' I have no idea what I'm doing here, ' he thought to himself as he watched the other students milling about on the asphalt yard, some of the youngsters rushing behind a corner to grab a smoke, and others just lounging around, chatting and pushing each other. So distant from Castiel Novak, a student himself, moved to Finland at thirteen and still having difficulties with some of the language at sixteen. And people.
Alone despite the crowd, Cas aimed his eyes at the bright, blue sky. At least that looked familiar. Oh, and that cloud looks like Moomin Pappa. Ha! Too bad there's no one to point it out to. Not a single peer to hang out with, play video games, play cops n' robbers in the forest. And maybe he was starting to be a little old for that anyway.
Luckily there was the world of videography that the always helpful and slightly weird art teacher had dragged Cas into, so these days Cas spent a lot of time filming with the school's loaned camera, and edited his also slightly weird videos in the audio/visual cupboard that some people called a classroom.
Thinking of, he pops the cap off the lens, aims and captures the slow movement and dissolving of the moomin-shaped cloud. One memory saved. Maybe he could just do this, video the things he likes or finds funny. Edit and print out the best shots. Develop them all himself, cover that still-blank wall in his bedroom with all of them. That'd be cool. Huh, the sunlight is bright, bet he could find some neat things to capture.
Anxious fingers fiddle with the strap of his backpack, shifting the heavy bag. Oh! With a swing, unzips his backpack and takes out the pricey camera. A distraction and actual interest have him starting it up, panning around him.
Time passes, supposedly. Well, it actually does but Cas only knows that because he has stared at the clock for every tick around the board. The bell rings. Now he has the wonderful opportunity to leave a lonely, boring school and head back to a lonely, boring house.
Watching television, just mindlessly scrolling through channels to find something that even remotely grabs his interest, it's futile. It's all reruns or The Bold And The Beautiful, and soap opera is something Castiel would rather not get addicted to, thank you very much.
He grabs his backpack with the camera safely tucked away, and heads outside, straight to the bus station, where there's a spot where the drunkards enjoy their brew, where it's nice and warm in the middle of a Fall that is starting to pinch Cas's nose with it's cold, bony fingers.
There's no one there, not at this hour, when it's eight o'clock in the evening, and most of the young people are at the youth center, or inside the bus station in the arcade. There were even games, one armed bandits, and that one guy, that one person who has piqued Cas's interest when they've passed in the halls of the school, or Cas loitering at the door of the arcade, watching as the guy loads in five Marks, and wins back fifty. Every single time. Lucky clover.
Yet he never said so much as hello. Sure, neither did the other guy and they definitely saw each other each time. Which is how Cas knows just how bright the guy's eyes are, kind of like glowing.
The color of those eyes shift by lighting, sometimes the green of deep shade moss, sometimes indeed the color of a lucky clover.
Maybe someday Cas will have his shit together and he can march up to the guy, maybe say hello. Maybe, but not today.
Today Cas buys some Mars bars and heads back home. Sleep sounds like a nice option. His legs feel heavy as he trods back home, not far from the bus station, but his mind is filled with green things.
Even his sleep is inundated with moss and for some reason, fairies frolicking in the Finnish forest floor, climbing huge boulders along a ridge in the geography, the ancient ice having pushed the earth itself into a huge rolling hill. This was a place Castiel certainly recognized as he spends a lot of time there, hiking to the airport, if it can be called that, with one runway, but a popular spot for the fifteen-year-olds to come and learn how to drive their newly purchased mopeds
Even as he awakes, his thoughts keep wandering to that scene. And he's curious how that place would be like right now, never having seen it in the early morning light. Would everything be crispy and frozen? Or already thawed and green? Green like those eyes.
Cas performs his morning ablutions and eats open faced sandwiches for breakfast with a pot of coffee to wash it down with, wondering idly how some people do it, how they stuff themselves with oatmeal and sandwiches, and how on earth do you combine a glass of orange juice into all that without every tasting like shit when you have coffee before or after.
By the time the idling of his brain catches on and Cas is heading out the door, he realizes it's very early in the morning still, six o'clock, and school starts at eight. He wraps his red scarf around his neck and head out either way. There's nothing for him in the apartment.
The air is cool and clear, now nostrils tingling before long. But he's warm enough and keeps his pace strong, aimed directly for the forest.
