And I should take a break with more love stories written by unmarried English women?”
Castiel laughs softly and pushes the book in his direction. “She didn’t marry, alright, but she also died too young. Her sister did marry, anyway. And believe me, she’s nothing like Austen. Really. No marriages based on money and no matchmaking. Give it a try and take a break. But I want it back, I have had it for almost eight years.”
“And you bring it with you everywhere?”
Castiel nods and Dean flashes him a smile that hopes it’s convincing. “Then if you guarantee for it I’ll give it a try.”
Castiel nods at him and then stands up saying that he has another class to attend, and Dean watches him leave. Then he turns to the paperback in his hands and he figures that fuck, it can’t really be worse than Emma, and it’d take skill to write in such a prissy style anyway. He’ll take an expert’s recommendation. As soon as he opens it, the piece of paper Castiel wrote on before falls down; Dean takes it. There’s the number of Castiel’s dorm room written on it.
Dean smiles and puts it in his wallet.
--
Point is, he finishes it in two days and a half.
And then he calls Castiel’s room even if it’s seven AM, because he’s been up all night reading it and another reason Castiel is famous is that he sleeps like three hours each night. Or well, famous between English Majors, but going to that class has opened Dean an entire new world of gossip. If Castiel’s roommate wants to kill him for using the landline at seven AM, well, who cares.
“Dude,” he starts without even saying hello, “that Heathcliff could kick Darcy’s ass just by blinking.”
Castiel lets out a snort over the line. “I gather that you liked it better than Pride and Prejudice?”
“Are you kidding? At least she didn’t write characters making me want to like them. And they don’t think about money and getting married to someone convenient all the damned time. Okay, they’re all pretty much fucked up, but no one’s waiting for the girl to fall at the guy’s feet. Heck, everyone is a jerk except for maybe three people and that’s not a given. It’s refreshing,” he ends.
“Indeed,” Castiel agrees.
“You bet. But now I have to get back to that other thing anyway.”
“Well then, you can just imagine that at some point Heathcliff storms in and beats Mr. Knightley to a pulp,” Castiel answers, sounding perfectly serious.
“Yeah, maybe while Emma starts a catfight with the first Catherine? That’d be bloody. And she’d totally lose,” Dean states, trying to holding back laughter as he imagines the scene.
That’d be kind of a riot to watch.
“If it works better for you, it seems suitable,” Castiel agrees.
--
Dean gets through the goddamned stupid book and the advice actually works, even if Chuck (his roommate, who might drink too much and talk too much about stuff Dean doesn’t give a shit about, but he saved Dean’s ass when he had to take a stupid theology class he didn’t care for, so he closes both eyes) keeps asking him why the heck he laughs every three paragraphs or so.
Dean can’t exactly tell him that he has just imagined Heathcliff telling Emma everything Dean thinks about her, in very blunt terms.
Anyway, when he’s done he sits down and grits his teeth and writes a paper that is full of banalities and bare facts that earns him a respectable B (actually it would have been a B-, but according to professor Crowley it was obvious that Dean was one of the three people in the class who had actually read the books, so he upped the grade. Dean figures he can forgive him for having changed idea about Vonnegut). His final grade won’t be bad at all and all the classes he has next semester after winter break are the easy ones that he left for last so that he wouldn’t have to kill himself, and he decides that he should really call Castiel and say thanks. He has given the book back, of course, but he still feels that he should call regardless; but on the other side it would seem random and he isn’t sure whether it’d be appropriate or not. Especially since they’re not friends or anything. But if he wants to call he should do it now; everyone’s leaving for winter break in a couple of days maximum, so he can’t wait that long.
Just as he debates, he walks in front of the cafeteria and there Castiel is. Except that he looks positively miserable. He’s hunched over the table, staring at the menu without even pretending to read it, and he’s wearing a jeans jacket in December in Kansas, which is insane since it’s too cold for that, even on the inside.
Well, decision made, he thinks. You can’t just leave like that someone that looks like misery made flesh.
He sits at Castiel’s table without saying hi and he smirks a little when Castiel raises his head and looks at him in pure surprise.
“Hi there,” he starts, “I was wondering whether to call you and there you were, so I figured I’d come say hello anyway. And sorry man, but you look beat.”
“I… I feel beat, actually,” Castiel answers, careful, like he isn’t sure of how much information he should share. But he also looks positively surprised that Dean actually sat there.
“What’s wrong?”
“A lot,” Castiel admits, his shoulders slumping even further, “but I really don’t want to burden you with -”
“Is there anyone else you can bother?”
“… not really.”
Dean had figured that out already. As said, according to English Lit gossip, guy’s famous for being on his own most of the time. And right now, he doesn’t look like someone who has a best friend forever to bother.
“Fine. Wait here,” Dean says before heading to the check out.
He comes back with a cup full of hot, dark chocolate, covered with an unhealthy dose of whipped cream, and then he pushes it in front of Castiel, who in return looks at him like he’s some kind of alien.
“So what? You look like you need it. My treat, with many thanks for saving my sanity. See, I didn’t fail that class and possibly fucked up my grade, my degree and chances of getting a scholarship if I want to do grad school just because you gave me some advice, and you look like you could talk to someone, so just spill. At times strangers are a better choice.”
Castiel stares at him for… well, too much time for it to be proper, but at some point he seems to convince himself; he takes the cup in his hands, sips from it, then puts it back down on the table.
“I kissed my roommate. Or well, I tried to.”
“She wasn’t up for it?” Dean asks, wondering how stupid can people be. Okay, it’s not like Dean’s thinking not proper things right now, especially about someone he barely knows, but you can’t deny that Castiel is a very pretty sight. He’s well-built, has a quite proportioned body, and then add those eyes, the hair that never seems combed, plus two pale, full lips that seem made to be kissed: she really has to have weird tastes to turn that down. Especially since it’s not like Castiel is a horrible person. Hell, he seems perfectly nice. Maybe he isn’t a people person and he doesn’t like parties - so what? Dean can’t see what’s the matter.
“My roommate is a he. We’ve been friends since junior high. He’s… was kind of my only real friend,” Castiel says. “I thought he was… sending signals. Of the kind. I was wrong.”
Dean just nods and doesn’t stand up. Castiel licks his lips nervously and then lets out a breath.
So, that obviously changes things. The guy’s probably a jerk who isn’t into men, but then again why should he have been sending signals, as Castiel says?
“Then… he called my parents back home. And I found out… see, I come from a very religious family. They had already planned my entire education, which included going to a seminary, and they weren’t exactly happy about me going to a public university or studying something as useless as English literature. Also they… uhm. Had… suspicions.”
“They thought you were into guys?”
“Yeah. So… my friend, he was going to come here because he doesn’t have the means to pay for education elsewhere. And apparently last September they asked him to… find out whether I really was into men.”
“And he agreed?”
“Apparently so. He had been sending said signals, just… you get it. And… I just spoke with my father. I’m - I’m not going home for winter break,” Castiel says, his voice getting so low that it’s almost not audible, and Dean decides that he needs to punch the guy.
Seriously? What kind of friend is someone like this anyway?
“What a jerk,” Dean can’t help saying as Cas drinks again. “For real? I mean. Just. I couldn’t even begin to consider the idea if someone asked me that.”
Cas nods into the cup. He still looks miserable.
Dean decides that he needs to lift everyone’s spirits up.
“Heck, maybe he’s like Emma in the flesh. The book, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Prissy, cheating on the reader all the time, full of itself, and when you’re free of it it’s actually a liberation.”
At that Cas looks at him for a second, like he isn’t getting it, tilting his head slightly, but then his eyes light up in understanding and he lets out a small, sincere laugh.
Dean feels pleased with himself. If only he did brighten the mood.
“Well, that wasn’t bad,” Cas says.
“Man, really, I’ve talked to you three times, but you really don’t deserve crap like that.” Not when even if you aren’t a social person you’re seen collecting money for charity every damned weekend, but Dean doesn’t say that out loud. “You need to find yourself a Wuthering Heights instead.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, let’s see. Exciting, insanely dedicated, maybe borderline obsessive but with a heart somewhere, and it doesn’t cast judgments on anyone because it knows perfectly that all of its characters are fucked up,” Dean supplies, and Cas’s cheeks are less pale right now even if he’s still shivering.
“And seriously, a jeans jacket?”
“I… I might have ran out of the room wearing just what I had on. I really don’t feel like going back inside now, you know? And he isn’t leaving until tomorrow morning.”
“You know what?”
Castiel shakes his head.
“Come to mine. My roommate left this morning and I have a spare jacket. You can have his bed and I can lend you that tomorrow. I can’t exactly let you freeze to death, can I?”
Castiel looks at him like he has just grown another head.
“Why would you do that?” he asks, like he’s genuinely surprised that Dean would give a shit.
