Didn't See It Coming
Chapter 4
Castiel didn't hate him, and Crowley wasn't going to rip out his throat, so why was Dean hesitating over his next move? Even Sam, spending all his time wrapped around Jess, could tell that something was wrong when Dean went weeks without launching another prank.
"Quidditch match coming up," Sam mentioned, faking nonchalance.
"Hmmrg?" Dean muttered, his mouth full of potatoes.
"Quidditch match," Jess repeated, reaching across Dean to grab a roll. "Perfect opportunity to spend some social time with that special someone." She winked at Dean. "Maybe even hold hands during the exciting parts."
Dean choked, and Sam pounded his back a little harder than necessary.
"Thanks for the tip," Dean croaked. Jess returned his glare with a beatific smile and ran her hands through Sam's hair.
"I know I'll be snuggled up to someone on the Ravenclaw stands," she said wickedly. Sam blushed. Dean hated to admit it, but his little brother's girlfriend had a point.
Next Saturday found Dean making his way to the Quidditch pitch. With a wave, he parted from a group of his fellow Gryffindors and sauntered over to the Hufflepuff stands. With a Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match to start the season, Dean was glad he wouldn't be facing any inter-house rivalry this time. Or so he thought.
In the Hufflepuff stands, Dean gaped. Of course Houses weren't strictly segregated or anything – as Sam and Jessica's visits to the Gryffindor breakfast table proved. And the Gryffindor stands no doubt now held a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. But he wasn't expecting this.
Nearly every Hufflepuff there was there with a friend – special or not. Instead of the sea of yellow he'd expected, Dean saw a kaleidoscope of yellow, green, red, and blue – ties, scarves, banners, pennants, you name it. And most discouragingly of all, he spotted Castiel – wedged next to Crowley, holding one end of a Slytherin banner.
Undaunted, Dean elbowed his way through the crowded stands.
"Hey, Castiel," Dean said. Castiel grinned at him.
"Hey, Dean!" Castiel squirmed closer to Crowley. "Take a seat."
Dean sandwiched himself between Castiel and his Hufflepuff neighbour.
"Hello, Dean," Crowley chimed in. Dean nodded curtly.
"Crowley," he said.
"Going to be a good game, I hear," Crowley said placidly.
"Go Slytherin!" Castiel yelled.
"Castiel gets a little excited about Quidditch," Crowley explained. Dean's stomach churned. This was not going to plan.
"Do you play, Castiel?" Dean asked.
"Oh, no," Castiel said. "I love being on a broomstick, but once I'm up there—" he looked over the foggy pitch and sighed. "I forget all about the rules."
"It's true," Crowley added. "His first time flying, he forgot all about Madam Hooch and just—" he whistled. "Took off."
"I followed the bees," the Castiel explained in an undertone.
Dean heard the announcer's megaphone blare to life. The match had begun.
As the players streaked across the pitch, Dean tried to follow the action, but he was far too invested in the drama unfolding beside him. Castiel was oblivious, immersed in the game, but Dean noted every movement of Crowley's - how he retrieved Castiel's scarf and tucked it into his coat when the wind whipped through the stands, how he shifted in his seat so others could pass without disturbing Castiel, and – most damnable of all, to Dean – how he laid a proprietary arm over Castiel's shoulders, making sure, the whole time, to maintain eye contact with Dean.
By the end of the match, Castiel was ecstatic, Dean was in agony, and Crowley was as smooth and composed as ever. I have to get him away, Dean thought dully. He saw his chance when Crowley turned his back. He tapped Castiel's shoulder.
"Castiel," he whispered, "can I talk to you?" Castiel nodded, nonplussed. Dean took hold of his sleeve and led him out of the stands, hoping that Crowley would lose them in the swell and crush of students celebrating, commiserating, and analyzing every moment of the game. When they reached the ground, Dean led Castiel around the corner of the stands, out of the flow of traffic, and completely lost his cool.
"Are you and Crowley dating?" Dean blurted.
"What?" Dean felt his face burn as Castiel looked at him quizzically.
"Is he your boyfriend?" Dean pressed on.
"No, Dean," Castiel shook his head. "Crowley's my best friend."
"Oh." Dean looked at his feet. I am such an asshole, he thought. "You probably don't even swing that way, right?" He felt the last of his hope leaking out.
"What show have you been watching?" Dean looked up, surprised. Castiel still had that puzzled look on his face – but now it was joined by something softer. Amusement? Dean thought wildly. He thinks this is funny?
"I don't have a boyfriend, Dean," Castiel told him gently. "But that doesn't mean I don't want one." Dean just stood there, frozen, as Castiel winked at him. "Assbutt."
Dean watched Castiel walk back to the castle. Dean stood there for a long time.
The next time he saw Castiel, Dean was going to start the conversation with something else, anything else, but his curiosity overtook him as he wedged himself between two terrified first years to claim seats for himself and Castiel at the Hufflepuff table.
"How are you and Crowley even friends?" Dean asked.
"He's a good person," Castiel said.
"But he's a Slyth—" Dean began.
"Don't," Castiel warned. A handful of Hufflepuffs had already begun to glare at the presumptuous Gryffindor in their midst. "A lot of us have friends in Slytherin," he explained, "definitely not just me. And if there's one thing you can say about Hufflepuffs…"
"It's that they're loyal, yeah," Dean conceded. "Okay. But what has Crowley done for you?" Castiel's eyes lit up.
"You may not have noticed, but I'm terrible at Transfiguration," Castiel admitted. "Crowley's helped me scrape through since first year. I doubt I'd even have my OWL if it weren't for him."