The rise to the top of the ridge is steep-ish, but there's a path that's formed by tens of young people hiking up to the ridge, to party among the trees, hiding every Friday, though the school is right there. The drinking and rousing is like a middle finger to the education they are getting for free, and Castiel can't understand why people so close to being adults behave like five-year-olds every chance they get. In that moment he's glad to be lonely.
None of that interests Castiel, though his interests aren't focused on anything yet, and soon it will be time to choose whether to continue into the Finnish equivalent of high school, or step into the world of an occupation. Maybe this videography is something he could learn more about. Maybe direction. Somewhere, deep inside, Cas has the need to tell people what to do, as they behave irrationally otherwise. He hasn't looked too close into it. Not yet.
Reaching the top of the hill, Cas stops in his tracks as he sees a form at the edge of the airport, standing there, kicking his foot to the ground. Cas recognizes those shoulders, he recognizes that leather jacket, even when he can't see the guys' eyes. Cas knows they're green.
Cas hefts his backpack and starts to walk slowly towards the figure, then clearing his throat as he realizes he's going to scare the living shit out of the guy if he sneaks around like a desperate ghost.
The guy turns around, and smiles.
There's clear recognition in those eyes, and though the lights of the airport are rather dim, the deep green of the surrounding forest seems to be sucked into those eyes, as they are so very green, greener than ever.
"Crunchy grass," the figure says as a greeting, kicking the patch of grass again with his boot.
The intonation and the slight drawl of the words stir Cas deeply, waking up something he's kept hidden for three years. Homesickness.
"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," the guy comes forth with his hand open for a greeting handshake, and Cas takes the hand, breathless.
"Castiel Novak," he manages with a gulp, and the hand in his is so strong it melts something inside Cas. "The grass? That's what you're here for?" It's incredible that someone else is even here at this hour, but it doesn't look like Dean Winchester is about to vandalize anything.
Yes, that's what I'm here for," Dean laughs, and finally Cas lets go of Dean's hand. The touch lingers, and there's a little glimmer of something passing over Dean's eyes.
"I don't get much ice and frost in Daytona Beach, so this is very new to me. It sure is something to write home about, how can grass be this crunchy?" The amusement, the sheer glee in Dean's form is contagious, and Cas moved closer to the edge of the patch of grass between the forest and the asphalt of the airport.
"What about you, man? What're you looking for?"
"Green." A pause. Oh, Cas should probably add more words, "I wanted to see if the flora had frozen over or if it was all still, ah, green."
"Well, I'm no expert on Finnish flora, but," Dean lifts a foot high and stomps down with a grin, "I'd say the first."
A snicker rises, the motion of laughing all-but catching Cas' by surprise, he truly has been lonely. But the way Dean grins so right and wide, he would take another three years of boredom for this one moment of warm, light happiness.
Cas stomps his own loafer-clad foot on the grass and finds, for the first time, no matter how much he's seen frost and snow and frozen things, that there's a certain soft resistance in the motion, like a wall giving in on a bouncy castle. Cas lets out a little laugh, the sheer insanity of this moment a moment to keep, and he wishes he could video this all, and watch it happen again.
It has been years since he's truly laughed, but now it's bubbling up like so many bubbles in a glass of champagne. Cas can't take his eyes off Dean, the look on his face is captivating, so beautiful, with the sincere smile on his face, Cas's own smile responding in kind.
"Come on," Dean took Cas's hand with no hesitation, like a normal thing that has happened a thousand times, and it warms Castiel even deeper. He follows Dean's pull toward the booth where people pack and check their parachutes, and for some reason the door has been left open.
Dean heads inside, and grins at Cas as he pulls him along, and hits the lights so they can actually see in the darkness of the looming winter of Finland.
"I have no idea what all this means, but I like how the language looks. And I'm learning," Dean smirks, pointing at the different posters that remind people of how to do this and that, much of it going straight over Cas's head, as he knows nothing about flying or parachuting.
But he knows the language. "Laskuvarjohyppy," Cas intonates clearly, and Dean repeats it bravely, but in a mangled way that makes both of them chuckle.
"Let's try this one; Lentokone."
"Lentokhone," Dean says, and wants a fist bump since he absolutely nailed it.
Cas feels like he's floating off the ground, the fistbump in danger of pushing Cas against the wall,that's as light as he feels with the bubbles rising and refusing to burst in his chest. The green of Dean's eyes is shining.
"I've seen you around, Cas. You're the guy with the filming obsession."
