After their less-than-pleasant exchange on the first day of school, Dean was all too careful about not running into the other boy again. He ignored Castiel in the halls—which was easy considering Cas had never really paid him much attention in passing anyway—and in the two classes he had with Cas, he made it a point to sit on the other side of the classroom from him so as to avoid any more demeaning conversations. If Cas's game was to act as if each didn't know the other existed, then Dean could get on board with that, keeping any thoughts he had of Castiel tucked safely inside the confines of his own head.
Things were going well for Dean in that he had found a comfortable pattern in which to live his life: attending school, doing enough homework to keeps his parent's off his back, and spending as much time as possible nerding out with Charlie on the weekends. And staying totally and completely away from Castiel Milton.
~..~
It wasn't until the fourth week of classes that Dean's contented way of living was interrupted. Having received mid-quarter progress reports that showed that Dean was failing chemistry, Dean's parents sat him down and informed him that they had contacted the school and arranged for a peer tutor three days a week until Dean's grade went up, and that until then, he was grounded from a numerous amount of very-important-to-Dean leisurely activities. Feeling a little betrayed, Dean tried to protest that he didn't need a tutor and that he was doing just fine, but the glaring F on his mid-quarter progress report made all arguments invalid. Sam had offered to help when he'd heard about what was going on, but with soccer practice and homework of his own, John and Mary wanted him to concentrate on his own studies.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean had told him. "Don't worry about me. You just keep your grades up."
So on the Monday following his unfortunate news, Dean reluctantly seated himself at a small table in the school library after school and waited for his peer tutor to show up to help him with his chemistry homework.
With his chemistry book and notebook already pulled out from his backpack, Dean felt no use in getting started when he didn't know what he was doing in the first place. Instead he pulled out a comic book and began flipping through the pages, scanning the pictures before delving in. He was so immersed in the reveal of the Red Hood's true identity that he didn't notice a figure looming over him until the clearing of a throat grated out above him.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean looked up and found himself staring into those sad blue eyes he'd been doing so well to avoid as of late.
"I assume it's you I'm here to tutor," Cas stated.
"How do you know I need to be tutored?" Dean asked defensively.
"The fact that I was told to meet in the library and you're the only student here might have something to do with it. It could also be that the subject I'm here to tutor in and your textbook lying there on the table, unopened, coincide with one another."
"Okay, Cas. Damn," Dean said, flipping his comic book closed and sliding it off to the side. Castiel said nothing about the nickname, and Dean was grateful for it. "Yes, I'm flunking chemistry, okay?"
Cas took the seat across from Dean and began pulling his things from his bag and Dean slumped back into his chair. "It would be you," he muttered as he tried to look anywhere but across the table.
"I'm sorry?" Castiel asked with one eyebrow quirked, his book halfway out of his bag.
"Nothing." And Dean hated Castiel for the way he made him feel. He hated him for tying his stomach in knots and reducing him to a mess of nerves while simultaneously giving him the burning desire to just punch something. Or someone. Someone like Castiel.
"If you think I'm overly thrilled about spending my afternoons here with you, then you would be very incorrect," Cas informed him, his eyes tinged with annoyance. "There are other things I could be doing with my time."
"Then why are you doing this?" Dean wondered accusingly.
"If you must know, I plan to put it on my college application when I apply to Oxford. Michael said it would show I am capable of handling my own workload as well as helping others with theirs, thus alluding to the fact that I am able to take on a heavy course load while in college."
"Sounds riveting," Dean said flippantly. "Why do you wanna take on so much after high school anyway? Don't you just wanna take it easy for a year or two?"
"No."
"Why not? You're always studying and being serious. You need to get out, loosen up, have some fun. You remember what fun feels like, Cas?"
"I participate in leisurely activities when time permits," Castiel replied coolly, opening his chemistry book. He shuffled his notes into a neat pile and folded his arms on the table.
"Like what?" Dean asked, still slouched in his chair, making no move to get started. "Do you still draw all the time?"
"Dean, I did not come here to discuss my personal life with you. I came to assist you with your homework. May we please get started? I have homework of my own to do as well as three more college essays to write." And why Cas, only a junior, was already writing college essays during the first quarter of school was beyond Dean, but he didn't argue.
