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As usual, the man is gorgeous, despite only being dressed in a dark tee and grey sweats. He’s standing in the middle of the Mercy Heights soccer field, arms tucked behind his back and eyes narrowed critically as he watches his players run drills. There’s a whistle strung around his neck which, as Cas watches, he brings to his lips.
Cas looks away hastily, huffing a frustrated breath through his nose as he pulls at his tie and walks just a bit faster to his car. Coach Winchester is gorgeous, yes - enough so to make Castiel’s heartbeat stutter - but thinking about it will just inevitably ruin Cas’s night, already slated to be spent over a pile of half-assed essays.
He knows, after all, that the man will go home with Ms. Bradbury tonight - probably to a warm, spacious bed, a space for his things in her closet, and her cat curling around his legs. He knows he’s got no chance, and has known this for weeks - ever since he saw the man curl his arm around Ms. Bradbury’s shoulders and press a kiss to her temple as they strolled to his car.
He doesn’t want to admit how far he’d dipped into the bottle that night.
It doesn’t make sense - they’ve never spoken beyond a polite hello, have never had any significant interaction beyond the bright smiles Dean has extended across the 50 feet that always seems to separate them - but there’s something that draws him in, some tug at his heart that, for once in his life, makes Cas want something more. Something more than evenings spent over grading, something more than 10-hour workdays, something more than one glass of cheap wine, alone in bed.
Cas had been content with his life, as single and as solitary as he was, and he’d been content that way for years -
But then he caught sight of Dean Winchester’s smile one day as he walked with his players down to the soccer field. Then he couldn’t stop seeing it. He never wanted to stop seeing it.
And suddenly Cas wanted more from life.
Cas determinedly stares forward on his trek to his car, mentally steeling himself for another long, silent night. Then he hears a cry of warning.
He stops just in time; a soccer ball arcs its way toward him and bounces three feet from where he stands, startling him. It rolls to a stop under a bush. Cas debates going to get it, weighing the pros and cons of drawing attention to himself, of drawing Dean’s eye -
But then a voice interrupts his vaguely panicked thoughts. “Hey, sorry about that.”
Cas looks to his right, where - oh, holy of holies - Dean Winchester is just arriving at a jog to retrieve the ball. Belatedly, Cas realizes that Dean spoke to him. “Oh. It’s not a problem.”
Dean grins, then bends to get the ball from underneath the bush, making Cas look away again, face heating. There won’t be any grading getting done tonight, apparently, not with this image in his head.
He clears his throat. “Have a good night,” he says, then begins walking again.
“Whoa, hey - wait a minute,” Dean says urgently, straightening, the ball balanced in one palm. His eyes are so wide, so green in the fading sunlight. “You can’t possibly be tired of me yet; I haven’t even introduced myself!” He extends his free hand, a grin easy and light on his lips. “Dean Winchester. Been meaning to say hi, but you’re always in such a hurry.”
Ce decides to ignore the “always in a hurry” comment and instead leads with “Castiel Novak. It’s - it’s nice to meet you, Coach Winchester.”
Dean’s smile widens, bringing heat to Cas’s cheeks. “It’s Dean - for you.” Then he’s backing away, back to his team, away from Castiel. “See you around, Castiel.”
Cas opens his mouth because apparently Dean Winchester makes him into a fool. “It’s Cas. For you.”
Dean pauses, his grin (in Cas’s hopeful estimation) growing just the tiniest bit bashful. “Alright then, Cas. Nice to meet you. Have a good night.” Then he’s winking and turning back to his team, pausing just for a moment to punt the ball back to them.
The next day is torture. As Cas had predicted, he hadn’t gotten any grading done, nor had he gotten much sleep; most of the night had been spent replaying the conversation he had with Dean - the way he’d jogged up and greeted him, the way he’d smiled and winked and called him Cas, all low and amused, like Cas had just told him a secret that Cas didn’t know he was keeping.
It was after an hour of that when Cas realized he was thinking this way about a man already in a relationship and he spent another hour angrily berating himself.
The morning isn’t any kinder to him. He misses his alarm and has to speed through grading during his prep period. His first class is being sassier than usual (and that’s saying something), which results in sending a kid to the principal and a few emails home. A parent emails back almost immediately, criticizing Cas’s teaching methods and threatening to pull his child from the school if ‘this is how she’ll be treated.’ His mood only sours further when he realizes that it’s a Friday, and that Dean and his team don’t have practice on Fridays. That in turn makes his mood worse because since when did Cas’s mood rely on Dean Winchester’s presence?