“Dude. You gave me a hand when no one asked you to and when you could have walked by. Also you don’t really stop talking to people at random, I know enough of that, and I still don’t know why you decided to talk to me, but for me it was a big deal. And that isn’t even my bed anyway.”
Castiel does smile for real then, bringing his hand to his hair and messing it up even further. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
--
It isn’t until they’re both in bed that Dean remembers something.
“Hey,” he asks just after he turns off the light, “not to pry, but if you aren’t going home at winter break anymore, what are you gonna do?”
“I guess I’ll stay here,” Castiel almost sighs.
Dean is about to say that it’s fucking sad, and then he remembers something more important.
“Er, aren’t they cutting off the heat at least from Christmas to New Year’s?”
“What?”
“You don’t know? They need to do some repairing so whoever’s not going home has been finding a place to crash for a while.”
He hears Castiel sigh and turn over in the bed. “Thanks for informing me. I… I guess I’ll think about it tomorrow,” he says, and he sounds so sad that Dean feels genuinely bad for him.
And then he has the most ill-advised idea he’ll ever have in his entire life.
--
The morning after he gets out of bed before Castiel (who’s currently buried under the blankets), goes to where public phones are and calls Sam’s room at Stanford, then he calls his dad, then his dad hands the phone over to Bobby and by the time the call’s over, Dean is half-sure that it might actually work.
When he gets back inside, he has bought coffee and a couple of doughnuts and Castiel looks barely alive.
“Don’t tell me, you love the smell of caffeine in the morning?” Dean asks handing the cup over, and Castiel drinks half of it and then tilts his head at him.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference.”
“Wait, you’ve never seen Apocalypse Now?”
“I read Heart of Darkness,” Castiel answers, and Dean would like to state that it isn’t the same thing, but then he figures that if this goes as planned then he’ll put a remedy to it.
“Okay, listen, I was talking to my dad before. Y’know, we used to live here. Me, my brother and our parents I mean, but then my mom died in a house fire when I was four and then we all moved to Sioux Falls because there was a friend of dad’s that could let us stay. Then we never moved away but whatever.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, I’m leaving for Sioux Falls this afternoon to spend Christmas over there, since it’s not like my dad will ever set foot in Lawrence again, and I was wondering - you wanna come with?”
Castiel looks at him like he has positively grown five heads and not just two.
“Are you serious?” Castiel asks, suddenly defensive, and Dean can see why. Damn. He just wishes he can phrase it right because if not it’d sound either creepy or offensive or whatever.
“Listen, I know that we barely know each other and that this probably looks very… over the top to you. I mean, you lend me a book and now I’m inviting you over for Christmas? I get it, I do. But well, first thing, anyone who talked to you for a second would think that you don’t deserve any of that. Or to spend three weeks alone without heating of everything. Which would be enough for me to at least make sure you don’t. But… well, after my mother died I spent a good number of years giving a shit just about my brother, and I never had many friends. It took my dad years to recover from the blow so it wasn’t like he cared much about what I did in school anyway. Whatever, regarding friends, I never had any close ones, so I kinda get how it is when you can’t call anyone. High school was what it was and I dropped out at sixteen. I went here because I couldn’t afford anything else and it wasn’t like I was going to get full rides to Stanford with a GED. When I came here you could see that anyone looking over at my record thought that it would be a waste. But I really wanted to because between dropping out and getting the GED I realized I had been an idiot, and to cut it short, I never really had any help. I did manage to get that scholarship even I’m not a genius or anything, and no one ever tried to get some effort out of me, and to cut the story short and stop this self-pity party, you’re the first person who gave me a stupid hand when I had a problem with that kind of stuff. I had actually asked people in class, you know?”
“And what did they say?”
“That since I was studying something as stupid as what I do, what was the point? Of course I don’t get how great old Janey is,” Dean sighs. “But - you just sat down there and listened to me, and I know it’s kind of sad that you were the first, but whatever. But it’s not like I’m asking you over because I think I owe you. I’m asking you because after talking to you I decided that - well, no one should be alone at Christmas and case is, I actually like you. And anyone that doesn’t bat an eyelid sleeping in Chuck’s Star Wars sheet deserves praise, anyway.”
Cas looks at the sheet like he hasn’t realized it - it’s actually a Star Wars one. Dean wonders if he has seen that. Probably not, considering the way he’s frowning at Yoda behind those glasses that he just put on.
“So, to end this probably embarrassing tirade, I genuinely like you for enough reasons and I’d really appreciate it if you came with me so at least you don’t die frozen. So?”
Castiel still looks at him like he can’t just wrap his head around it, but then he takes a breath and when he raises his eyes, there’s such thankfulness in his stare that Dean almost has to look away.
“Then if your family agrees - well, I’d be more than glad to accept.”
“See? Always a good idea. And seriously, my family is… another three people and I’m not even related to one of them. Also they’re one more insane than the other, if only because they agreed at once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I called Sam first - my brother, and he asked me if I was crazy, then I explained him without sharing too many details and then he changed idea. My dad said it was okay as soon as I told him that we were friends, I suspect because he’s been feeling guilty for ages that I sucked at having any, and then Bobby just said to bring you the hell over, he’s been outvoted anyway.”
“Isn’t it his own house?”
“Oh, yeah, but I think that stopped mattering a while ago.”
Castiel shakes his head like he can’t believe it.
“So… we’re friends?” he asks, and… well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Do you want us to be?” Dean asks, and Castiel smiles slightly again.
“I would like to try.”
“Then yeah. Okay, sure.” Dean says, and it feels good.
--
Cas goes back to his room when he’s sure that it’s empty; he packs a duffel and retrieves his coat, and Dean packs as well while he’s off doing that; after lunch, they load everything into Dean’s ’67 Chevy Impala (it used to be his dad’s - then it was a gift when Dean left for college) and set off for Sioux Falls.
On the car, Dean is relieved to find out that while Castiel isn’t into Metallica or Motorhead, he has a thing for Led Zeppelin, which is more than enough to win points with him; and considering that the drive to Sioux Falls is six hours, he’s more than glad to spend them listening to good stuff. And having good conversation, because Castiel might not be famous for being a social bee, but it’s kind of pretty easy to talk to him, and heck, spending two hours saying all possible horrible things about Jane Austen makes for a pretty awesome trip.
--
When they get to Bobby’s salvage yard it’s past eight PM and already pitch dark. When they get out of the car it’s also disgustingly cold, but it’s South Dakota in the winter - he couldn’t have expected the same heat that was inside the car, right? He opens the trunk and hands Castiel his duffel, then he takes his own and closes the car. Then he looks at the house - lights are on, so someone has to be in.
“Alright,” he says, “my brother’s not getting here until day after tomorrow so it’s just Bobby and my dad. Chill out, they won’t eat you.”
Castiel doesn’t look that sure about it, but Dean ignores him and knocks on the door. He wisely puts the duffel on the ground before, and it’s a good idea because as soon as the door opens his dad his hugging him cutting off half of his air.
Well, John Winchester never used to be that much of an affectionate person, until both of his sons went off to get an education - not that Dean minds the fact anyway.
“Dad, you’re killing me,” Dean mutters, and John moves away. He looks good - and alright, what if Dean checks every time? He hasn’t touched alcohol in years by now, but you can’t blame Dean for wanting to be extra sure.
“Sorry, but if you showed your face once in a while, maybe I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, drive six hours every time, pay for the gas and we’re talking about it. Anyway, where’s Bobby?”
“Out back discussing shit with some client of his, he said not to bother since he might be long. Just get inside before you freeze. Also is that your friend over there?”
“Yeah,” Dean supplies as Castiel moves cautiously forward.
“Uh, so. Dad, that’s Castiel. Cas, just come over here,” Dean says, and what the fuck, where did Cas come from?
No one is complaining anyway, even though Castiel does blink at him for one second, and then he comes forward and extends his hand.
“Castiel Milton, sir. Pleased to meet you,” Castiel says politely, and then he gasps when John grabs his hand back and possibly breaks a couple of fingers as he shakes it.
“Same here. And please cut the sir and just call me John, it makes me feel older than I am. So, you two wanna go and put your stuff somewhere?”
“Yeah, guess so,” Dean says before grabbing the duffel. He’ll just show Castiel the guest room and -
“Oh, Dean? Did Bobby tell you about the renovations?”
“The what?”
“Obviously not. Anyway, the guest room, there was some leak of water from the bathroom next to it last day and unless you wanna catch pneumonia or live with water trickling under the bed, you can’t stay in there. We moved most of the stuff inside it to your room -”
“Why mine?”
“Because it was the bigger one, and y’know it. Anyway, no one’s up for fixing it before the new year and both me and Bobby decided it was something for a professional, so I dunno, if you’re cool with sharing the room then the guest bed is over in your place, if not there’s always the couch.”
