"And don't forget, your papers are due on Monday!" Castiel called as his students jogged out the door, a small smile on his lips.
He was glad he'd taken this job. After a Harvard education, a masters from Columbia, and four years of teaching at Stanford, he was grateful for the chance to work with the night schoolers at the local community college. The Stanford kids were entitled, so sure of their intelligence because of the Ivy League stamp imprinted on their brains. But the night school students were timid and curious, working during the day and working even harder at night, chasing a dream that they previously couldn't afford or hadn't had the chance to try for, or perhaps just looking for knowledge. The Stanford kids hunted for success, while the night schoolers strove for knowledge. This, Castiel thought, made them more genuine than any Ivy Leaguer.
His brother Gabriel never got it. "Cas, you're a friggen' boy genius going to Harvard, and you want to become a teacher?" Castiel could feel the eye roll through the phone when he'd told his brother that he had finally decided on a career. Sure, Castiel was triple majoring in Nuclear Engineering, English Literature, and Ancient Chinese, and yes, perhaps starting at Harvard at only 16 was an impressive feat, but Castiel couldn't think of anything that would make him happier. "Those who can, do, and those who can't, teach," Gabe had preached through the phone, but it was the teachers who could that had helped Castiel more than any of those who "do." It was his kindergarten teacher who had handed him The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when she saw how he voraciously burned his way through the school library. It was his second grade teacher that had pushed Cas's parents and the principal to let him skip a few grades when she saw how bored Cas was with class. It was his ninth grade English teacher who had helped him to the nurse when a handful of boys had beaten Cas behind the school for "being such a nerd." Cas wouldn't be only a teacher, he'd be a guide, a friend, a mentor, and a muse. He'd be someone who could.
"Hey, kiddo, whatever makes you happy," Gabe had finally said, Gabe imagining his brother's small, almost secret smile. And that was that.
It was hard to believe it had already been four years since he'd left Columbia with a teacher's certification, job offers across the country, and shaky legs. In many ways, Cas felt like he was a kid, not quite grown up. He was only 26, and with his haphazardly rushed education he felt like he'd lived his life Benjamin Button style, feeling like an old man at 5, and now feeling awkward and teenage, still shy with his students that seemed more adult than he'd ever be. Still, he loved it, and for now, just being a teacher was all he needed.
Fuck. Late again. Dean groaned as he rolled out of bed and threw on yesterday's jeans. The tell-tale empty bottle and dark circles told of another late night trying to drink himself to oblivion. He checked his phone. Three missed calls from Sam. Dean chuckled darkly. The kid's such a worry wart, he though. I'm fine.
Dean screeched into the parking lot at Ash's a half an hour late. He jogged out of the car, and ran inside. Ash raised his eyes from the sheets sprawled in front of him.
"I know, I know," Dean said exasperatedly. "I'm sorry. Are the guys already there?"
Ash sighed. "Yes, Dean, building a house generally requires that all involved parties show up."
Ash was pissed. He only talked this formally when he was fall down drunk or mad as hell.
"Ash," said Dean, more gently this time. "I'm sorry. It's just… you know, hard." He swallowed uncomfortably.
Ash sighed again. "Look, Dean, I know you're taking this real hard," Ash replied, the southern lilt returning to his voice, "but we can't keep going like this. Customers are starting to complain. You keep showing up late, you're short with the property owners, you keep snapping at the guys. We all get it, me especially, but you can't keep acting like a damn loose cannon all the time."
Dean blinked, trying not to think of the night he'd worked so hard to drink away. The screeching tires, the sickening feeling of spinning out of control… He shut his eyes. "I know, Ash, but I'll be better. I'm working on it."
"Drinking yourself sick is not working on it. And I know you will be better cause I'm sending you to a PR class at De Anza Community College. Mondays and Thursdays," he said sharply in response to the choked noise Dean made.
Dean spluttered angrily. "You can't be fucking serious? I don't nee-"
Ash's eyes flashed angrily. "From the way you've been treating our customers lately, Dean, you do need this class. Besides," Ash said, anger melting into a wry grin, "maybe you could finally learn some manners."
Dean opened his mouth to protest but stayed himself. Ash, who'd given him a job so he could pay for Sam to attend Stanford. Ash, who'd introduced him to Jo. Ash, who'd sat with him all night after… what had happened to make sure Dean didn't do anything dumb.
"Fine," said Dean, "But don't think I'm happy about it."
"That's the spirit," Ash grinned. "Room 263. Six o'clock. Don't be late."
Dean grabbed some paperwork from his desk and took his keys in hand. "I'm already late, ass wipe, I gotta get to the construction site."
Ash opened his mouth to say something more, to which Dean replied, "And yes, I'll be there."
In the reflection of the window he saw Ash smiling, not wryly for once, but sadly. Dean was happy to get behind the wheel of his Impala and drive until there was nothing but sun, air, and blasting Led Zepplin.
Note: This is my very first fic! I would really appreciate some comments/feedback! Thanks for reading, and no, I don't own Supernatural