He’s daydreaming of a cold glass of wine as he makes his way back to his car. Maybe he’ll pick up a new book on his way home and sit in the bath to read for a while. Surely his day merits a little pampering.
The soccer field is devoid of people as he passes by, and he can’t help the gaze he skates over the cool green grass. With a scowl, he realizes he’s pining, and suddenly that glass of wine looks doubly appealing. He hurries his steps, hitching his bag more securely over his shoulder.
Then a voice, so familiar despite only hearing it a few times, calls to him from behind. “Cas, wait up!”
Dean’s voice sounds slightly strained. Cas turns. “Oh - do you - let me help.” Cas follows the winding path back to Dean, who’s struggling with two boxes stacked on top of each other. He takes one.
Dean heaves a heavy sigh. “Thanks, man. Thought I was gonna die. Can’t believe second graders can get this much shit done.”
Cas swallows at the sight of Dean, flushed and sweaty and breathing hard. The muscles of his arms stand out in his black tee. “Is this from Ms. Bradbury’s room, then?”
Dean grunts in affirmation, heaving the box higher in his arms as they walk to the parking lot. “She’s got another few she’s packing for the weekend. Think she only keeps me around to lug things around for her, to be honest.”
“I’m sure you’re pleasurable company,” Cas says, fighting the urge to scowl.
There’s a pause, just a second too long. Then Dean’s huffing out a nervous laugh. “You can find out, if you want.”
Cas stumbles, but he recovers quickly, coughing to buy himself some time. “I - I’m sorry?” is all he can say despite it.
Dean’s grin has fallen just a little. “You can find out,” he repeats, “If I’m ‘pleasurable company’ or whatever.”
Cas wants to pull at his collar, but he has an armful of second grade artwork in his hands, along with what feels like a few of Ms. Bradbury’s textbooks or gold bars or goddamn anvils - and Cas breathes a sigh of relief that they’re coming upon the parking lot. Instead of answering Dean - oh, but does he want to say yes, even if Dean only means his words in a platonic capacity - he asks, “Where do you want this?”
Dean’s mouth snaps shut. He swallows. “It’s, uh - my car - over there.”
They load the boxes and Cas bids Dean a goodbye, hating the crestfallen look on Dean’s face, knowing it’s he who put it there.
When he starts his own car, he watches Dean in the rearview mirror as the coach arranges the boxes in his trunk. He wonders sadly if he should go back to Dean and say he changed his mind, that they could spend some time together - even if it’s just as friends.
But then Ms. Bradbury shows up a short while later, and Dean presses a kiss to her forehead. The woman pushes him away playfully, wrinkling her nose.
Cas feels heat crawling up his jaw and he puts his car in reverse. What was he thinking? Whatever hints of intention that he may have heard in Dean’s voice were nothing but his imagination. There was no way Dean could be interested, not with Ms. Bradbury in the passenger seat of his classic car, not when Cas was a low-key alcoholic who’s driven to distraction merely by the mention of one man’s name.
The weekend passes by too quickly, but that may just be because Cas spends most of it in bed, sleeping off the effects of too many glasses of wine.
With a groan, he heaves himself out of bed on Monday morning far too early - knowing he ignored far too much work already and preparing miserably for a half hour in the teacher’s lounge to make copies before his first class.
At least there will be coffee, he muses grimly as he hastily does his tie.
There is no coffee. “Out,” Ms. Bradbury says mournfully to him when he approaches the carafe with single-minded intensity. Then her eyes widen when he turns bleary blue eyes on her. “Oh! Mr. Novak, right?”
She’s glowing. Cas does not want to know why. “Good morning, Ms. Bradbury.”
“Call me Charlie,” she says, grinning at him cheekily. “Dean told me about you.”
Cas does not need a reminder of Dean from anyone, let alone Dean’s girlfriend, so early in the morning. He forces himself to offer a smile as he approaches the second copier. “I hope he mentioned good things.”
The young lady hums to herself, arching an eyebrow. “Mostly.”
Her phone rings before Cas even has a second to puzzle out her meaning.
“Oh, speaking of Dean…” she says. She wiggles her phone at Cas, flashing a picture of Dean mid-laugh, a burger in one hand. Cas swallows and turns away. Meanwhile, Charlie chirps, “Morning, sunshine!” into the phone.
