Dean stepped out of the Impala, boot grinding asphalt, and glanced around. His shadow cast by the lamppost nearby was stark black beneath him. During the day wherever you go - but especially at college - you were safer from the public wrath by the all-seeing eye of daylight. Prying eyes prowled the suspicious and diligent hearts protected the weak from altercation. People were much more righteous during the day – or the people with the most righteous justice in their hearts were awake then.
But at night the righteous went to bed. Locked their doors. Shut their blinds, and pulled their blankets up to their noses. Because at night was when the weirdos and the wild and the pent-up came out and the dark took courage in the shadows. And there is no righteous mercy in them when they're cloaked in the night.
The college came to life after hours. The slogging, shuffling, weary students were alive - electrified with their neon sneakers and their glowing eyes. Grins glittered on their lips and the snatch of their laughter was loose and flimsy and bitter at the edges, knowing they had class in the morning but choosing to not care for a few more hours. They wandered in groups around parking lots and sidewalks and their Ebonics echoed off the buildings. Some jogged around with basketballs, bouncing them off of their friends' cars until they found one with an alarm; when the shriek of noise pierced the night they would run off, laughing and shouting and vanishing into the night. Kids sang their favorite hip-hop songs loudly and off key, accentuating the cussing as much as they thought would make their friends laugh. Some threw dirt and food and cans the windows of their buddies to summon them to their night of terror.
The righteous slept on, blessed with earplugs and box fans turned to the highest setting, blissfully ignoring - even with windows open to the weather and noises alike.
Dean held out his arm when Cas came around the car to him, and took his elbow protectively. "Let's get inside." He said in a low voice, and Cas just nodded tensely, following him on the way to their building. Heart pounding, Dean's radar blazed to life with vigor; each pair of suspicious eyes, hovering bodies, concealed carriers; all were noted. He scanned everyone and everything for a threat, the press of foreign terrors bringing back his hunting instincts. Often it plagued him during the day while walking to class or even in class itself. A pair of shifty eyes would set him off. Or a flicker of light in someone's eyes would alert him. But it was always, always nothing. His jumpiness never came to fruition. So he had turned it down best he could to continue to live here in peace. Paintball helped. So did driving. But the night was his territory – his fears. His childhood flashing back.
They made their way into the building to a throng of kids in baggy clothes and backwards ball caps, the smoke from their cigarettes like a cloud they pushed through. Their low chuckles followed their backs as they slid through the doors and shut both firmly behind them. Dean glanced over his shoulder as Cas retreated down the hall. Then, licking his lips, he continued, following his roommate closely.
People were laughing loudly in the halls. Their plans for the night could easily be overheard. Alcohol brands, girls' names, which cars to drive over and who with. Dean slid passed them, his eyes darting to the dark hair in front of him. Everything felt like a trap. Each corner gave him shudders. His hands twitched and curled into fists at each strange look and each obnoxious gesture.
When they were finally back in their room, Dean pushed passed Cas and went to the window, shutting and locking it down. Then he put down the blinds. He hovered there a moment with his fingers pushing down a blind to peer out. His knit eyebrows were dark. His jaw was taunt. A line of light spilled over his eyes and the bridge of his nose, pale and slanted.
"Dean," Cas slid his hand onto the man's shoulder, squeezing it. "That door is made of metal, and we're on the second floor. We'll be fine."
"Yeah," Dean murmured. His worry was palpable. A gentle intake of breath came from behind him. Arms encircled his waist, hands pushed along the material of his shirt, and a body pressed against his own, weakening his knees.
Castiel pressed his nose into Dean's neck and breathed him in. He hummed softly. "I feel safer just being by you." He tightened his grip. "The closer the better."
Dean melted. He tilted his head back a bit to touch his cheek to Cas's, sighing out all his tension through his nose. "You are. I'm the best protection there is."
Castiel pushed his hands under Dean's shirt and over his hot belly and chest. "Maybe if we shut off the lights, they won't know we're here," he said lowly into Dean's ear. His every touch send waves of endorphins through the ex-hunter. When the hands slid away, Dean drew drunkenly from his trance and turned to take Castiel's chin in his hand gingerly. He kissed him with a warm, hot finality, before going to turn off the lights. Once darkness fell they were together almost at once. Slow, hungry hands, savoring each inch of skin they grasped; easy, loving kisses, a nip to the lip here and there. Dean put his arms around Castiel and hugged him so tightly that his strong arms resembled fortress walls. They fell onto Dean's bed like this.
Cas pushed his hands under Dean's shirt and sank into his warmth. They chuckled and their nerves manifested into a fierce need for closeness, subtly encompassing them. Every fingertip had a dose of it. Every lick and bite. They clung onto each other with insatiable ferocity, entirely clothed, until the pressure of the day had them both drifting away. In a tangle of arms and legs they fell asleep. Breast to breast. Hip to hip. Nose to cheek.
