A/N: Destiel College AU pre-series-ish. Yep yep short chapter boring start I'm sorry sobs
I was sick when writing this soo... I can't say for sure what this chapter sounds like. I promise it'll get better ;A;
It's not even that exciting of an idea but it won't leave... so here it is. Reviews are much appreciated!
There had been an outbreak of vampires in the Phoenix inner city areas where a nest had grown so big they branched off and scattered all across the state and into the bordering ones as well. It had taken them weeks to track the first one, and by the time they realized it wasn't a simple one-time kill, John figured they'd be there for a while yet, and that renting was going to be way cheaper than motel every night. Sammy's resolute "I want an education" phase had begun and the kid had realized how much he needed a scholarship. He took to staying home when Dean and John were out on endless scouting trips, some fruitless and others spat them back out covered in blood from head to toe and maybe in other places as well. Sam stitched them back up with lips pressed together and no complaints in between studying for the SATs and ACTs and every other test in between. John had fewer complaints than expected about that arrangement; maybe because Sam became their research front, and they both took liberties to annoy at all odd hours for 'can you look up how long it take a bitten human to fully turn?' Or 'Hey Sammy, when's the next forecasted cloudy day in Show Low?' Sam was pretty content with the arrangement as well, kid made straight A's throughout senior year and easily scored a near perfect score on both ACT and SAT.
No amount of big brother pride could stop Dean from calling Sam a nerd for the next two weeks though. Even after they'd cleaned out the vamps, they stayed so Sam could graduate in the same school for once. When Sam left for college with a full ride from Stanford (again, totally a nerd), Dean decided there's really nothing here for him that can't wait, so he takes a big sigh and enrolls in college as well. It's Sam's idea actually. (Come on Dean, it's never too late. Don't want any regrets later on.) He hasn't got Sam's grades, so he can't go to Cali and watch over Sammy at Stanford. They haven't got that kind of money. Actually he would have gone anyways if Sam had asked, but he assured Dean that he was old enough to take care of himself now, and that he'll stay out of trouble unless he got back up from Dean or John. Instead, Dean is conveniently able to plead in-state to ASU since they HAVE been living here. Technicalities were sorted out one way or another. After all, come on, he's John Winchester's kid. Not living here long enough and not paying taxes right isn't going to stop him from going to college. After that, John recognized a lost cause and took off alone after demon trail.
Surprisingly, even Dean got a partial scholarship and decent financial aid seeing no one in his family technically had a job and all. Despite his shitty grades that they could hardly dig up from so long ago and so scattered across the country, he still had the Winchester brains and landed good test scores, though not as godly as Sam's. So here he is, sitting in a classroom again with kids Sam's age, still not into the whole good grades opera. There is also no way in hell he's gonna stay in a dorm with hundreds of drunk kids spreading STDs so he screwed the on-campus housing rule and rented an apartment close by instead. It's also a lot cheaper to manage his much cheaper rent and bills by himself than forking over a fortune to have on-campus housing. He grew up using the bare minimum; it's never too hard to keep going. He'd also gotten a part time job at the auto body shop nearby to help pay for things, and once in a while, John will send him a sketchy credit card (with an attached to-be-ditched date) to help him along. No matter what anyone says about his dad, John is pretty awesome sometimes.
Despite how ridiculously big the school is, Dean's begun to make a name for himself. He doesn't mean to, but truth is he sticks out like a black sheep in the midst of a colorful, neon flock. You wouldn't notice at first glance, but there was something so inherently different about him that people, with their curious human nature, gravitated to.
The first party he was invited to, he'd broken up a fight between 4 drunk undergrads like it was nothing, loose, buzzing pleasantly, and completely coherent despite having drunk maybe more than anyone else. The girl he'd taken home was apparently just as impressed by his other set of skills, judging by how many sorority girls suddenly began throwing themselves at him. At this point, if there was a party going on in the general vicinity, Dean would have been invited. The college thing was pretty awesome at first. Willing girls everywhere, he hardly had to make an effort. He rode on that high for a mere few weeks before the hype died down. It took away the chase, and he realize that there's really no active in the cheap band-aid he finds himself with. It's just a pretty pad to cover the wound. Even so, life was good. No one's dying, no one's fighting (no one he cares about anyways), he's got friends, a fixed place to live, and no cops on his ass. Dean's in a different clique now.
