Now
Castiel gets a call from Dean in the middle of his workday on Monday. He checks behind him into Crowley's office, confirming the all-clear before answering and pressing the phone to his ear. He minimizes Dean's article that he's working on drafting up and spins in his chair. Charlie, his colleague that he's known since the days of Dean in High school, looks up from her own work and gives him a wide eyed, suspicious look. She knows that this behavior is very unlike him; he's not the kind of reporter to neglect his writing for a phone-call during work hours.
"You didn't call me today, like you said you would." Dean greets, voice a playful-admonishment.
"Well, it's only three-o' clock, Dean, and I am still working. You called me before I had the chance." Castiel speaks into the phone, and as soon as Charlie hears him speak the name "Dean", she lets out a girlish squeal, getting up from her chair and crowding around him. She puts her ear up to the other side of the phone to try and hear what Dean is saying and Castiel tries to shoo her away.
"Since when have you been talking to Dean again? I thought that ended a long time ago. Oh, but I so don't care. Just give me the scoop." She whispers quietly, but evidently not quietly enough, because Dean hears.
"Are you talking about me? Oh, Cas, I'm honored." Dean says with a laugh. Castiel blushes a rosy color and gives Charlie a death glare.
"Yes, well, Charlie just ca not seem to keep to her own business." Castiel tells him truthfully, shooting a snotty look to where Charlie has scurried back to her own desk.
"Charlie? Charlie Bradbury? Wow, that's a name I haven't heard since high school. She works with you?" Dean says in enthusiasm, but Castiel doesn't have a chance to answer because Crowley comes up behind him and takes his phone.
"She is one of my best desk-jockeys, unlike your friend here, who should be working on his article instead of taking personal calls on the job." Crowley speaks into the phone and Castiel is immediately scared for the safety of his job, even though somewhere deep within him believes that Crowley secretly has a soft spot for him. Crowley hangs up the call and hands the phone back to Castiel. He gives his employee a proper You should know by now not to do that look and disappears back into his office. Castiel lets out a sigh of relief and maximizes his story again. If I cannot talk to Dean I can at least write about him, Castiel's brain supplies, but then he rethinks the words and comes up with a resounding that sounded really creepy.
Castiel and Dean make a plan to "hang" at Dean's place that night, so as soon as Castiel gets off at five, he heads over to Dean's apartment. When he rings the doorbell, Sam answers, or at least he thinks it's Sam. He's taller, a lot taller. He has tanner skin, is much more muscular and has grown his hair out considerably, but his eyes are the same shade of soft brown that he remembers and he has the same kind smile he wore the first time he ever met Castiel.
"Castiel!" Sam greets him, enveloping the now much shorter man in a hug.
"Dean did not mention how much you've grown, Sammy." Castiel says in what he's come to know throughout the years as his brotherly voice.
"What can I say, I guess I really like my spinach." Sam jokes, waving Castiel into the living room. Castiel laughs along with him and remembers somewhere in the back of his mind the first time Dean ever showed him an old episode of Popeye after he admitted that he didn't get all the spinach references that the brothers threw around.
"I was actually just leaving. Dean'll be out in a minute. Told me it wasn't a date, but I'm pretty sure he's secretly hoping it turns into one." Sam tells Castiel, winking at him before opening the front door once again. He stops for a short second and looks back at Castiel.
"It's really great to have you back, Cas." He says with a small smile before disappearing on the other side of the door. Castiel hears the sound of a car starting and driving away minutes later. He can't help but feel a fluttering in his stomach as he takes a seat on the black leather couch against the far wall of the small apartment. He wasn't necessarily hoping for this to be a date but at the same time he kind of was. He doesn't know what he wants, he realizes, when it comes to Dean. He still loves Dean; that much he knows, but he doesn't know if his heart is quite ready to start this relationship back up again. He doesn't know what he'll with himself if it doesn't work out again.
Castiel hears a door from inside the hall to the left open and he panics. He stands and smooths out the wrinkles in his trench coat, his eyes sliding to the door as his mind tries to decipher whether or not he would have time to run. He decides to chance it, taking quick steps to the door, his mind swirling with the sadness of the past, but just as he opens it, he hears Dean's voice.