Cas ignores the sudden swoop of sadness low in his belly, thinking of Dean all sleep-rumpled in the bed he must share with Charlie. He stabs at the copier’s touchscreen.
“The game’s still here, right? We can have dinner at that burger place you like afterward.”
Despite himself, Cas can’t help but imagine the scene - Dean and Charlie sitting across each other over burgers, laughing and smiling and making moony eyes. It feels wrong. They don’t suit each other.
But it’s just jealousy leaking into Cas’s common sense. Cas has no idea what suits Dean; they barely know each other.
Still, that doesn’t prevent Cas’s lungs from feeling like they’ve been punctured when he slides his eyes back to Charlie and sees a ring on her left hand - a large, shiny diamond glinting at him.
“We have to celebrate, just you and me,” Charlie was saying into the phone, giddy with love.
Cas presses his nails into his palms, berating himself for the dizzying, nauseating sorrow he feels. Ridiculous. Stupid. One handsome man in cleats and Cas is nonfunctioning.
He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Charlie hangs up and catches him. She looks behind her, puzzled, then back at him. “...Yes?” she asks.
Cas splutters. “Uh - congratulations,” he manages to say, motioning awkwardly to her left.
Charlie’s suspicious face splits with a sudden grin as she lifts her hand to admire the glinting ring. “Thanks,” she says bashfully. Then she tilts her head, still smiling. “You’re totally invited, by the way. I’m sure Dean would like to see you there.”
Cas’s throat goes itchy. He clears it. “I - I’m not - I’m honored, but - I’m - busy.”
Charlie blinks, looking a little hurt. “I haven’t told you the date yet?”
Embarrassment and guilt fill Cas’s cheeks with warmth. “Ah - yes - I just - “
“I get it,” Charlie interrupts, holding up her hands and suddenly looking anxious. “If you’re not interested, you’re not interested. You don’t have to explain.”
Cas ducks his head, but he confirms, “I’m not interested.”
Charlie pouts a little, but she nods in understanding anyway. “Shame. You’d look good together.”
Cas’s head jerks up. “What?”
“What?” Charlie’s eyes have gone wide at Cas’s sudden vehemence.
“Who would look good together?”
Charlie’s eyes slide from side-to-side in confusion, then back to Cas. “You? You and Dean?”
Cas stares. He feels like he’s been sucker-punched. “You’re not - he’s not your fiancé?”
The redhead reels back as if slapped - then bursts out laughing. “Dean? My fiancé?” She reaches out a hand to Cas’s forearm and latches on, doubling over to laugh. “Oh, God,” she says. “Dean - my fiancé!”
Cas watches all of this in confusion… and just a little bit of hope. “I...take it you’re not marrying Dean.”
This sends Charlie into another round of hysterics, during which she manages to choke out, “God, no - I’m not even into men!”
“Oh. Good.” Cas can’t help the pleased smile that overtakes his lips. Dean’s not dating Charlie. Dean’s single.
...And Cas rejected him.
Cas’s smile falls.
Charlie must notice his preoccupation because she snorts, even as she wipes her eyes. “In case you were wondering, you haven’t completely lost your chance. He spent most of the weekend thinking he scared you away.”
“That’s impossible,” Cas finds himself saying. He flushes in embarrassment.
Charlie’s smile is indulgent. “Not even dating yet and you’re already disgusting.”
Cas feels his cheeks heat. Dating? Dating Dean? “We’re - I’m not - I don’t know - “
Rolling her eyes, Charlie says, “Don’t hurt yourself, Novak. Trust me when I say you’ll be dating my ‘fiancé’ by this time next week. In fact, if you’d bothered to clarify things with him on Friday, you’d probably be dating him now.”
The concept is almost overwhelming. Cas finds his palms sweating a little bit. “Does he really feel that strongly?”
Charlie’s smile is conspiratory. She leans in. “Novak, the best part of his day is watching you walk to your car.”
“Oh.”
Charlie turns away with a satisfied look on her face. She gathers up her copies from the tray and, before leaving the room, suggests cheerfully, “Why don’t you watch the game today? I’m sure Dean would like that. 4:30 down at the field!”
She leaves Cas in a nervous mess.
He almost doesn’t go. He watches the players warm up from his window and contemplates just camping out in his room until the game is over and escaping when he’s sure Dean is nowhere near.