He had no reason not to be happy. He chalked up the ever-present tumbling feeling in his stomach to be motion sickness to change. He's not a guy who likes to throw away old habits. No more Sammy, no more dad, not even the Impala. There's not even been a single ghost. Not a squeak. Yeah, Dean feels pretty crappy sometimes. Sam is way better at this normal college kid thing.
It's Friday night and he's in someone's house. The music is blaring and there's a really nice ass grinding against him to the beat. His hands are on her waist and crawling upwards by the second. She gives a good grind with fucking amazing hips, slotting his dick into the crack of her ass, a black dress tightly clad, accentuating the shape of it. His hands are suddenly there, pressed against the swell of her breasts and she tilts her head back and gives a nearly inaudible breathy moan. His dick is suddenly noticeably hard. He rubs it deliciously against that seriously sexy ass and their panting is so loud he can actually hear it over the music. Granted, they're pressed pretty close together. Gosh, he feels like a horny high school kid again. Suddenly, his phone vibrates and the brunette in his arms jumps in surprise. He mutters a "sorry" and begrudgingly checks his phone. Swear to god… if it's his boss he's gonna ignore it. He already told him that he was definitely not going to go in to work tonight. But habit stops him from ignoring it all together. He's lived almost two decades knowing that nothing is more important than making SURE. Caller ID says Sam, and he shoves the sinking feeling to hell. Sam rarely calls – he's busy and he has this idea that Dean wants some time off now that he's not stuck to Sam's side like the past 18 years. Even if it's nothing URGENT and he's interrupting Dean's alone time tonight, Dean can't help but feel a little pleasant at hearing from his baby brother again. He slides away from the dance floor without hesitation and flips open his phone, missing the disappointed look the girl shot his way as he makes his way to get outside.
"Hey Sammy." He says in casual greeting, the Winchester greeting appropriate for all occasions. Everything that could be said has followed that phrase. "'I'm hungry Dean' 'Yeah so I looked it up and…' 'what kind of pie did you say…' 'Dean' 'there's a fucking wraith on my ass where the fuck are you?' 'Yeah um, I got arrested.' and worst of all, when he says nothing, and just breathes unevenly into the mic. It totally freaks Dean.
"Hey Dean. Am I interrupting something?"
The loud music's a dead give away.
"Yeah, but you're an annoying little shit so when are you ever not interrupting something?"
There's a pause. "Jerk."
"Bitch." Dean grins. "What's up?"
Sam takes a deep breath. Then another. "Yeah… Um…"
He suddenly sounded utterly miserable.
"Okay, who do I have to fuck up?"
"No, no one, Dean." Sam sounds drained. "It's just that… Okay this is stupid. I shouldn't have called you. It's kind of pathetic."
"Bullshit! Out with it. You sound like someone ran over your kitten."
Sam huffed a laugh. "God I feel like such a girl."
"Stop beating around the bush like one, Samantha."
Now that he's outside standing by the driveway and the music is no longer audible, Dean can practically hear Sam's bitch face over the phone. He smiles.
"So I'm dating this chick named Ruby. Maybe was, I don't know. She's smart and talented and really amazing."
Dean makes a face.
"I was supposed to do a project with this guy and I knock on his door and he lets me in and he hasn't got a shirt on and is just buttoning his pants says 'sorry about the mess' and I laugh and cracked some joke and then Ruby walks out of the bathroom with his shirt on cuz I definitely don't own Metallica shirts."
Sam is definitely ranting. At least the Sam's project partner's got good taste in music.
"And I guess I kinda flipped out and grabbed her and dragged her outside and she was pretty pissed at me, saying the only reason I even found her was because I'm spending my Friday evening doing some stupid PROJECT instead of with my girlfriend, and that I had no right to make a scene in public and that maybe she'll talk to me later if I've calmed down and stopped being such a..." He falters, "And she just went right back in. Maybe to put on her clothes or something I don't know. She didn't even care, didn't spare me the… Anyways, I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to do and holed up cuz I didn't feel like talking to anyone."
But you. Dean hears the unspoken afterthought, slightly pleased that his baby brother still needs him. It seems that Sam is done. Dean clears his throat. "Was."
"What?"
"I said, was." Even though he knows Sam heard what he said. "She ain't your girlfriend no more."
