Chapter Text
Dean’s POV
It was somewhere in the early hours on Friday morning when Dean entered ‘Castiel’ into his search engine. The number of results was staggering and it didn’t take long before he was lost clicking from site to site until sunup. His journey had taken him from mythology to historical events and, of course, the revolution and its bloody battles. It even turned up some obscure discontinued book series called “Supernatural” and some messenger app where girls romanced a character similarly named Castiel. He knew he shouldn’t use his research skills to investigate his neighbour, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.
The sound of a door being opened, followed by soft footsteps and the bathroom being locked had Dean’s gaze flicker to the time on his laptop, knowing he wouldn’t be pleased with the time he’d find on the screen. The sound of running water hammered in his brain as he stared frozen at the display.
8:13 am, he was already late for his morning class.
Crap, he thought
He hurried up to his room and switched his AC/DC shirt for a clean one. Throwing his notes and laptop into his bag, he was sure he’d forgotten half of what he needed. Breakfast turned into grabbing a piece of pie to go and a mug of cold coffee chugged with clear disdain.
“You look like hell. Project keep you up all night?” Sam said, amusement clear in his tone. He was drying his hair lazily which only pissed Dean off further.
Dean shook his head and started tying his brother’s tie while muttering, “How come you always seem to have the best schedule? I thought studying law meant constant all-nighters.”
“It helps not to go out every other night and actually do your assignments on time,” Sam replied to which Dean responded by tightening his brother’s tie just a little too much.
Sam shoved his brother away and told him to go to class already. Dean huffed in annoyance but headed out the door anyway. His professor might not mind him slipping into class, but Charlie was going to kill him for leaving her with Benny. He’d rather fight with his group over the assignment all night every night than face his best friends' wrath.
Sam’s POV
Sam loosened his tie as soon as the door slammed shut and finished closing up the buttons of his shirt. As he passed the hallway mirror he sent a silent thank you to high heaven for not having dark circles under his eyes. With Dean’s shouting towards his project group and Jess’ worried texts regarding the case keeping him up, he’d expected to look more defeated. Today’s case was critical for his future in law, it would not be acceptable to look anything but his best.
He was just trying to scarf down some yoghurt and cereal when the doorbell rang. He rushed to the door and opened it, his hair fluttered into disarray at the sudden gust. However, what blew his mind was how stunning Jess looked in formal attire. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, a grey blazer accentuated her figure and the matching pencil skirt made her unrecognisable from her, often dorky, casual style.
“You got a little something on your-” Jess spoke and wiped off the leftover yoghurt on his cheek with her thumb. Sam couldn’t help but smile and wonder once again what she saw in him. She was smart, beautiful and confident, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t seriously considering marrying her.
“You look stunning,” he said as she closed the distance between them and placed her hands on his chest. Her smile made his heart beat loud enough for them to hear when she pulled him by his tie and kissed him.
They broke apart eventually and Sam let Jess in as he went to finish his breakfast. They went over the details of their mock case defending Gadreel against the collective human court. Very few have ever managed to win this particular trial which will grant them a full ride for Stanford law, but their professor wanted to end his career with a spectacle. Of course, Mr. Kripke had chosen them to pull off such a feat. Sam and Jess had been too flattered to decline.
“Hey handsome, I know Kripke will wait for us, but we’ve gotta make Mr. Novak’s class this evening too,” Jess stated and held up Sam’s jacket. He shrugged it on with her help and she helped him fix his collar before placing a chaste kiss on his lips.
When Sam opened the door he was surprised to find a man in a suit and trenchcoat standing on his doorstep. In his hands, he held a familiar looking plate. He glanced at Sam, then at Jess who’d joined him in the doorway and tilted his head in confusion.
“Are you Dean’s sibling?” Trench Coat asked, his voice deeper than Sam expected.
“Yeah, name’s Sam” Sam replied and shifted his gaze to the plate before continuing, “you’re the new neighbour, I assume?”
Trench Coat didn’t stop looking into his eyes as though he was staring into Sam’s soul, yet emotionally answered, “Yes,” then held out the plate and continued, “I’ve come to return this, tell Dean I enjoyed his baked creation.”
Sam couldn’t help but grin at his awkward phrasing and assured him he’d tell his brother. After that, Trench Coat seemed to want to ask further questions but refrained and turned around. He then walked down the path leading back to the street where he got into a car and drove off. The Lincoln Continental shook with the music undoubtedly blaring inside.
He had never seen anyone drive a car so contradicting to their personality. He’d figured him for something more tax accountant and less… pimp-y?
He didn’t give it much more thought, as Jess started pushing him towards her car, a five and a half hour drive ahead of them. He didn’t know why they couldn’t just hold the mock trial in the Palo Alto courthouse, but it wasn’t like he’d never wanted to visit LA.
Dean’s POV
“Hey Chief, you showed after all,” Benny bellowed as Dean took a seat next to his intoxicated friend. He looked at his watch to see that Benny hadn’t yet broken his record for earliest time to be drunk. Still, it was only 8:47 in the morning.
The force of what he assumed was a stack of notes met his head at the same time that Charlie hissed at him for the entire class to hear; “Dean Winchester, don’t think you can hide behind the vamp’s alcohol stench!”
“Ms. Bradbury, if you could save that enthusiasm for drama class rather than advanced calculus it’d be much appreciated,” Mr. MacLeod raised his thunderous voice for which Dean was grateful for once.
