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Castiel does not often receive presents.
He usually receives the yearly bag of candy from Gabriel, and, on occasion, a small gift that is not edible, such as a new pair of gloves or a new tie. He sometimes receives gifts from his extended family – two years ago, for example, he had received King Stuart III from Balthazar, who Gabriel has repeatedly called “the black sheep of the family,” never mind that such a phrase would better apply to he and Castiel, as it is they who are generally considered to be estranged – and Uriel still sends him the odd card for his birthday, and for Christmas, although sometimes he skips a year. Castiel sometimes suspects that Uriel keeps in touch more out of obligation than desire, but he has no proof.
But, on the whole, he is not accustomed to receiving presents. He has few friends, and a family that, for the most part, looks on him with a mixture of embarrassment and resentment, so why should he?
So, when Dean Winchester approaches him during finals week, and gives him a gift – unwrapped, the slightly crushed bow stuck sloppily on top, the ribbons twisted – Castiel is, initially, confused. He didn’t ask for anything, and he certainly didn’t inform Dean that he was not in the habit of getting gifts, which, he has learned, often inspires in people feelings of guilt and a desire to make things “right” for Castiel (which is both odd and useless, because Castiel, despite being raised Catholic, sees no point in the gift-giving tradition, and thus does not see it as being either right or wrong that he often spends Christmas alone, and without presents).
Yet there Dean had been, offering him a gift. An outdated gift, to be sure, but…a gift.
And Castiel had froze. Unable to determine what he should say or do in such a situation (was a simple “thank you” sufficient? Or did Dean expect something more? A reciprocal gift, perhaps?), he had gone with his first instinct, which was to attempt to teach Dean why Freud was outdated, and why his theories were important to the foundation of modern psychology, but were largely no longer considered valid.
It had been the wrong thing to say. Castiel had only just begun the lesson when Dean had informed him that he needed to leave, and had then left the building. He had been moving quickly – almost as though he were fleeing something.
Castiel had let the small calendar sit on his desk, examining it from every angle, trying to determine whether or not he could somehow glean answers from its tidily numbered pages, each one printed with a quote from Freud, or an explanation of one of his theories.
After some consideration, Castiel had gently placed the calendar in his suitcase (crushed bow, twisted ribbons, and all), and, at the end of the day, he had carried it home with him.
Now it sits on his kitchen table, staring accusingly at him. Which isn’t logical at all, because the calendar isn’t possessed of eyes, but Castiel still feels as though it’s glaring at him. Reproachful. Disappointed. You handled that very poorly, it seems to say. Very poorly indeed.
“I did not know what to say,” Castiel protests. Stuart, perched comfortably on the chair next to him, lifts his head and blinks serenely at nothing in particular.
“Didn’t know what to say about what?”
Castiel quickly turns the calendar face down (not that it will do anything, considering that it’s sitting in the middle of the table) as Gabriel walks into the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets, the very image of calmness. His hair is growing too long. Castiel will need to convince him to get it cut.
“Nothing,” he says, perhaps too quickly, because the first thing that Gabriel does is reach across the table and pick up the calendar. Castiel purses his lips; Stuart, sensing his displeasure, begins to lash his tail. Castiel reaches over and touches his cat’s back, and that seems to calm him, slightly.
“Huh.” Gabriel turns the calendar over in his hands, being careful not to crush the bow any more than it already has been. “This didn’t happen to come from a hot grad student, did it?”
Castiel frowns. “No.”
“Pity. Clara will be so disappointed that someone else has snatched you up first.”
“I do not understand.”
Gabriel laughs. “Of course you don’t. Is this from Meg?”
Castiel glances away, hiding his frown. “No. Of course not.”
“From a student, then?”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
“You sly dog! Well, just remember that it’s legal off campus and illegal on, and…”
“It is from Dean,” Castiel interrupts, and Gabriel stops talking in the middle of his sentence. “Dean Winchester.”
“Ah.”
“Are you displeased?”
“Surprised.” Gabriel gently shoos Stuart away from the other chair; the cat blinks and stretches, and takes his time in vacating the spot, but eventually there is space for Gabriel to sit, and he does so, leaning forward and staring intently at Castiel. Castiel stares back, unwilling to back down.
“Look,” Gabriel sighs, “I know Meg left a hole in your heart the size of the Grand Canyon…”
“She did no such thing.”
“…but isn’t it time for you to, you know, get back on the horse?
“This has nothing to do with horses.”
“I mean, don’t you think it’s time you moved on? From Meg.”
“I am not lingering,” Castiel argues. “Meg and I ended our relationship on perfectly amicable terms.”
“She went lesbian on you.”
“I am glad that she is no longer trying to repress her true feelings.”
“You’d know an awful lot about that, wouldn’t you,” Gabriel says dryly, and Castiel stares at him. “Never mind. All I’m saying is, I think this Dean kid likes you.”
