Whoever said that "new" is exiting and wonderful is, in Castiel's humble opinion, full of some quite rank shit, pardon the curse. A new house, a new town, a new school full of new faces lay just 30 miles south of this god forsaken rest stop, and all Cas felt was an anxious churning in the pit of his stomach that was not helped by the two chili cheese dogs he had just inhaled. Whatever the case, his sentiments were far from excitement.
It wasn't that he had been so attached to his home (his prior home, he thought with a displeased pang). He never really "socialized," not like Gabe did. But he had made himself comfortable there, kept his head down and avoided any interactions that could be dangerous, taught himself when the proper times to smile or frown were, what people to avoid at all costs, etc. There he had time to analyze all the faces that passed him in the hallway, to learn, slowly but surely, how to converse with his lab partner and how to pee in a public bathroom without feeling entirely violated. But now he was swapping comfort for the abrasive new, new faces, new lab partners, new oh so awkward bathrooms. No, saying goodbye to his town wasn't hard, but saying hello to this new one would be.
He cast his mind back to his last moments in the home where he'd grown, trying to evoke some sentiment. He saw the porch, with its peeling white paint, the scraggly grass, the front door emblazoned with a tiny burning red handprint on the lower left hand side due to a finger painting excursion of his that had gone horribly wrong. His goodbye was all of a nod to his old bedroom window and a final inhalation of the earthy air. This wasn't the case for his brother Gabriel, Cas remembered with a smile. A gaggle of teary-eyed girls, t-shirts stretched like sausage casings across their chests, promising to "text you EVERY day! We'll Skype, too!" Gabe had given them a sappy, wistful smile, artfully turning to wink at Castiel so the girls couldn't see. "Aw, Cas, I sure am gonna miss this place," Gabe had said, wiping at tears that were, more than likely, faux. "I wish we didn't have to leave-" he paused, sweeping his arm towards the jumping and waving women in their former front yard "-all this." Cas tried to maintain his usual stone faced stoicism, but it was hard not to crack a smile. He had a funny feeling that Gabe would be just fine with this rapidly approaching "new." Castiel wasn't so sure about himself, though.
"CASTIEL. HELLO. EARTH TO BIRD BRAIN." Cas blinked and rubbed the growing stubble on his face. "Ugh, Cas, why do you ALWAYS do that?" Gabe half-yelled. "You're always zoning out on me, buddy. I said, we're almost there. Take a look at our new town." A quick glance out the window brought warm yellow lights and a happily bustling downtown, cars cycling through four way stops in a glittering merry-go-round.
"I'm likin' Lawrence," Gabe said in a theatrical Southern accent. Cas tossed him a small smile, but his heart was racing. He struggled with keeping track of the people in his tiny town. The thought of 87,643 people (and counting, as this was an outdated census number) made him want to slip under his covers with his books and a cheeseburger.
"What do you think, Castiel?" his normally silent father intoned from the front seat. Mr. Thomson was the personification of "walk softly and carry a big stick," a hulking 6'5" human whose words were as carefully measured as the inseams on his custom made suits.
Castiel rolled the words carefully in his mouth, marbles of thought swirling along his tongue. It's too big. It's too bright. It's not home. It is anything but "exciting."
"It's different," he huffed in a sandpaper voice.
"Castiel, the family poet! What would we do without your supreme wordiness, Cas?" Gabriel lolled in his seat, hair flopping in front of his eyes.
"We could all do without your supreme douche-ness," Cas growled in return.
An ice blue eye flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Cas with the same effect of an arrow to the chest. "Sorry, Dad," Cas murmured. Even sitting up front, that man had a god-like talent for telling you to shut your yap.
The bright city lights were melting into the cooler glow of suburban street lamps, rows of neat houses were unfolding along striations of roads and alleys. The car turned down a demure seeming road populated by pleasant little ranches with minivans or Fords tucked into the driveways. Modest in every sense of the word. Cas glanced towards Gabe who was rolling his eyes in an almost painful way. Only their father would be a six figure salaried executive that donated his cash to charity or tucked it away into savings accounts for his sons, living as simply as a Buddha mixed with a Walmart employee. The boys didn't mind though, since he was always willing to grease their palms with a little spending money.
