So. This is a High School AU. Filled with awkward Cas, and cool Dean. And Fluff. Oh, and Truth or Dare.
Enjoy!
Running, Alive
It's not like Castiel to go to a party. But the cutest, most interesting athlete from school had invited him.
Dean is in track and field. It's not the kind of sport that allows for socializing, and Castiel has a feeling that Dean chose it because of that. His brother Sam isn't very sociable either, but he has friends that he keeps around. When Sam is studying or out with friends, Dean runs instead. Castiel knows because he watches from the side. He's not alone in his awe, either.
On most days, Jo will sit next to Castiel and comment on how nice Dean's shorts are. They both know she's not complimenting the actual clothing, though. Dean never looks at his audience, even when Jo whistles or Gabriel - the most sexually fluid kid alive – cheers and howls like a wolf.
Sam comes to find Dean on the track, and that is the only time his attention can be broken. Castiel prays in that short time that Dean will notice them on the benches, watching, admiring. And if possible, he'd like Dean to notice him.
Dean is walking away from the track and towards Sam, dabbing his face with a towel. When he moves it away, Castiel sees Dean's eyes, an array of greens, looking in his direction. Jo nudges him with a shoulder, but he hardly acknowledges it. Gabriel waves an arm, and that startles Castiel out of his reverie. Dean looks down, throwing a towel over his shoulder, his cheeks a faint red. Castiel chooses to believe it is from their shared moment, and not from physical exertion.
Castiel can't move, long after Dean and Sam have left the field. Jo grabs his arm and drags him away. Gabriel laughs for an undetermined amount of time, but declares that he has pulled a stomach muscle the next day.
Something else is declared as well.
"My dad is out of town this weekend," Dean says, handing Castiel a paper with an address. "Me and Sam are throwing a party. Maybe you could be there."
Castiel stares at the paper, his heart steadily climbing up and into his throat. He looks up to give a reply, but Dean is far away down the hall, handing the same paper to Jo.
Jo holds Castiel's arm – secretly keeping him standing, and preventing him from fainting – when they enter the Winchesters' home. Sam hands them each a red, plastic cup. He points to a table nearby where a container is filled with black markers.
"In case you want to keep track of your drinks, you can label your cup." Sam smiles and moves aside to greet the rest of the people arriving.
Gabriel is already in the living room, rubbing against the sweating bodies all dancing along to some mainstream song that Castiel's never cared to listen to. Jo whispers that Gabriel only dances when he wants to impress someone. There are so many bodies around Gabriel though; it's hard to tell which one it is.
"Sam," Jo supplies helpfully.
Castiel's eyes widen. She laughs, pushing him towards the kitchen – where the spiked fruit punch no doubt is – and asks him to get them some. "I need to keep an eye on our sleazy friend."
Castiel walks through the doorway and freezes. Dean is standing in front of the bowl of punch, scooping some into a cup. There's another bowl close by, dark and suspicious-looking. Jo probably wants the suspicious one; it looks like it's stronger. Castiel would prefer neither. He turns to leave, to make Jo get her own oversaturated alcohol, or return when the object of his affection isn't standing there – alone – within touching distance – when a hand on his shoulder startles him.
"Hey," Dean says. "Sam told me to fill some cups for guests. You're a guest. You want this one?" Dean holds out the cup. It's the regular one at least.
"Thank you," Castiel replies, making no move to take it. He can't make his brain signal the rest of his body in Dean's presence.
Dean huffs when he sees Castiel's pink cheeks. "I don't bite man, take it." He draws Castiel's hand out, putting the cup in his grasp, and forcing Castiel's fingers to wrap around it. "You're welcome."
Walking back to his spot, Dean laughs under his breath. Castiel flees the kitchen faster than he thought possible.
The party is exactly as fun as he expected it to be – not at all.
Jo has the bad habit of rutting against him when she drinks, and touches him in a few places he tells her are 'off limits'. Gabriel rubs against anything that moves, so that goes without saying. Also, alcohol has nothing to do with that fine, upstanding behaviour in his case.
Sam does notice the lingering glance Gabriel gives him every time he passes by, but he does nothing more but nod a bit in his general direction. Jo predicted finding them tangled up in Sam's bed by the end of the night, but Castiel doesn't care either way. He's on a special 'hide from Dean' mission. It really makes no sense whatsoever, considering he's the reason Castiel is at this boring, noisy, slutty party in the first place.