“Likes me?” Stuart rubs against his feet, purring. Castiel, after a moment’s thought, reaches down and lifts the cat into his lap, where Stuart settles, eyes closed and paws folded neatly in front of his chest.
“You know, wants to get to know you a little better.”
“I do not understand.”
“Oh, for…” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “He wants to take you to bed, little bro. Have a roll in the hay, make the beast with two backs, et cetera, et cetera.”
“There is no need to be crass.” Castiel pauses, thinking. “And I do not think you are right.”
“Please, if there’s one thing I recognize after growing up around you, Michael, and Raphael, it’s sexual frustration. Granted, Dean’s is a bit less puritanical than yours, but the signs are pretty unmistakable.”
“I do not…”
Gabriel holds up his hand, and begins to tick off his fingers. “He comes to the administration building a couple times a week, even though he doesn’t always come down into the advising center. He sends you emails asking stupid questions, probably so he can keep talking with you. He makes appointments to discuss things that don’t really need discussing, and now he’s giving you gifts. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the inside of his notebooks decorated with hearts and ‘Mr. Dean Novaks.’”
With Gabriel’s reasons listed like that, in such plain terms, Castiel finds it difficult to remember his argument as to why he was wrong. Dean has been spending an inordinate amount of time speaking with Castiel. He has been asking questions that seem, to put it bluntly, far below his threshold of intelligence. And, of course, there is the matter of the gift.
Castiel is aware of the fact that students sometimes give their professors gifts, most especially if the professor has given them a recommendation, or helped them in their classes, or else provided the occasional attentive ear. However, Castiel is not Dean’s professor – not yet, anyways – and he has not yet helped Dean in any way that he would not help another student in a similar position.
Castiel pauses.
Not yet.
That was his own thought, not Gabriel’s, implying that, were he given the opportunity, he would do things for Dean that he would not do for his other students. He would listen to Dean’s problems, as readily as he knows that Gabriel will listen to the problems of Dean’s brother. He would gladly give Dean a gift of his own choosing. He knows so little of the man’s life, knows only what Dean has let slip during their conversations, and what Gabriel has gleaned from Sam (superficial things only – Gabriel refuses to speak about the personal lives of his students, which is perhaps the only instant of professionalism he has ever displayed).
He barely knows Dean, the man, as opposed to Dean, the student, but Castiel finds himself pondering the idea of…getting to know him. Perhaps not, as Gabriel is suggesting, in a romantic sense – there is a line there, between student and teacher, and it is one he is not sure that he wants to cross – but certainly in a more personal sense. They are, after all, in roughly the same age group. It is easier for Castiel to connect to Dean, as a twenty-seven year old man, than it is for him to connect to the eighteen, nineteen, and twenty year-olds he is usually assigned.
Castiel blinks. Gabriel is still sitting across from him, staring. Stuart is still in his lap, purring extravagantly.
“How did your meeting with Sam Winchester go?” Castiel asks politely, and Gabriel reaches up to touch his black eye, and then his bandaged nose. Castiel has not questioned where these injuries came from. He has his suspicions – well, less like suspicions and more like certainties – but bringing them up will do nothing. Castiel is only glad that this means there is a possibility that their cousin will finally be removed from his position of power.
“He turned in his formal complaint.”
“That is good.”
“And we…talked.”
Castiel tilts his head in confusion. Gabriel is the talking type, yes, but his voice is not usually so somber, nor so hesitant. “About something in particular?”
“Not in particular. Just…whether or not I’d do what I did for someone else.”
“What you did?”
Gabriel gestures towards his face, once again reaching up to touch his lip, his eye, his nose. “Ah,” Castiel says. “I see.”
“Yeah. He asked questions, and I wasn’t sure how to answer them.”
“It seems a fairly straightforward question.”
“I know, right? But it really isn’t. I don’t want…” Gabriel sighs, hunching his shoulders and then pressing his palms to his cheeks. He winces when the pressure disturbs his injuries. “I think he’s got the wrong idea.”
“About you? Or about what you have done for him?”
“Either. Both. I dunno. The kid’s like, twenty-two, Castiel.”
“You are the one who is always telling me that age is irrelevant.”
“Except for the part where I’m thirty-five.”
“It did not seem to matter with…what was her name?”
Gabriel waves his hand, dismissively. “Angrboda. And that didn’t count, she was…and I…she didn’t stay for long. It didn’t count.”
Castiel frowns. “It did not count because you felt no desire to form a relationship with her?”
“No! Maybe.” Gabriel sighs. “Shit, firefly, things get way more complicated when they’re about me and not you.”
“Please do not call me that. And they are only complicated because you are not following your own advice.”
Gabriel lifts his head, blinking. “Are you…telling me to go for Sam?”
Castiel shifts, uncomfortably. He is not good at giving advice, and most especially advice that he himself is ambivalent about. There are rules to be followed, rules that dictate the differences between a student and a teacher, and never mind the ages of the people involved. Gabriel is less concerned with these rules, but more concerned witb…closeness.