Dean turns to Castiel, who merely shrugs, his face saying so what, haven’t we just shared?
And yeah, well, they did. It’s also two different beds, so whatever.
“Guess we’ll take mine then,” Dean says, and then he starts to climb up the stairs and Castiel follows him.
--
They get settled shortly and while Dean’s room might be slightly cramped since it’s housing everything that was in the guest room it’s still enough for the both of them to get comfortable. Bobby gets home a short while later and he just nods after taking a look at Castiel and asks whether someone can volunteer to help him with the goddamn dinner. Castiel does volunteer saying a bunch of crap about wanting to repay them for their kindness and so on, and dinner is pretty good.
So yeah, that was off to a nice start, at least.
--
Sam gets home the day after and Dean figures that Castiel staying with them won’t be a problem after thirty minutes.
Or well, after thirty minutes it turns out that they’re in the same nerdy online book club and they had been exchanging reading advice for ages, and then they start geeking out and Dean doesn’t even try to follow the conversation.
Yeah, well, he figures that it went good.
--
So things go all nice and dandy for the next three days, and then Dean comes into his room to find Cas (the nickname actually stuck - Dean likes it better and Castiel says he sort of likes it, so Cas it is) with his head in his hands as he sits on the bed. And wait, he looks positively miserable again.
“Hey,” he asks as he sits down on his own bed, “what’s up?”
He keeps his voice quiet; Cas startles for a second, apparently realizing just now that Dean had been inside the room a while.
“Oh. Uhm, I had a call.”
“From?”
“My uncle. I had sort of ignored his calls until now, but I figured I should answer at some point.”
“And?”
“He made it perfectly clear that I’m not really welcome for the foreseeable future.”
“Your uncle decides it?”
Cas shrugs. “Well, everyone lives at his parsonage. I mean, it’s three families in the same place and he wants us all to share the house, so it’s his call.”
“Parsonage?”
“He’s a preacher,” Cas supplies before sighing and shaking his head. “I was waiting for that, anyway.”
“That’s insane. Don’t you have brothers or sisters or anything?”
“Yes. About seven, just in my family, to be exact.”
“And you can’t call any of them?”
“Apparently someone took care to block my number.”
“What?!”
“The only one I could contact is one of my older brothers who left home ages ago and the terms weren’t that good, but he doesn’t own a landline because he says it’s too pricey for his income, and he calls me when he likes, so I can’t exactly do that. He won’t probably call before Christmas if I know him. I just - I don’t know. I told him that at least we could discuss it face to face, but he said no one wants to see me and I’m done shaming them or something along those lines.”
Dean has no idea of what he should say - what do you even answer when someone tells you such a thing?
“You’re taking it remarkably well,” Dean settles on. It feels inadequate.
“I just - I knew it was going to happen. I’m not - I don’t really want to go there and tell them I changed idea because that would be lying. I can’t even tell them that in my very humble opinion God won’t hate me for not liking women, that’d make things worse. But that’s how they take it. I knew that if they ever found out this would have happened. And I was already walking a thin line before. It’s not exactly a surprise.”
“It still sucks ass.”
Cas lets out half a laugh and shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “I guess it does, yes.”
Suddenly there’s a beeping sound from the laptop Cas had been keeping on the room’s only table - Dean remembers him asking if he could hook it up to the internet before.
“What’s that?” Dean asks.
“A new e-mail,” Cas answers before checking it. And that’s when his face goes from careful blankness to crumpled in misery.
“What -”
Castiel shrugs and moves away, nodding towards the computer. Dean figures it’s permission enough and reads the e-mail. Which is from Cas’s roommate. After a long-ish tirade about sinning and not being worthy in God’s eyes and a bunch of crap like that, the idiot finally gets to the point and says that he’d really be happy not to share the room anymore, and he’s already making arrangements for next semester, so Cas is gently required to find new accommodation. Then there’s the name and not even a goodbye.
“Can I just go Heathcliff on him at some point? I mean, after-Catherine-dies-Heathcliff,” Dean asks without thinking about it. Cas lets out a sound that is something between laughter and snorting, but it’s short-lived. He’s not looking well at all and Dean would really like to know if there’s anything he can do here.
“Believe me, at times I just wish someone would go Heathcliff on me instead of this,” Cas answers, and then he suddenly blushes, like he has just realized that he said something he shouldn’t have.
“What? I don’t think you mean that you’d like yourself in a possibly abusive relationship that also implies probably haunting people after you die.”
“No. Not really. It’s just - there’s a reason that’s my favorite book,” Cas says softly. “You’re right, I don’t exactly wish for that. See, it’s - it’s not just that Heathcliff is in love with Catherine. It’s how totally in love with her he is. He’s obsessive, he’s not what you’d consider a nice person, and then it’s her death that breaks him so completely even if… well, in your words, he still was a jerk before. No one in their sane mind would wish for someone else to love them like that, unless they were insane as well. Not at the point of bringing each other to hell, anyway. But the idea of someone wanting you that much - at times it’s tempting to wish it,” Cas keeps on before moving his hands in dismissal. “That probably didn’t make sense and made me look half-insane as well,” he says, but Dean raises a hand so that he stops talking. He thinks he kind of gets it.
“I don’t think that it’s insane. I mean, I think I get you on that. Not exactly for the same thing, but - I did tell you what’s actually my favorite, didn’t I?”
“Slaughterhouse Five? Yes, you did. Considering that you have an entire shelf covered in Vonnegut and that I’m sleeping in front of it, you probably didn’t even need to say it.”
“Yeah, well, I read it first when I was fourteen. And - it wasn’t a nice time. It was ten years since my mom died and my dad down there - let’s say it wasn’t his best moment. I had shit grades because I worried more about Sam’s than mine, Bobby couldn’t exactly care about everything all the time and anyway, it was bad. Then I read that thing and I always wondered how it’d feel to take trips on Trafamaldore. Often. The porn star was an added plus, but the idea of getting away to a place where shit didn’t matter because they already knew it all - it felt nice. Then you could tell me that it’s crazy because being unstuck in time means that you practically don’t control your life, but it seemed like a nice prospect. So I wanted to get unstuck in time and you want a dark, tall and handsome jerk, with also quite frightening abusive tendencies, to be absolutely in love with you. I don’t absolutely see anything insane in the entire thing. Except that we both look like two masochists.”
“No? Normal people would rather have their very own Mr. Darcy,” Cas replies, sounding half amused and half regretful.
“Fuck no,” Dean says, “what a nightmare. I hate when they’re jerks and you’re supposed to like them.”
“Do you even like men?” Cas asks, and Dean doesn’t honestly see what’d be so wrong in answering. Heck, with the conversation they’ve been having until now…
“Dude, I don’t abide to that kind of distinctions. The sea is full of fish, I won’t be the person to be picky when I like one. I just like people, I stopped working myself up about genders ages ago.”
“And everyone took it as graciously?”
Dean can see where Cas is heading here. He wonders if he should lie, but then he figures that there’d be no point.
“By the time I actually told ‘em we had gone through so much crap that it seemed sorta trivial.” Dean won’t go into details and say that one of the reasons that he dropped out was helping out with the bills when Bobby was in a car wreck and it seemed like he could lose both legs, and that they had tried to keep Sam out of it as much as possible, and that it was also what made his dad straighten himself out and get himself a steady job after stunts that lasted at most six months each. After that kind of thing people won’t change their opinion of you because you like to flirt on both sides on the pond. “They just went and nodded and said that if I ever brought someone home I should make sure not to wake them up anyway.”
Cas looks almost awed, for a second, then for another moment he frowns, like he’s debating on whether doing something very stupid or not.
On cue, when he speaks, he says, “I think I’m about to do something very stupid.”
“Does that include telling your family you changed idea?”
“No. Nothing of the kind. But - it still might be very stupid.”
“Can’t be as stupid as all the crap Emma whatshername did in that stupid novel,” Dean says, and then Castiel’s lips are on his and well fuck, now that’s a possibly very stupid thing, at least from Castiel’s point of view.
Except that Dean has been thinking about Cas’s roommate being an idiot for saying no to it since the cafeteria, and he’s about to kiss back when Cas moves away, his eyes cast down, his tongue running over his lips nervously. Well, that won’t do, he thinks, and he doesn’t waste time talking. He leans down and kisses Cas again, making it clear that he wants it to be a serious kiss. Cas lets out a surprised sound as he parts his lips, but then their tongues meet and it suddenly clicks down into place. Dean keeps the kiss nice and slow, his hand going to the back of Cas’s head while Cas’s hands reach up to his shoulders as he moves his tongue against Dean’s. When they part a small, contented sigh leaves Cas’s throat and yeah, it was a good kiss, Dean thinks. He opens his eyes and Cas is looking at him strangely, like he still isn’t processing it, but his cheeks are flushed and his lips kiss-swollen, and he looks pretty much stunning.