Jo is off in the corner with one, or maybe two, guys, flirting and smoking illegal substances that she told Castiel never to mention to her parents about.
In other words, Castiel is on his own.
The door to the backyard isn't locked, so Castiel slip out for some air. He can't escape altogether and leave his friends here, no matter how naked and drunk they are. It has nothing to do with wanting to see Dean one last time before he leaves.
Castiel sits down on the grass, and just relaxes to nature's soundtrack. The soft breeze is gently shifting through the grass, the crickets rub their legs and chirp proudly, the sky is a navy blue he wishes his eyes could mirror at times, and everything about this spot makes up for the terror inside. He should have come here earlier.
"Hey," a voice says.
Castiel narrows his eyes but he sees no one; the back porch lights are switched off for some reason. Or maybe burnt out. "Who's there?"
"Geez man," Dean says, striding slowly toward Castiel. "This is my place, you know. I wouldn't let any serial killers come around and murder my graduating year."
"I see," Castiel replies, not sure what else to say.
"That was a joke." Dean sighs, plopping down next to Castiel. "What's your name?"
"Castiel." He looks away from Dean, closing his eyes when the wind picks up a bit.
"Can I ask you something?" Dean wrings his hands together, nerves running laps faster than he usually can.
"I believe you just have," Castiel mutters. Dean scoffs in reply. "I mean, yes. Sure."
"Do you wanna play a game with me?" He tilts his head, eyeing the side of Castiel's face since he still refuses to make eye contact.
"I guess," Castiel forces out, despite his tongue losing all moisture the instant Dean's eyes fell on him.
"Truth or dare?" Dean asks, turning to get a better view of Castiel's expression. He's getting redder by the second.
Castiel considers it for some time. Truth would mean answering a question, forcibly, without having the option of avoiding or lying. He could lie, but Castiel doesn't appreciate that kind of thing. Dare would mean making a fool of himself in front of the one person he never wants to do that. It could also mean interacting with the drunken people inside, or worse, Dean himself. It could mean Dean asking him to strip or to kiss him. That couldn't happen—
"Truth," Castiel blurts out. The bad far outweighs the good in the latter choice.
"Do you like me?" Dean says immediately, his hands on his knees, drawing circles. Nerves again.
Maybe there's a way around it, Castiel thinks. "Is that your question?"
"Yes." Dean's smile is rewarding in an unfair way. Castiel has to answer now.
He clears his throat, and then, "yes."
"Good," Dean replies, dragging Castiel in by the collar of his white, dress shirt. "Because so do I."
The warning Castiel gets is lost on him. How many people could figure out a teen closing his eyes mean he's going to kiss you? Okay, perhaps a lot. But it's still surprising.
And then Castiel clutches at Dean's back, feeling along the curves, ridges and dips of Dean's back. He has the body of an athlete, Castiel's mind explains. Dean's tongue presses against his slightly parted lips, and Castiel opens them without protest. A slide of teeth across Castiel's bottom lip makes him jump, arousal springing to the surface of his pores, and Dean uses the movement to drag Castiel into his lap.
He attaches himself to Castiel's neck, tracing his ribs and his sides, wondering if Castiel ever eats – when he's not busy watching Dean, of course. Whimpering and writhing, Dean can't help but pull away from his favourite fanboy.
"You know." Dean trails a hand down Castiel's spine, pressing against each vertebrae, imagining what this could be like if they were in the safety of his bedroom. "Either way, I was going to get us to this point."
Castiel was right in the end. Not that it matters now that he's in Dean's lap, curling toward him with each press of lips, roll of hips and soft gasps they share. "I admire your way of thinking."
"Thanks." Dean grins, pushing Castiel aside gently so he can stand. "Wanna trust my judgment some more?" He bites his bottom lip, raising a brow in question.
"Absolutely." Castiel is dragged inside and upstairs in record time.
Jo and Gabriel can't find Castiel later because he doesn't want to be found. They go home without him – by taxi; Sam is a reasonable host – and he falls asleep in Dean's bed, waking up to a sunshine that has nothing to do with the star of their solar system.
(Dean knew all along who he was taking to bed; he just didn't want to seem like the more skeevy one for having done research on his attractive stalker.)
End!