Work Text:
Dean glances at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen only for a spark of panic to shoot through him. There’s still seven minutes left of the YouTube catch up video he’s watching and he wants to finish it, except that will make him late for school. Four lates in a row and he’ll end up getting a detention which means he’ll be even later watching the video. Dean wishes it would be a simple choice, school or men’s figure skating semi-finals.
Dean growls as he hits the pause button before slamming his laptop harder than he intended. He’ll watch it after school, he decides he would rather wait than get yelled at by his dad for the late mark letter he’ll no doubt receive. Dean grabs his backpack and heads down stairs before locking the door behind him and walking the well-known route to school.
*
There’s barely anyone around when he arrives, only the last few people filing into their classes for the start of the day. His English class is, unfortunately on the other side of the school grounds and he makes a dash for it. Mr. Crowley isn’t Dean’s number one fan in the first place and Dean doesn’t want to get into his bad books when he’s in his final year of high school.
When Dean sneaks into class, there’s none of the usual hustle and bustle that he’s used to at the start of the lesson. Instead, the class is silent and they’re all looking to the front of the class. For a moment, Dean wonders if all eyes are really on him and when he looks to the front, he’s expecting Mr. Crowley’s glare.
Except, he’s met with strikingly familiar blue eyes.
He must be dreaming or hallucinating or something, because the person stood at the front of the room next to Mr. Crowley cannot be the under twenty-ones men’s figure skating semi-finalist, Castiel Novak, whatsoever. Dean’s step falters as he tries to wiggle between the desks and sit down with some kind of human grace.
Once sat, Dean pulls out the first book - that may or may not pertain to the class – and hides behind it. He knows without a doubt that it’s stupid; Castiel Novak has never seen him before – he won’t know who he is or that he has watch every single filmed event with him in it. Dean needs to get a grip on himself before Castiel Novak says hello to him. He’s more than aware of the empty table beside him that used to belong to Alistair before he got kicked out.
Mr. Crowley has finished rambling about the transfer student and Dean realises that he knew everything already which makes him feel like a creepy stalker.
One thing he isn’t prepared for, however, is how much more attractive Castiel Novak is in person and how he can see the individual strikes of darker blue in his pupils that the up close photographs don’t do him justice.
“Hello.” Shit. Dean finds himself blatantly staring at the guy. “My name’s,” Castiel Novak, men’s under twenty ones figure skater – has landed the most consecutive jumps this skating season and is thought to have already won the twenty-seventeen US championships. “Cas,” His voice is more than to die for and for a moment Dean wonders if he’s even still breathing.
“D-Dean.” He manages – just about – and sticks his hand out to him. Do people even do that anymore, he’s making a mess of this. He’s being weird.
“Mr. Crowley gave me this desk, do you mind?”
Does he mind? What kind of question is that? “Go for it,”
“Thanks,”
Cas settles down next to Dean and Dean’s breathing seems to even out a little but his mind is still buzzing that Castiel Novak is sat right next to him. The closest he’s ever got before was on his laptop screen watching his favourite skates on a loop.
“Do you know what we’re working on today?” Cas asks from beside Dean and it takes him far too long for Dean to focus on the fact that Cas is talking to him.
“Uh…” Dean looks down to the book he was previously hiding behind, only to realise that it was his maths book, opened on quadratic formulas. There’s a chuckle as Cas notices what book Dean has out in front of him. “Hey! The red book,” Dean pulls out his actual English textbook. “and the green book don’t look similar at all but who knows I could be colour blind.”
“Are you?” Cas’ head quirks to the side and Dean’s stomach mimics one of Cas’ miraculous spins.
“No, I’m not, but it would make sense.” Dean laughs and suddenly it feels like it’s so much easier to talk to him – or at least look at him without feeling like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.
“So, where are we – the teacher is giving us strange looks.” Dean looks up to find Mr. Crowley giving him the stink eye and quickly rifles through the textbook to find the pages they were working on the day before.