Charlie promptly stood up, bowed and with exaggerated sweetness in her tone said, “Of course, anything for the King of Hell,” before moving to sit right next to Dean.
No one talked back to Mr. MacLeod, or Crowley, as he made his students call him in drama class, so it was no surprise that the entire auditorium fell silent in anticipation for ‘ The King Of Hell ’s reaction. At first, there didn’t appear to be one, the teacher’s pupils expanding to nearly all black. Then, he went on to unlock a cabinet in his desk, pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. Now, it wasn’t unusual for the man to drink, especially after hours, but he NEVER drank in class. Would he do so, Stanford would retract their usual leniency towards the habit which is based on Crowley’s classes repeatedly outscoring the others of the same course.
“Alright, demons and other hellspawn, we must return to the devil’s trade. Now, I don’t enjoy serving time in this fiery pit full of sinners any more than you do, but you should have thought of that before selling your souls to capitalism,” Crowley hissed, seething with rage. His no longer suppressed thick Scottish accent, loosened by alcohol and anger, sharpened his words enough for even the perpetual sleepers to wake up and focus.
Between Charlie’s unusual silence, Benny’s usual questions and occasional flirting, and the unholy pace at which Crowley hounded them through advanced separable integrals, class was torture. Dean’s brain had melted and he just zombied his way to his next lesson.
Cas’ POV
Cas had just come out of Ezekiel’s office when he saw a familiar face amongst the mass of students. He pushed passed the traffic and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He could feel the panic radiate off him until Dean realised who he was.
“Hey neighbour, what are you doing here?” Dean asked his voice laced with exhaustion.
“We need to talk, follow me,” Cas commanded and started searching for an empty room. He hadn’t finished scanning the wing they were in when Hannah flared her grace in warning. His focus shifted back to the human plane of existence and found Dean trying to loosen his grip.
“Dude, I have class, can’t it wait?” Dean growled and then froze, “Your eyes…”
The lights in the hallway flickered as a rush of anxiety sent a surge of power from Cas’ grace. He felt his wings push uncomfortably against the confines of his trenchcoat. For the 349th time in the years since humans started to reject their angel rulers did he curse himself for not having mastered the skill to hide his wings in one of the many other planes of existence like many of his brethren could easily do.
Cas sighed and concentrated once more on the task at hand. Why had he even thought this could turn into anything but a disaster? He should just erase Dean’s memories of the other day, but something gnawed at him not to. It was eating away at him more than he thought comfortable and was determined to find the cause, starting at the root: Dean Winchester.
Regardless, he ignored Dean’s meagre pull on his arm and continued to drag him away from the dissipating crowds, then declared, “This is exactly why we need to talk, I’ll excuse you for your class when we’re done.”
“Can you stop pulling my arm? I can walk,” Dean hissed, and when Castiel released him, he began rubbing his sore arm. Then he continued, “I gotta admit that I am beyond curious, honestly, but my group will kill me if I don’t show up after last night.”
Cas tilted his head in confusion. What had his neighbour done to inspire homicidal tendencies in his peers? He found it rather ironic that students of school renowned for law would break them.
“They should know such an act would earn them at least 25 years in prison,” Cas said. If proven guilty in the state of California, that would be. That different states issued different sentences for the same crime seemed highly illogical to the seraph.
He didn’t seem alone in his confusion as his neighbour simply answered: “What…”
Dean licked his lips and stared at Cas in confusion. He seemed to have come to an understanding as his features relaxed and he rolled his eyes at Cas.
“I study engineering, not law,” He then said, his tone still somewhat hostile.
It was then that they passed a storage room and Cas ushered Dean inside. It was full of systematically filed documents of cases too old to be converted to the digital system. Dust particles danced through the air as they pushed past the shelves. Cas searched the room, determining they were truly alone, then locked the door.
Dean struggled for words as Cas let the trenchcoat slide down his shoulders and unceremoniously drop on the floor. “I’m honoured, but there’s no need to strip for me, buddy.” He scratched the back of his head as he not so subtly tried too hard to keep eye contact.
Cas ignored Dean’s comment and stretched his wings, feeling the familiar sting of bruised feathers and the slight chill where there were gaps in the upper deck. The frayed fabric of the simple shirt scraped uncomfortably against the base of his wings, the skin red and itchy from the friction.
Having stretched, Cas focused on his task again and pushed Dean against the nearest wall, fairly certain the sight of his outstretched wings and glowing eyes was terrifying. Sure enough, Dean’s heartbeat was erratic and his chemosignals sent off a strong sense of fear as well as a muddle of others Cas didn’t bother distinguishing.
“No one can know what I am. No one can know that you know. Do you understand, boy?” Cas’ voice thundered.
“Yes sir. Not even my brother,” Dean answered, his voice trembling. When Cas loosened his grip on Dean’s leather jacket he uttered a frail questioning “Uhm?”
Cas sighed before asking, “What is it?”
“I just have a question. A lot of questions actually.”
Cas distanced himself from Dean and said, disgruntled, “Pick one.”
Dean remained silent, his pupils jerking ever so slightly in different directions before they focused again on Cas.
“What is an angel doing on earth?” He asked.
“That is not of import to you. What is is that as long as animosity remains between our races, heaven will not stand for my identity being known. If, by some miracle, their judgment is lenient you might walk away with your memories taken, you don’t wish to know the alternative,” Cas replied, his voice distant and void of emotion.