The next hour was spent discussing nothing other than the periodic table of elements and other crap Dean didn't understand. When their time was up, they packed their things quietly and left with nothing but the time of the next tutoring session set in place and a simple "goodbye" from each other.
~..~
"Whatcha drawing, Cassie?" Balthazar asked as he came up beside his friend attempting to sneak a glance over Castiel's shoulder. Even though Cas's closest friends could hardly identify him without a sketchbook somewhere on his person, Castiel never actually shared his work with anyone. For all Balthazar knew, Castiel could be spending hours doodling stick people or oddly shaped penises. Somehow though, he knew that wasn't the case. Castiel flipped his sketchbook closed and shot a threatening glare in Balthazar's direction.
"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist, I was just looking."
Ignoring the retort, Castiel asked, "How was practice?" He pushed up from where he'd been leaning his hip on Balthazar's silver Aston Martin convertible that his disgustingly rich grandparents had shipped over from the UK. It had come complete with a posh Union Jack license plate, and Cas had rolled his eyes when he'd seen it but accepted rides in it nonetheless because, well, it was an Aston Martin.
"Practice was practice; how was tutoring?" Balthazar questioned, "Anyone I know that you can share juicy details with me about?" Balthazar unlocked the car doors with a click of his key chain and opened his door, sliding into the driver's seat.
Already in the seat next to him, Castiel remained stubbornly quiet. Balthazar glanced over at him, concerned.
"Cassie, what's the matter?"
"It's Dean," Castiel finally responded with a sigh staring down at his chalk-smudged hands.
"What's he done now?"
"No, I mean, it's Dean. That's who I'm tutoring."
Realization dawned in Bathazar's eyes, and he hesitated starting the car in turn for searching Castiel's face for an elaboration of how his first session had gone. When Castiel said nothing, Balthazar raised his eyebrows, "And it went?" he prompted.
"He's incorrigible, Balthazar," Castiel responded, locking his clouded blue eyes with Balthazar's.
Balthazar mulled this over in his head for a few moments before asking gently, "Do you think he bothers you so much because you still—"
But Balthazar never got to finish as Castiel was cutting him off with a growled and exasperated, "He bothers me because he's Dean Winchester."
And that was the end of the conversation.
~..~
When Dean banged through the front door after tutoring he went straight for his bedroom. Carefully locking the door behind him, he flung himself on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, the tutoring session playing over and over again mixing with old memories and making him feel all around conflicted.
He refused dinner that evening and put on a Led Zepplin tape, blaring it louder than he was allowed while pointedly trying not to think about what it'd be like to rumple Cas's perfectly ironed clothing and what his otherwise serious mouth would look like all puffy and well-kissed.
Castiel slid his tongue between his teeth and dragged his chalk across the textured page of his sketchbook in curving wisps. When all the strokes were finished, two brawny black wings came to life on the page. Pushing his back against the bark of the tree he was sitting against, he held the page out in front of him for examination, his eyes narrowing as he criticized every last line and movement. There was something off about the sketch, he just couldn't place what it was.
As he scrutinized his work, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to find smirking green eyes and a nose full of freckles looking down at him.
"Hey, Cas, whatcha doing?" Dean asked squinting against the sun.
Castiel closed his sketchbook, the sketch quickly forgotten, and tucked it underneath him. "Nothing," he responded.
Dean plopped down on the Milton's front lawn across from Castiel and tugged at the sketchbook Castiel had slid under his leg, "Can I see it?"
Castiel bit at his bottom lip. He had never shown his drawings to anyone before. His sketchbook was like his journal, everything inside was clandestine to him. "It's private," he finally muttered. He looked up to study Dean's expression. Dean's eyes were a little less bright, but other than that, he didn't pry.
"Okay," he said.
"But, maybe someday," Castiel decided in a hurry, Dean's expression making him want to open the book right there and show him everything. "I mean, I don't really know you. But perhaps if we become better friends, then I could show you a few."
