Chapter Text
“He’s staring again.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
Dean looked up from his plate and rolled his eyes at Pamela’s poorly concealed amusement; her eyebrows were sky high and she couldn’t neutralise the smirk on her lips. Dean looked a little to his right, and there he was. They made awkward eye contact across the cafeteria – or at least, it was awkward on Dean’s part; Castiel just continued to stare unabashedly. Dean looked away quickly and turned back to his table, but couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that a set of blue eyes were probably still boring into the side of face.
“But doesn’t he stare at everyone?” Ash pointed out, and Dean hated to admit that he was rescuing him from yet another lengthy interrogation. Sadly though, Pamela was hard to be swayed off course – she just barked out a laugh and tilted back on her chair.
“Yeah… but he stares at Dean every lunch -”
“It’s not every day!”
“And it’s a different kind of stare,” Pamela powered on as though Dean hadn’t even interrupted her. “It’s all squinty and intense.”
Dean hoped nobody saw the soda that dribbled out of his mouth as he choked on it.
They did, obviously. Jo snorted and handed him a napkin, shaking her head in embarrassment.
“Can we just agree that Castiel is weird and leave it at that?” Jo always had to intervene to end these discussions; otherwise they would start to go sour very quickly. That was the problem of having three feisty, temperamental teens and one closet genius in a single group.
Dean didn’t look at Castiel’s table again for the rest of lunch. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything – that group did absolutely nothing to interest Dean. They were jocks mainly, a few cheerleaders too, all with varying degrees of intelligence. The one thing they all had in common was money, lots of it - that, and popularity.
They were the kind of people that did nothing to actually warrant their popularity, but had ended being the crème de la crème anyway. Dean assumed it was down to a combination of their wealth, sporting ability, and mostly good looks. Whenever this came up, Dean stressed the ‘mostly’, because it was only the girls and a handful of the guys - the rest were just intimidating and pompous with nothing to compensate for it.
That was pretty much the extent of Dean’s knowledge of that table. He’d never really spoken to any of them, just kept his head down in the halls when they seemed too rowdy – the older guys, Uriel and Raphael, had a habit of picking on people for no reason, just because they could. Besides, almost all of them refused to even socialise outside of their circle. Dean had come across Gabriel a few times, but he would more flit from group to group, never wanting to commit to one clique, and definitely not his own.
Castiel stared a lot – Dean had firmly established this. And even though he would adamantly deny it when asked, Castiel did seem to stare at Dean more than anyone else. It was skeevy and gave him the creeps, made him feel constantly under scrutiny as he shovelled his lunch into his mouth with all the refinement of a pig. Dean didn’t know much about Castiel other than he was the youngest of his friends; a junior like himself, while the others were all seniors. He shared study hall with Dean, but they never crossed paths and Dean didn’t think either of them had great intentions of changing that.
****
It was Friday, and Dean’s plans had been shit on.
He was supposed to be seeing a band at a bar across town, and Jo was supposed to come with him. They’d been planning it for a couple of weeks, but all it took was Jo giving her mom a little too much attitude to land her a double shift at the Roadhouse. Dean didn’t even want to know what went on in that house – two females with God-given stubbornness under one roof was more than he could ever hope to handle, he’d probably do better against a full-on monster.
He went to the Roadhouse anyway, originally hoping to drown Jo in crippling guilt after sulking at her with glassy eyes. He was brought back to reality when he sat down on a stool opposite her and she simply put her hands on her hips in response. Jo had become way too sharp to fall prey to his devises, and was past humouring him long ago.
“What are you doing here?” Jo leaned across the bar and narrowed her eyes at Dean. He quirked a smile at the girl in front of him – she really couldn’t see just how alike her and Ellen were.
“First you blow me off, now I can’t even stop by for a visit?”
“If you’re here to convince my mom to let me go out, you should cut your losses and leave now.”
Dean looked around sheepishly, scanning the immediate area for Ellen. “Trust me, the last thing I wanna do is pick a fight with your mom!” He said in a hushed tone – the woman was a little terrifying to be frank, and even Dean’s bravado couldn’t hold up against her. “So, can I have a beer?”
Jo rolled her eyes and pushed off the bar, “Do you have an ID for this beer?”
“What? Come on, I get served at all the bars around here!”
“Yeah well, you have the disadvantage of not being able to flirt with me.” She was uncapping a beer anyway, and slid it over with a triumphant glint in her eye. Dean snatched the bottle before she could try taunting him even more.
Dean sipped at his beer and watched Jo as she worked, wiping down the bar occasionally, but mostly fending off the rough men coming on to her – the kind that went hunting and soaked themselves in cheap whiskey each night. Dean reflexively cracked his knuckles as he shot them sidelong glares – even though intense protectiveness of Jo was rushing through his veins, he knew these guys would group together and jump him in a minute, probably landing him in the hospital. Besides, he knew she was capable of handling herself – if any of those flannel-wearing, shotgun-bearing, pervs tried something she’d have them keeled over with their nose bleeding and balls in agony.
That still didn’t quell the burning instinct to defend her though – she was the closest thing Dean had to a sister, and he was almost as over-protective of her as he was Sam.