“We’re analysing poetry. Most have been war poems – Mr. Crowley seems over fascinated with them,” Dean gives Cas a shrug and passes his poetry sheet from his notebook to him. He points out which one they’re currently working on and Dean is suddenly fascinated by Cas’ loopy handwriting and feels bad for his own scrawl that’s littering the poetry page with his analysis.
Cas must notice his staring because he looks over from intensely copying down Dean’s notes.
“I – uh.” Dean feels his face heat. “Just making sure my handwriting is neat enough for you. Yours is so much better.” Dean gushes.
“Thanks, yours is perfectly readable,” Cas returns to copying and Dean does his best to focus on what Mr. Crowley is saying about the poem. He jots down a couple of relevant notes and makes sure that Cas is following.
*
It feels like forever, but eventually the bell rings and Dean’s shoving books in his backpack and is heading out the door. He sends a cursory glance backwards and finds that Cas is still at his desk writing down a few more things. He stops and remembers that this is his first day and that he probably hasn’t got a clue where he’s supposed to be going. Dean hopes, for a moment, that he’s got the same class as he does next.
He beckons Cas when the dark-haired boy looks up, giving him a grin. Cas gives him a smile back, grateful that Dean is waiting for him.
“Thanks for waiting. I have Math next,” Cas says, fumbling his schedule.
“Who with?”
“Uh, Z.A? Who’s that?” Cas wonders. Dean groans, he knows exactly who that is and while he’s glad that Cas is in the same class as him, it’s unfortunate that Cas has to have Mr. Adler. It’s the one teacher who seems to have a grudge against Dean for no apparent reason. He takes Cas by the sleeve of his coat and drags him down the hallway with haste to the class they need to be in.
“Mr. Adler, a.k.a, the teacher who hates me most.” Dean explains. Cas peeks through the classroom door and sees him standing military-esque at the front of the classroom – arms linked behind his back and awaiting his students. “I’ll go find my seat, you best go introduce yourself.”
“Okay,” Cas says, he looks a little worried. Perhaps Dean shouldn’t have scared him so much. In reality, Mr. Adler isn’t so bad, he just seems to pick on Dean a little.
*
Changing into their sports kit for the final class of the day, Dean sneaks a glance over to Cas who has tucked himself in the corner. His body is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s lean and muscular and elegant, but he still hides away and quickly swaps his shirts over.
Out on the field, Dean is crowded with the majority of his soccer team all laughing and shoving at each other boisterously. He can see Castiel standing with the teacher being told what they’re doing this term and how things work. Eventually, the teacher quiets the rest of the students and introduces Cas.
“You play any sports, Castiel?” the teacher asks. Dean instantly ignores his team mates, elbowing one of them in the side to stop talking.
“I skate.” Cas says simply. Dean nearly scoffs. He’s in the national rankings for figure skating!
“Hockey?”
Cas shakes his head and Dean can feel his insides bubble with excitement. It’s ridiculous really.
“No, figure skating.”
Instantly, the boys beside Dean start laughing and hurt courses through Dean. He can’t even imagine what Cas feels like.
“Oh, that’s good!” The teacher encourages.
“I skate professionally, I have a competition soon which is the national under twenty-ones finals.” Cas explains, face reddening slightly and fully aware of the chuckling.
The teacher makes an appreciative sound and then claps his hand together startling Cas as he joins the rest of the students.
For the rest of the class, Dean notices that Cas doesn’t join in so much and it makes his stomach sink.
*
Dean spots Castiel on the way home. He’s walking on the opposite path but heading in the same direction as Dean. Dean smiles and checks the road before crossing. If he’s going to be friends with Cas then he’s sure waiting to watch the rest of the semi-finals can wait.
“Cas!” Cas doesn’t answer him and keeps on walking. He catches up to him easily and taps his shoulder. “Hey, Cas,”
Cas raises his hands and removes his ear buds and finally looks around at Dean without slowing his fast pace.
