Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I just like fucking with the characters a lot.
The truth was it was effortless falling in love with Dean Winchester. Like a feather falling silently to the surface, or taking a simple breath. It was a burning, fiery passion deep down inside my stomach, and it combusted into thousands of fluttering butterflies. Those moments when he made my heart sing will always have a perpetual and eternal effect on my body, melodies always being carried out and harmonies fusing together to create an almost perfect composition. No, it was perfect. He was perfect in every way.
It was such a day God had chosen to cleanse the earth. To revive his creation and wash away the sins from the human souls. Dean never liked the rain. Dean always said it was nature's way of telling him that he was an abomination, an imbecile, hindering him of the things he wanted to do, but never got a chance of doing. He found it frivolous and foolish, and as long as it rained, he remained inside for the rest of the day until he saw sunshine peeking through his curtains. There was, in fact, a lot of things that Dean disliked. Dean didn't like cars, and found pleasure in riding his bike wherever he needed to go. Dean didn't like ketchup, and drenched all of his food in mustard. The list goes on and on. It was the tiniest things that made him happy, and not once did he ever ask for anything. It made him unique in my eyes, and it still does.
"Castiel", the feminine voice behind me called. I averted my eyes from the window to look back at Anna, whose legs were perched on top of my work desk, eyes patient and gentle.
"I would much rather you remove your legs from my furniture," I replied warningly. She immediately obeyed, and straightened out her back against the office chair. I sauntered my way over to her, sitting in the chair parallel to her, hands in my lap and avoiding eye contact. "Which newpaper did you say this was for again? I apologize."
"The New Orleans Advocate," she said, retrieving a pad of paper and a pen. I looked at her incredulously. "What," she questioned, eyes puzzled in confusion.
"I believe you're going to need something a little more endurable for this. Maybe a tape recorder, perhaps?" Her face remained the same as she rummaged through her backpack until she found the device, and set it down on the desk next to her. She fumbled with the controls as I loosened my tie and raked my fingers through my hair. "Anna, what exactly possessed you to write this article?", I inquired. She had finished the settings, and crossed her legs comfortably.
"Primarily for my own curiosity. When cousin Gabriel told me about you two, I thought it would be awesome to learn more about you. Our family is quite...odd," she concluded, ending with a smile. I nodded, returning her smile with a smirk. "Shall we start, Castiel?" I hesitantly nodded. "Okay, well I have just a few questio-" I raised my hand for her to stop, and she let out an exasperated breath.
"Telling a story can not be done by answering a few questions, Anna. If you want the whole story, I'm the one that's supposed to be talking the most." She pursed her lips in annoyance, and leaned back against the chair, and pressed the record button. I smirked.
"Anna Milton interviewing Castiel Novak. April 8, 2013 at," she glanced at her wristwatch," 9:36 a.m. Castiel, do you have the journals you spoke of?" I got up from realization, and quickly walked over to the wooden cabinet adjacent to Anna. I ran my fingers across the leather exterior, marveling at how good it felt to touch them again, to finally read them again. "How old are you, Castiel?", Anna asked, eyebrows raised in question.
"I'll be 29 next month," I replied, quickly finding my seat again, and laying the books down on the desk.
"When did you first meet...Dean?" She hesitated on his name, but I smiled sweetly.
"It was autumn of 1999. I was 16, a sophomore in high school, and he was 18, a senior...," I said, picking up one of the journals and ran my fingers across the black ink, remembering the moments almost like it was yesterday.
August 14, 1999
"To be or not to be...", Mr. Singer projected to the class as he wrote down the date at the top of the blackboard. Of course I knew what he was referring to, but the frazzled expressions on the students faces told me they weren't on the same page as me. Mr. Singer walked through the class' small aisles, hovering over everyone's heads, looking at them with a gruff smirk. I quickly raised my hand, and wondering eyes shot right to mine. "Hamlet's Soliloquy, am I correct?," I said with hopeful eyes, and Mr. Singer gave me a faint smile and a rough pat on the back. "Yes, Castiel. And what is this soliloquy about?"