Cas’s roommate is definitely an idiot.
“I can assure you this wasn’t anywhere near the level of Emma-stupid,” Dean supplies when it’s clear that Cas isn’t going to talk first.
“Good to know,” Cas says. “I wasn’t - I can’t believe you’re - I was sure I read the signals right, but considering how well it went last time -”
“Can’t blame you for that, but - well, it’s probably clear by now, but I kinda do like you, so if you were being serious, I won’t say no.”
Cas takes a breath. “I think I might need to tell you something. You’re right, I don’t talk much to people I don’t know. It’s not that I have social anxiety, but - well, there was free counseling at my high school. I went sometimes without my family knowing. I kept on saying him that I wanted to talk to people but I couldn’t, and she kept on telling me that I had to get out of my comfort zone, but I never did that. Not back then. And well - when I saw you in class, I thought that you were - how do I put it - I thought that if I didn’t have feelings for someone else and that if I was the kind of person who talked to people I’d have totally tried to hit on you.”
There’s a second of silence, and Dean can barely process the information.
Seriously?
“Clearly I wasn’t ever going to do that, but then I saw you swearing over that book and I glanced at the cover. And I figured that you probably weren’t a Jane Austen person. Which I’m not, as well, and I don’t talk to people without reason but that seemed like a valid one. So I just took a breath and went out of my comfort zone. So I might have been the first person who ever talked to you about that, but you actually were the first person I didn’t previously know I had the guts to talk to about anything in ages, so -I figured that you should know.”
“You figured pretty much right,” Dean says, and then moves closer and kisses Cas again, the same way as before, starting slow and easy, except that Cas now kisses back fiercely, and in half a minute they’re making out like Dean can’t remember making out since early high school. It becomes fast and messy and ends up with the both of them sprawled on the bed trying to make it as long as it can. And damn, Cas is good at this. Those lips are just so soft and they feel perfect against his; when they part again, Dean just wants to dive in again.
“You know what?” Dean says. “I guess we’re burning through all the usual relationship steps and doing this ass-backwards, but Chuck - my roommate, I mean, he’s done with classes. He was half a year late and he was just missing this one, so basically he’s just coming back in January to grab his stuff and go back home until he comes back for graduation. If that jerk doesn’t want you to share with him anymore just move in with me.”
Cas thinks about it for one second, but then nods against Dean’s neck. “I guess that since you have already introduced me to your family, sharing a room might not be that great of a deal.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dean echoes.
That’s when the door slams open. “Dean, we’ve been calling you for dinner for ages - oh,” Sam blurts as soon as he notices their pretty much compromising position. Damn, Dean thinks, he hadn’t heard anyone, and from Cas’s face, he hadn’t either. Then Sam actually starts laughing, pumps a fist in the air and turns so he can shout down the stairs.
“Dad, Bobby! You owe me!”
“The fuck, Sammy?” Dean manages, and Sam turns back to the both of them.
“Oh, well, Dad bet fifty bucks that you two were already together when you came here. Were you?”
“No,” Cas answers, bewildered.
“And Bobby said that it was obvious that you weren’t, but that you still wouldn’t be when you left because you can be emotionally stunted when things are serious. While I said that you were totally going to hook up before Christmas. So now I have one hundred bucks to collect. And you’re still wanted for dinner,” Sam says, looking very much pleased with himself, as he runs back down the stairs.
“… I guess that maybe they read signals as well?” Dean offers when he feels coherent enough. Cas looks at him with a small smile on his lips, but at the same time it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting it as well.
“Perhaps. But… it’s alright. Don’t look at me like you wronged me. Actually it was quite amusing.”
“Yeah, they weren’t betting on you.”
“Well, if they bet on it then they won’t make a fuss, will they?”
Dean isn’t so stupid that he doesn’t get what it implies. And so he stands up and holds a hand out. “’Course not. So, you want to grab the stupid dinner or not? We’ll make this up as we go, I guess. Since we already did the rest backwards anyway.”
Cas doesn’t say anything to contradict the statement and grabs Dean’s hand as he stands up as well.
--
“So, how did you two meet anyway? Dean hasn’t shared details,” Bobby asks, and John just stares at Dean with a look that says that’s a point so just spit it out.
“Uhm,” Dean starts, “it was because of our mutual Jane Austen dislike I guess.”
“More like hatred,” Cas supplies. “And because of our mutual agreement that Emily Brontë is a far superior writer, I guess.”
“Are you serious?” Sam says. “You hate Jane Austen?”
Dean looks at Sam and rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I’d like her? Why, you do?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Everything!” Dean and Cas both supply at the same moment, and John lets out a snort of epic proportions.
“Okay, I guess this is a keeper,” he says before turning his attention at his food. Bobby rolls his eyes, calls them idjits and starts eating as well, Sam looks scandalized and Cas can’t stop grinning like there’s no tomorrow. And it’s a perfectly great look on him, Dean thinks.
--
At Christmas, he gives Cas a selection of Vonnegut paperbacks, since Cas had told him he had read Slaughterhouse Five only and not the rest. Dean, unsurprisingly, gets a fairly good edition of Wuthering Heights.
Sam has some serious and real presents, but before that he hands them over a couple of mock-presents, consisting in two heavy paperbacks containing all of Jane Austen’s novels, posthumous ones included.
Really, Dean thinks, he should have seen it coming when both books get aimed at his head at the same time.
End.
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel; Sam, Bobby and John also star.
Word count: ∼8200
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: none for the show, some for the books mentioned and the ending of at least two of them (Emma, Wuthering Heights, Slaughterhouse Five), if you consider that spoiling.
Warnings: blink and miss references to past alcoholism, I guess homophobia though no character actually appearing is guilty of that. Then, none really.
Summary: college AU wherein Dean hates his English literature assignment, Castiel is the only one in his class agreeing with him, both like Emily Brontë a lot better than Jane Austen and that's totally a good enough reason to help each other out.
A/N: so basically this exists because I owe cassiopeia7 a lot of packets of tissues for making her bawl her eyes out while beta-ing the most depressing thing I ever wrote in my entire life. But sending tissues to the US might be a problem. So I went for fic-tissues. And I know she doesn't like Jane Austen and I agree with her on that, so that's it. And as this was supposed to be virtual tissues, it's unrepentant rom-com material. By the way: if you're a Jane Austen fan, sorry in advance for the opinions stated within, but hey, you can be consoled by knowing that you're in the majority. ;) Using for my au_bingo wild card square (high school, though it's college. Well, I guess it's close enough). Also cassiopeia7 I definitely hope this is valid as tissue-material. ;)
He shouldn’t have taken English Lit in his last year, dammit.
That’s all Dean Winchester can think about right now, even if he should be concentrating on more pressing matters. Like finishing this stupid book he has to read so that he can write a stupid paper on it and four others - a paper for which he’ll get a probably horrible grade therefore ruining his hard-earned final grade. No, wait. He can also think about all the petty reasons for which he hasn’t signed up for that class in the previous three years he has spent at the University of Kansas, and why is that required for an engineering degree anyway? Alright, not the point. Those reasons all seem so petty now. It was Joyce in his first year and he had discarded it because it was too much to study, then Defoe on the second and he kind of really hates Robinson Crusoe and so he had skipped that as well. He could have totally taken the one on Huxley last year, but the professor had mentioned doing one on Vonnegut this year, and since Vonnegut is Dean’s favorite he had figured that he could wait and get a good grade.
And then the stupid professor had changed idea and now he’s stuck with the most useless book he has ever had the displeasure to read all his life.
I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly, he re-reads again for the fourth time (he hasn’t been able to turn the page since half an hour), and then he groans and closes the book, giving up on it for the moment.
“This is fucking hopeless,” he says to no one. At least he isn’t holed up in his dorm, since it’s a lovely day and he figured he could read in the college’s park. Which was a darn good idea, if you ask him. The lovely weather, albeit cold as fuck, is the only reason he hasn’t found a sharp object to commit hara-kiri with. It makes the whole matter slightly less miserable.
“May I help you?” comes from behind him, and Dean jolts because he hadn’t heard anyone coming. And he isn’t sure he knows anyone with a voice as deep and smooth as the one he has just heard. He turns on his side and he recognizes the person behind him alright.
Castiel Milton, who has had the best grades average in the campus at least in the English majors field, and who’s taking the same class with him. Also famous for working with four different charity organizations operating on campus (you always see him raising funds during weekends) and for lack of other social skills (okay, Dean wouldn’t have an idea about that if he hadn’t taken the English class, but apparently everyone else taking his major complains about Milton not having many friends and a bunch of other crap of the kind). Dean doesn’t really know him, but since they’re both living in the dorms and they enrolled in the same year he knew who he was even before they took a class together. A class during which they never spoke and during which Dean never stated his opinion, or he’d have probably been eaten alive. And considering all of that, he has no idea of why Castiel should be talking to him right now.