“Hello Dean,”
“Can I walk with you?” Dean asks. He hikes his backpack out of nervousness but flashes a grin over to him to hide it.
Cas stops then, suddenly, and Dean doesn’t register it until he’s a few paces ahead.
“Dean? You’re not here to make fun of me are you?” Cas asks, eyes narrowing.
Dean scoffs. That is the last thing he would ever do.
“I’m being serious, if you are you can fuck off.” Cas scowls and it reminds him of an after competition interview video when Cas was younger and glaring at the contestant who beat him to first by three points.
“No, I,” Dean has no idea how to explain it or even if he should. He’ll probably come off creepy and weird. He takes a breath and Cas still seems to be waiting for some kind of comprehensible answer. Dean can tell Cas is about to walk off when he blurts: “Ohio, last year. Imagine from John Lennon, you aced that Irish skater with your perfect triple-salchow.” So much for not getting creepy and stalkerish.
Cas looks confused.
“It’s not what you think – I’ve been following your skating for years; you’ve always been my favourite. Today, meeting you was pure luck. I’m sorry about those guys, I know they’re dicks.”
“It’s not the first time it’s happened, I’ll get over it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Dean exclaims. They start walking again and Dean fists his hand around the straps of his bag so he doesn’t end up punching something.
“Look, Dean. I appreciate you not making fun of me, you’ve been really nice and all, but figure skating doesn’t exactly scream teenage boy sport does it? It’s more women wearing sexy outfits.”
“You’re costumes are sexy too,” Dean interjects quietly with a blush.
Castiel’s face visibly reddens and he buries his face in his hands. “You sound like you’re trying to get in my pants.”
Dean’s step falters. Castiel was clearly joking but he also sounded serious. “Um…”
“Dean,” Cas chuckles.
“What? While I wouldn’t exactly object, it’s a bit soon don’t you think? Least lemme take you out for dinner first.” Dean’s blushing and Cas is blushing and their whole conversation has become awkward.
“I… think we should perhaps wait a while,”
“Yeah, of course. It’s been like six hours.” They both laugh and carry on down the street.
*
It’s two weeks before Cas decides to go on a date with Dean. They both go to the diner on their route home from school and Dean orders them milkshakes – a cherry one for Dean and a peanut butter one for Cas – and they grin at each other the entire time like they’re ten years old and holding hands for the first time.
“My competition is this weekend,” Castiel announces out of the blue.
Dean’s milkshake slurps as the straw comes out of the shake. “You ready?”
“Always am,” Cas smirks. “You’re welcome to come and watch, if you want.”
“Would if I could afford it, sorry.” Dean looks into his milkshake glass, and swirls his straw around.
“You’d be my plus-one. It’ll be fun.” Plus-one! Dean lights up, giving Cas a massive grin.
“Are you being serious?” It’s something he’d only ever dreamed of – going to see Castiel Novak perform in the flesh. He can hardly believe he’s asked him to go with him.
“Yeah,” Castiel smiles at him and reaches across the table to take Dean’s hand. Cas’ hands are cold from holding the glass so Dean takes both of his own and warms it up.
“Then I’d love to.”
“It’s a date.” Cas iterates.
Dean is incredibly excited, both for Cas’ competition and the fact he gets to actually go and the finals, and for their date together.
As they finish up their milkshakes, Dean takes Cas’ hand and pulls him out of the diner and onto the pathway outside. It’s getting darker earlier now that it’s nearing winter but the streetlamps haven’t yet come on despite it being dusk.
Dean can still see both the sun and the moon as he pulls Cas close to him and pulls down Cas’ woolly hat making Cas chuckle. Swiftly, he plants a kiss on Cas’ cold flushed cheek and stands back as he lets Cas work over what just happened.
“Thank you,” Cas says eventually and takes Dean’s hand to carry on their walk home.