Classes. Dean struggles with homework, but he's getting it done. Everything is falling into place. He sees Sam sometimes, and they go to a burger joint, and they talk about all the ways they're fitting in now. Sam says he's joining a fraternity, Dean says him and Cas don't have any classes together. Both of them bubble with stress and closure. They're finally happy, they conclude, working towards normal futures. Sam goes back to his campus smiling, his worry erased every time, and Dean goes back wondering if Cas wants to join a fraternity with him. Plenty of time for that later, he supposed.
Dean goes back to the room to find it empty. He shuts the door behind him, surprised his antisocial friend has left the nest, and walks around. His desk is covered in papers and books. Cas's is covered in art supplies. The stack of sketchbooks go halfway up Cas's bed, of all shapes and sizes. Glancing around furtively, Dean picks up one from the top of the pile. Cas has been working in this one for weeks. Flipping through it, Dean sees a thousand pages of wings. Some sloppy, some horrible, but as he keeps flipping the pages they get better and better. 'Angel wings' is what Dean thinks, even though all that's drawn are birds.
He turns a page and pauses. A beautiful girl, with long curly dark hair, on a rocky precipice, with angel wings protruding from her back. For some reason, it makes him feel... strange. He puts the sketchbook back and sits on his own bed, the cot protesting loudly. A frown creases his face.
Not that it mattered, but Cas never talked about girls. Dean had scoped a few out in class he planned on hitting on - maybe to get laid when the time arose - but he had told Cas about all of them. Where they sat, what they wore. Not only did his roomie never mention them, but he never mentioned a girlfriend in high school either, which most kids did. Especially if they were boring. It was a pivotal thing for them.
Dean got up and got out another sketchbook of Castiel's. He sat on the floor and opened it, flipping through each page gently. Animal studies. More birds, raccoons.
He flipped another page. His jaw dropped. Sketches of him, sitting on his bed, doing homework. The dark frown to his brow. The curl of his fingers around a pencil. His boots lying discarded on the floor. Every detail was perfect. Dean stared at it a long time before turning the page again. More sketches of him. Grinning, laughing, the back of his head even. The next page was his hands. His watch, rings, necklace. Then his boots again. Pages and pages of his boots. Was this for real? Was Castiel serious? No women, but a shit ton of drawings of him?
Dean's pulse was racing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a rush of white noise. His shaking hands replaced the sketchbook and reached for another, unable to stop. Full body sketches. Bad proportions, though. Every picture got better and better, and near the middle it was perfect. Like a photograph of his figure. Heavy torso, bow legs. Combed hair. Even the glint in his eyes, a smile pushing at the corner of his mouth.
He sat and stared at it. It was beautiful. Perfect. They'd roomed together three months now, he had done this much work in three months? Why hadn't he noticed he'd been drawn? The glances should have given him away. Now that it was brought to mind, Dean had noticed Cas becoming a bit more confident about his work. He'd even hung up some landscapes. A bridge over a small forest creek hung over the bed, beside a darkly painted cityscape.
But this, this was nuts.
If it's weird, it was a set of one shots I pushed together.