“Well,” Dean sighs, “can you tell me exactly everything that happens in the second half of this thing? Because I did get through the other three books even if I don’t give a shit about privileged rich people with nothing to do in their lives, but this one? It’s so insufferable that I can’t just take it,” he says handing over his used copy of Emma (like hell he was going to spend more than five bucks on it, considering how well he liked the other three). He’s ready to hear a lecture - implying that good old Jane Austen is insufferable to any person he meets who studies literature has gained him just silence and stares that said ‘damn, but you’re really an ignorant hick’.
Except that Castiel nods and sits next to him, looking nothing short of sympathetic.
“I cannot blame you. That book is insufferable. To be entirely honest, I find Jane Austen highly overrated, but yes, this one in particular… it just is.”
Dean can’t believe that someone actually agrees with him. And someone who’s supposed to be good at their job.
“I know? I mean, she, Emma, she’s such a spoiled brat. I don’t know who ever saw an emancipated woman in her or whatever crap professor Crowley has decided she is, but I just want to tell her to shut up whenever she opens her mouth. And I’d never hit a woman, really. And I need to write a stupid paper that will pretty much fuck up my final grade if I say what I really think, but then again I can’t if I don’t finish it and I really don’t want to finish it. And I hate everyone else, not just her,” he rants, shutting up as soon as he realizes that he has unloaded all of that on a perfect stranger.
But Castiel’s lips quirk up for a second before he gives Dean another nod. It’s strange to see him half-smiling; in class he’s usually the embodiment of seriousness. But it looks nice on him, Dean thinks; it does reach his eyes, and considering that Castiel has some seriously out of this world eyes (huge, of a clear but deep shade of blue), it isn’t a bad look on him. Also the fact that Castiel wears some classy (albeit obviously cheap) square glasses just makes them stand out more.
“I can’t say that I don’t agree on your feelings about wishing she’d rather stay silent.”
“That makes me feel less alone. Also just indulge me here, but does she end up with the guy who’s been eyeing her since the beginning?”
“Well, it seems to me like the rest of this book will be no surprise to you if you already guessed the ending.”
“I didn’t guess it, it’s just that it happens in all the others! I can’t take any more women marrying the supposedly right rich men that have been waiting for them all the time and who by the way never really fuck up - and if they do they have a good excuse. Actually I think I can’t take this whole thing about marrying a guy with a good income anymore.”
“I can’t fault you,” Castiel agrees. “That’s exactly what I thought, but when I pointed it out in another occasion… let’s say that I was torn to shreds. I’m waiting for a more stable academic position before I state my feelings on that matter again.”
“You? Well, I’m just glad I never tried to say it or I’d have flunked that class even with an A-worthy paper. Which won’t happen, but that’s another point.”
“I think you need a break from that book,” Castiel states, and Dean shakes his head.
“Man, I’d love to, but the paper’s due in a week. You probably wrote it already, but I haven’t taken a lit class since high school and I’ll be barely on time if I manage to finish the book and the paper,” he says, but Castiel shakes his head in return and then starts rummaging in his backpack. Dean just sees the top of his head, covered in unruly dark brown hair as he searches and takes out notebook after notebook, until Castiel fishes out this old battered paperback. He takes a sheet out of one of the notebooks, writes something on it, folds it, places it in the book and then hands it over to Dean.
Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë. What?
“And I should take a break with more love stories written by unmarried English women?”
Castiel laughs softly and pushes the book in his direction. “She didn’t marry, alright, but she also died too young. Her sister did marry, anyway. And believe me, she’s nothing like Austen. Really. No marriages based on money and no matchmaking. Give it a try and take a break. But I want it back, I have had it for almost eight years.”
“And you bring it with you everywhere?”
Castiel nods and Dean flashes him a smile that hopes it’s convincing. “Then if you guarantee for it I’ll give it a try.”
Castiel nods at him and then stands up saying that he has another class to attend, and Dean watches him leave. Then he turns to the paperback in his hands and he figures that fuck, it can’t really be worse than Emma, and it’d take skill to write in such a prissy style anyway. He’ll take an expert’s recommendation. As soon as he opens it, the piece of paper Castiel wrote on before falls down; Dean takes it. There’s the number of Castiel’s dorm room written on it.
Dean smiles and puts it in his wallet.
--
Point is, he finishes it in two days and a half.
And then he calls Castiel’s room even if it’s seven AM, because he’s been up all night reading it and another reason Castiel is famous is that he sleeps like three hours each night. Or well, famous between English Majors, but going to that class has opened Dean an entire new world of gossip. If Castiel’s roommate wants to kill him for using the landline at seven AM, well, who cares.
“Dude,” he starts without even saying hello, “that Heathcliff could kick Darcy’s ass just by blinking.”
Castiel lets out a snort over the line. “I gather that you liked it better than Pride and Prejudice?”
“Are you kidding? At least she didn’t write characters making me want to like them. And they don’t think about money and getting married to someone convenient all the damned time. Okay, they’re all pretty much fucked up, but no one’s waiting for the girl to fall at the guy’s feet. Heck, everyone is a jerk except for maybe three people and that’s not a given. It’s refreshing,” he ends.
“Indeed,” Castiel agrees.
“You bet. But now I have to get back to that other thing anyway.”
“Well then, you can just imagine that at some point Heathcliff storms in and beats Mr. Knightley to a pulp,” Castiel answers, sounding perfectly serious.
“Yeah, maybe while Emma starts a catfight with the first Catherine? That’d be bloody. And she’d totally lose,” Dean states, trying to holding back laughter as he imagines the scene.
That’d be kind of a riot to watch.
“If it works better for you, it seems suitable,” Castiel agrees.
--
Dean gets through the goddamned stupid book and the advice actually works, even if Chuck (his roommate, who might drink too much and talk too much about stuff Dean doesn’t give a shit about, but he saved Dean’s ass when he had to take a stupid theology class he didn’t care for, so he closes both eyes) keeps asking him why the heck he laughs every three paragraphs or so.
Dean can’t exactly tell him that he has just imagined Heathcliff telling Emma everything Dean thinks about her, in very blunt terms.
Anyway, when he’s done he sits down and grits his teeth and writes a paper that is full of banalities and bare facts that earns him a respectable B (actually it would have been a B-, but according to professor Crowley it was obvious that Dean was one of the three people in the class who had actually read the books, so he upped the grade. Dean figures he can forgive him for having changed idea about Vonnegut). His final grade won’t be bad at all and all the classes he has next semester after winter break are the easy ones that he left for last so that he wouldn’t have to kill himself, and he decides that he should really call Castiel and say thanks. He has given the book back, of course, but he still feels that he should call regardless; but on the other side it would seem random and he isn’t sure whether it’d be appropriate or not. Especially since they’re not friends or anything. But if he wants to call he should do it now; everyone’s leaving for winter break in a couple of days maximum, so he can’t wait that long.
Just as he debates, he walks in front of the cafeteria and there Castiel is. Except that he looks positively miserable. He’s hunched over the table, staring at the menu without even pretending to read it, and he’s wearing a jeans jacket in December in Kansas, which is insane since it’s too cold for that, even on the inside.
Well, decision made, he thinks. You can’t just leave like that someone that looks like misery made flesh.
He sits at Castiel’s table without saying hi and he smirks a little when Castiel raises his head and looks at him in pure surprise.
“Hi there,” he starts, “I was wondering whether to call you and there you were, so I figured I’d come say hello anyway. And sorry man, but you look beat.”
“I… I feel beat, actually,” Castiel answers, careful, like he isn’t sure of how much information he should share. But he also looks positively surprised that Dean actually sat there.
“What’s wrong?”
“A lot,” Castiel admits, his shoulders slumping even further, “but I really don’t want to burden you with -”
“Is there anyone else you can bother?”
“… not really.”
Dean had figured that out already. As said, according to English Lit gossip, guy’s famous for being on his own most of the time. And right now, he doesn’t look like someone who has a best friend forever to bother.
“Fine. Wait here,” Dean says before heading to the check out.
He comes back with a cup full of hot, dark chocolate, covered with an unhealthy dose of whipped cream, and then he pushes it in front of Castiel, who in return looks at him like he’s some kind of alien.
“So what? You look like you need it. My treat, with many thanks for saving my sanity. See, I didn’t fail that class and possibly fucked up my grade, my degree and chances of getting a scholarship if I want to do grad school just because you gave me some advice, and you look like you could talk to someone, so just spill. At times strangers are a better choice.”
Castiel stares at him for… well, too much time for it to be proper, but at some point he seems to convince himself; he takes the cup in his hands, sips from it, then puts it back down on the table.
“I kissed my roommate. Or well, I tried to.”