Dean grinned at Castiel, pleased that he would even consider sharing something he'd just told Dean was private.
"So what're you—" Dean was cut off by Castiel's eyes going big and round as he caught a glimpse of a car pulling up from the street. The Audi Dean had seen the first day they'd met pulled into the driveway, and Castiel leapt to his feet. Dean stood with him and Castiel shoved the sketchbook at Dean looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"Take it, please. I'm not supposed to have it," Castiel begged before adding, "but, promise you won't look."
Dean looked down at the sketchbook that Castiel was shoving at his chest and placed a hand over it as the car door opened.
"Please, Dean, promise me," Castiel hissed.
Dean nodded, "Okay. I promise." He was confused by what had Castiel acting so strangely but then heard the vexing clear of a man's throat behind him, and he turned to find who he assumed to be Castiel's father standing at the edge of the front lawn. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, held a shiny leather briefcase, and looked very unhappy.
"Father, this is Dean, he lives down the street," Castiel introduced motioning towards Dean. He kept his gaze averted downwards not looking his father in the eyes. Castiel's father said nothing to Dean.
"Castiel, what makes you think it's acceptable to waste time when there's something productive you could be doing?" he asked, his eyes sliding right past Dean as if he weren't even there.
"I apologize. Dean was just here to show me something."
"What would your mother think, Castiel? All she wanted was for you to be a good boy and to work hard. Do you think she'd consider fraternizing with the boy down the street as working hard?"
Castiel shook his head, "No, father," he said quietly, eyes still to the ground.
"Where are your siblings?" Castiel's father asked then as he turned and headed for the front door, "Acting out just as you are, I assume."
Castiel shot apologetic eyes at Dean before following his father in the house, closing the door behind him.
Dean walked home with Castiel's sketchbook in his hands and a sinking feeling in his stomach over what he'd just witnessed.
~..~..~
It was four days before Castiel came asking for his sketchbook.
When Dean brought it out to him, Castiel refused the offer to come inside. "I can't stay long," he explained, "I finished my studies early, and Michael said I could get some fresh air. He'll be expecting me home soon."
Dean handed the sketchbook over and studied Castiel's face. He didn't look hurt on the outside; there were no visible bruises or any indications that he'd been beaten or touched in any way, but the way Castiel was fidgeting and avoiding Dean's eyes made Dean feel like maybe he was hurting on the inside.
"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," Dean offered.
"I was being disobedient, Dean," Castiel stated, and he was finally meeting Dean's gaze now. "It wasn't your fault." He looked down at his notebook and fingered some of the pages, face going shy. "Did you...?"
"No, I didn't look." And it was the truth. The sketchbook had sat on Dean's nightstand for three nights and four days, and Dean had spent a good amount of time just staring at the cover, his fingers itching to thumb through the pages. But he'd promised Castiel he wouldn't look inside and so he hadn't.
Castiel let out a little sigh of relief, his body sagging, his back falling from its usual stiff posture. "Thank you, Dean." He breathed. He looked up again to find Dean's gaze trained on him, his eyebrows pulled together in thought.
"Can I hug you?" Dean finally asked.
"What?"
"I want to give you a hug. You-" Dean stopped then, thinking about whether it'd be rude to say what was on his mind, "I just want to hug you. Because we're friends," he finished deciding it best not to tell Castiel he looked sad.
"Okay," Castiel agreed, but he made no move to embrace Dean.
Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Castiel. He pulled him in close to his chest and hugged him with all his ten-year-old strength. Castiel stood, stiff as a board, not raising his arms to hug back while Dean hugged the life out of him. Dean didn't seem to notice or care.
When they pulled apart, Dean grinned at Castiel, and Castiel offered a small smile back.
"Thank you, Dean," he said. And even though he hadn't hugged back, something seemed a little more relaxed in him.
They stood quiet for a few moments longer just studying each other and then Castiel turned and rushed down the walk way.
"I'll see ya later, Cas!" Dean called out as he watched Castiel's retreating from. Castiel stopped, standing in the middle of the road. Dean could see the blue of his eyes even from such a far distance. Castiel's mouth turned up in the hint of a smile once more and then he was gone.