A/N: Welcome to my first Supernatural fic! Basically, I saw a prompt on Tumblr while browsing at 3am last night, and since I'd already written my required 1,667 words for that day, I wrote this story entirely on my phone. After giving it a quick edit, here it is! This is an entirely AU story, no demons, no ghosts, or otherwise malevolent creatures.
This is technically a one-shot, but I don't know, maybe later I could roll with the idea and turn it into a longer fic?
As always, these are not my characters, and reviews, pretty please? They make me smile.
Enjoy!
Dean stared out the window of his classroom, nursing a hot chocolate he'd made himself in the teachers' lounge.
It was early February, and the winter was going strong, leaving a thin layer of frost over the monkey bars on the playground and chilling the teachers, who had to watch the kindergarteners, first, and second graders frolic and play on the snow-covered ground, to the bone. More specifically, the teacher who supervised them. As the newest teacher to the school, the duties of playground monitor fell to Mr. Novak. He looked freezing, and he rubbed his gloveless hands together for warmth, his handsome face scrunched up against the cold and biting wind. The children, however, bundled up in hats and coats and mittens, did not seem to mind the temperature. Dean took pity on the man whom he saw only in passing. He gathered up his coat and shrugged it on, and making a quick stop by the teachers' lounge, headed out to join Mr. Novak with an extra cup of hot cocoa in hand.
Mr. Novak turned his head as he heard the crunching of boots in the snow sounds behind them, footsteps too heavy to belong to a young child. "I brought you some hot cocoa," Dean said in lieu of a hello. He proffered the steaming mug, and Mr. Novak accepted it with a tiny, grateful smile.
"Thank you. It really does get cold. Mr. Winchester, is it?" Mr. Novak inquired politely. His voice was low, but warm and kind and full, not gravelly or hoarse.
"Dean," Dean replied. He extended a hand, and Mr. Novak transferred his cup from his right hand to his left and clasped Dean's hand firmly, but not forcefully. "You're Mr. Novak, right?"
"Castiel is fine," he replied with a smile.
"Castiel. Like the angel," Dean observed thoughtfully.
"Yes, I suppose just like that."
"So, what do you teach?" Dean asked, hoping to continue the conversation.
"I teach the religion and history classes in first, second, and third grade." Dean nodded; that made sense. The school they taught at was a small, preparatory, Catholic one, and history did seem to fit well with religion. "I suppose it's only fitting that the man named after an angel teaches religion," Castiel added with a bemused grin. "How about you?"
"Spanish, French, and Latin in fourth and fifth."
"That's impressive. It sounds like fun as well. " Dean snorted.
"It's exhausting. You try getting fourth graders to properly conjugate Latin verbs." Castiel laughed quietly, and his eyes flicked down to the ground for a moment.
"Yes, well, at least you get the mental exercise."
"True." Castiel's watch beeped at that moment, letting him know recess was almost over. He reached out and rung the large bell hanging near the doorframe, letting the children know it was time to go back inside. "I guess that's my cue," Dean said. He gripped Castiel's hand in parting. "It was good meeting you, Castiel."
"Likewise." For a brief moment, the two men made eye contact, and Dean swallowed.
"I'll see you around." Dean turned and walked back inside. Castiel let himself watch him go, then directed his attention to the young children already lining up to go inside.
The next day, when Dean glanced outside, it seemed that Castiel had enjoyed having a hot drink because he held a cup of his own hot chocolate tightly between his hands. Through the window, he noticed Castiel put a hand to his stomach, and remembered that while he already ate lunch, Castiel wouldn't eat for another half hour. Making a quick decision, he pulled the Ziplock bag of oatmeal raisin cookies he was saving for later from his coat pocket. Dean donned his jacket and trudged through the snow out to Castiel. "Hello Dean," Castiel said as Dean approached without turning around.
"How'd you know?" Dean asked.
"Your footsteps." Dean stopped next to Castiel and proffered the cookies he had to him.
"I thought you might be hungry." With a tiny smile, Castiel accepted a cookie.
"Thank you. I haven't had lunch yet," Castiel said gratefully.
"Don't mention it." They stood in silence for a moment. Snow was falling lightly, and a tiny feather of a flake settled on Castiel's nose. He wrinkled his nose to get it off, and Dean chuckled quietly.
"Oatmeal raisin are my favorite," Castiel said as he munched on the cookie. "I used to have one every day when I was a kid."
"They are good, aren't they?"
"Very." But all too soon, it was time again for Castiel to round up the children. "I will see you later, Dean," Castiel said as he prepared to gather everyone together.