“She wasn’t up for it?” Dean asks, wondering how stupid can people be. Okay, it’s not like Dean’s thinking not proper things right now, especially about someone he barely knows, but you can’t deny that Castiel is a very pretty sight. He’s well-built, has a quite proportioned body, and then add those eyes, the hair that never seems combed, plus two pale, full lips that seem made to be kissed: she really has to have weird tastes to turn that down. Especially since it’s not like Castiel is a horrible person. Hell, he seems perfectly nice. Maybe he isn’t a people person and he doesn’t like parties - so what? Dean can’t see what’s the matter.
“My roommate is a he. We’ve been friends since junior high. He’s… was kind of my only real friend,” Castiel says. “I thought he was… sending signals. Of the kind. I was wrong.”
Dean just nods and doesn’t stand up. Castiel licks his lips nervously and then lets out a breath.
So, that obviously changes things. The guy’s probably a jerk who isn’t into men, but then again why should he have been sending signals, as Castiel says?
“Then… he called my parents back home. And I found out… see, I come from a very religious family. They had already planned my entire education, which included going to a seminary, and they weren’t exactly happy about me going to a public university or studying something as useless as English literature. Also they… uhm. Had… suspicions.”
“They thought you were into guys?”
“Yeah. So… my friend, he was going to come here because he doesn’t have the means to pay for education elsewhere. And apparently last September they asked him to… find out whether I really was into men.”
“And he agreed?”
“Apparently so. He had been sending said signals, just… you get it. And… I just spoke with my father. I’m - I’m not going home for winter break,” Castiel says, his voice getting so low that it’s almost not audible, and Dean decides that he needs to punch the guy.
Seriously? What kind of friend is someone like this anyway?
“What a jerk,” Dean can’t help saying as Cas drinks again. “For real? I mean. Just. I couldn’t even begin to consider the idea if someone asked me that.”
Cas nods into the cup. He still looks miserable.
Dean decides that he needs to lift everyone’s spirits up.
“Heck, maybe he’s like Emma in the flesh. The book, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Prissy, cheating on the reader all the time, full of itself, and when you’re free of it it’s actually a liberation.”
At that Cas looks at him for a second, like he isn’t getting it, tilting his head slightly, but then his eyes light up in understanding and he lets out a small, sincere laugh.
Dean feels pleased with himself. If only he did brighten the mood.
“Well, that wasn’t bad,” Cas says.
“Man, really, I’ve talked to you three times, but you really don’t deserve crap like that.” Not when even if you aren’t a social person you’re seen collecting money for charity every damned weekend, but Dean doesn’t say that out loud. “You need to find yourself a Wuthering Heights instead.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, let’s see. Exciting, insanely dedicated, maybe borderline obsessive but with a heart somewhere, and it doesn’t cast judgments on anyone because it knows perfectly that all of its characters are fucked up,” Dean supplies, and Cas’s cheeks are less pale right now even if he’s still shivering.
“And seriously, a jeans jacket?”
“I… I might have ran out of the room wearing just what I had on. I really don’t feel like going back inside now, you know? And he isn’t leaving until tomorrow morning.”
“You know what?”
Castiel shakes his head.
“Come to mine. My roommate left this morning and I have a spare jacket. You can have his bed and I can lend you that tomorrow. I can’t exactly let you freeze to death, can I?”
Castiel looks at him like he has just grown another head.
“Why would you do that?” he asks, like he’s genuinely surprised that Dean would give a shit.
“Dude. You gave me a hand when no one asked you to and when you could have walked by. Also you don’t really stop talking to people at random, I know enough of that, and I still don’t know why you decided to talk to me, but for me it was a big deal. And that isn’t even my bed anyway.”
Castiel does smile for real then, bringing his hand to his hair and messing it up even further. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
--
It isn’t until they’re both in bed that Dean remembers something.
“Hey,” he asks just after he turns off the light, “not to pry, but if you aren’t going home at winter break anymore, what are you gonna do?”
“I guess I’ll stay here,” Castiel almost sighs.
Dean is about to say that it’s fucking sad, and then he remembers something more important.
“Er, aren’t they cutting off the heat at least from Christmas to New Year’s?”
“What?”
“You don’t know? They need to do some repairing so whoever’s not going home has been finding a place to crash for a while.”
He hears Castiel sigh and turn over in the bed. “Thanks for informing me. I… I guess I’ll think about it tomorrow,” he says, and he sounds so sad that Dean feels genuinely bad for him.
And then he has the most ill-advised idea he’ll ever have in his entire life.
--
The morning after he gets out of bed before Castiel (who’s currently buried under the blankets), goes to where public phones are and calls Sam’s room at Stanford, then he calls his dad, then his dad hands the phone over to Bobby and by the time the call’s over, Dean is half-sure that it might actually work.
When he gets back inside, he has bought coffee and a couple of doughnuts and Castiel looks barely alive.
“Don’t tell me, you love the smell of caffeine in the morning?” Dean asks handing the cup over, and Castiel drinks half of it and then tilts his head at him.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference.”
“Wait, you’ve never seen Apocalypse Now?”
“I read Heart of Darkness,” Castiel answers, and Dean would like to state that it isn’t the same thing, but then he figures that if this goes as planned then he’ll put a remedy to it.
“Okay, listen, I was talking to my dad before. Y’know, we used to live here. Me, my brother and our parents I mean, but then my mom died in a house fire when I was four and then we all moved to Sioux Falls because there was a friend of dad’s that could let us stay. Then we never moved away but whatever.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, I’m leaving for Sioux Falls this afternoon to spend Christmas over there, since it’s not like my dad will ever set foot in Lawrence again, and I was wondering - you wanna come with?”
Castiel looks at him like he has positively grown five heads and not just two.
“Are you serious?” Castiel asks, suddenly defensive, and Dean can see why. Damn. He just wishes he can phrase it right because if not it’d sound either creepy or offensive or whatever.
“Listen, I know that we barely know each other and that this probably looks very… over the top to you. I mean, you lend me a book and now I’m inviting you over for Christmas? I get it, I do. But well, first thing, anyone who talked to you for a second would think that you don’t deserve any of that. Or to spend three weeks alone without heating of everything. Which would be enough for me to at least make sure you don’t. But… well, after my mother died I spent a good number of years giving a shit just about my brother, and I never had many friends. It took my dad years to recover from the blow so it wasn’t like he cared much about what I did in school anyway. Whatever, regarding friends, I never had any close ones, so I kinda get how it is when you can’t call anyone. High school was what it was and I dropped out at sixteen. I went here because I couldn’t afford anything else and it wasn’t like I was going to get full rides to Stanford with a GED. When I came here you could see that anyone looking over at my record thought that it would be a waste. But I really wanted to because between dropping out and getting the GED I realized I had been an idiot, and to cut it short, I never really had any help. I did manage to get that scholarship even I’m not a genius or anything, and no one ever tried to get some effort out of me, and to cut the story short and stop this self-pity party, you’re the first person who gave me a stupid hand when I had a problem with that kind of stuff. I had actually asked people in class, you know?”
“And what did they say?”
“That since I was studying something as stupid as what I do, what was the point? Of course I don’t get how great old Janey is,” Dean sighs. “But - you just sat down there and listened to me, and I know it’s kind of sad that you were the first, but whatever. But it’s not like I’m asking you over because I think I owe you. I’m asking you because after talking to you I decided that - well, no one should be alone at Christmas and case is, I actually like you. And anyone that doesn’t bat an eyelid sleeping in Chuck’s Star Wars sheet deserves praise, anyway.”
Cas looks at the sheet like he hasn’t realized it - it’s actually a Star Wars one. Dean wonders if he has seen that. Probably not, considering the way he’s frowning at Yoda behind those glasses that he just put on.
“So, to end this probably embarrassing tirade, I genuinely like you for enough reasons and I’d really appreciate it if you came with me so at least you don’t die frozen. So?”
Castiel still looks at him like he can’t just wrap his head around it, but then he takes a breath and when he raises his eyes, there’s such thankfulness in his stare that Dean almost has to look away.
“Then if your family agrees - well, I’d be more than glad to accept.”
“See? Always a good idea. And seriously, my family is… another three people and I’m not even related to one of them. Also they’re one more insane than the other, if only because they agreed at once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I called Sam first - my brother, and he asked me if I was crazy, then I explained him without sharing too many details and then he changed idea. My dad said it was okay as soon as I told him that we were friends, I suspect because he’s been feeling guilty for ages that I sucked at having any, and then Bobby just said to bring you the hell over, he’s been outvoted anyway.”
“Isn’t it his own house?”
“Oh, yeah, but I think that stopped mattering a while ago.”
Castiel shakes his head like he can’t believe it.
“So… we’re friends?” he asks, and… well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Do you want us to be?” Dean asks, and Castiel smiles slightly again.
