Bus stop
It was raining. Of course it was. And reather heavily, too.
The kind that had your shoes, socks and jeans soaked within minutes.
Perfect.
Dean ducked under the lopsided roof of the bus stop shelter, trying to shake at least some of the water out of his dripping hair. He felt the icy drops wander down his neck and back and shivered. His well worn leather jacket felt heavy and kind of sticky. Great. It would take hours to dry up again.
He dropped his bag on the heavily graffittied bench – or what was left of it -, and leant against the back wall of the shelter. Eyes closed, he tried to keep his breathing shallow...the stench inside the shelter was – well, breathtaking. On the other hand, it was still better than staying outside and getting a not-at–all-wanted cold shower for free.
On top of everything else, this shitty wheather just wrapped his week up perfectly.
Monday: getting detention for not turning in the essay on genetic engineering. Therefore missing two hours of his shift at Walmart´s, and having a run-in with Mr. Tremble, who kept half of his wage „until you´ve made up for the missed time". It was illegal, of course it was, but what could he do? He was not exactly a legal employee. Coming home late, to find the house filled with drunk and stoned people, deafeningly loud music playing, every single room looking and smelling like a giant trash can. Sleeping on the smelly old couch in the garage with a pillow over his head.
Tuesday: Oversleeping as he´d forgot to take the alarm clock with him and his cell phone was unreliable in such matters. Taking the car to school, as his parents didn´t seem able to wake up and get any work done any time soon. Having to break and swerve abruptly when a cat crossed the street all of a sudden, gracing a lamppost and ruining the left front light. Being so pissed off he skipped shool and passed half of the day driving around, before stopping at the garage and being told a new light would cost him at least half his monthly wage – and that was only when he did all the work himself.
Finding both parents at home, hangover clearly showing, yelling at him cause they´d have needed the car for one of their delivery jobs. His Dad almost having a heart attack when finding out about the smashed headlight. Epic fight, door-smashing included. Household a few plates down (not that it was a huge loss). „No way you´re driving MY car again!" . Garage couch once more.
Wednesday: Being at school on time, only to be reminded of a maths exam taking place later on. Trying to catch up with the required subject areas at least marginally during lessons, being admonished twice for not paying attention. Sitting in front of a sourly headmaster getting the well-known „if you choose to take this road..." - speech. Absolutely failing in the test. Mind-blowingly dull shift at Walmart´s, with Mr. Tremble blowing up his neck. Home with a headache, directly to the garage this time.
Thursday: Taking the bike to school, flat tyre after half the distance. Almost throwing the whole thing from the bridge. Being spottet by a police officer driving by. Getting another „if you want to follow this road..." - speech. Feeling it couldn´t possibly get worse until arriving at school and finding a note on the locker saying the annual random locker control had unearthed „illegal possessions". Another date with the headmaster. Official warning, notification of the parents (good luck with that). Detention again, plus a month´s worth of social work and service for the school (meaning scratching chewing gum from the floors). Virtually banging the head on the wall by now. Somehow keeping it together until shift. Exploding right into Mr. Tremble´s face when given the stinky eye on late arrival. Fired. Walking home 4 miles as no bus anywhere to be seen. Deciding to flee into oblivion by drinking half a bottle of vodka (only booze left in the house). Garage couch (?).
Friday: Waking up with a headache. Stepping out of garage smack into first puddle. Wanting to take the car, but no start. Running to bus stop swearing. Biblical rain all the way. Ducking into smelly shelter. Waiting.
Dean didn´t open his eyes when he heard a motor approach. It was not the coughing rumble of the decrepit city bus anyway. Another week like this one and he would either throttle himself with his ugly Walmart tie (he hadn´ t bothered to give it back) or hitchhike wherever anybody would take him – as long as it was far far away from here.
He heard the car stop right in front of him, but still kept his eyes closed. Just shut the world out for another short moment...with the homerun of crap he had had this week so far it would probably be a pimped up muscle car full of idiots wearing ridiculous jewelry looking for someone to molest. Seeing as he was practically full to the brim with anger, he was almost sure he´d start a fight, ending up spending the night in a cell with drunkyards peeing their pants. So...eyes shut. Ears shut. Mouth shut. He was the three apes melted into one.
So he was pretty taken by surprise when someone actually called his name.
„Dean? Dean...Winchester?"
Dean´s eyes snapped open. What the...
He didn´t recognize the car. A dark blue Ford Mondeo. With, he noticed, a child´s seat in the back. Middle class on four wheels. He half expected Claire Pritchett to climb out. Instead the passenger side window slid down, and a young man´s head full of touseled black hair appeared, looking up at Dean with a pair of remarkably dark blue eyes.
„Need a ride?"
Dean straighted himself up. What on earth did HE do here!