“So I heard Cassie has a new boyfriend,” Jo said nonchalantly when Dean was starting another beer. “He’s on the football team, or something.”
Dean looked up at Jo; a little exasperated at the careful look she was giving him. “So?”
“So, you guys were pretty serious--”
"That was last year Jo, I really don’t care who she’s screwing now.”
Jo scowled at Dean’s ability to drag everything into the gutter, and then the claws came out. “Well you dated her for like, two months, which is some kind of crazy record for you.” Dean picked up a handful of peanuts and launched them at Jo, which Ellen just happened to see, leading to Dean leaving pretty quickly.
****
Dean was across town at the show, and while the band were playing their last few songs he sidled up to the bar to charm his way into a few tequila shots. He hadn’t planned on drinking there since he had to drive home, but he was still feeling a little unenthusiastic and sorry for himself after coming alone. He didn’t stay too long, just flirted with the blonde bartender long enough to find out she was too empty-headed and unstable for even him to endure any longer with.
When the set finished Dean wasted no time in abandoning the place, just wanting to get home and find leftover dinner in the oven waiting for him. He was a little tipsy though, and as he walked to the parking lot he managed to nudge a guy on the shoulder.
“The fuck?”
Dean honestly wanted to slink away, but the guy was already turning around and glaring at him, spitting out ‘Winchester’, with a worrying fire in his eyes. Dean recognised him – a football player from one of the other schools around, known as the world’s biggest asshole.
“Do you remember what I told you last time we met, Winchester?” He sneered, already advancing on Dean with two of his friends in tow.
So maybe Dean knew from first hand experience that this guy was a dick. His name was Alastair, and a few months ago they’d run into each other at a party. Dean shouldn’t even have been there, he went with Pamela who said she knew people there, but she disappeared into thin air within the first half hour. Dean was flirting with some girl, and before he knew it Alastair came bounding up and slammed him into a wall, talking to him in a slow and sinister voice as he crushed his windpipe under his forearm. The girl was Alastair’s plaything, and he didn’t like to share.
And Dean knew that he should be probably be scared now, Alastair had backed him into an alleyway that was hidden under the cover of the shadows, and nobody would notice a thing. He still remembered the way Alastair’s repugnant breath curled over his cheek as he described the ways in which he’d beat him into next week, until he begged to be knocked out or killed because the pain was unbearable. But Dean just couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid, the adrenaline was already pumping through his system and he couldn’t believe it, but he was buzzing with anticipation of what was to come.
Dean thought about how uninteresting and uneventful this night had been, and the idea of facing Alastair head-on was more than appealing, made Dean think it would liven things up; it would make him feel alive. What he didn’t expect though, was for the three of them to circle around him, and start punching from all angles so that he’d be reeling in pain almost instantly. He fought back, of course he did, he was throwing as many punches and kicks as he could but it seemed almost futile after the first few minutes. Alastair fisted his hand in Dean’s hair and rammed his head into the brick wall, making his vision cloud over and blood fill his mouth after biting down on his own tongue. One of them yanked Dean’s arms behind his back and restrained him while Alastair hit him square in the eye, his knuckles leaving a wound of searing hot pain.
Alastair laughed, the shrill sound making Dean’s skin crawl as it echoed through the alley. Dean was still being held back as Alastair went on to land punch after punch in his stomach, until Dean was using all his strength to keep from sobbing. He could barely even stand anymore, just sank to the dank ground, trying to curl up in protection. It was useless, they started kicking instead and Dean could feel the toes of their boots bruising his spine and smashing his head until he could barely keep a grasp on things, until his nose was bleeding and his mouth was filled with blood and he was choking on it.
Just when Dean thought he was about to pass out, Alastair was pulled back roughly, and shoved against the wall. Dean tried to open his eyes wider and blink through the fuzzy black spots in his vision, and he thought he must be brain-damaged or delirious because Castiel was there in his trench coat, handing Alastair the beating of his life. It didn’t take long for Alastair to become a bleeding mess on the ground too, leaving Castiel free to grab the other two guys by the scruffs of their necks and drag them away from Dean’s crumpled body. He took them both on at once, suffering more than a few hits, but the sheer purpose and ferocity in Castiel’s demeanour had them scurrying off with Alastair, cursing as they went.
Castiel rolled his shoulders back and flexed his fingers before hurrying over to Dean, who was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The blood gushing from Dean’s nose had subsided to a trickle of crimson, and he wiped what had dribbled down his chin on the back of his hand. Castiel crouched down next to him, hesitant to touch Dean, as he still looked incredibly fragile and on the brink of unconsciousness.
“How am I gonna get blood stains out of the car seats…” Dean whined after spitting out yet more blood.
“You can’t drive home in this condition, you’re about to pass out.” Dean squinted up at Castiel, trying and ultimately failing to make his eyes focus on the figure in front of him. He could still make out the concerned frown on his face though.
“I’m fine, just a little bruised and bleeding. And my head hurts too but--”
“You’re probably incredibly concussed. How many of me can you see right now?”
“One, Jesus Christ, just help me up would you?” Dean said irritably, struggling to push himself up into a sitting position.