“I would like to try.”
“Then yeah. Okay, sure.” Dean says, and it feels good.
--
Cas goes back to his room when he’s sure that it’s empty; he packs a duffel and retrieves his coat, and Dean packs as well while he’s off doing that; after lunch, they load everything into Dean’s ’67 Chevy Impala (it used to be his dad’s - then it was a gift when Dean left for college) and set off for Sioux Falls.
On the car, Dean is relieved to find out that while Castiel isn’t into Metallica or Motorhead, he has a thing for Led Zeppelin, which is more than enough to win points with him; and considering that the drive to Sioux Falls is six hours, he’s more than glad to spend them listening to good stuff. And having good conversation, because Castiel might not be famous for being a social bee, but it’s kind of pretty easy to talk to him, and heck, spending two hours saying all possible horrible things about Jane Austen makes for a pretty awesome trip.
--
When they get to Bobby’s salvage yard it’s past eight PM and already pitch dark. When they get out of the car it’s also disgustingly cold, but it’s South Dakota in the winter - he couldn’t have expected the same heat that was inside the car, right? He opens the trunk and hands Castiel his duffel, then he takes his own and closes the car. Then he looks at the house - lights are on, so someone has to be in.
“Alright,” he says, “my brother’s not getting here until day after tomorrow so it’s just Bobby and my dad. Chill out, they won’t eat you.”
Castiel doesn’t look that sure about it, but Dean ignores him and knocks on the door. He wisely puts the duffel on the ground before, and it’s a good idea because as soon as the door opens his dad his hugging him cutting off half of his air.
Well, John Winchester never used to be that much of an affectionate person, until both of his sons went off to get an education - not that Dean minds the fact anyway.
“Dad, you’re killing me,” Dean mutters, and John moves away. He looks good - and alright, what if Dean checks every time? He hasn’t touched alcohol in years by now, but you can’t blame Dean for wanting to be extra sure.
“Sorry, but if you showed your face once in a while, maybe I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, drive six hours every time, pay for the gas and we’re talking about it. Anyway, where’s Bobby?”
“Out back discussing shit with some client of his, he said not to bother since he might be long. Just get inside before you freeze. Also is that your friend over there?”
“Yeah,” Dean supplies as Castiel moves cautiously forward.
“Uh, so. Dad, that’s Castiel. Cas, just come over here,” Dean says, and what the fuck, where did Cas come from?
No one is complaining anyway, even though Castiel does blink at him for one second, and then he comes forward and extends his hand.
“Castiel Milton, sir. Pleased to meet you,” Castiel says politely, and then he gasps when John grabs his hand back and possibly breaks a couple of fingers as he shakes it.
“Same here. And please cut the sir and just call me John, it makes me feel older than I am. So, you two wanna go and put your stuff somewhere?”
“Yeah, guess so,” Dean says before grabbing the duffel. He’ll just show Castiel the guest room and -
“Oh, Dean? Did Bobby tell you about the renovations?”
“The what?”
“Obviously not. Anyway, the guest room, there was some leak of water from the bathroom next to it last day and unless you wanna catch pneumonia or live with water trickling under the bed, you can’t stay in there. We moved most of the stuff inside it to your room -”
“Why mine?”
“Because it was the bigger one, and y’know it. Anyway, no one’s up for fixing it before the new year and both me and Bobby decided it was something for a professional, so I dunno, if you’re cool with sharing the room then the guest bed is over in your place, if not there’s always the couch.”
Dean turns to Castiel, who merely shrugs, his face saying so what, haven’t we just shared?
And yeah, well, they did. It’s also two different beds, so whatever.
“Guess we’ll take mine then,” Dean says, and then he starts to climb up the stairs and Castiel follows him.
--
They get settled shortly and while Dean’s room might be slightly cramped since it’s housing everything that was in the guest room it’s still enough for the both of them to get comfortable. Bobby gets home a short while later and he just nods after taking a look at Castiel and asks whether someone can volunteer to help him with the goddamn dinner. Castiel does volunteer saying a bunch of crap about wanting to repay them for their kindness and so on, and dinner is pretty good.
So yeah, that was off to a nice start, at least.
--
Sam gets home the day after and Dean figures that Castiel staying with them won’t be a problem after thirty minutes.
Or well, after thirty minutes it turns out that they’re in the same nerdy online book club and they had been exchanging reading advice for ages, and then they start geeking out and Dean doesn’t even try to follow the conversation.
Yeah, well, he figures that it went good.
--
So things go all nice and dandy for the next three days, and then Dean comes into his room to find Cas (the nickname actually stuck - Dean likes it better and Castiel says he sort of likes it, so Cas it is) with his head in his hands as he sits on the bed. And wait, he looks positively miserable again.
“Hey,” he asks as he sits down on his own bed, “what’s up?”
He keeps his voice quiet; Cas startles for a second, apparently realizing just now that Dean had been inside the room a while.
“Oh. Uhm, I had a call.”
“From?”
“My uncle. I had sort of ignored his calls until now, but I figured I should answer at some point.”
“And?”
“He made it perfectly clear that I’m not really welcome for the foreseeable future.”
“Your uncle decides it?”
Cas shrugs. “Well, everyone lives at his parsonage. I mean, it’s three families in the same place and he wants us all to share the house, so it’s his call.”
“Parsonage?”
“He’s a preacher,” Cas supplies before sighing and shaking his head. “I was waiting for that, anyway.”
“That’s insane. Don’t you have brothers or sisters or anything?”
“Yes. About seven, just in my family, to be exact.”
“And you can’t call any of them?”
“Apparently someone took care to block my number.”
“What?!”
“The only one I could contact is one of my older brothers who left home ages ago and the terms weren’t that good, but he doesn’t own a landline because he says it’s too pricey for his income, and he calls me when he likes, so I can’t exactly do that. He won’t probably call before Christmas if I know him. I just - I don’t know. I told him that at least we could discuss it face to face, but he said no one wants to see me and I’m done shaming them or something along those lines.”
Dean has no idea of what he should say - what do you even answer when someone tells you such a thing?
“You’re taking it remarkably well,” Dean settles on. It feels inadequate.
“I just - I knew it was going to happen. I’m not - I don’t really want to go there and tell them I changed idea because that would be lying. I can’t even tell them that in my very humble opinion God won’t hate me for not liking women, that’d make things worse. But that’s how they take it. I knew that if they ever found out this would have happened. And I was already walking a thin line before. It’s not exactly a surprise.”
“It still sucks ass.”
Cas lets out half a laugh and shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “I guess it does, yes.”
Suddenly there’s a beeping sound from the laptop Cas had been keeping on the room’s only table - Dean remembers him asking if he could hook it up to the internet before.
“What’s that?” Dean asks.
“A new e-mail,” Cas answers before checking it. And that’s when his face goes from careful blankness to crumpled in misery.
“What -”
Castiel shrugs and moves away, nodding towards the computer. Dean figures it’s permission enough and reads the e-mail. Which is from Cas’s roommate. After a long-ish tirade about sinning and not being worthy in God’s eyes and a bunch of crap like that, the idiot finally gets to the point and says that he’d really be happy not to share the room anymore, and he’s already making arrangements for next semester, so Cas is gently required to find new accommodation. Then there’s the name and not even a goodbye.
“Can I just go Heathcliff on him at some point? I mean, after-Catherine-dies-Heathcliff,” Dean asks without thinking about it. Cas lets out a sound that is something between laughter and snorting, but it’s short-lived. He’s not looking well at all and Dean would really like to know if there’s anything he can do here.
“Believe me, at times I just wish someone would go Heathcliff on me instead of this,” Cas answers, and then he suddenly blushes, like he has just realized that he said something he shouldn’t have.
“What? I don’t think you mean that you’d like yourself in a possibly abusive relationship that also implies probably haunting people after you die.”
“No. Not really. It’s just - there’s a reason that’s my favorite book,” Cas says softly. “You’re right, I don’t exactly wish for that. See, it’s - it’s not just that Heathcliff is in love with Catherine. It’s how totally in love with her he is. He’s obsessive, he’s not what you’d consider a nice person, and then it’s her death that breaks him so completely even if… well, in your words, he still was a jerk before. No one in their sane mind would wish for someone else to love them like that, unless they were insane as well. Not at the point of bringing each other to hell, anyway. But the idea of someone wanting you that much - at times it’s tempting to wish it,” Cas keeps on before moving his hands in dismissal. “That probably didn’t make sense and made me look half-insane as well,” he says, but Dean raises a hand so that he stops talking. He thinks he kind of gets it.
“I don’t think that it’s insane. I mean, I think I get you on that. Not exactly for the same thing, but - I did tell you what’s actually my favorite, didn’t I?”
“Slaughterhouse Five? Yes, you did. Considering that you have an entire shelf covered in Vonnegut and that I’m sleeping in front of it, you probably didn’t even need to say it.”