But then Charlie walks by his door and raps on it before sticking her head in. “It’s 4:25, Novak!” she says cheerfully. “I’ll save you a spot next to me.” She looks like she’s about to leave, but then she seems to remember something. “Oh. And Dean’s expecting you.” She flashes a guilty smile at him. “I kind of told him you’d be there.”
Before Cas can even splutter in indignation, she’s gone.
Well. He looks at the window again, catches Dean looking at his watch.
Sighing, Cas undoes his tie and rolls up his sleeves.
The opening whistle has just blown by the time Cas steels himself and winds his way down to the field. He catches Dean’s head turning to watch him twice in the amount of time it takes for him to take his place near Charlie, and Cas has to concentrate on his feet, the tips of his ears warming.
He sits with Charlie on a blanket on the grass a little ways behind Dean. The back of the coach’s neck is red, which Charlie points out with glee.
“He’s usually much more vocal,” she whispers. “He’s awful quiet today.” She nudges Cas’s arm. “I wonder why.”
Cas is saved from stuttering out an answer when Dean turns his head oh-so-casually to look at them. Charlie waves enthusiastically. “Hey, honey!” she gushes.
Cas offers a tentative smile, which Dean returns, looking pleased. Then the coach levels a dry look at Charlie. “Stop that,” he snaps.
The redhead just grins. When Dean’s attention is once again on the game, she leans into Cas and says, “Should have seen him when I told him you thought we were together. Turned all red. Then I told him you liked him and he went all goofy.”
“Goofy?” Cas presses. He can’t picture Dean - so confident, so bright, so lovely - as ever being goofy.
“You know - like you were in the lounge this morning.”
Cas feels his cheeks heat. “Stop that,” he says.
“So disgusting,” Charlie says cheerfully.
When the game ends - Mercy Heights wins by two goals to nil, and Cas has the pleasure of watching Dean jump three feet in the air and pump his fist in the air for both goals - Cas has to consciously unclench the nervous fists in his lap. He watches Dean see off his players and greet the parents, uncomfortably aware that whatever might happen when the field clears might just change his life, if he lets it.
He decides, watching Dean give his goalie a high-five, that he might just let it.
The last people, the goalie and her parents, start leaving the field, and Dean stares after them for what seems to Cas to be much longer than necessary. The thought of being almost alone with Dean on a darkening soccer pitch makes Cas’s palms itch, and when Charlie starts getting to her feet, he gets to his feet too, looking at her in badly-disguised panic.
Charlie just winces apologetically as she picks up and folds her blanket. “Sorry,” she mouths, before walking the 15 feet to Dean and tapping him on the shoulder, leaving Cas floundering.
Dean and Charlie have a hushed conversation, during which Charlie hits Dean in the arm at one point. They then both look at Cas, who pretends to be on his phone like he’s reverted to a teenager.
Eventually, too soon, Charlie starts to walk away. She waves at Cas and mouths, “Good luck!” before leaving the field, clutching something in her left fist.
Dean and Cas watch her until she can no longer be seen. Then they look at each other. Dean is the first to approach, rubbing a hand over the bottom of his face. When he’s within speaking distance, he says, with a close-lipped smile, “Hey, Cas.”
Dean’s subdued greeting makes Cas even more nervous. Is it possible that Charlie got it all wrong? Cas swallows down his doubts and says instead, more confidently than he feels, “Hey. Congratulations on the win. Your girls played really well.”
That draws a big grin from Dean, who looks down at the ground in embarrassment. “Yeah, thanks, they did.”
He shouldn’t say it, but the silence of the soccer pitch makes it easier to say: “Must be their coach.”
Dean snorts, but he looks pleased despite it. “Nah, those girls are talents with or without me.”
They lapse into a silence in which Dean starts to fidget. “Listen,” he starts - then exhales roughly, “Listen.”
Cas waits.
Dean sighs again. “Can we - let’s walk to the parking lot.”
Cas nods, and they start to walk. It’s slow-going. Dean’s silence is a heavy thing, and if it weren’t for the way their arms brushed every so often, Cas might have started dreading the outcome of this conversation. Instead he waits with a strange mix of hope and bashfulness and just the tiniest amount of trepidation that this could all be a dream.
They make it to the parking lot. There’s only one car, and it’s Cas’s. “Where’s your car?” he asks, turning his head to look at Dean’s uncomfortable expression.