"Well, Hamlet is in the dilemma where he is dissatisfied with life, but doesn't know what death will bring. Life is bad, but death may be worse," I answered confidently, and ignored the smug expressions on the students faces. "I'm sorry, but what does literature have to do with creative writing class, Mr. Singer?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe just to keep you on your toes."He chuckled to himself. "Since this is a creative writing class, I thought it would be helpful for you to write down your thoughts and feelings. I've noticed from past assignments that people seem to feel more comfortable with a prompt deriving from your own personal experiences. So, I've decided to give you all your very own journal. Not only will it help in this class, but maybe to organize your thoughts and feelings in your personal lives." Mr. Singer fetched a pile of worn out leather books from behind his desk, asking one of the students to pass some out to each row. "This creative writing class is also a purifier, not just an elective. Put down your feelings, your emotions... I promise I won't look at them either."
I was too engrossed on Mr. Singer's words to notice the leather book waving in front of my face.
"Dude, take the fucking book," the boy said, and I immediately retrieved it from his hand, eyes lingering on his green ones for just a second more than I wanted. He turned back around with an eye roll, and muttered "nerd" before opening up his book and began scribbling nonsense in it. I shook my head, and resumed to my tasks.
Dear Castiel, I have absolutely no idea what to write first, but there's still a burning desire to write everything. Should I write what I'm doing right now? Should I write what I'm going to do? Should I write down what I'm feeling? Because I feel nothing. Nothing's there. Except that the school day is almost over and I can return home to my bed safely. I don't exactly know what Mr. Singer's motive was for giving us this small daily assignment, but it certainly won't accomplish anything. Or maybe it will? I don't know. All I can say is goodbye for now, and I will return to you soon.
I glanced up from my page and noticed half of the class already asleep, Mr. Singer glaring at those that were asleep, and green eyes staring right at me. I never really knew his name, and he never made it a mission to tell me it either. I just named him "green eyes" because God, were his eyes green…
"Is something on my face for you to be staring at me?", I whispered. He took a glimpse at my journal, and I quickly closed the cover and placed it in my lap. "You're not supposed to be looking at my private thoughts," I hissed,clenching my jaw for affirmation.
"It's not my fault you tap your pencil so fucking loud for the whole world to hear and shake your leg excessively with your keys dangling in your pocket." I looked down at the leg that just so happened to be moving and the pencil that was tapping on the table over and over again. I felt the blush creep up my cheeks and averted my eyes to the blackboard.
"Your foul language isn't needed." Green eyes gave a smirk, and he raked his fingers through his short blonde hair, twisting a little in his seat to face me better. "That still doesn't explain the staring." I crossed my arms, and leaned back in my chair, waiting for his reply. He eyed the journal in my lap, and bit his lip slightly.
"You have nice handwriting," he whispered, and he twiddled with his thumbs, avoiding my gaze.
"My penmanship is that beautiful? Wow, I deserve an award."
"You know," Green Eyes started," you can tell a lot about a person by the way they write." He piqued my interest, the foul mouthed boy, and I wanted to see how much he really knew.
"If you were so intrigued by my writing, what can you tell about me?" He suddenly picked up my pencil, lazily drawing circles and designs on my desk.
"Nothing." I furrowed my eyebrows, and cocked my head to the right.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I see nothing, because there is nothing to see. Because you're blank. And you're lonely. And there's just nothing. Most nerds are that way," he said, and I tried to soak in his words, and find the meaning. He must have sensed my confusion, and turned around to obtain his own journal.
"I don't want to read your journal...," I said, but he had already flipped open the first page. There were no words, only pictures and facetious doodles that adorned his paper. I couldn't decipher it even if I wanted to. "I can't read this. Where's the writing?" His green eyes twinkled with excitement.
"Mr. Singer didn't necessarily say we had to write down our feelings, nerd. He said 'put down' your feelings. Two completely different meanings. I thought you would be smart enough to know that, man."
"You're just making things more difficult than it has to be."
"Putting down your feelings shouldn't be difficult. They're your feelings. No matter what form it's in. Words or drawings. Hence 'creative writing'."
"So you decided to draw frivolous little scribblings?" Green Eyes looked at me with such a raw intensity, tearing down the barriers I had in front of me.
"They may seem like frivolous shit to you, nerd, but it means a whole lot to me," he gritted out, and I instantly regretted the words I said, shrinking back into my seat from his intense gaze. The alarm sounded with its shrill tone, and my body jumped slightly as I gathered my belongings, including my journal, stuffing it nonchalantly in my backpack.