"Uh huh," Dean nodded, his face full of bacon.
"Plus, not everyone in Hogwarts is… that relaxed," Castiel continued. "I ran afoul of some Ravenclaws – you know what they're like when they're angry."
Dean could imagine. He was still sore from the Punching Bag Hex Sam had cast on him in the last round of the brother's prank war. It compelled anyone who came within two feet of Dean to begin punching him mercilessly, and it had taken Dean most of the morning to find a reversal spell.
"Crowley helped me smooth the waters. He's the best kind of protector," Castiel explained, "because he helps me fix things so that everyone's still friends." Castiel picked up another slice of toast and began to spread it with peanut butter. "I don't like conflict," he added.
"Yeah, I've noticed," Dean agreed. "But it just doesn't seem like you and Crowley have much in common." Dean watched Castiel closely, as the Hufflepuff chewed on his toast and ruffled his hair nervously.
"There's more to tell," Castiel said, "but not here."
"Meet you in the greenhouses after class?" Dean suggested. Castiel smiled.
"Absolutely."
Castiel leaned against the long table at the centre of the greenhouse while Dean pulled up a stool, folding his face into his hands, elbows on the table.
"Okay," Castiel said, "I know you have a lot of questions."
"Yeah," Dean grinned. "How are you so bad at Transfiguration?" Castiel blinked and smiled.
"I don't like forcing things to change," he answered. "But that's not really what you want to know, is it?" Dean lowered his head.
"You don't have to tell me," he began. Castiel shook his head.
"No, I want you to know," he said. "And I checked with Crowley, so it's okay." Dean raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"You have to check with Crowley to see what you can say to me?"
"It's not like that," Castiel protested. "This is partly his story too."
"Okay," Dean shrugged.
"You see, Crowley and I…" Castiel laughed softly. "Well, it seems like we don't have a lot in common."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I mean, muggle-born Hufflepuff and a MacLeod, a Slytherin from a long line of Slytherins."
"Crowley is more than a MacLeod," Castiel corrected him. "That's really what we've got in common." Dean narrowed his eyes, confused.
"You asked if my family was alive," Castiel said. Dean nodded. "I have to assume they are, but we haven't spoken in five years."
"How come?" Dean asked gently.
"They… weren't happy when I got my Hogwarts letter," Cas explained. "Professor Sprout came to explain that I was a wizard, and they didn't take the news well."
"Why the hell not?" Dean asked, incensed. "Being a wizard is awesome!"
"You may have noticed my name is a bit… unusual?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded again. "Like all my brothers and sisters, I'm named after an angel."
"Your family's… big into angels?"
"More than that," Castiel added, "they believed in them."
"Like, that they're real?"
"Yeah," Castiel said. He looked at his hands. "They believed that the apocalypse was near, that the world would end and God would take the holy to paradise."
Dean stared at Castiel.
"You come from a cult?" he asked, incredulous.
"Don't call them that," Castiel said.
"Sorry," Dean said. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," Castiel interrupted. "It's just… they think of magic as coming from the devil. They told Professor Sprout… that if she took me to Hogwarts, I wouldn't be welcome back."
"But didn't she explain to them?" Dean asked. "It's not like we worship Satan here or anything." He laughed. "It's not a Black Sabbath concert."
Castiel laughed weakly.
"She tried," he said. "They didn't believe her."
"So what did she do?" Dean asked. Castiel took a deep breath, bracing himself against the long table.
"She gave me a choice," he said.
They fell into silence.
"So," Dean asked, "what's this got to do with you and Crowley?"
"When I was a first year," Castiel explained, "plenty of people asked about my name. And plenty more…" He ran a hand through his messy black hair. "Well, it's unusual, and you know what happens to the nail that sticks out." Castiel sighed. "It gets hammered down."
Dean nodded. If he wasn't such a good guy, he reasoned, he could come up with plenty of jokes on Castiel's name.
"There's only so much Asstiel I could take," Castiel continued. "I've been made fun of for my name before, but now I was being reminded of the brothers and sisters I left behind, of the family who wouldn't want me back." Dean put a comforting hand on Castiel's shoulder.
"Crowley found me," Castiel said, "crying in the bathroom on Hallowe'en." Dean's heart melted imagining first-year Castiel, alone and hurt. "He offered to help, and I think it surprised him that I wasn't afraid of him."
"Why would you be afraid of him?" Dean asked, puzzled.
"Plenty of kids were," Castiel said. "He'd shown up in first year and couldn't even introduce himself without Ravenclaws backing away and Slytherins asking him whether the rumours about his mother were true."
"That she's a necromancer?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded. "Well, is she?" Dean asked. Castiel rolled his eyes. "Is he?" Dean pressed on.
"Do you think he likes," Castiel went on, "being known as Rowena MacLeod's son? He wants to make a name for himself. That's why he doesn't get along with other Slytherins – they assume he's just like his mother, that he walks the party line. Crowley's…" Castiel smiled, "a bit of a rebel." Dean smiled, remembering the Howlers exploding at the Slytherin breakfast table, which began with "FAIR-gus" and descended into rants he hadn't quite been able to make out.
"He'd have to be, coming from that family," Dean said.
"I'm more than the family I come from," Castiel told him, fixing Dean with a steely blue gaze. "I'm more than my name. And so is Crowley." Dean nodded.
"I can understand that," he said. Castiel smiled.
"I'm glad," he said. The bell rang, and Dean's mind immediately snapped to the Yorkshire pudding and roast beef waiting for them in the Great Hall.
"C'mon, let's get some dinner," he said, taking Castiel's hand.
The two boys strolled out of the greenhouse and towards the castle.