"Here we are, boys," Mr. Thomas said, turning into a gravel driveway. "Home."
Impressions of a tiny two story of indeterminate color and a sprawling front porch entered Cas's mind. It was hard to tell in the dark, but reason told him that the paint was not peeling, and the door was not decorated by the handprint of Castiel past. "Home," he whispered to himself, the word falling heavily at his feet and shattering into a chorus of mid-summer cicadas.
"So…," Gabe intoned, "what's a guy gotta do to get some ice cream?"
Mr. Thomson chuckled and told Gabe he'd have to earn it, gesturing to the stack of boxes in the boot of their Forester. Cas moved to help his brother, but a hand on his shoulder halted him.
"Castiel," his father began, voice seeming to boom even in dulcet tones, "I know it's hard, all these… changes, but I think you'll like it here."
Castiel swallowed. "Yes, dad, I'm sure I'll feel at home in no time." Lie.
"Good. And you'll let me know if anything's bothering you?"
"Yes, dad, of course." Lie.
Mr. Thomson offered him a smile and a slap on the back that surely shifted his vertebrae into dangerous positions. He trudged over to the car to help Gabriel, leaving Cas alone with his thoughts and a sinking feeling of expectations . "Hold your head high and always dress your best, Castiel," she would say, trying to tame his ever-messy fluff of hair. He felt a drop in his stomach that definitely wasn't caused by those chili cheese dogs. His shirt was pressed and buttoned to the neck, sleeves rolled crisply to the elbow in deference to the heat, pants creased, shoes shined, but he was certain that his head would always hang, trying to hide from the mystery that was people.
Cas was happy when he opened his eyes and found that an exhausting though ice creamed filled night had given way to morning. He made his bed, carefully tucking the corners of her quilt, and consulted his watch. 8:25. The sky still held a bit of the grey tinge of early morning, but the heat was already seeping through his blinds with the sunshine, steaming on the floor and crawling into every crevice. He peeked into the driveway. No car. His dad had already begun his day, completely disregarding the fact that it was Saturday. Not that Cas minded particularly. Gabe would sleep at least until 12, meaning that Cas had the morning all to himself. These were his favorite hours, where everything was quiet and soft and full of promises. He dug through the boxes at the end of his bed and found his record player. He slipped an Ella Fitzgerald record under the needle and began to unpack.
"After one whole quart of brandy, like a daisy I'm awake.."
One drawer for socks, underwear, and handkerchiefs, neatly separated by cardboard dividers. Sweaters folded neatly in the middle drawer. Trousers and trench hung in the closet, waiting for warmer days. Collared shirts hanging too, organized by color and pattern. A neat row of khaki shorts in the bottom drawer, accompanied by a small stack of rarely worn t-shirts.
"I'm wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again…"
Tissue box, alarm clock, snuggled on the beside table. His records, alphabetized, tucked with his player on the shelf beneath the table.
"Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, am I…"
Tucked beneath a pile of binders, Cas found his book of idioms. They had started it together because Cas couldn't put his head around what it meant to "have a chip on your shoulder" (which, apparently, he had). They would add them as they stumbled upon them, her curlicue script making his close print look sparse. Steal your thunder. Water under the bridge. Let the cat out of the bag. He smiled tracing the letters with his fingers. "Isn't the English language silly, Castiel?" she had said after they'd spent an hour scrolling through an idiom website. "It's hard enough to understand what people mean in the first place." Castiel nodded in solemn agreement. "I suppose it takes two to tango, though," she had whispered, a laugh rising from deep inside her belly.
Somewhere in the process of this memory, Castiel's intestines had knotted themselves into a sweater. He closed his eyes.