"Oh," Green Eyes called at me from the doorway, dodging the incoming students,"it's Dean, by the way." And he walked off with a little something in his step.
"Why did Dean seem so angry with you? That was your first time talking to him, was it not?", Anna asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Dean is a very...unpredictable person. There once was a time I thought he was bipolar, but he isn't. His erratic mood swings were common, I must say. At times they were frustrating, but it was Dean, and Dean was different."
"Different?" Cas grinned slightly.
"A good different."
I hadn't actually talked to Dean since then. I went through the tedious school days avoiding his green eyes through the hallways, and looking anywhere else but the dirty blonde mess of hair I was forced to look at in class everyday. But there were times where the little things he did held my attention, and I couldn't look away. Everytime he was thinking too hard, he clawed at his hair, tousling it up more than it was before. He never sat correctly in his chair, always his feet dangling out from his desk. He always stretched before he started his work, loosening up the muscles I can thinly see from his t shirts. Maybe I stared too hard, maybe I didn't. There was just something so odd and captivating about the green eyed boy, and I couldn't shy away from it.
"Castiel," Gabriel's voice called from the dining room. I scurried expeditiously to the door, immediately stumping my foot on the door hinge, hissing at the contact.
"Coming!," I managed to croak as I descended the staircase. Gabriel stood in the dining room doorway, smile plastered but eyes dark and cold.
"Did you prepare everything for church today?"
"You mean my suit and what not?" Gabriel nodded, arms crossing his small body.
"Yes, Castiel. What else?"
"I haven't actually did that yet. I've been caught up in schoolwork and-" Gabriel held up a warning hand in front in face, and I immediately obeyed, interrupting the lie I created.
"The Lord comes first. School comes second. You wouldn't want me telling father you've been questioning your loyal faith, would you?" His eyes suddenly sparkled with the same dark gleam and a smirk spread across his face.
"No."
"Get to it. Be ready in 20 minutes. Father is sending a car," he gritted out, and I found myself awkwardly running back up the staircase with my injured foot and rummaging my closet for a suit.
I hate feeling like a puppet. The ventriloquist pulls the strings and you do whatever it forces you to do. I was nowhere near afraid of my brother Gabriel, physically that is. I was slightly taller than him, and his petty and useless tactics had no effect over me. But it was the pure promise of his eyes is what frightened me, and makes me shrivel back in my corner of panic. The thought of disobeying my father or going against my religion was such a foreign concept in which I am afraid to even attempt. Being Christian, my selfish desires are subsided entirely, and I live a life of truth and simple fluidity. If I break that fluidity, father may never forgive me like The Lord. So, I do as I'm told with no hesitations.
I am ready in fifteen minutes, and I spend the last five calming myself down from the anxiety attack I can feel randomly bubbling inside of my chest. I make my way down the stairs, Bible in hand, and approach Gabriel from around the corner of the living room. His eyes look lighter, I observe, and my spirits are suddenly lifted a touch.
"The car is waiting outside. You can go in it if you'd like. I'll be behind you in a second." I nodded absently, and made my way through the front door, waving my hand at the man in the drivers seat. Rufus was a nice guy. He smiled a lot, and always thought of something funny to say. I consider him somewhat of a friend.
"Good Morning, Mr. Novak. How was your past week, son?," he asked as he opened the car door. I didn't know what to say because I really didn't know how to respond.
So I said," Pretty good, and yours?"
"Gettin' the bills paid, Castiel." I smiled at that, and set my Bible beside me.
"That's good to hear, Rufus."
"Now what the hell is your brother doing? Boy needs to get off the damn phone, we gotta go before service begins!," Rufus exasperated, honking the horn. Gabriel was on the phone, from what I could see, and when Rufus honked the horn he jumped slightly and quickly said goodbyes to the person on the phone. Gabriel came running out of the house, and ordered me to scoot over for his comfort.
"Who were you on the phone with?", I asked, retrieving my Bible from under his butt.
"No one you should be concerned with," he snapped, and I could see in my peripheral vision Rufus' warm eyes darting my mine. The car ride to the church was a bore, as it always is. Rufus tried to brighten up the mood with some music, but Gabriel calmly told him to turn it off. I simply watched the trees pass by ever so quickly, and the sun chasing our tail like we've committed a crime. It was such a sight I couldn't quite capture in the morning time from the confines of my bedroom with the way the space is designed, but cruising through windy roads and letting the morning sun soak into my skin was the calmest feeling I've ever savored.