“Yeah, well, I read it first when I was fourteen. And - it wasn’t a nice time. It was ten years since my mom died and my dad down there - let’s say it wasn’t his best moment. I had shit grades because I worried more about Sam’s than mine, Bobby couldn’t exactly care about everything all the time and anyway, it was bad. Then I read that thing and I always wondered how it’d feel to take trips on Trafamaldore. Often. The porn star was an added plus, but the idea of getting away to a place where shit didn’t matter because they already knew it all - it felt nice. Then you could tell me that it’s crazy because being unstuck in time means that you practically don’t control your life, but it seemed like a nice prospect. So I wanted to get unstuck in time and you want a dark, tall and handsome jerk, with also quite frightening abusive tendencies, to be absolutely in love with you. I don’t absolutely see anything insane in the entire thing. Except that we both look like two masochists.”
“No? Normal people would rather have their very own Mr. Darcy,” Cas replies, sounding half amused and half regretful.
“Fuck no,” Dean says, “what a nightmare. I hate when they’re jerks and you’re supposed to like them.”
“Do you even like men?” Cas asks, and Dean doesn’t honestly see what’d be so wrong in answering. Heck, with the conversation they’ve been having until now…
“Dude, I don’t abide to that kind of distinctions. The sea is full of fish, I won’t be the person to be picky when I like one. I just like people, I stopped working myself up about genders ages ago.”
“And everyone took it as graciously?”
Dean can see where Cas is heading here. He wonders if he should lie, but then he figures that there’d be no point.
“By the time I actually told ‘em we had gone through so much crap that it seemed sorta trivial.” Dean won’t go into details and say that one of the reasons that he dropped out was helping out with the bills when Bobby was in a car wreck and it seemed like he could lose both legs, and that they had tried to keep Sam out of it as much as possible, and that it was also what made his dad straighten himself out and get himself a steady job after stunts that lasted at most six months each. After that kind of thing people won’t change their opinion of you because you like to flirt on both sides on the pond. “They just went and nodded and said that if I ever brought someone home I should make sure not to wake them up anyway.”
Cas looks almost awed, for a second, then for another moment he frowns, like he’s debating on whether doing something very stupid or not.
On cue, when he speaks, he says, “I think I’m about to do something very stupid.”
“Does that include telling your family you changed idea?”
“No. Nothing of the kind. But - it still might be very stupid.”
“Can’t be as stupid as all the crap Emma whatshername did in that stupid novel,” Dean says, and then Castiel’s lips are on his and well fuck, now that’s a possibly very stupid thing, at least from Castiel’s point of view.
Except that Dean has been thinking about Cas’s roommate being an idiot for saying no to it since the cafeteria, and he’s about to kiss back when Cas moves away, his eyes cast down, his tongue running over his lips nervously. Well, that won’t do, he thinks, and he doesn’t waste time talking. He leans down and kisses Cas again, making it clear that he wants it to be a serious kiss. Cas lets out a surprised sound as he parts his lips, but then their tongues meet and it suddenly clicks down into place. Dean keeps the kiss nice and slow, his hand going to the back of Cas’s head while Cas’s hands reach up to his shoulders as he moves his tongue against Dean’s. When they part a small, contented sigh leaves Cas’s throat and yeah, it was a good kiss, Dean thinks. He opens his eyes and Cas is looking at him strangely, like he still isn’t processing it, but his cheeks are flushed and his lips kiss-swollen, and he looks pretty much stunning.
Cas’s roommate is definitely an idiot.
“I can assure you this wasn’t anywhere near the level of Emma-stupid,” Dean supplies when it’s clear that Cas isn’t going to talk first.
“Good to know,” Cas says. “I wasn’t - I can’t believe you’re - I was sure I read the signals right, but considering how well it went last time -”
“Can’t blame you for that, but - well, it’s probably clear by now, but I kinda do like you, so if you were being serious, I won’t say no.”
Cas takes a breath. “I think I might need to tell you something. You’re right, I don’t talk much to people I don’t know. It’s not that I have social anxiety, but - well, there was free counseling at my high school. I went sometimes without my family knowing. I kept on saying him that I wanted to talk to people but I couldn’t, and she kept on telling me that I had to get out of my comfort zone, but I never did that. Not back then. And well - when I saw you in class, I thought that you were - how do I put it - I thought that if I didn’t have feelings for someone else and that if I was the kind of person who talked to people I’d have totally tried to hit on you.”
There’s a second of silence, and Dean can barely process the information.
Seriously?
“Clearly I wasn’t ever going to do that, but then I saw you swearing over that book and I glanced at the cover. And I figured that you probably weren’t a Jane Austen person. Which I’m not, as well, and I don’t talk to people without reason but that seemed like a valid one. So I just took a breath and went out of my comfort zone. So I might have been the first person who ever talked to you about that, but you actually were the first person I didn’t previously know I had the guts to talk to about anything in ages, so -I figured that you should know.”
“You figured pretty much right,” Dean says, and then moves closer and kisses Cas again, the same way as before, starting slow and easy, except that Cas now kisses back fiercely, and in half a minute they’re making out like Dean can’t remember making out since early high school. It becomes fast and messy and ends up with the both of them sprawled on the bed trying to make it as long as it can. And damn, Cas is good at this. Those lips are just so soft and they feel perfect against his; when they part again, Dean just wants to dive in again.
“You know what?” Dean says. “I guess we’re burning through all the usual relationship steps and doing this ass-backwards, but Chuck - my roommate, I mean, he’s done with classes. He was half a year late and he was just missing this one, so basically he’s just coming back in January to grab his stuff and go back home until he comes back for graduation. If that jerk doesn’t want you to share with him anymore just move in with me.”
Cas thinks about it for one second, but then nods against Dean’s neck. “I guess that since you have already introduced me to your family, sharing a room might not be that great of a deal.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dean echoes.
That’s when the door slams open. “Dean, we’ve been calling you for dinner for ages - oh,” Sam blurts as soon as he notices their pretty much compromising position. Damn, Dean thinks, he hadn’t heard anyone, and from Cas’s face, he hadn’t either. Then Sam actually starts laughing, pumps a fist in the air and turns so he can shout down the stairs.
“Dad, Bobby! You owe me!”
“The fuck, Sammy?” Dean manages, and Sam turns back to the both of them.
“Oh, well, Dad bet fifty bucks that you two were already together when you came here. Were you?”
“No,” Cas answers, bewildered.
“And Bobby said that it was obvious that you weren’t, but that you still wouldn’t be when you left because you can be emotionally stunted when things are serious. While I said that you were totally going to hook up before Christmas. So now I have one hundred bucks to collect. And you’re still wanted for dinner,” Sam says, looking very much pleased with himself, as he runs back down the stairs.
“… I guess that maybe they read signals as well?” Dean offers when he feels coherent enough. Cas looks at him with a small smile on his lips, but at the same time it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting it as well.
“Perhaps. But… it’s alright. Don’t look at me like you wronged me. Actually it was quite amusing.”
“Yeah, they weren’t betting on you.”
“Well, if they bet on it then they won’t make a fuss, will they?”
Dean isn’t so stupid that he doesn’t get what it implies. And so he stands up and holds a hand out. “’Course not. So, you want to grab the stupid dinner or not? We’ll make this up as we go, I guess. Since we already did the rest backwards anyway.”
Cas doesn’t say anything to contradict the statement and grabs Dean’s hand as he stands up as well.
--
“So, how did you two meet anyway? Dean hasn’t shared details,” Bobby asks, and John just stares at Dean with a look that says that’s a point so just spit it out.
“Uhm,” Dean starts, “it was because of our mutual Jane Austen dislike I guess.”
“More like hatred,” Cas supplies. “And because of our mutual agreement that Emily Brontë is a far superior writer, I guess.”
“Are you serious?” Sam says. “You hate Jane Austen?”
Dean looks at Sam and rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I’d like her? Why, you do?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Everything!” Dean and Cas both supply at the same moment, and John lets out a snort of epic proportions.
“Okay, I guess this is a keeper,” he says before turning his attention at his food. Bobby rolls his eyes, calls them idjits and starts eating as well, Sam looks scandalized and Cas can’t stop grinning like there’s no tomorrow. And it’s a perfectly great look on him, Dean thinks.
--
At Christmas, he gives Cas a selection of Vonnegut paperbacks, since Cas had told him he had read Slaughterhouse Five only and not the rest. Dean, unsurprisingly, gets a fairly good edition of Wuthering Heights.
Sam has some serious and real presents, but before that he hands them over a couple of mock-presents, consisting in two heavy paperbacks containing all of Jane Austen’s novels, posthumous ones included.
Really, Dean thinks, he should have seen it coming when both books get aimed at his head at the same time.
End.