"Yeah?" He sounds downright miserable.
"No, I mean, you're going to dump her, because you have done nothing wrong and she sounds like an intolerable bitch if she says shit like that to make you think it's your fault she fucking cheated on you."
"She's never like this dean. She's always been there for me."
Dean snorts. "Yeah well, seems like that's not true anymore." He hears Sam take a breath that sounds like doubt dipped in angst. "Look, there's me, and I ain't a saint. I sleep around and I generally don't give a fuck about their feelings and shit. But that's better than the other option. Pretending to give a fuck about their feelings and then gutting them. That's how I can sleep at night. Because I know that I make no pretense and they'll get over it because they know I've never made any pretense. In the end, the odd one or two clingers may be mad at me and they may hate my guts but they won't ever think about it again. The worst is when people pull shit like this. They do the sweet caring girl or dude thing and get into your pants or your pantry or whatever they want, and they do a damn good job of it. But either they never meant it in the first place or they're just insufferably flawed, they'll screw up and blame YOU for it. Make you hate yourself. And there's just no running away from that. Either of the above options checks them off the list of girlfriend material. She wants you to feel miserable, makes her feel better about it too cuz you believing it's your fault makes her believe it too. So you go and you tell her it's over and slash or slap her in the face – she definitely deserves a slap for cheating on you at the very least – and then move the fuck on. Don't even try to explain yourself cuz she's just going to argue in that whiny girl-arguing voice and take away your sweet sweet closure. And then you go find someone has the exact opposite hair color and say 'hey, wanna fuck?' Kapeesh?"
Sam is silent for a while. "Okay. Yeah." He huffs another one of his Sam laughs. "Yeah, thanks Dean."
"This is why Dad doesn't let me leave you alone. You get yourself into stupid shit like an idiot."
"Sounds like you have some first-hand experience. The Almighty Dean Winchester gotten himself into stupid shit like an idiot before?" Sam retaliates, grin seeping into his voice.
"Shut up. I just understand people is all."
"Maybe you should major in psychology and be a shrink instead of a mechanic."
"Yeah right. 'Oh you're suicidal? At least you haven't got ghosts and demons on your ass and you're not a rugaru and haven't been bitten by a vampire or werewolf. Here, copy down this Latin incantation if you ever bump into a demon though and oh, don't forget to put salt in your doors and windows. So stop trying to kill yourself cuz there's already a billion things that want to do that and they don't need your help. That'll be a bajillion bucks sir.' Yeah, that's gonna work out real well."
"Way to take a suggestion to heart, grumpy."
Sam sounds amused and Dean can pretty much hear his eyeball rolling in its socket. "Don't roll your eyes at me, bitch."
"Jerk." He doesn't even deny it. "Alright. Well go back to your non-sentimental Friday night screwing."
Dean puffs a smug cloud of barely visible breath into the chilly air. "You're welcome, baby brother."
Sam snorts. "Bye."
He can't help but grin like an idiot. He hasn't seen his brother in months after spending 24/7 practically pressed against him for the last 18 years, he's entitled to some withdrawal. Both of them. Not that he'll admit it on pain of death. He hangs around a little while more, just breathing and enjoying the bite in the air, not quite ready to go back into the mindless fray just yet after a moment of rare nostalgic clarity. Eventually, it's gets too cold to be standing outside with no jacket even in Arizona, and he turns to go back inside.
Except there's someone sitting on the doorstep wearing a trench coat (who the fuck wears a trench coat to parties), looking very guilty, and maybe slightly tipsy.
"Sorry I–" The guy stands up really quick and refused to make eye contact, "I couldn't help over hearing. I probably shouldn't have done that."
Dean raised his eyebrows as he walked towards the door. "It's fine man."
And then Weird-trench-coat-dude-who-listens-to-people's-phone-conversation glances up as Dean walks by and Dean's hand misses the door handle. The I-peeked-at-my-Christmas-present-early face paired with those unreal fucking blue eyes. Suddenly weird-trench-coat-dude-listening-to-my-phone-conversation didn't seem like a good name anymore. He closes the door behind him and the baby blues don't follow. You know what? He's not even that interested in that nice ass from before anymore.
"This is what talking about feelings does to me." He mumbles to himself and tosses back a purple nurple. "I want my fucking balls back."