"Bye, Cas." Dean turned and trudged back inside through the snow, now several inches deep on the ground.
Faintly, so soft Dean thought he was imagining it, he heard Castiel say, "Cas. I like that."
Dean and Castiel talked often over the course of the week, getting to know each other and soon it was mid-February. Dean looked back on how quickly he'd gotten to know the man, faster than perhaps any other friendship he'd ever had. It was the period before lunch on a Friday, and Dean wasn't teaching a class at the moment, so he was relaxing in the teacher's lounge with his friend Crowley, the vaguely demonic yet competent and witty English teacher. Just then, Dean's younger brother Sam, who taught the fourth and fifth grade history classes as well as a class of pre-schoolers who only stayed for half the day came bursting through the door, looking rather frazzled. "Dean! You're free this period, right?" Sam asked urgently.
"Uh, yeah, I am," Dean answered.
"Oh, thank God. Could you cover the class of pre-schoolers I have right now? You don't have to do anything, they're just making Valentine's Day cards." Right, Valentine's Day. Dean had forgotten all about the holiday. No lover he'd ever had stuck around long enough to spend it with him, so naturally, it wasn't very high on his list of priorities.
"Yeah, sure."
"Thanks, I owe you."
"No problem." Dean hoisted himself up out of the slightly worn armchair he was sitting in, grabbed his thermos of hot chocolate, and walked down the hall and into Sam's classroom. Putting on the biggest smile he could muster, he exclaimed, "Hey, kids. How's Valentine's Day card making going?"
"Good," answered one small girl, who was busy coloring in a heart with red crayon on a sheet of yellow construction paper. Dean took a seat on Sam's desk and watched them work quietly, marveling at their diligence. While he barely thought about today's significance, to these children, it meant the world. After several minutes, a boy sitting a few seats towards Dean's right spoke up.
"Are you gonna make one, Mr. Winchester?" the boy asked in a tiny voice. Dean laughed, humored but just the slightest bit uncomfortable.
"Well, I don't know. Who would I make one for?" Dean asked in return, indulging the little boy.
"For Mr. Novak," the little girl from before replied promptly. Immediately the entire class jumped on the idea, with a chorus of "yeah!"s.
"Oh. And why would I make one for Mr. Novak?" Dean felt his cheeks grow unintentionally warmer at the mention of Castiel.
"Because you like him, right?" offered a girl in the back.
"Yeah, we see you talking while we're playing," added another boy somewhere in the middle of the group now crowding around Dean.
"Alright, alright," said Dean, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'll make one if you guys help me." The children all cheered, and immediately set to work, cutting the best heart shape they could manage out of red construction paper and declaring "Happy Valentine's Day" proudly on the front in blue Sharpie. (Whoever thought it was a good idea to trust five-year-olds with a permanent marker, Dean didn't know.) Then, every single child dumped a handful of glitter on it, so by the end it was more sparkle than card. When they finished, they proudly presented it to Dean, who took one glance and laughed. "Thanks, guys," he said sincerely. It really was a thoughtful gesture, no matter how glittery the card was. Dean grabbed a black marker from the pile and opened up the card. 'Dear Cas,' he wrote, 'Happy Valentine's Day. I've liked getting to know you this past week or so.' At the end, he added, 'P.S. Sorry about all the glitter.' Satisfied, he closed the card, and as if on cue, the bell rang for recess. The children ushered him outside without even giving him time to grab a cookie or cocoa for Castiel. They practically marched him over to where Castiel was standing, in his usual spot towards the edge of the playground. "Hi, Cas. I, uh, made this card for you. They helped." A bit awkwardly and feeling rather embarrassed, Dean handed Castiel the card, who took it with a small smile, which grew larger as he read the card.
"Very cute, Dean." And just like that, Castiel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card of his own to give to Dean, equally heart-shaped and sufficiently glittered. Dean opened it up. The inscription read, in Castiel's slanted scrawl that Dean could tell he'd tried to amend, 'Dear Dean, Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you like this very sparkly card. P.S. In the spirit of Valentine's Day, want to go on a date with me tonight?'
Dean glanced up at Castiel's hopeful expression. "Sure, Cas." They both grinned widely. Stage-whispering to Castiel, Dean added, "Should we give the kids something for their efforts?"
"I think it's a fitting payment." They leaned forward and kissed each other chastely, just a little peck on the lips, right there in the middle of the schoolyard. The children clapped and cheered, and Dean and Castiel felt like they were in a cheesy romance movie. Nevertheless, they couldn't stop smiling.