The one with the quadratic formula, 1/1, PG13, pre-Dean/Castiel, 807
Title: The one with the quadratic formula, part of the Take a Deep Breath 'verse
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Castiel, Dean Winchester (Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester, Alastair)
Warning(s): highschool!AU, math, pre-slash
Spoiler(s): N/A
Prompt(s): sycophantastic asked for Dean/Cas, "passing notes" at comment_fic
Word Count: 807
Master List: Here
Rants: This is part of my hs!au 'verse I really need to start posting...
Summary: Castiel and Dean are in study hall together. Dean sucks at math. Castiel is just awesome.
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Crossposted to: here @ comment_fic
“What’s the quadratic formula?” Dean asks suddenly.
Castiel looks up from his French homework to glance across the small table in the back of the cafeteria - there aren’t enough classrooms, and it’s only study hall - to look at Dean, watching as he chews the eraser on his pencil.
“The quadratic formula is used to solve quadratic equations,” Castiel replies softly, glancing warily across the room to see that Mr. Singer is busy. They’re not supposed to be talking. “It’s for when the factors are fractions - “
“I know what it’s for,” Dean hisses, his green eyes lighting up in silent laughter, “I mean what is it?”
“Oh,” Castiel replies, his cheeks flushing. “X is equal to negative B, plus - “
“Novak!” Mr. Singer barks across the hall. “Winchester,” he adds, narrowing his eyes. “You know the rules.”
Castiel flashes Dean an apologetic smile before melting in his seat under Mr. Singer’s gaze.
Dean just rolls his eyes, before ripping out a piece of paper and jotting something down on it. He passes it to Castiel, and quirks an eyebrow.
X = -b +/- ? followed by I fucking hate math.
Castiel smiles faintly. He pushes his French out of the way to jot something down on the paper before passing it back.
Dean grins his appreciation and Castiel’s heart flipflops in his chest. The older male turns his attention back to his math and he scrunches his face up as he works. He scribbles in the margins and counts on his fingers.
It takes Castiel a moment to realize Dean doesn’t have a calculator. He roots in his own bag to find his - a heavy graphing calculator he’s pretty sure used to be Michael’s - before prodding Dean in the side with it.
Dean just stares at him blankly for a moment, before accepting it. He flashes Castiel a grin before jotting something down on the note paper and passing it back You know Alastair doesn’t let us use these things, right?
Castiel does know. He has Algebra II with Mr. Alastair two periods after Dean does. He shrugs nonchalantly before answering. He doesn’t need to know. Fractions and decimals are almost impossible to do without a calculator.
Dean snorts. No fucking kidding.
Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that, besides smiling brightly, and they slip back into a comfortable silence. Castiel has known Dean for as long as he can remember and they’ve lived across the street from each other for their whole lives. They’re comfortable with each other.
Well, Dean is comfortable with Castiel. Castiel has been in love with Dean since he was seven (and Sam never fails to tease him about never saying anything). Sighing heavily, Castiel sinks farther in his seat and stares forlornly at his French homework.
“Je t’aimer, je t’aime, je t’aimerai,” Castiel sighs.
Dean glances up at him, frowning.
Sorry., Castiel writes, cheeks flushing. Conjugating aloud.
You and your French. And Latin. Are you seriously taking German next year? You’re such a freak. :)
Just because you failed Spanish doesn’t mean that everyone else has to fail at World Languages. And maybe, I don’t know. Haven’t decided. That will be all of my electives.
You shouldn’t take so many classes.
Castiel scowls at Dean, but Dean just shrugs. That’s hardly for you to decide. he writes back.
I just worry about you.
Castiel can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. He doesn’t know how to reply to that - he doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case Dean is just being nice.
Dean snatches the paper back from Castiel before he gets the chance to write anything, successfully saving Castiel from humiliating himself.
What are you the words break up as Dean tries unsuccessfully to spell conjugating and a bunch of messy scribbles fuck this, working on?
I love you.
Dean’s face flushes and Castiel realizes his mistake and he snatches the paper back.
Je t’aime means I love you. I didn’t mean I love you.
Dean looks at Castiel with an unreadable expression, clutching the paper in his fingers. He hesitates, looking awkward for a minute, before he opens his mouth. “Cas - “
The bell rings.
Castiel’s heart is pounding so loudly in his chest he’s pretty sure Dean can hear it. “Dean,” he says, licking his lips.
“Never mind,” Dean says, forcing himself to grin. “Forget it. Stop working so hard.” He passes Castiel his calculator back, and Castiel accepts it numbly. “See you later.”
Castiel watches Dean pack up his stuff and leave before he hands his head and sighs. “Stupid, stupid, Cas,” he mutters, shoving his own stuff into his bag. “Stupid.”
