I lied. One more before I go away for the holidays. I was just going to leave you with the Christmas shots bbuuuuttt I kinda like this one.
College!AU because I want to do pointless, angsty back stories and symbolism. And apparently whatever college they go to offers EVERY DEGREE EVER KNOWN TO MAN. Don't ask, I don't know.
Mechanics Don't Date Nerds
It was cheaper to share a three-room apartment two blocks away than to rent one of the two bedroom dorm rooms on the college campus. So that's what the Winchester brothers did, it was simply a manner of finding a third.
And that was how they met Castiel Novak.
He was an art student, always carrying around a bent and well-loved sketch book with a pencil stuck in the spiral, his dark hair ruffled like he couldn't be bothered to fix it up in the morning. He mostly kept to himself, something that Sam and Dean didn't mind as they were bust with their own degrees (mechanical engineer for Dean, lawyer for Sam).
But Dean couldn't help but notice Castiel.
The guy had all these little movements, all these little quirks that Dean normally would have found completely annoying but instead found somewhat…cute. Castiel never wore a matching pair of socks ("Bad luck." He'd said when Dean had pointed it out), if he wore a tie it was always backwards, and the guy had a ridiculous love of trenchcoats. Dean would curl on the couch with a text book in front of his face, peeking over the top when he thought Castiel wasn't looking, watching the curve of Castiel's back when he bent over the fridge, the way those careful fingers made the pencil fly across the paper, the way those blue eyes seemed to pick out every detail in the space of a second.
But an art student? Really?
It was common knowledge that Dean swung both ways and no one paid it much heed. But a mechanic did not date an art student. That was like…like a wolf dating a rabbit or something equally messed up.
Besides, Castiel was a nerd. He practically obsessed over that DoctorWho show. He even got along with Sam when the two started going on and on about myths and lore and legends and all that. Dean stayed well hidden behind his books when this sort of thing started, pretending he wasn't jealous of Castiel's attention being focused on Sam and that he certainly wasn't occasionally glancing up to watch the way Castiel's lips moved.
This went on for a quite a while until one night when Dean found himself alone in the apartment with Castiel. Sam had left to pick up some new books with his other "lawyer buddies" and Dean had the living room to himself. Castiel was in his bedroom, the door slightly cracked. Dean could hear something that sounded suspiciously like "Mumford and Sons" or, Heaven forbid, "Elton John" coming from the bedroom. He wrinkled his nose, slumped down on the couch, and tried to finish the diagram of the '67 Chevy Impala engine he was supposed to be doing for extra credit.
After a while, the music stopped, the door creaked, and Castiel padded into the kitchen, which was a whole five steps from the living room. Dean watched him out of the corner of his eye. Castiel opened one of the cupboards, standing on his tip toes to reach the box of hotpockets Sam had tried in vain to keep out of his reach. Dean's gaze swept along the length of Castiel's arm and lingered on the arch of the other man's back. Then Castiel turned around and Dean hurriedly buried himself in his studies.
He listened as Castiel went about making his dinner, his ears seeming to fine tune to particular sounds. Like Castiel's fingers brushing across the counter surface (fingers brushing through hair running along skin caressing shoulders), the gentle patter of the man's bare feet on the linoleum (toes curled around bedsheets legs tangled together thighs pressing), the sharp hiss of breath as he pulled the still steaming hotpocket from the microwave (breath caught between lips air gasping pleasure flitting across neck skin touch).
Dean knew his face was inches away from turning red because his neck felt hot and he jumped a little when he heard Castiel take the seat on the couch beside him, leaving that middle cushion free as was the social norm (wish it wasn't). Then the television came on and Dean realized what time it was. DoctorWho time.
"Watching your geek show again, Cas?" He heard his voice say (stop pushing him away want to feel those fingers on skin lips on cheek neck arm chest).
"Yes." Came the soft reply. Dean's the only one who called him 'Cas', "Is it disturbing your studying?"
"No." Dean replied in what he hoped was a neutral tone, keeping his eyes on his homework.
Silecne hung between them, the only noise coming from the television, and Dean focused once again on his homework. He was aware of Castiel's presence next to him, still, quietly consuming the hotpocket. Then, the flip of paper, the click of a mechanical pencil, and then the scratching of lead. Dean swallowed because he was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Castiel was drawing him. He could feel the stinging flick of those blue eyes as they glanced across his frame and he tried his best not to move too much while still looking like he hadn't noticed.
This went on for quite some time before Castiel set his pencil down with a sigh and Dean couldn't help but look around,
"Something wrong, Cas?"
The slight frown on Castiel's face was almost out of place but he looked up at Dean, blue meeting green unwaveringly.
"Dean," He said in a serious tone, "Have you been checking me out?"
At first, Dean wanted to blush in embarrassment at being caught but all he ended up doing was laughing. Castiel titled his head to the side, brow furrowing even deeper.
"Oh God, Cas!" Dean chuckled, shoulders shaking, "That's not how you—haahahahaha! You don't just ask like that!" He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, still grinning, "But, uh, yeah. Maybe. Once or twice." He raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Why?"
Castiel's face suddenly turned pink and he dropped his gaze to look at the sketchbook on his knees, "Um, I…it's just that I've been, er…" He swallowed, licking his lips (tongue flitting between lips touching together), "I've been kind of…drawing you. A lot."
"Yeah, and?" Dean held back another laugh as Castiel's face went from baby pink to Valentine's Day red.
"C-can I show you something?" Those blue eyes darted back up to meet Dean's gaze and Dean somehow realized that this was important, "It's…I've never shown it to anybody, really. Kind of. Well, no, not to anyone." A shy smile crossed Castiel's lips, "It's my most prized possession."