If it was anyone else, that would have been an insult, but coming from Dean, there's admiration in his voice.
"I am that guy, yes," Cas reveals the not-so-secret hobby he has. "It's something to do, and it's interesting enough to keep me occupied. Otherwise I'd lose my mind out of boredom." Letting all that out in one big gush feels like a gamble, but it feels so natural to be talking with Dean like they'd known each other forever.
"I saw you filming the Moomin Pappa cloud yesterday. Nice catch, by the way. Too bad the wind fucked it up so quickly."
"But it looks great, the movement and the light were amazing in editing."
"Can I see it sometime?" Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted his gaze from Cas to the nearest poster. "Laskuvj- Dammit. My tongue just doesn't twist that way."
For a fleeting second Cas thought about Dean's tongue, and shoved that particular image in the same box with the other things he probably shouldn't be thinking about. And certainly not about this guy that he just got friendly with.
Cas mimicked Dean and shoved his hands in his trench coat's pockets, suddenly quiet and wary.
"What's up, Doc?" Dean scrunched his brow and looked worried, clearly aware of the shift in the ambiance.
"I just... I had an idea for a short film. It would be pretty artistic, but that's the kind of thing I'm into. I'm quite sure that's not your thing."
"Lay it on me, Cas. I'm always up for something new, though I know nothing about art. Cars, that's my thing. And I can tune my moped to go up to forty miles, so that's nothing to scoff at."
"You like doing stuff with your hands then?"
Cas wished he could suck those words back, but it was too late. Very much too late.
"I do," Dean winked and kicked the floor idly. "I'm going to be a mechanic, and if all goes well, I'll be able to go to a vocational school here after my exchange year."
"You're here only for this year?" A sudden panic crept into Cas's voice, as if he was going to lose something magnificent before he even had a chance to enjoy it. The school year ended in the spring, so that was months away, but the knowledge that Dean was an exchange student raised uncertainty, and Cas didn't want to let go. The guy was much too intriguing to let go.
"I'm here until the end of the year, so that's about two months, and I'm back to Florida. It sucks. I like it here, things are calmer, things make more sense in the quiet. Back where I'm from things are so fucking loud ."
"I can give you calm," Cas felt suddenly brazen, usually shy about his ideas that he mostly only shared with the art teacher, this was something he needed Dean to do with him. It consumed him how much he wanted Dean on film, in a particular light, with a particular task.
"I want to film you walking."
"Walking?" Dean's brow raised to his hairline, shoulders up in a perfect rendition of a human question mark.
"Yes, on the soccer field, today, before the frost thaws. It's going to be perfect when the sun rises." Cas was getting enthusiastic, so he pushed his fists deeper into his pockets to conceal it.
"Where am I walking?" Dean's smile was soft, his eyes glimmering with something akin to affection, and it almost hurt to look at him. Like looking into the sun.
Cas hefted his backpack to the ground and dove for his camera, carefully easing it out like the prized possession it was. He popped the lens cover off and looked at Dean through the camera. Somehow it was easier, the shine of the guy didn't hurt, but it was comforting. Calling. So Cas kept the camera up. And hit rec.
"You're filming me right now," Dean grinned, planting his hands on his hips and striking a pose.
"This isn't modeling, Dean," Cas hummed, amused by this guys' antics. The comforting feeling coursing through him as if trying to find a place for itself. The homesick part of his soul was peeking out of the box it had been shoved in though. Dean would soon be gone, who knew if he'd just be friendly now and forget all about Cas after this bizarre morning. Cas had to get this on film. "Dean, say laskuvarjohyppy."
"I can't, I'm not that far in my studies, but I can order a coffee, if you'd ever want one. With me."
Cas deflated nearly visibly, all the tension he had in his core releasing like a balloon poked with a needle, and he stumbled a bit, catching his breath. "You. Want to have coffee with me."
It wasn't a question as much as it was the entire loaded atmosphere put into words.
"Yeah, or maybe dinner? The little pizza place in the town center makes a wicked frutti di mare."
"Yes," Cas lowered the camera, looking straight into the supernova, without a cover, without the camera to hide behind. "I'd love to have coffee and dinner with you, both."
"C'mon," Dean offered a hand, and Cas gave Dean the camera almost reverently, but without hesitation. For some reason he trusted Dean with his precioussss.