(He gets a text from Sam later that night asking did you break Dean? Castiel doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.)
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Castiel, Dean Winchester (Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester, Alastair)
Warning(s): highschool!AU, math, pre-slash
Spoiler(s): N/A
Prompt(s): sycophantastic asked for Dean/Cas, "passing notes" at comment_fic
Word Count: 807
Master List: Here
Rants: This is part of my hs!au 'verse I really need to start posting...
Summary: Castiel and Dean are in study hall together. Dean sucks at math. Castiel is just awesome.
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Crossposted to: here @ comment_fic
“What’s the quadratic formula?” Dean asks suddenly.
Castiel looks up from his French homework to glance across the small table in the back of the cafeteria - there aren’t enough classrooms, and it’s only study hall - to look at Dean, watching as he chews the eraser on his pencil.
“The quadratic formula is used to solve quadratic equations,” Castiel replies softly, glancing warily across the room to see that Mr. Singer is busy. They’re not supposed to be talking. “It’s for when the factors are fractions - “
“I know what it’s for,” Dean hisses, his green eyes lighting up in silent laughter, “I mean what is it?”
“Oh,” Castiel replies, his cheeks flushing. “X is equal to negative B, plus - “
“Novak!” Mr. Singer barks across the hall. “Winchester,” he adds, narrowing his eyes. “You know the rules.”
Castiel flashes Dean an apologetic smile before melting in his seat under Mr. Singer’s gaze.
Dean just rolls his eyes, before ripping out a piece of paper and jotting something down on it. He passes it to Castiel, and quirks an eyebrow.
X = -b +/- ? followed by I fucking hate math.
Castiel smiles faintly. He pushes his French out of the way to jot something down on the paper before passing it back.
Dean grins his appreciation and Castiel’s heart flipflops in his chest. The older male turns his attention back to his math and he scrunches his face up as he works. He scribbles in the margins and counts on his fingers.
It takes Castiel a moment to realize Dean doesn’t have a calculator. He roots in his own bag to find his - a heavy graphing calculator he’s pretty sure used to be Michael’s - before prodding Dean in the side with it.
Dean just stares at him blankly for a moment, before accepting it. He flashes Castiel a grin before jotting something down on the note paper and passing it back You know Alastair doesn’t let us use these things, right?
Castiel does know. He has Algebra II with Mr. Alastair two periods after Dean does. He shrugs nonchalantly before answering. He doesn’t need to know. Fractions and decimals are almost impossible to do without a calculator.
Dean snorts. No fucking kidding.
Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that, besides smiling brightly, and they slip back into a comfortable silence. Castiel has known Dean for as long as he can remember and they’ve lived across the street from each other for their whole lives. They’re comfortable with each other.
Well, Dean is comfortable with Castiel. Castiel has been in love with Dean since he was seven (and Sam never fails to tease him about never saying anything). Sighing heavily, Castiel sinks farther in his seat and stares forlornly at his French homework.
“Je t’aimer, je t’aime, je t’aimerai,” Castiel sighs.
Dean glances up at him, frowning.
Sorry., Castiel writes, cheeks flushing. Conjugating aloud.
You and your French. And Latin. Are you seriously taking German next year? You’re such a freak. :)
Just because you failed Spanish doesn’t mean that everyone else has to fail at World Languages. And maybe, I don’t know. Haven’t decided. That will be all of my electives.
You shouldn’t take so many classes.
Castiel scowls at Dean, but Dean just shrugs. That’s hardly for you to decide. he writes back.
I just worry about you.
Castiel can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. He doesn’t know how to reply to that - he doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case Dean is just being nice.
Dean snatches the paper back from Castiel before he gets the chance to write anything, successfully saving Castiel from humiliating himself.
What are you the words break up as Dean tries unsuccessfully to spell conjugating and a bunch of messy scribbles fuck this, working on?
I love you.
Dean’s face flushes and Castiel realizes his mistake and he snatches the paper back.
Je t’aime means I love you. I didn’t mean I love you.
Dean looks at Castiel with an unreadable expression, clutching the paper in his fingers. He hesitates, looking awkward for a minute, before he opens his mouth. “Cas - “
The bell rings.
Castiel’s heart is pounding so loudly in his chest he’s pretty sure Dean can hear it. “Dean,” he says, licking his lips.
“Never mind,” Dean says, forcing himself to grin. “Forget it. Stop working so hard.” He passes Castiel his calculator back, and Castiel accepts it numbly. “See you later.”
Castiel watches Dean pack up his stuff and leave before he hands his head and sighs. “Stupid, stupid, Cas,” he mutters, shoving his own stuff into his bag. “Stupid.”
(He gets a text from Sam later that night asking did you break Dean? Castiel doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t.)