Christ Church Cathedral is on the corner of Saint Charles Avenue. The street is laid out atop a small rise, which are the remains of an old natural levee, in the connection of the construction of the New Orleans & Carrollton Railway, which became the St. Charles Streetcar line in the 19th century, which, in fact, runs up and down the avenue. No one really cared when I told them. In fact, their responses were literally "What does that have to do with me?". I didn't bother telling them that it was my fondest memory, riding on a streetcar, that is. There was a hint of freedom I felt as a child riding with Anna and Gabriel as we jumped into our parents laps, careless and cheerful. As we turned into the parking lot of the church, I saw Gabriel's eyes slightly widen at the streetcar gliding across its track, and abruptly swung the car door open and trekked up the church steps avoiding anyone's greetings. I watched the pain on his face as he quickly exited, and Rufus shot me a sympathetic smile. I followed closely behind Gabriel, shaking hands with the people, giving them smiles and warm embraces. Church was my second home, and I felt welcome with all of the love. I spotted a waving hand in my direction, and grinned as Father strode in my direction.
"Good morning, son," Father exclaimed, and gently ruffled up my hair. I chuckled, and swatted his hand away.
"You look very presentable, Castiel. I've missed you."
"Yes, I know. Two weeks feels like forever. How was your trip?" Father led me to a pew to sit in, making himself comfortable and fixing his tie.
"Very, very interesting. I've brought back souvenirs for you and Gabriel. Speaking of Gabriel, where is he?" My eyebrows furrowed and I searched with anxious eyes around the congregation, but there was no Gabriel in sight.
"He was upset before church started. I don't know what's gotten into him. I'm sure he'll appear soon." Father patted me on the back, and I instantly felt a wave of relaxation from his touch.
"Thank you, Castiel." With those words, he simply left, and weaved his way through the crowd to the stage. I could see that his jaw was clenched from the back of the church, and his eyes were blazing as he put on his robe on and gathered with the other chorus members. I didn't get a good breath in before I felt a light tap on my shoulder, urging me to turn around. I scoffed when I saw her face, rolling my eyes up towards the ceiling.
"Mornin', Castiel," she said, as she climbed over the pew and sat down, ruffling out her dress and playing with the curls in her hair.
"It's not ladylike to climb over seats, Meg," I replied, smoothing out my suit, making sure I sat as far away from her as possible.
"Aw, don't be like that, Castiel. You've known me forever," she cooned. She shifted closer, and I could smell her cheap perfume pollute the air and the hard smack of the minty gum she chewed.
"I wish I hadn't."
"You love me deep down inside...", she whispered as her hand trailed down my arm. I snatched it away, almost startling her in her tracks. She looked at me for a second with her wide brown eyes, and they suddenly darted to Jo as she bounced her way over in our direction. Meg, I couldn't handle, although Jo was quite acceptable.
"Stop trying to rape Castiel, Meg," she chuckled, settling herself in between Meg and I, thank goodness. "This is a church, not a strip joint." Meg scoffed, and flipped her hair.
"There was no stripping involved, as a matter of fact."
"Yet." Meg glanced over to me, and for a second, I could see the sadness in her eyes. In a second, she instantly perked up, bouncing in her seat and clapping her hands excitedly.
"Did you hear about today's guests," she exclaimed, and I was truly interested in what she had to say.
"We have new members? Who?", I questioned, perching my chin on Jo's shoulder to see Meg a little better.
"Oh, they go to our school! That one senior, and his brother. I think he's a freshman this year, I'm not sure. The Winchesters-".
"The Winchesters?," Jo interjected, and swiftly changed her position, causing me to lose my balance. She gave me a silent apology, and returned to the conversation.
"Yeah, what's so special about them?" Meg asked, twisting the gum around her finger, and glancing at me at the corner of her eye.
"Gossip around town is that they're kind of new here. No dad, no mom, and they get in trouble all the time. They're like, drenched with sin, I swear. My parents would never let me talk to them."
