Castiel Collins loved basketball.

Anyone who knew Castiel, knew how much he loved basketball. He spent almost all of his time sitting under the bleachers during game season, watching practices and making notes in a red spiral notebook about what the players could have done differently. He had tried to play a few times, tried to get his brother to play with him, but he wasn't very good at it. He didn't have any hand-eye coordination and he was awkward on his feet. The first time he had played the sport, he had fallen on his shoulder so hard he had had to get thirteen stitches.

Dean Winchester loved photography.

Anyone who knew Dean, knew just how much he loved photography. When he was a freshman and his dad made him join the football team, he had used all of his allowance money to buy a camera, then he had quit the team. He spent most of his time taking pictures of the sports teams at school, or of whatever he thought looked cool or interesting. He had a bunch of old Polaroid cameras, and his bedroom walls were filled with Polaroids. He had some of his school friends, and a bunch of his brother and mom, a few of his dad sprinkled in there. He had a few pictures of himself, and himself with his friends, and a bunch of candids of people at school.

Another thing Dean Winchester liked was Castiel Collins.

He had liked Castiel since about seventh grade, when the blue-eyed basketball enthusiast had moved to their little one-Starbucks town. He had took notice of him right away, with awkward smile and the notebook seemingly surgically attached to his hand, as Dean had never seen him without it. He was too shy to talk to Castiel though. While Dean seemed to be a bit more popular with people than the other boy, he also had really bad anxiety. His first two years of high school, he couldn't go to any school events, or even walk in between his classes, without his best friend Jo with him.

As a senior in high school, Dean had made it his goal to finally ask Castiel Collins on a date. He had, of course, already brought all the different factors into play, the main one being he didn't even know if Castiel was gay. Also the fact that he was best friends with Dean's little brother, and Dean didn't want to make anything awkward for Sam, because he loved him way more than photography.

So Dean's plan was to first ask for Castiel's number. It sounded easy enough, and he had even approached Castiel with the intention of asking for said number, when he chickened out. He had blushed hot and pink and stuttered out some bullshit about Sam needing some homework assignment because he had been absent the day before. He had been absent the day before, but he didn't need any homework assignment, not like Castiel needed to know that or anything.

The Friday before Homecoming, Dean decided to finally suck it up and be a man.

He found Castiel at his locker, his red notebook in his left hand, while he spun his combination with his right.

Dean walked up to him, his heart thudding in his ears, and leaned as casually as he could against the locker next to Castiel's. "Hey," he managed nervously.

Castiel looked over at him, raising an eyebrow and offering a quiet hey in response.

Dean took a deep breath. This is going fucking great! he shouted sarcastically to himself in his head. WHY WON'T YOU LOVE ME?! his brain shouted at Castiel, who was looking at him like he was crazy, and Dean realized he had been internally monologuing again. Something, his brother had told him once, that creeped out anyone watching.

"Um, I was wondering, I mean, I don't- I know I don't really know you that well-" Which was, of course, a lie, but Dean wasn't about to tell the object of his affections for the past six years that he knew everything from his favourite colour to his oldest brother's name. "-but I was kind of wondering- I mean, not kind of, I've really been wondering, if... MaybeIcouldhaveyournumber?" He took a heavy breath and licked his bottom lip nervously into his mouth. Jo would laugh at him is she saw him now.

"Um... Pardon?" Castiel asked, a confused look on his face as he pulled a Psychology book out of his locker and rested it on his hip with his red spiral notebook.

Dean took another deep breath to steady his nerves. "I was wondering, if I could have your number?" he said, slower, so Castiel could actually understand him.

Castiel's eyes went wide and he closed his locker slowly cautiously, as if something was about to jump out at him. "Are you serious?" he asked, not in a rude way, more in a are-you-kidding kind of way. Dean just shook his head. "Why?" Castiel tilted his head to the side, a motion Dean knew meant the boy was thinking, or confused. It was one of the things he loved - liked - about him; it was adorable.

Dean shrugged. "I like you." I love you. "I think you're cute." You're literally the most adorable thing ever and it makes me want to tear my face off. "You're smart." Intelligence is sexy as fuck. "You have really pretty eyes." I could literally stare at your eyes for hours, they're so fucking pretty. Literally. Dean bit his lip nervously, thinking that if he didn't stop with the eyes, he'd be going on for hours.

"Do you just want to fuck me?" Castiel asked seriously, and Dean's jaw dropped open.

"No! I-"

"Because the last time I gave my number to a guy I barely knew who said he liked me I got some very suggestive pictures that were very hard to explain to my mother, and I got grounded." At the confused look on Dean's face, Castiel added- "Oh, I was in sixth grade."

