He was eight years old. The sun beat down in a savage, unrelenting display of summer, and with every breath Dean took, the smell of freshly cut grass and worn basketballs filled his nostrils. Children screeched and shouted below him, chasing after each other, digging holes in the sand box, playing four square. Dean sat all alone at the top of the rock climb, fiddling with his plastic army man. Daycare had never been so lonely.
Dean sighed. The last summer he was here, he had a friend named Charlie, all red hair and jokes and smiles.
"But why do you have to leave?" he remembered asking, grabbing her wrist and trying to keep her from stepping out the door. Charlie shook her head and readjusted her backpack strap, turning to him and crouching.
"I'm sorry, Dean, but I told you. Once you get into middle school they don't let you go to daycare anymore. I don't want to leave, really, but I have to."
And then she did.
Dean's grip tightened around his army man. She was the only friend he had. How could she just leave him like that? Dean's arms began to shake. Those definitely weren't tears that glistened in his eyes. There was no way that that was a whimper crawling out of his throat.
What the hell, why was he crying?! In one fluid motion, Dean lifted his arm and threw the army man as hard as he could. Up, up, up, it arched, before coming down onto the roof of the daycare. It slid right back down, fell into the rain gutter, bounced out, and dropped...
Right onto a boy's head. The boy flinched when it hit him. He had been reading a book, but now he looked above him, trying to see if it just happened to be raining plastic army men or if someone had thrown it at him. Dean flushed, cheeks pink. God, he was an idiot. He had to stop being so stupid if he wanted to make any friends.
The boy's gaze lifted to meet Dean's, and he tensed up immediately. The kid he hit had blue eyes. Really, really, blue, like the watercolor paints they used in art sometimes.
"Did you throw this?" the boy inquired, holding up the army man. He set his book on the ground face-down.
"Um... Um, no, that wasn't-"
The boy stood up and walked over to the rock wall. As he went, Dean couldn't help but notice just how fluffy his black hair was. He bet it was soft. It probably smelled good, too. He stood on his tiptoes when he reached the wall, stretching as far as he could, arm extended to hand Dean his army man. Dean frowned.
"I just threw that at you," he said. "Why are you giving it back?"
"Because that's the right thing to do," the boy replied. A small smile quirked onto Dean's lips. Maybe this kid wasn't half bad. He reached out, ready to reclaim his army man, when he slipped. It happened so fast that Dean barely had time to process what had happened before he was on the ground, groaning and clutching his elbow. The boy stood off to the side, staring rather awkwardly at him. "Are you okay?" he asked slowly.
"Yeah," Dean groaned, "I just hit my elbow."
"Do you want me to get the teacher?"
"No!" Dean interrupted quickly, sitting up. "I'm fine, okay?" The boy tipped his head confusedly, offering him a hand up. Dean took it gladly.
"What's your name?"
"Dean. Yours?"
"Castiel." Castiel smiled, his bubblegum-pink lips bright in contrast with his pale skin and dark hair. It was a weird name, but who cared? The boy looked nice enough and had already helped Dean out twice. Besides, he had fluffy hair and smelled nice and was being kind to Dean without Dean telling him to be. "Are you new here, too?" Castiel asked. Dean forced himself to break his gaze on Castiel's hair. Seriously, there seemed like no better option than running his hands through it.
"No," Dean said, "I'm not new. Did you think I was?"
"You were by yourself up on the rock wall, and you looked sort of alone, so I thought that maybe you were," Castiel shrugged.
"Alone? Or new?"
"Either."
Dean could feel his face growing hotter. Was it that obvious that he was lonely? Obvious enough that a kid he didn't even know noticed?
"Well, my friend used to go here, and now she doesn't, and I'm kind of bad at making friends, so, um, I was just kind of hanging out on my own, you know? And, um, I didn't really have anything to do, so I was playing with the army man, and I was bored, so I threw it and it landed on the roof and it fell and it hit you and-" Dean was rambling again. He did that sometimes when he was embarrassed. He found himself talking without the ability to stop. "So, um, yeah, and... Yeah." The worst part was that Castiel didn't say anything. He just continued to stare at him with those eyes that were so blue that Dean couldn't find a word to describe them. He wanted to say, "Sapphire, or maybe navy, but they're also kind of like the sky right now and..." Dean stopped. Was he saying that out loud?
"What?" Castiel tipped his head. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Dean squeaked. "So are you new here?"
"Yes, Dean, I just said that."
"Oh. Right. Haha, the things you forget about people, am I right?" Shut up. Shut up now.
"I guess," Castiel said. "Dean, are you okay?" Dean stopped. Was he okay? Was he, really? He didn't really have any friends anymore. His own father barely spent any time with him (something about a stepson, but really, that kid could go to hell for stealing his dad). His mother was dead and his brother was killed in a fire when he was just a baby. He was so alone. And now here was Castiel, looking at him with those big blue eyes and that really fluffy hair and those ridiculously pink lips.
"Not really," Dean admitted, looking down at his feet. The wood chips beneath his shoes were dry and splintery. He shuffled his legs awkwardly, trying to ignore the heavy silence emanating from Castiel.
With no warning or explanation whatsoever, Castiel quickly grabbed the sides of Dean's head and pulled him closer, pressing his lips against his forehead. It was a fleeting feeling of warmth and softness, but when Castiel pulled away, Dean's eyes were as wide as the moon. His knees trembled and his face was tinged with red.
"W-What...?" he stuttered after Castiel let him go and took a step back. Dean touched two fingers to his forehead. He could have sworn that it felt like he had been shocked with electricity. "What was that?"
"You kiss someone to make them feel better," Castiel explained sparingly. "So I did. Do you feel better now?" Dean blinked and nodded ever so slightly. He felt like he was in a dream. He hadn't been kissed since his mom died. Not on the cheek, not on the forehead, definitely not on the lips. He hadn't been expecting to get a kiss from a total stranger. And he hadn't expected it to feel so good. For no reason whatsoever, Dean felt a smile blossom on his face. His heart fluttered. He had been kissed. Dean took Castiel by the shoulders and spun him around before planting a kiss of his own on the boy's cheek. Castiel froze and his face grew warm beneath Dean's lips.
"What about you? Do you feel better?" Dean muttered against his cheek. Castiel nodded. "Good." Dean let go of Castiel and turned around, starting to scale the rock climb. "Come up here," Dean gestured, holding out a hand for Castiel to take. Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion, but took it and followed him up the exact way that Dean told him to. When they reached the top, Dean sat as he was before. A little reluctantly, Castiel did the same. They both stared down at the playground beneath them. The sun still beat down on them with the savage and merciless heat of summer. It still smelled like freshly cut grass and worn basketball. Children still screeched and shouted below him. But at least Dean wasn't alone. He held Castiel's hand in his, and with rosy cheeks, they stared down, plastic army man and book abandoned beneath them.