"It's about time we got some bad boys around here. Are they here yet? I wanna meet 'em," Meg whispered, as she adjusted her bra and fiddled with her hair once more. My eyes scanned the room, searching for any odd faces, but everyone looked familiar. There was Mrs. Todd, with her gaudy clothing and plethora of jewelry embellishing her neck and wrists. There was Mr. Roman with his lovely wife standing in a secluded corner away from the crowd. Everything seemed normal, until I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
"Hello," he said, and I was met with sparkling green eyes and the widest smile I've ever. I don't exactly know how long I stood there staring at the boy, but it was long enough for Meg to snap her nimble fingers in my face. I dismissed her hand, slapping it away, and returned my eyes to him as his smile diminished to a grin.
"Hi, Dean," I whispered, and he raked his hands through his hair, pursing his lips.
"You two know each other?," Jo asked incredulously, and took a glance at Meg's face. Dean shifted his gaze to Jo and gave her a dazzling smile.
"More like acquaintances," he replied. A mess of auburn hair emerged from behind Dean's back as the boy took his stand next to the Winchester, fixing his tie as the seconds passed by. Dean draped a shoulder over the boy.
"This here is my brother, Sammy."
"It's Sam," his brother gritted out, and gave Dean a disapproving look. From first glance, you wouldn't assume they were brothers. Sam looked too warm and hard, with his distinct hazel eyes and auburn hair. Dean, on the other hand, casted a more gentle look, green eyes that were kind and high cheekbones that were beautiful. But when Sam smirked, his hazel eyes shimmered in Dean's direction, and it was the sheer expression of ease and happiness that allowed me to see they were, in fact, related in some way. I then cleared my throat, averting my eyes nervously to Jo, who stood, along with Meg, gawking at the young men.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. I hope that you find your time here in your favor. You will love it. We are always open to new church members." Sam nodded awkwardly, shrugging Dean's shoulder off his body.
"Is there a bathroom around here? I really gotta use it, man." Sam's question was so odd at the moment, I almost snorted.
"Yes, through the corridor, and take a left." Sam hurried off into the direction I showed him, weaving his way through the crowd. I turned my attention back to Dean, who was leaning against the pew, adorned with the smirk he always makes.
"Would you all take your seats? Service will now begin," my fathers voice boomed over the microphone. I quickly sat down, almost sighing with relief as Jo found herself sitting next to me instead of Meg. I could see she was even more frustrated when Dean scooted his way on the opposite side of me, crossing his legs and shucking off his suit jacket. Meg found another place to sit, and I was instantly...overjoyed. But even though Meg was gone, it still didn't remove the real distraction that was Dean Winchester. Hearing my father talk, to speak the words of the Lord, was always calming. The power he held in the room as he preached was always mind blowing, and sometimes I had I blink twice to believe it was actually my father standing on that podium. I swelled with pride as he exited off the stage, leaving the choir to sing their hymns. I retrieved the hymnbook from the back of the pew, flipping to the correct page, and quietly humming and singing along with the rest of the church.
"So, when are you going to stop ignoring me?," he whispered. I was surprised I could hear him with how loud the room was. I stopped swaying to the music entirely, glancing at Dean with wide eyes.
"What do you mean?," I asked, but I knew Dean was smart. He cocked his head to the side and placed his arms to his back.
"Aw, don't act so coy, Castiel." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and I could almost feel the blush creeping upon my cheeks.
"How do you know my name?" Dean gave a full body chuckle, flashing his perfect teeth in my direction. I felt my blush deepen.
"You're the only one that actually talks in creative writing class. Mr. Singer has said your name a few times. Also, all the times you write your journal entries and you drop the fucking book and leave it on the floor for everyone to read." My eyes widened at his profanity, and I was almost intrigued to punch the smirk off of his face.
"Dean!," I whispered harshly. I wasn't sure which one to be more upset about: his language or the fact he glanced at my journal pages.
"You can't speak like that here! You know that!" I could feel Jo's eyes on us. I turned back to her, giving her a sweet smile before returning back to Dean.
"You're not gonna ask if I'm stalking you or anything?". I let out an exasperated breath, flipping the page in the book and trying to focus on the song all over all again. Although, the mere thought of Dean watching my every move was amazing to think about.
"Were you stalking me?". I looked up into Dean's green eyes as they twinkled once more.
"No, I'm just a really observant person," he said as he played with his thumbs for a second.