"Romance, finis, your chance, finis, those ants that invaded my pants, finis. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered no more," Ella finished, leaving the room uncomfortably empty.
Castiel decided that now, 8:43 AM, was the perfect time to explore his new neighborhood. He tucked his book into his sock drawer, buttoned up a shirt, slid into some shorts, and tiptoed downstairs, though, from the decibel of Gabriel's snoring, silence was far from necessary. He scrawled a note, just in case, and left it inside the refrigerator, Gabe's first stop in the morning. Deep breath. Screen door, creaaaak, and now summer morning, bright and thick with chirping birds and whirring lawn mowers. There was an exhausting homogeneity to the street, all of these neat houses with modest flowerbeds and factory standard mailboxes, cereal box images of American wholesomeness. The street was mainly quiet, though a few people sat on porches, some already nursing a first beer. As he walked farther he found that the street ended in a small wooded area whose edge was littered with beer cans. Cas smiled. He knew where Gabe and his inevitable new friends would be roosting.
He began to loop back, stomach thinking of breakfast. Maybe he'd cook for Gabriel and himself, pancakes and bacon like they used to do on Saturday mornings.
"Hey! You dropped something!"
Castiel froze. He felt the muscles in his back knotting themselves into a net, his pulse thundering through his veins like a race horse. "Social anxiety," the doctor had said, nodding her head with false somberness. "He'll grow out of it, I'm sure."
Castiel inhaled and exhaled, mentally preparing himself to converse. He turned around, looking for the source of the voice. His stomach did triple chili cheese dog jumps. What he saw was the new number one on his "avoid at all costs list."
The by-product of a shotgun wedding between Barbie and a GI Joe, he was leaning with an effortless grace against a lawnmower. Artfully spiked hair, green eyes, a spattering of freckles and chiseled chin, my GOD he looked like he'd been manufactured. He was the kind of kid who probably had his own car and was well versed in sports and women. The kind of kid that could tear Castiel apart with words, leaving him in shreds to be trampled by the cruel cattle of high school.
"Right there! Whoa, is this a handkerchief? Kinda old school, man," Barbie Joe chuckled. Castiel didn't respond.
"It's cool, though. The little sewing shit on the bottom, that's cool. Cas-tee-el?" he pronounced each syllable in a greaser grunt. "What's that mean?"
"That's my name," Castiel replied, finally able to speak.
He braced himself, ready for the comments on how "weird" and "funny" his name was.
"Do people call you Cas?"
Castiel blinked, his head tilting sideways. "My mother used to, sometimes," he mumbled.
"Used to?"
Fuck. Here it came, the explanation, the sympathetic eyes, the oh I'm soooo sorry, how terribly sads. Sympathy should be in the form of a cheeseburger, not all those messy words. Castiel prepared himself to recite the little speech he had written on an index card, yes thank you for your condolences, yes she will be missed very much.
"Dean, I thought I told you to mow the lawn."
Green eyes winced. "I was just taking a bre-"
"Its only gonna get hotter, Dean, and I need you to take Sammy shopping. Kid's going through shoes like he's a fuckin' race horse."
Dean smirked. "Puppies have to grow into their paws eventually, just wait till he starts going through clothes."
"I don't even wanna fuggin' think about that." Castiel assumed that this was green ey- Dean's father, the GI Joe in the mix. He certainly had the army gruffness paired with the frighteningly bulging arms of a staff sergeant. It was morning yet, but Castiel could already smell whiskey spilling from the man's mouth with every expletive. It was then, when Cas was contemplating the frighteningly large veins on the man's arm, that the man noticed him. "Who's your friend, Dean?" There was more than a little condescension in his voice.
"Oh, this is Cas, he's… uh…" Dean's cheeks began to turn an inexplicable red.
Somehow, Cas was able to speak, words flowing easily for once. "I just moved in up the street, sir," he said, thinking a man that gruff would appreciate the honorific. "My father and my brother, Gabriel, we live just up there." Cas extended a finger towards his new home.