A few days went. Their details were all so similar that spreading them out and explaining each separately will be seen as superfluous. As such, they went like this: the couple rose and agreed to a plan and went about their business. They went to each class, and ate each meal, and took notes, completely silent. Not a word was exchanged. Only brief touches – locked fingers on the way to dinner together, in the hall when they passed, or a kind glance when passing on the sidewalk. They only spoke in short to their friends at meals and to their teachers in class.
Benny was determined to make sure Dean felt like nothing had changed and the rugby team was only a little uncomfortable, mostly getting into the swing of normality without a fuss. People watched and pointed at him and whispered in the cafeteria, but Dean only sat across the table from Benny and exchanged homework questions and smiles with the amiable group he shared. He even invited them to dinner to meet Cas. Which was a great success. They teased the dark haired male until he was grinning and welcomed with open arms. So far, not so bad.
Bobby, the two days he had Dean in class, would always give him worried glances. He saw the kids snickering in the back row. He watched as Dean pushed sticky notes covered in slander off his desk and his notebooks when he got back from the bathroom. Not a single reaction phased through him. He sat and watched and wrote and sighed to himself gently. His eyes were guarded by iron bars. Each touch Dean lay on the world was calculated; this was entirely unlike him – but he was doing it for Castiel, and everyone knew, so no one questioned him. Especially Bobby. He was proud of the kid.
A few times, they were approached. Castiel was washing his hands in the men's room before a class and had been questioned roughly by one of his former friends. It had taken a lot of calming before he'd convinced him that he had never been out to get him. Dean had been laughed at by some girls in his class, even. Some of his friends stopped talking, or even looking, at him. The men just avoided them entirely. For some reason, everyone thought gay guys were thinking of sexing all their guy friends. Which was, of course, ridiculous. A number of them were held no physical attraction in the least to Castiel or Dean. Didn't mean they didn't like them as people.
So far, so good. No frat boys had come knocking. They'd gotten pushed around and shouted at on their own hall but Dean had handled that easy. "We're not peekin' in your doors and windows at night and watching you sleep," he'd retorted. "We're not stalkers or creepers, we're just together. It's got nothing to do with anybody else." After getting some grumbles and slammed doors in reply it had been settled. The guys on their floor didn't protest any further.
Just to be safe, Dean and Cas continued to shower together, but only at odd hours. Five, when everyone was either at practice or dinner, or even late at night. Eleven. Twelve. Only once did anyone walk in on them, and Cas had hidden, so that when they were glanced in on, it was only Dean that was seen scrubbing his hair. So they didn't cause and scenes or blow anything out of proportion. This earned them points with the general population – and the scorn didn't die down, but the protests did. That was a start. People mostly ignored them or muttered behind their backs now.
It was next week. The weekend had come, and gone, with Cas choosing to work overtime to earn some more cash for their own car. After giving the Impala back to Sam, Dean had convinced Cas to let him cash out some stolen money for their own car, but he wanted it to only be half. Half had to be hard earned cash.
It was a Monday afternoon. After another round of name calling and laughter in the café. Castiel climbed into the Impala behind Dean, buckling into the middle seat with Sam behind the wheel, and they pulled out of the parking lot. The couple breathed a sigh of relief to be away. Even for a brief evening.
"So, how much have you guys got so far?" Sam asked. They were headed to a for-sale lot, where people parked their cars to be seen publically. A few of them looked affordable. If not, Dean was adamant about using stolen cash, because those cars weren't worth that much good money.
"We've got about $4,000," Dean replied. "Cash money."
"Nice." Sam nodded approvingly. "That should get you something."
Castiel nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees as he looked out the window. "We're hoping." He sighed. "All that hype with those fraternities last week, Sam; we haven't seen a trace of them anywhere." Frowning, he rubbed his hands together. "Are you sure they were angry?"
"Very," Sam sighed. "I went through their treasurer's files, and found a lot of weird stuff. I think they're planning right now. You're not the only gay couples around – but you are the most public."
"That's saying something." Castiel mumbled.
"Planning? For what?" Dean looked at his brother, squinting at him in irritation. "What could they possibly think they can do? Cut off our dicks?"
"Dean," Cas protested softly.
"No, nothing like that," Sam replied nervously. "I don't think so, anyway. But I don't know. They don't write their stuff down, it's all word of mouth. And I don't know anyone in those fraternities. They're a bunch of assholes. I really don't know what they're capable of. But… we have no way to prepare for it if we don't know what it is."
"The best we're gonna do is pretend like everything is fine, and I'm going to carry my .99 mil on my hip until we graduate," Dean grumbled. They fell silent, the car rumbling along, and he fidgeted, wishing he was the one manning the wheel. At least it would take his mind of the two of them being in such unknown danger. That and Sam always did the speed limit.