A/N: This is a dual-perspective fic between Castiel and Dean (each chapter will either follow Castiel or a Dean; it's not in first person, however). Each chapter is also split into 'Now' and 'Then' sections, starting out with the now and cutting into the then (which recounts specific scenarios such as when Castiel met Dean and when they got together and so on). These sections will be progressing in chronological order so it shouldn't be that hard to follow. Other than that, enjoy and please if you have any questions about the story don't hesitate to message me or leave a comment/review on the story.
Now
Castiel Novak's fingers work at the keyboard of his laptop for hours at a time, day after day, transferring fluff about specific person's lives from his interview notes to the word document before him. He's been assigned to the 'Persons of Interest' beat at the Wendover Tribune, the local paper where he snagged a job straight out of college two years ago, and it's slowly killing his passion for journalism like the POI column is hard liquor and he's his own liver. He thinks that it probably wouldn't be all that bad if he could interview someone (anyone!) with anything moderately interesting to tell, but it turns out that every single one of the assignments that he's gotten for over half of the time he's worked at the paper have been Suzan Leechie (6) of Casselberry is turning seven Sunday and is hoping for all of her classmates to show up at her elegant birthday bash at 3650 Sanderson Dr. and Edward Peters (68) of Newmont has fully recovered from his hip replacement surgery and is sending out a thanks to all of those who prayed for him when under the knife. He's asked his boss, Mr. Crowley, a countless number of times to be switched to a different beat, but for some reason unbeknownst to Castiel, the man hates him and, therefore, loves to see him suffer of boredom.
Castiel checks his watch on a Friday afternoon and lets out a sigh of relief when it reads 5:03, so he pushes his uncomfortable rolling chair back from his wooden desk covered in printed stacks of both rough and final drafts and stands to collect his belongings and go home for the weekend. He sees Crowley step through the glass doors of his office, eyes glued to his cell phone as always, just as he begins to fumble on his tan trench coat, but his boss catches his eye and he knows fleeing is of no use now.
"I've got an assignment for you, Novak." Crowley bellows out, keeping his eyes trained on his phone as he flings the single page in his hands onto his most faithful employee's desk.
Castiel eyes him momentarily, and lets his mind play out a situation in which he tells Crowley to shove it up his ass but his conscience gets the best of him when he hears it in the back of his mind telling him he needs this job, so he collects the paper from where Crowley so carelessly threw it and begins to read over the information on his newest case study.
"Dean Winchester. Twenty-seven. He talked some woman down from the ledge of a forty story building." Crowley states, finally looking up to see Castiel staring intently at the information sheet with a crinkled brow and a slack jaw. He rolls his eyes at his employee, turning on his heel on his way to the elevator.
"Deadline in two weeks!" Crowley shouts at the immobilized man as the elevator door closes between them.
Dean Winchester. Castiel can't get over the shock of seeing that name again after all these years, even as he begins to regain feeling in his body. It almost makes him cry. Almost, because he distinctly remembers his twenty-two year old self driving away, promising that he'd never cry over Dean Winchester again, and he's not planning on breaking that promise now. This doesn't have to be awkward if you don't make it awkward he tries to tell himself, but he knows it's a lie. It's going to be awkward, whether he likes it or not.
Then
"He's such a fag!" "I bet he would suck my cock for five bucks, that dirty cocksucker!" "I heard he tried to fuck Brent Welsh in the boy's bathroom last week." Castiel can hear the whispers as he walks through the main hallway to his locker at 7:23 in the morning with his eyes turned toward the floor and his only thought is that it's too early for this shit. He's used to the name calling and the isolation that comes along with being the only openly gay kid at a school of just eight hundred but sometimes he wishes for quiet so that he can have some time to wake up before the noise starts to turn his brain to mush. He comes out of his thoughts for a moment and startles when his wish is granted and the only sound that can be heard is the collective groaning of the air vents.
He looks up and turns his head to where the crowd is looking. A muscular boy with dirty blonde, slightly gelled hair is walking through the rusted double doors of the sophomore hallway. He's wearing a plain green t-shirt paired with some beat up dark wash jeans and is holding onto a brown leather jacket which he has slung over his left shoulder. Castiel notices that he's considerably tall, taller than himself at least as the boy walks right by him and he also notices by the continued silence and look of fear on his peer's faces, that people are scared of this boy. This realization confuses Castiel. To him, the boy doesn't really send out a 'scary' kind of vibe. He would say it's more of a lonely vibe. But then, he thinks to himself Maybe you have to be lonely to see lonely, and that thought is what makes him go up to this boy, where he stands leaning against a closed locker with everyone else vacating his area, and introduce himself.
He clears his throat and says, "I am Castiel." His low voice can be heard nice and loud in the still silent hall and he can feel a slew of eyes on him as the boy turns around. He appraises Castiel for a moment, the eyes that Castiel can now see are a shade of forest green that match his shirt almost to a tee, roam his body up and down from his unbrushed head of nearly black hair to his maroon polo to his fitted khaki pants to his polished brown oxfords. When his eyes come back up to meet Castiels, the boy smiles slightly.
"Castiel? That's a new one." The boy says, scratching at the back of his head and Castiel looks away and crinkles his forehead because he doesn't know what the stranger is getting at.
"That's not a bad thing." The boy's rough voice is so close now, at his ear and Castiel doesn't dare shift his eyes up again, not until the stranger's breath is safely away from his cheek.
"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester." The boy, Dean, comments, not offering his hand to Castiel, but instead winking at him and walking away as the bell rings.
Castiel doesn't see Dean Winchester again until lunch, when he pulls up a chair across from Castiel at the table that has been Castiel's and Castiel's alone since freshman year.
They sit there in silence, each eating their respective food, until dean interrupts the silence with a nice loud, "Dude, the burgers here suck." Castiel laughs, watching Dean appraise the cafeteria-issued cheese burger and his sudden burst of laughter surprises him, because he was just about five seconds away from asking Dean why he thinks he can just sit here without asking. He rethinks his actions now, telling himself that maybe this is his chance to make an actual, real life friend for once in his life.
"That is just the way it is with all of the food from the line. I learned that a long time ago." Castiel says, motioning to his untouched, homemade PB&J, lying next to a granola bar rapper and a half-drunken bottle of apple juice. Dean eyes the sandwich, still in it's zip lock bag, and Castiel doesn't notice.
"Could we maybe go halfsies?" Dean asks, still eyeing the other boy's food as Castiel picks it up.
"Halfsies?" Castiel asks, because he doesn't understand that reference, Dean gives him a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and Castiel thinks to himself that Dean is beautiful.
"You know, share? I could give you my apple if you could give me half of your PB&J." Dean tells him, and Castiel figures Why not? before taking Dean's plastic knife and cutting his sandwich down the middle to make two perfect triangles. He hands one half to Dean and Dean hands Castiel his Granny-smith apple.
"You know, I like you, Cas." Dean tells him, devouring the sandwich triangle in two bites and Castiel realizes that he very much likes that nickname, if only because this suddenly familiar stranger gave it to him.
Castiel brings two PB&J's to lunch the next day, cutting them both in two because he is glad that he now has someone to go halfsies with.