"Ah." The man's face broke into a charming smile. "Nice to meet you, neighbor. Cas, was it?"
It amazed Castiel how quickly people could change their tone and words and become entirely new. "Castiel is my name, sir."
The man extended a grubby hand. "John Winchester," he said, all smiles. "And it seems you've already met Dean."
Castiel nodded. Castiel never, ever shook hands with, let alone touched strangers, but this seemed like a special case. He tried to wipe his sweaty palm surreptitiously, then returned the handshake. His heart was pounding. So much for a people-free morning.
"So," John said, arm sweeping outward. "What do you think of Lawrence?"
Castiel followed the path of his arm, glancing around at the simple homes with their scrubby grass. He lined the words up in his head carefully. "I don't know it well enough yet, sir. I am sure that I will like it here," he added quickly, quoting his father.
There was a pause, then…
"Hey, Dad, maybe I could show Cas around town? Since he's new, and all." Dean's voice was surprisingly soft. "I could bring him when I take Sammy to get shoes."
John's face was blank. Then he was all charming smiles again. "After you finish the damn lawn," he replied. "Nice to meet you, Cas-tell." He turned and staggered back towards the house, trampling the neatly cut grass under heavy boots.
Castiel found that he could suddenly breathe again. He clenched and unclenched his hands, and counted his breaths, one, two, three, just like she'd taught him.
"I'm sorry about that," Dean half-hissed. Castiel wasn't very good at reading faces, but Dean's face was textbook rage.
"It would be nice to see more of Lawrence," Castiel said before he could stop himself. So much for Dean being number one avoid at all costs. He was breaking his own rules all over the place today.
Dean smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. A strange tingle jumped up Castiel's spine. "You don't have to," Dean sort of coughed. "I mean, it's cool if you don't want to, man."
"I don't even know where I can get burgers," Castiel replied, thinking this would convey his need to know Lawrence better.
Dean laughed. Castiel wasn't sure why, but at least it wasn't the harsh laugh he had faced in school hallways. There was a pleasant roundness to the sound, as if it was swirling in a bowl, drops spilling out of the side. "Hell, you definitely need me to show you around then." His eyes crinkled again.
Castiel wished he had eaten breakfast, feeling a biley bubble in his abdomen. It was a lot to experience on an empty stomach. He nodded his reply to Dean, trying not to meet his eyes.
"I'll drop by your place in an hour or so, alright?" It was more of a command than a question.
Castiel nodded again, then thought now would ne an appropriate time for a smile. He contorted his face into the best grin he could manage, hoping it would be satisfactory.
Dean laughed again. "Awesome." He rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced back towards his house. Castiel tilted his head, the synapses in his brain jumping into motion. Dean is rubbing his neck, this is a sign of nervousness or discomfort. He is looking at his house, where his father is. His father seems to intimidate him. His father asked him to mow the lawn. During this analysis, Dean's eyebrows had folded into a curious arch.
"You okay there, Cas?"he asked, strange upward lilt in his voice. Castiel's mother would have called his expression "bemused."
"I will leave you to your lawn mowing," Castiel stated gruffly, bowing slightly on the final word.
He turned away, hiding the red that was creeping across his cheeks. Why couldn't he just talk like everyone else? Dean probably thought he was stupid, he probably didn't want to take him around, he probably-
"See you in an hour, man!" Castiel heard from behind him. He had made it halfway to his home in his manic rush from embarrassment, and turned just to see the return arc of a wave goodbye. Castiel watched Dean return to his lawn mower, back rippling as he pulled the cord to start it. Perhaps Dean was not a number one avoid at all costs, but Castiel would still be wary. New town, new Cas, apparently, he thought, shaking hands, talking to strangers without help, going somewhere with someone he'd just met. Somehow, the sloshy bile feeling was gone. Perhaps there was just something a little wonderful about the new, Castiel thought, pushing through his very new screen door.
EDIT: I'm super new at this and would love some feedback!