Castiel Novak. Head boy. Chief of Debating Society. Winner of the Interstate School Check Tournament. Nerdy computer genius. And, as if all of this wasn´t enough already, successfull member of the baseball team. Plus keeper of the inofficial „hottest guy" title awarded every year by the Cheerleader team (and spread within minutes via social network). Oldest son of The Family Of Families, his Dad being the Pastor of the biggest parish in town, his Mum a lawyer dedicating part of her time to free councelling, all his four younger siblings equally skilled in various sports, music, arts, nerdy stuff , and exemplar students of course. They were like taken directly from The Big Book Of Idealized Model Society Members.
Their life was so far from Dean´s reality he sometimes felt like an alien in comparison to them. From a lowly solar system right in a galaxy probably called „The Dirtroad" or „The Backyard".
How on earth did this gem of society even know his name, Dean wondered. They hadn´t exchanged a word in the classes they shared, Dean usually trying to melt into his surroundings and stay invisible, avoiding eye contact whenever possible (mainly to hide the anger boiling inside his chest, just under the surface).
He realized Castiel was still waiting for his response, staring at him with a curious expression on his handsome face. Well, a ride would be kind of nice right now.
„Er...OK? Would be great..."
Castiel (and what kind of name was that, Dean wondered, not for the first time) smiled – he seemed genuinely pleased, to Dean´s utter bewilderment -, even opening the door for him from the inside.
„Hop in, then!"
Dean picked up his bag and approached the car. He slipped onto the passenger seat, feeling all too aware of his dripping wet clothes, his dirty bag, and especially the fact he hadn´t taken a shower in two days.
„Er...thanks", he murmured. He felt Castiel stare at him for a moment, but didn´t look at him.
„You´re welcome", the other young man answered. Dean shot Castiel a brief glance under his lashes when they pulled away from the kerb. The fact that their social contact was practically non-existent so far didn´t mean Dean hadn´t taken advantage of his last-row desk in class (in all of the classes in fact) to safely watch wonderboy without being detected. And he was certainly worth watching...fine cheekbones, an adorably cleft chin, unruly black hair that seemed to escape all efforts to keep it under control (even on occasions where Castiel had to speak officially, Dean had noticed), and the angelic eyes of course...
Dean had rarely been as close to the guy, not all alone without the relative anonymity of a crowded High School environment at least. It made the hair on his neck stand up, in a pleasant way, and Dean risked another glance at Castiel. Who chose exactly this moment to look at Dean, opening his mouth as if to say something; and closing it abruptly when he found Dean watching him. Castiel smiled instead. A warm, reassuring smile, Dean thought. Sincere and mocking at the same time (and how could THAT be even possible). Dean felt his cheeks grow hot and quickly glanced away again.
He racked his brain for something to say.
„So...this your car?"
Cas looked over at his passenger, chuckling amusedly. „No...it´s my Mum´s. Can´t use my own car in this rain, so she gave me her´s. I had to run an errand for her in this part of town anyway. Have to return it before 3.00pm though."
Dean looked at Castiel then.
„Why can´t you drive your car when it´s raining?", he asked, genuinely curious. Cars were like the only topic he felt safe talking about.
„It´s a vintage model", Cas laughed. „Got it from my granddad. It was the apple of his eye. So I try to keep it running as good as I can."
Dean was visibly livening up, so much so that Castiel shot him a curious glance.
„What model? Year?", Dean asked, looking directly at Castiel for the first time.
„It´s a 1972 Gran Torino, and –„
„THAT`S YOUR CAR?"
Castiel nearly made the car swerve at Dean´s sudden outbreak.
Seeing Dean bite his lower lip, cheeks flaming, was worth the dangerous moment though, Castiel couldn´t help himself thinking.
„Er...you´ve seen it? I don´t drive myself often, usually my mum takes us all as the school is on her way to work. And the Gran Torino is a thirsty bitch I can tell you. Can´t effort a huge mileage."
Dean had recovered from his self-induced shock.
He chuckled. „What does she take – 25, 30? Heavily built body-on-frame construction. Gives her a quiet ride I guess. Together with the torque boxes. The color is original, right? Must be a special model, you don´t see this bronze color often. She seems in good shape in general."
Castiel burst out laughing. „She? You think she´s a female?"
Castiel had an infecting laugh, an Dean found himself grinning at the driver.
„Aren´t they all?", he asked.
„Well, what do I know", Castiel sighed. „I´m not exactly an expert. I mean I find information on the internet, even the Repair Manual or step-by-step help pages. But honestly? I´m not much of a mechanic. Too much respect maybe. What about you?"
Dean was taken by surprise. He hadn´t expected to be asked a direct question – not outside classes, and even there he managed to stay off the teachers´ radar most of the time.
So it was probably the unguarded moment which made him reply without much consideration. And unfiltered enthusiasm.