Dean felt his defenses against any form of rejection try to throw out a line like "is it your dick" but he bit it them back. Castiel was being honest-to-God open with him. He was not about to throw it back in the guy's face.
"Er, yeah, Cas, you can show me."
Castiel swallowed nervously and gripped the hem of his dorky white sweater. On the front there was a picture of a golden halo and a pair of black wings. Underneath, in curving crimson letters, it said "bad angel". Castiel pulled the shirt over his head (bare chest smooth pale chest rising fall breathing alive), dropped it onto the floor, and turned his back to Dean.
Whatever Dean was expecting, it wasn't what he saw.
Etched carefully into the fine skin of Castiel's back was a pair of wings.
Pitch black ink in loops and curves across his shoulders, spilling down his back in a lovely pattern. They started at a point right between his shoulder blades with a series of triple spirals and unfurled in an almost Celtic knot fashion. The long feathers curved inwards, towards his spine, ending just above the waistline of his jeans. The work was so intricate and so beautiful that Dean half-expected them to come to life, to unfold from Castiel's back and become midnight black feathers he could run his hands through.
Instead, he pressed the tips of his fingers to the spirals where the wings began, feeling them tingle against the hot flesh of Castiel's back.
"It's called a Triskellion," Castiel said, looking over his shoulder at Dean, "It's, uh, Celtic-Nordic, if I remember right." A little smile twitched his lips, "The triple spirals show the trinity of mind, body, and spirit."
"Nerd." Dean said, smirking. His fingers continued to trace the wing tattoo up, down, around, spiral back up, twist to the left, curve to the right, meet back in the middle, "Trenchcoat wearing nerd angel."
Castiel actually let out a snort of laughter.
"Why'd you get them?"
"I drew them myself," Castiel replied in a soft voice, "After my father left. He was a soldier and went MIA when I was still in high school. My mother was…she did not take it very well. After she passed away, my oldest brother, Michael, was left to take care of us. Things fell apart after that."
Dean could relate to the dad thing. Sam and Dean had lost thing mother in a house fire and were left traveling the country with their father, a salesman who was more interested in what lay at the bottom of a bottle of liquor that finding a decent hotel for the night. Dean had taken care of Sam for years. But everyone knew the story of the Winchesters. Dean had never heard Castiel's tale.
"Zack left…we think he started taking drugs. No one heard from him again after that." The heavy tone in Castiel's voice was almost crushing, but there was something in it that said he had been waiting a long time to talk to someone, to get everything off his chest, "Then Michael and Luce got into a fight about what was best for the family because I wanted to go college and Luce thought we should stay together and Michael wanted me to do whatever I wanted. And once they started fighting, Gabriel ran off because he hates it when people argue…"
And without even realizing it, Dean pulled Castiel slowly to his chest, wrapping his arms around the art student and setting his chin on the other man's scruffy hair. Just to let him know that someone is there and that someone cares. Castiel didn't fight it. In fact, he relaxed into the embrace and closed his eyes as he continued to talk, letting it all out.
"Luce got so angry…and he just stomped off. I know he did some really, really terrible things. Arson, drugs, I think he even killed—. He's in prison now. We kind of…don't really talk to him all that much." Castiel let out a hitched breath and Dean automatically ran his hand up and down Castiel's arm, a comforting gesture, nothing more, "So it was just me and Michael for a while. And when I got my acceptance letter, he was really happy for me so there was that. But I…I called Gabriel and told him I wanted to do something special. He asked me what and I didn't know. We talked about it for a while. It was his idea, the tattoo, I mean. He knew I was big on drawing and symbols and mythology and stuff."
Dean pressed his nose into the top of Castiel's head, squeezing him just a bit tighter as if doing so would keep the rest of the world at bay. He can smell the shampoo Castiel used that morning, the faint scent of lead and paint and paper, and, underneath that, a dusky, after-the-rain smell.
"So we went to this really good tattoo place—Gabe was friends with the guy who ran it, uh, Ash or something, I think. And I showed him my design and…" Castiel shrugged, "I got the tattoo."
"Did it hurt?"
"Like balls."
Dean chuckled because he could tell it wasn't a phrase that Cas used that often. If at all.
"What did Michael say?"
Castiel's shoulders slumped and Dean wished he hadn't said anything, "He got mad. Michael's kind of…super religious. You can't even say "crap" around him or he gets mad. Anyway, he got pissed and told me off, yelled at me for "defiling my body, the temple of the Lord", and I told him that I could do what I wanted. And then Gabriel stepped in and he never gets into fights and Michael yelled at him too. So we…we just kind of left."
"I'm sorry." Inadequate. So, completely and utterly inadequate and Dean hated himself for saying the words but he really didn't know what else to say. What else are you supposed to say to a story like that?
"I still talk to Gabe." Castiel muttered, "But Michael won't answer any of our calls. I think he hates us now."
"Well I like you."
The words came out before he could stop them. Dean felt his face flush bright, brilliant red. Castiel twisted in his arms and looked him in the eye, cheeks pink.
"You mean that?"
"Yeah." And he did.
Castiel blinked and then a full fledged smile like Dean had never seen before lit up the art student's face,
"I like you too, Dean."
And then lips were pressed together, fingers ran along skin, traced black wings, ran through hair, legs tangled on the couch, books and shirts lay forgotten on the floor. Smoldering of hot kisses, gasping of air, arms wrapped tight around one another.
It didn't go farther than kissing. After a few minutes, the two lay sprawled on the couch, arms around each other, a comfort. No one said anything. They didn't have to.
Castiel's black wings pressed against Dean's bare chest. He felt like they belonged there.