Dean presses his lips together, then says. “Yeah, about that. Charlie took it. She wanted you to drop me home.” He’s not looking at Cas, and there’s red dusted along his cheeks. “Sorry,” he adds, wincing. “She should have asked.”
His reticence makes sense now. Cas steps a little closer, which earns him a surprised look from Dean. “I’d be honored to give you a ride,” Cas says, more smoothly than he knew he was capable of. “And for what it’s worth,” he says, faltering a little, “I apologize for misinterpreting your relationship with Charlie.”
Dean laughs, and there’s suddenly his fingers trailing down the inside of Cas’s forearm, so lightly Cas thinks he might be imagining it. “I should have realized what it might have looked like to you,” he says, and then he presses his fingers into Cas’s palm and they’re suddenly, weirdly, holding hands.
When Cas woke up this morning, he was slightly hungover and trying and failing not to think of Dean sharing a bed with Charlie. He did not think, at that time, that by the end of the day, he’d be holding hands with Dean, about to ask him to dinner. He’s not about to complain.
“Should we get dinner before I drop you home?” Honestly, Cas deserves an award for his smoothness.
And he gets one - Dean laughs, and his eyes crinkle, and Cas feels lighter than he has in years. “You read my mind, Cas,” Dean says cheekily. His fingers lock with Cas’s. And then his eyes dip to Cas’s mouth.
It’s because of this that Cas almost literally feels his smoothness leave the vicinity. “Burgers?” he blurts out.
Dean’s eyes fly back up to Cas’s. “Dude,” he says, amazed. His eyes are wide and so, so green. “Seriously, are you reading my mind?”
Over dinner, Dean gets a text message. He puts his burger down, which Cas has already learned is not a good sign.
“Is everything okay?” he asks. He nudges Dean’s foot, which had previously been occupied with a slow (and not-so-subtle) climb up Cas’s calf.
Dean looks up from his phone. “Yeah,” he says, unconvincingly. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Charlie - she’s just - she’s telling me to take you to her wedding.”
“She already extended the invite to me this morning,” Cas says, thinking this will steal the disquiet from Dean’s expression. “I said no, but I’d be glad to accompany you - if you’re asking.”
Dean wipes his fingers on his napkin and leans back against the squeaky vinyl of their booth. He takes a deep breath. “Cas, it’s in six months.”
“Oh.” There’s a long silence.
Finally, Dean shrugs and picks up his burger again. “No reason to think about it now,” he says, but he’s avoiding Cas’s eyes. “Who says you won’t be tired of me by then?”
Cas is the one who hooks his foot behind Dean’s calf this time. Dean’s eyes fly up in surprise. Cas leans in, and Dean’s intake of breath galvanizes him. “It’s true that I can’t guarantee that we’ll still be doing this in six months,” Cas says, “But just to let you know, I don’t see myself getting tired of you any time soon.”
Dean’s cheeks are deliciously pink. He nods shakily, and he puts his burger down again. “Good,” he says, picking up a napkin and then accidentally dropping it. “Th - Fair. I - okay. Understood.”
Cas remembers what Charlie said about Dean acting “goofy,” and figures that he’s just seen a reenactment. Cas hides his amusement behind his own napkin.
Dean’s leaning back now, but his fingers remain on the table, drumming nervously. “Just so you know,” he says slowly, watching his fingers, “Me too.” Then his eyes meet Cas’s. They are unwavering, though his face is pink, and suddenly Cas is ready to commit not just the next six months, but the next six decades to this man.
He nods. “Understood,” he says.
Dean smiles, then signals to a waiter passing by. “Can we get this wrapped up, please?” he asks, handing over the plate.
“Uh.” Cas looks down at his burger, the consumption of which was interrupted when Dean began playing footsie with him.
Dean looks at him and licks his lips. “You’re dropping me home, remember?” His voice pitches a little lower. “We can finish there.” Then he draws back a little, raising his eyebrows. “If you’re okay with that.”
Cas almost shoves the plate into the waiter’s face. “Sorry,” he says, then, “Mine too, please.”
Dean kisses him at his kitchen table half an hour later.
Six months later, they kiss on the dance floor of Charlie’s wedding reception.
“Tired of me yet?” Dean asks, resting his forehead against Cas’s.
Cas reaches a hand into his pocket and wraps his fingers around a small velvety box that he and Charlie had spent three weeks looking for. “That’s impossible,” he says.