“Of course you’d say that… how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three?”
“It was one. Do you feel nauseous? Are you drowsy, confused, seeing flashing lights?” Cas was running his mouth and getting himself all worked up with worry, and Dean couldn’t understand why the guy felt so responsible for his safety.
“I don’t think so… just kinda dizzy,” Castiel hauled Dean up as slowly as possible and tried to lean him against the wall, but as soon as he was upright Dean briefly wavered on the spot before doubling over. Castiel looked down at the mess of vomit mixed with blood, as Dean narrowly avoided his shoes while he spewed up the entirety of his stomach.
“You have to get to a hospital, you probably have internal bleeding!”
“No dude, I can’t be late. My dad will kill me.” He groaned, his throat raw with the effort of retching, and his head spinning and throbbing impossibly harder than it was before.
“He won’t have to if you die first!” Despite how frenzied Castiel was quickly becoming, his voice remained low and steady and thrummed through Dean, keeping him from slipping into unconsciousness as its authority jolted him awake.
Dean nodded and let Castiel slip his arm around his shoulders, carrying most of Dean’s weight with ease as he practically dragged Dean from the alley to the parking lot. He didn’t know why, but Dean hadn’t expected to be lowered into the passenger seat of Castiel’s car. All he could think about was how clean and shiny it was, and how dirty and bloody he was. Dean was about to swing his legs in and turn around when Castiel put a firm hand on his shoulder and told him to sit still, before disappearing. He reappeared a minute later with a little first aid kit in hand, and crouched down at Dean’s feet.
“You’re awfully prepared – break up fist fights often, do you?”
Castiel’s lips upturned in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but was a change to his usual blank expression or perplexed frown. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a packet of antiseptic wipes, tearing it open with his teeth. He went straight for the wound just above Dean’s eyebrow and dabbed at it, frown returning when Dean winced and clenched his fists.
“Sorry.”
Dean couldn’t stop looking. He wasn’t entirely sure that this was even happening; somehow he’d ended up being patched up by the same guy who crept on him most days. He’d managed to get through two and half years of high school without having met him as such, and suddenly Castiel was beating up guys for him. That in itself was crazy – the footballers didn’t really associate with the teams from other schools in the area, it prevented any additional hostility and it was always better to have an almost-civil relationship with them. It mainly meant less brawls breaking out on the field.
Castiel had wiped the blood from Dean’s nose and split lip and was working on cleaning the raw grazes on his knuckles now, his concentration completely focused on the task in hand. Dean couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable now; he didn’t even know Castiel but he was feeling guilty for something he had no control over. There was probably going to be an all-out feud between the two schools now, and word would no doubt get out that Dean had been the origin.
Castiel was up again and walking around to the other side of the car. Once he was inside, Dean repositioned himself and pulled the door shut. He knew that Castiel was right, and he was in no condition to even step foot in the driver’s seat of a vehicle, but all he wanted was to jump out and drive himself home. Wishful thinking aside, Castiel was already reversing out of the parking space and leaving the bar behind.
“Where do you live?” Castiel’s voice boomed through the silence and shook Dean into alertness again. He told him the address, and went back to thinking about the odds of him really being in this guy’s car.
“What were you doing in that alley?” Dean asked suspiciously, it was just so convenient, and Dean had no reason to believe in strokes of luck being actual things that happened. Not to him anyway.
“I dropped my sister off at the bar, and I was about to leave when I saw those guys corner you.”
Dean didn’t know Castiel had a sister, he’d just assumed he was another spoilt only-child. Then it hit Dean that he knew literally nothing about Castiel. Sure, like everyone else at school, he thought he knew enough about him just by word of mouth and observation. Apparently though, he didn’t. He’d just entrusted his life to a near stranger – great.
They didn’t talk much for the rest of the ride, and when Castiel pulled into the driveway Dean was quick to slip out of the car and make a dash for it. He may have underestimated the hindrance that came with being beaten to a pulp, and Castiel easily had enough time to get out and walk with him to the front door. Dean was digging through his jeans pocket to fumble with his keys when the door opened to reveal his father, stern expression in place.
“You’re late.”
“I know, sorry Dad.” Dean grumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot, keeping his head down in an attempt to hide his face.
“Dean, what happened?!” Dean’s mom was pushing John out of the way and tipping Dean’s chin up to get a better look at him, eyes wide with distress. Dean winced at the contact and batted her hand away, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks. “Who’s this?” She asked, inclining her head towards Castiel.
“Castiel,” Dean answered, casting a quick glance over to him, “I got in a fight and he helped me get back.”
“Oh my God,” Mary breathed, rubbing her eyes as she sighed. “Come on, get inside.”
Dean did as he was told, but noticed Castiel hanging back awkwardly, a conflicting look of discomfort and warmth on his face.
“Castiel?” He smiled at Mary in return and shook his head, his expression going blank again.
“I can’t, I’ve already missed my curfew. I really have to get home.” He turned to leave, but paused and looked over his shoulder. “I hope Dean’s okay.”
And with that he strode back to his car and drove off, leaving Dean standing in the doorway utterly bewildered, the brisk winter air blowing around him and soothing his cuts and bruises.