"Just go." Dean's soft voice is choked. It makes Castiel still with his hand on the knob of the now ajar door. He turns after a few moments and his eyes meet Dean. He's standing at the intersection of the hall and the open living room, his eyes trained to his chest as his hands hastily work to undo a perfectly knotted tie from around his neck. There is water dripping from the widow's peak of his hair onto the long sleeved button-up he wears, leaving small, almost see-through spots on the white fabric. For some reason it makes Castiel's mind go to his father's funeral. He and Dean had only been together for a few months when his mother called with the news; Castiel's father had been found dead on the side of the road, his sleek black Porsche crashed into a large metal pole ten or so feet away from where his savaged body lay. "He was headed home," Castiel dropped his cell phone and crumpled to the floor in a fit of laughter when he heard those words being muttered in his mother's broken tone. He didn't cry like any normal human being would have. He laughed. He laughed and he couldn't stop laughing because, for some reason unbeknownst to himself, the whole situation seemed so very comical. Distant father of five killed in attempt to redeem himself Castiel thought to himself, and it circled in his mind as he let out one choked sound after another, clutching his stomach. Dean came back into the living room minutes later from the kitchen with two sandwiches, both cut in two. The sandwiches joined Castiel's shattered cell phone on the floor and Dean ran over to where Castiel had cascaded onto the dark hardwood floor next to the stairs, still in a haze of hilarity. Dean couldn't get Castiel to stop laughing, because whenever Castiel would start to utter the words he needed to say, the laughter would take over again. He did finally get the words out, hours later as he lay in Dean's arms in the same place he had collapsed, along with a soft "Can I just- be alone right now?". Dean left without another word and communication was cut off between the two of them until five days later, the night before the funeral, when Castiel called Dean to ask him to be there.
Dean showed up at the funeral in the rain, wearing dark wash jeans and a black Metallica T-shirt with a red tie fastened perfectly around the collar of the shirt. The casual nature of him in stark contrast with the black, perfectly pressed suit and blue tie that Castiel wore. Castiel remembers that now, the way that he saw the rain drip down from Dean's face onto the cotton of the Metallica shirt and the satin red tie he wore then. It made him smile a real, genuine smile for the first time in days and once the corners of his mouth rose toward the sky, Castiel was able to confide in Dean about how cruel it had seemed to him that the one time that his father had ever tried to be a father, he had died, and how he knew that it seemed silly, stupid even, that he had had hope; hope that was crushed the moment he picked up that phone.
"It's not stupid, Cas. Hope isn't stupid." Dean had said, taking Castiel into his arms, and that's how they stayed for the rest of the funeral, right up until Castiel dropped a hand full of dirt onto his father's grave and immediately turned away after.
Now, Castiel keeps his eyes on the droplets of water dripping onto Dean's shirt, and as he does, a realization comes to his mind that No, hope isn't stupid So he closes the front door and walks over to where Dean is still standing, his tie now untied from his neck and hanging free on either side of his shirt's collar and decides that this is something worth hoping for again.
"No." is all Castiel says as he grabs onto both sides of the tie and crashes his lips to Dean's.
Then
Castiel's self-defense club officially starts after a week filled with getting it approved by staff and organizing a set schedule. They decided that meetings will be held every Tuesday and Friday after school, and on the first day, which lands on the Friday after the almost-punch debacle, a considerable amount of people show up, really just five not including Dean and himself, but Castiel decides that he'll take what he can get.
"Okay, guys, so welcome to the first ever meeting of the Wendover High Self-Defense Club. Um… This club was started by your fellow student, Castiel Novak-" Mr. Shurley cuts off to nod in Castiel's direction and starts up again.
"I'm Mr. Shurley, but I guess you can call me Chuck if you don't find that weird. I'll be your advisor. I don't fight and I don't plan to, so I guess as long as you guys don't kill each other, everything'll turn out fine." Chuck ends with an awkward kind of smile and sits back down behind his desk, turning back to his laptop where he types away and ignores the students seated at the desk in front of him. Castiel stands up from the desk in the front row that he had been occupying and begins to address his peers.