Instead of filming anything, Dean pushed stop and gingerly stuffed it back into the backpack, then stood before Cas, a pause, and lifted the backpack on his own shoulder. "C'mon, Cas. The sun is going to rise soon, and we have art to create. Awesome." Dean's smile and mood was infectious, and Cas allowed himself to get excited about the project. With the burst of confidence Cas held out a hand. Though shaking slightly, this time it was a clear question.
Dean answered it without hesitation and took Cas's hand into his strong grip, the corners of his mouth in a slight, maybe, maybe very interested curve.
When they went down the hill of the ridge, it was Castiel who led the way.
On the sidelines of the soccer field, sun just barely peeking over the town, the young men stood and stared at the frosty grass, both with considerable concentration.
"I think it's going to be pretty fucking cool, you know? If I had a camera, I'd want a photo of it, like a huge poster on my wall," Dean nudged Cas with his shoulder, making him smile shyly.
The vision he had of Dean stomping on the grass to write a surprisingly catchy phrase, was totally self indulgent, but since Dean was enthused about it, it made it all alright.
The perfect light was only minutes away, so Cas dug out his camera and adjusted and fiddled and pushed buttons, the fancy thing that the school camera was, while Dean shed his leather jacket, he'd be sweating his ass off otherwise.
"Ready?" Dean jumped up and down and punched the thin air, shadowboxing to get into the right mood for this.
"Ready, Dean," Cas murmured with a smile that matched Dean's, already looking through the lens, and seeing only green.
"Ready, steady, go!" Doing his own countdown, Dean sprang off onto the left side of the field. When Cas gave the mark, Dean started stomping down the frozen grass with intent, dragging his foot along, pressing the grass with the sole of his boot, one in a while leaning now and even flattening the grass with his hands, the message slowly appearing, and Cas laughing mirthfully along Dean's giggles, both the guys elated by the idea, how it would make a great installation both in video form and photographs, once the school doors opened and they could get into to the audio visual room.
Dean stopped, chest heaving but a wide grin on his face as Cas urged him on, "Only a few letters more, it looks amazing! The sun is perfect, Dean, you are perfect!"
At that, Dean winked from afar, and threw his head back with a delighted laugh ringing in the otherwise empty soccer field, so obviously flattered that Cas wanted to throw the camera wherever and run to him.
Having caught his breath, Dean continued, just slower, dragging his feet at the last letter, and then sprung into running again, once it was finished.
Dean almost bumped into Cas, Dean's arms flailing as if he didn't know what to do with them, until he made a decision and grabbed the camera away from Cas.
"Enough of me. Now, it's all about you ," Dean lowered the camera carefully onto the backpack, and suddenly it looked like he knew exactly what to do with his arms.
Dean flung his arms around Cas and hugged him tightly, Cas taking a moment before it hit his perception that this incredible person had him in an embrace, and once it made enough sense, Cas moved faster than a cobra, hugging Dean back, holding him tight.
The only problem was that Cas didn't want to let was enamored, he recognized the massive crush that he'd developed for Dean almost immediately when he'd opened his mouth, and now he was between a rock, and a hard place, his fingers tingling with the want to do what his instincts dictated.
"Cas," Dean whispered, brushing his cheek against Cas's. "I'm kinda afraid too, you know. You're not alone in this," stroking Cas's back gently but firmly, Dean leaned back but still held Cas close.
"I'm not?" The relief was careful. This kind of thing was better kept under wraps. Cas had only heard Finland having their first Pride parade maybe next year, and he knew too well the sting of the insults he heard every now and then, even when he hadn't done anything. This kind of thing. This kind of thing.
Somewhere, somehow, Castiel found courage and strength, looking Dean straight in the eye and got lost in the greenery. Time had the nerve to tick by, even when Cas wanted it to stay still, and the slight nudge from Dean hugging him closer was enough.
The kiss was soft and gentle, tentative, testing. It wasn't more than the meeting of plush lips, but it was so magical Cas could swear he sprouted wings and could fly.
The kiss lasted, it grew, and the soft touch of lips kept going, heads tilted, trying out this kind of thing. Their kind of thing.
Over the town of Nummela, Finland, the sun rose and the grass began to thaw, but they had gotten the most important bit, and they were going to keep it.
On the forgotten camera there was a film running, of a young man running around a soccer field, gloriously painted by the sunrise, and once the film ended, the text was clearly visible;
CRUNCHY GRASS