Dean sighed and shook his head. "I've liked you since seventh grade, Cas, just gimme a chance. Please." At the utterly surprised look on Castiel's face, Dean blushed. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that. He was supposed to be playing it cool. He wasn't supposed to sound pathetic. Well, you kinda are pathetic, his mind supplied unhelpfully. It took ya six years to ask for his damn number. He hushed his brain and turned back to look at Castiel.

"I... You don't even know anything about me," he said dubiously, and Dean smiled a small half-nervous smile.

"You love basketball," he started, and Castiel rolled his eyes, turning to walk away. Dean grumbled a bit before speed-walking after him. He knew Castiel was going to the gym to sit behind the bleachers for his free period. Which was good, because Dean's free period fell on the same hour as Dean's on Fridays. "Your favourite colour is purple, or orange. You never go anywhere without that red notebook. You love your sister, Anna, and your brother Gabriel, but you can't really stand the rest of your siblings. You don't like that you can never get your hair to lie flat, which is ridiculous, because it's actually really hot. You-"

"Wait. Okay. Hold on." Castiel stopped and waved his hand a bit, effectively cutting Dean off. "How do you know this stuff? We've barely ever spoken two words to each other."

Dean blushed again. "I- Well, most of the stuff is from observation; we've been in classes together for six years. And also, uh... Sam? May have told me a few things, when he found out I like you."

Castiel squinted slightly, but nodded all the same. "Okay," he said slowly, continuing his walk. Dean fell into step beside him. "Do you like basketball?"

Dean scrunched up his nose and shook his head. Castiel just nodded, weaving around a group of chatty freshman girls. Dean nervously played with his camera strap, lifting his camera to snap a candid of the girls. It slid out and he shook it, running to catch up to Castiel. He slid to photo in the front pocket - deemed the Photo Pocket two years ago - of his bag as he fell into step with Castiel.

"Okay." They stopped at the doors of the gym. "Chris Mullin." He smiled and walked through the doors.

Dean's jaw nearly dropped and he snapped a picture of Castiel's retreating back through the doors, shaking it and sliding it into the Photo Pocket before groaning and walking off.

The first thing he did was run to the library and grab the last three yearbooks, looking in every grade for a Chris Mullin. Then he looked for an author by the name of Chris Mullin. Finding nothing, he sat in the back of the library with his face in his hands, only being interrupted when Jo came in. She slid into the seat across from him, setting her bag on the table and laughing.

"You okay, Winchester?" she asked, poking at one of the yearbooks with her pen.

Dean shook his head. "I asked Cas for his number," he said miserably. "And all he said was 'Chris Mullin'. Who the fuck is Chris fucking M-"

"You're kidding?" She laughed. "Chris Mullin is only one of the most underrated NBA players ever. I mean, the dude averaged at least 25 points per game for five consecutive seasons. And he won two Olympic gold medals, and he's a five-time All-Star." She let out a low whistle before taking in the bewildered expression on Dean's face and laughing again. "Oh, man. Cas is sooo testing you!"

x

"Hey, Dean. Castiel told me to tell you-" Sam paused, his head halfway in his brother's door, before he heard the shower and a loud thumping noise. Dean came out of the bathroom moments later, soap dripping from his hair down his face and shoulders, and a towel thrown loosely around his waist.

"What is it? What'd he say?"

Sam looked him up and down before choking out a laugh. "Um," he cleared his throat. "Dominique Wilkins? Does that mean something to y-"

Dean was across the room and sat on his bed with his laptop before Sam could even finish his sentence. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, now go," he said distractedly as he opened up his browser and typed in Dominique Wilkins. He read through the AutoFill options - Dominique Wilkins jersey, Dominique Wilkins fight, Dominique Wilkins stats -before pressing enter on the first one. A shit ton of pictures of his jersey came up and Dean paused.

Jersey numbers.

Castiel fucking Collins was giving Dean his phone number.

In jersey numbers.

Clever sonuvabitch, Dean thought with an overly fond smile as he looked up Chris Mullin's jersey number. He had a few, but the most popular in the search result seemed to be 17, so he wrote that next to Dominique Wilkin's number - 21.

"Seventeen, twenty-one," Dean said quietly to himself.

He shut his computer and walked back to his bathroom, cursing quietly at the wet spot he'd left on the bed.

x

The next number Dean got was Clyde Drexler - 22 - given to him on a note Castiel slipped into his locker three days later. His handwriting was sloppy and slanted, and Dean couldn't even read it. He had given it to Jo to read, and she had given Dean a short history of the player, along with his achievements and jersey number. Dean had thanked her about fifty times, writing it down on his hand after 17, 21.

x

Dean was just about to hunt down Castiel when, lo and behold, the man himself walked up and handed him a picture. It was a basketball player that everyone, even clueless-to-basketball Dean Winchester, knew. It didn't show his jersey number, so Dean quickly took out his phone, sending a quick message to Jo asking IF YOU DON'T TELL ME LEBRON JAMES' JERSEY NUMBER RIGHT NOW I WILL TELL ELLEN ABOUT THE TIME YOU SMOKED DURING HER CHRISTMAS PARTY. Okay, maybe he didn't so much ask, as threaten, but it did the job. She texted back for his current team, its 6, and you swore you wouldnt tell! asshole. Castiel stood in front of Dean the entire time, his red notebook tucked against his hip, with a small smile on his face.