"Hello. I'm Castiel and I am going to be the manager of this club. We will not be fighting today, that will start next Tuesday, so today we are just going to be going over some rules and regulations and… other stuff." Castiel says, somewhat self-consciously, he then splits the small stack of papers in his hands in two and hands one stack to Dean, who is sitting on the table top of the desk next to his.
"This is Dean. He is-" Castiel begins to say, putting a hand on dean's shoulder, but he is interrupted as a dark haired upperclassman cuts in.
"Your boyfriend?" she says, loudly, in a tone that drips with mockery. Castiel's cheeks flush bright and he begins to cough, his papers slipping from his hands.
"So, what if I am?" Dean speaks up, hopping down from the desk; patting Castiel on the back and helping him pick up the pages he dropped. Castiel's cough dies down but his cheeks say bright as his mind whirls with the words that Dean has just said 'So, what if I am?' What does he mean 'So, what if I am?'?
"Nothing. I mean I'm cool with the whole guy on guy thing, and I just kind of figured, you and Novak are just oozing with sexual tension, and who hasn't seen you guys all gushy with each other at lunch… and in the halls." The girl retorts, making a disgusted face.
"And who are you?" Dean asks as he passes out papers. His voice is rude, or at least the rudest that Castiel's ever heard it without being completely seething.
"The name's Meg. It's nice to make your acquaintance, pretty boy, or I guess I should say, pretty boys? If you wanna get together for a three-some some time, I won't say no." she delivers, flicking her gaze between Dean and Castiel.
"You're a bitch." A different, small in pitch but strong in tone, voice pipes up from near where Dean was previously
"Well, if it isn't little Winchester." Meg says, looking down at the paper that Dean handed her with a scowl.
"My name's Sam, and you can leave them alone now, because, you know, seventh graders hear a lot of gossip, a lot of which I'm pretty sure is true. Isn't that right Meg?" That shuts Meg up and Castiel glances to the desk behind Dean's, where Sam is sitting, as he takes his seat once more. Dean plops down next to him moments later and gives his brother a fist-bump.
They spend the rest of the meeting going over rules 'No face-hits, No below-the-belt hits, etc…'. Jess flirts with Sam the entire time, passing him notes and at one point, even attempts to play footsie with him, only to be laughed at by both Castiel and Dean when she hits her toe on the metal chair of the desk and lets out a "crap!". Dean leans over to Castiel and asks him to convey to Jess that she doesn't need to be so obvious because it's pretty obvious that Sam gets it. Castiel does and by the end of the class Sam has an official date set up with Jess at the Winchester residence for Saturday night. Dean asks Castiel if he wants to 'hang out' at Dean's Saturday night, "You know, so we can chaperone." He says in a whisper, as they arrive at Jess' and she gets out of the car, pressing a soft kiss to Sam's cheek.
"It is not a date, is it? Because I do not think one house could handle that much awkwardness." Castiel quips, but it's only half-hearted because he does hope that it is a date. Dean doesn't answer, but Castiel could swear that he sees the hint of a smile playing on his lips. They get back onto the road and Dean hums along to some classic rock song, drumming on the steering wheel at stop lights as Sam complains about the same song from the backseat. Castiel is jittery, considering that maybe he didn't say it jokingly enough and Dean thinks he's serious, even though he kind of is, and that Dean is just waiting to tell him 'Sorry, man, but I don't like you that way. Maybe we shouldn't be friends anymore. This is just weird' and Castiel doesn't know if he could deal with not having Dean there for him. He doesn't know if he could just go back to the way his sad life used to be, but as the pull up to Castiel's house, Dean gets out of the car with him and walks him up to the door and Castiel thinks to himself This is it, I'm a goner.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Is all Dean says, pulling Castiel in for a hug and a quick kiss to the forehead. Dean makes no comment of Castiel's previous comment and Castiel is appreciative of that. He does find himself thinking as he walks up the stairs and into his room, however, that he would like, very much, to have Dean's lips on his own lips instead of on his forehead.