„The original Repair Manuals? They are fantastic. You see, back then everyone still tried to do the small repairs by themselves. The manuals were written to be understood by every Jim and John, and the illustrations are just great. I have one at home, for my Dad´s car, and it´s really handy. Helped me through most of the repair work until now."
He became aware of Castiel´s undivided attention all of a sudden, and felt embarrassed. And pleased. Excited even.
Castiel pulled into the school´s parking range.
„So – what, you can repair your car? For real?"
He seemed impressed, and Dean was having the strange sensation that for the first time in many years somebody was seeing him. Like really SEEING him. Not the underdog kid with the highly embarrassing hippie parents, living in a trash bin of a house, social service knocking at their front door on a regular basis, checking in on Dean´s younger siblings, taking them with them sometimes, bringing them back after a few days or weeks – whenever their parents could focus enough to take the forms already filled in by Dean, go attend the appointment (fixed by Dean) with the free legal councellor, and show up at Social Services sober and with a clear head (and nicely dressed). Not that they fooled anyone over there, but without legal cause they couldn´t keep the kids separated from the parents for long.
„Yeah...I guess so?", Dean replied. „I spent a lot of time at the garage next to our old house back in the day. Learned many tricks there. The owner was a nice guy, and had the patience of a saint. I liked it there..."
Dean wasn´t sure why he had told Castiel that. Seeing as he didn´t know the guy at all, and had never told anyone else so far, not even the few people he had called friends (for lack of a better word; he tried not to get too close to anyone anymore now. Too many bad experiences.)
Castiel whistled through his teeth. They had come to a halt at the far end of the parking lot, behind the towering gym walls, where Dean had seen the striking vintage Ford a few times. Obviously Castiel parked there out of habit, even when driving his mother´s car.
„So – what´s your car anyway? I mean – your Dad´s car? The one you repair?"
Ah. Secure ground again. Dean smiled faintly.
„It´s a Chevvy. A 1967 Impala."
Castiel looked at him, eyebrows raised.
„Wow, that´s a classic beauty. Saw one at the Scott and Barnes Auction last year. Elegant, yet...down to earth, somehow..."
Dean laughed. „Yeah, she´s a babe." Then he realized something. „Wait – you´ve been to the Scott and Barnes sale?"
Castiel shrugged his shoulders. He seemed a little uncomfortable. Dean was surprised to see Mr. Perfection live a moment of insecurity.
„Ahem...yes. Went with my uncle. My parents were...they didn´t like it. They say putting as much time on cars as „these people" do is a waste of the time God gave us to do more useful things."
He seemed a little...sad...all of a sudden.
Dean huffed.
„Parents. Tell me about it. They can suck big time. Well...at least you have a functional family. I wish..." His voice trailed away.
Castiel looked at him then. When Dean raised his eyes and glanced at the other boy, he found those angel-like blue eyes showing such a soft and ...knowing...expression it made his throat suddenly feel aching and tight. He swallowed. Dammit, he had so not expected this guy to be that...nice. And cool. And so NOT condescending, not like the pricks from the football team. And – wow, he actually was interested in vintage cars. Enough to STUDY the manuals!
Only then did Dean become aware they still held eyes contact. Blue eyes staring into his green ones...searchingly. Castiel had this serious and very focused look on his face Dean had witnessed a few times when watching him during class or at some major event (tournaments, baseball matches, debate contest...whatever). His head was slightly cocked to one side, as if he was deliberating something in his mind.
„You should come with us next time", Castiel said. „It would be fun."
Dean stared at him, perplexed, and huffed.
„I´m serious", Castiel stated. „Id´love to ...like to have you on board."
Did he just blush? Dean felt the familiar warm patches on his cheeks, too.
„Would be awesome", he croaked. Why was his voice so rough all of a sudden!
„Yeah...definitely."
Jeez, if Dean´s voice had been hoarse – Castiel´s was like gravel. And there was something else in it...something that made Dean shiver. With pleasure. Could it be...
„I´d definitely love that", repeated Castiel, eyes piercing Dean´s, and now there was a hungry expression in them Dean had never – ever – expected to find there.
So maybe it was the surprise moment again...cause when Castiel finally lowered his gaze, adorably embarrassed, Dean leaned in on the other boy. He touched the cheek – oh my, how often had he dreamed of doing this! – ever so softly with his finger tips.
The lightning bolt running through his whole body in the second when their skin touched – it was heaven and hell in one moment.
Heaven, mostly.
Especially when Castiel started to smile. And raised his hand, cupped Dean´s cheek with his palm, and stroked his lips with his thumb.
„Dean...", he whispered, almost inaudible.
„Castiel..."
The beaming face in front of him. Dean blinked. Was this one of his dreams now, or -
„Call me Cas."