Dean smiled and grabbed his pen, writing 6 on his wrist then opening an empty text. He typed in their area code, followed by 17 21 22 6, then typed out a short message - clever bastard. go out with me. - then pressed Send. A few seconds later, Castiel's phone beeped, and Dean smiled triumphantly.

Castiel slid his phone out of his back pocket, opening the text and reading it over. Dean snapped a picture of his reacting the second he stopped reading. He shook it out and put it in his bag, not even looking at it. Castiel looked up with a wide smile on his face, nodding once.

"Yes?" Dean said, just to be sure, and Castiel nodded again.

"Yes," Castiel said, and Dean just stood there with a huge, goofy smile on his face, tapping his fingers on his thighs nervously.

"Seriously?" he asked again, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Dean. I'll go out with you."

x

"Did you see that shot?!" Castiel asked as he turned to Dean, pausing in his writing and opening his mouth. Dean nodded, reaching over to put a Rolo in his mouth. "Sloppy."

Dean just nodded again, taking a picture of the players from behind the bleachers and shaking it out, putting it in the pocket of his bag closest to his hip, the pocket he deemed the Castiel Pocket. "He should have faked left, then Ronny wouldn't have gotten he. He's made the same mistake like... seven times? Eight times now," Dean said, leaning over to look at Castiel's notebook to see if he was right. They had been sitting under the bleachers together during every practice for the past four months, and Dean was getting good at memorizing the plays and the players strongest points and their weaknesses. Cas loved it.

Castiel just smiled and nodded, leaning over to kiss Dean's cheek. He grabbed a Rolo and held it in front of Dean's mouth with a demand of "Open" and a smile. Dean smiled as he ate the candy, snapping a picture of Castiel, who just rolled his eyes and smiled wider. Dean shook the picture out and handed it to Castiel reluctantly. He loved taking pictures of Castiel, it was one of his new favourite things to do, but he liked to put them up in his room. Every once in a while, he would give a few of them to Castiel, and he didn't know what Cas did with them, but he never saw them again.

"I love you, Cas," Dean said, sliding down to rest his head on Castiel's shoulder. He toyed with the strap on his camera.

Castiel smiled and leaned down, kissing the top of Dean's head and ruffling his hair. "I love you, too, Dean," he responded, and Dean smiled wider, closing his eyes and grabbing Cas' hand to lace their fingers together.

Two weeks later Dean found all of the pictures he had taken and given to Castiel, taped in the last few empty pages of his red spiral notebook. The photos were the only thing in the notebook besides notes on basketball plays and players, and written under the most recent picture, one of Dean and Castiel laying in Dean's hammock in his yard, were their names and the date the picture was taken, followed by; I know you're reading this Dean. I've loved you since we were twelve. Now give me my notebook back :)

Dean clutched the notebook tightly to his side and ran down the hall and to the gym, throwing the door open and crawling under the bleachers where Cas sat with a new notebook - this one green - and Dean's camera. When he saw Dean, he smiled and snapped a picture of him, shaking it out and putting it in a small pile of photos to his left. "Hey, Dean, I-"

"Shut up, you dumbass. Twelve? Really? And you didn't fucking tell me?" He dropped the notebook in Castiel's lap, who just blushed and mumbled You weren't actually supposed to read that... before sliding it under his green one. Dean just shook his head and smiled, surging forward and grabbing Castiel's face in between his hands, kissing him as softly as he could. "I fucking fell in love with you and your ridiculous blue eyes in seventh grade." A delighted smile crossed Castiel's face and Dean grabbed his camera, snapping a picture of it. Castiel just rolled his eyes, pushing Dean's camera-holding hand down to the side so he could kiss him again.

They didn't have a photographer at their wedding. Dean just held his camera back and snapped a picture of the two of them kissing around smiles at the altar. It was one of the seemingly hundreds of framed photos in their house that Dean had taken, surrounding Castiel's framed coaching awards.

I'm not sure where this idea or this story even came from but I just sat down and wrote it in like an hour.

I don't have a beta or anything, so all mistakes are mine and if you wanna point them out, that'd be super helpful.

I hope you crazy cats enjoyed this! (: xx