Castiel has always thought that, considering it was he who supposedly “had his heart stamped on by a fire-breathing harpy in four-inch heels” (which is not so much true as it is unrepentant hyperbole), Gabriel is unusually cautious about his own ventures in romance.
“I am telling you to do what feels right,” he says softly, and Gabriel laughs, short and sharp.
“You know that applies to you, too, right? Forget the rules for a while. Focus on bagging a hot dude and not getting caught. Live life to the fullest.”
“I am not interested in ‘bagging’ Dean.”
“Wooing him, then. Whatever.”
“And you? Will you try to…woo Sam Winchester?”
Gabriel grins. There is a glint of mischief in his eye, but it is not so bright as Castiel is used to. Dimmed, slightly, by concern, or perhaps by care. “If I tell you ‘yes,’ are you going to scold me?”
“I will consider it my duty as your coworker.”
“Then no.”
Castiel inclines his head, smiling faintly. “And I will not try to pursue Dean. Are we agreed?”
The glint of mischief grows slightly brighter. “Agreed.”
~
Castiel is not certain why he decided to listen to Gabriel’s advice. Gabriel, after all, is somewhat notorious for giving rather poor advice, and Castiel would do well not to listen to it when Gabriel makes an attempt to offer it. However, Castiel must admit that Gabriel is more…intuitive than he is. In their family, Gabriel is the most empathic, and there have been occasions when this ability has helped Castiel. Getting his current job, for example – Castiel is a very good psychologist. He graduated top of his class, interned for a summer with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and was commended as being “brilliant” by one of Quantico’s leading behavioral analysts.
He could have stayed there. But he didn’t, and Castiel had been unprepared for the requirements – namely, social skills – that a non-government job demanded of him. Gabriel had helped him. Had recommended him so loudly and vehemently that, eventually, Castiel had received the job at the university, more out of pity than out of consideration for his skills. However, he is content.
And thus, he must be content to follow Gabriel’s advice. This time, at least.
“So just…sit there, and don’t move, and I’ll take the picture.” Gabriel holds the digital camera up as a demonstration. Castiel, sitting in his living room in front of his desk, the glow of the fairy lights that Gabriel had strung up casting multicolored shadows across the floor. The smell of dinner – spaghetti and hamm, in deference to Gabriel’s craving for pork – still permeates the room. There is a radio, or perhaps a laptop, softly playing Christmas music, but Castiel cannot pinpoint its location.
He feels a sharp pinch at his ankle, and glances down at Stuart, staring balefully up at him.
“Stuart, what is it?”
“God, please tell me you’re not going to start talking to the cat,” Gabriel mutters. Castiel ignores him.
“Are you hungry?” Stuart meows, his tail curled at the tip, twitching faintly. “I already fed you. You should not be hungry. Stuart, please stop biting my ankle.”
“It’s a fucking cat, Castiel, it doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”
Castiel draws himself up. “Stuart is a he. And he is far more intelligent than you give him credit for.”
Gabriel flaps his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. You ready? Remember to smile.”
Castiel nods, reaching down briefly in order to deter Stuart from attacking his ankle. The cat purrs, butting his head against Castiel’s hand, and Castiel, after glancing up to make sure that Gabriel is still fiddling with the camera, gives Stuart’s ears a scratch.
“You need to sit up for this to work. Unless you want to send out pictures of the top of your head.”
“I apologize.” Castiel straightens up immediately. Unfortunately, Stuart, in pursuit of more head-scratches, follows him. Castiel feels, more than sees, his cat clawing his way up the back of the chair, and a warm weight settles half on and half off his shoulder just as Gabriel says, “Say cheese!”
Castiel stares at Gabriel, wondering what cheese has to do with anything, and a second later the flash goes off.
“I can already tell that’s going to be amazing,” Gabriel comments, while Castiel tries to blink the bright light away. Stuart slinks down into his lap, where he rolls over onto his back, displaying his belly. Castiel immediately strokes his palm down Stuart’s chest.
“You are a good cat,” he says softly, and then looks up at Gabriel. “When will you have it done?”
“By tomorrow.” Gabriel deftly turns the camera off, and then secrets it away into one of the many pockets of his jacket. “Definitely by tomorrow. And, just so we’re clear, this is for another Dean, right? One who isn’t your student?” Gabriel winks, extravagantly obvious, and Castiel stares at him.
“…Of course,” he says, after a moment. Though what they have been doing is only a facsimile of deception, Castiel still, on occasion, finds himself uncomfortable with it. He reassures himself with the thought that it is necessary. Perhaps it will be good practice, in the event that someone other than Gabriel asks him about his feelings for Dean.
“I’ll have it emailed to you pretty soon.” Castiel nods, rubbing Stuart’s belly. “I’ll try not to photoshop too many dicks onto it.”
“No phalluses of any kind, please.”
“Aw, you spoil everything.”
Castiel considers this. “You may include one lewd joke of your choosing in our Christmas cards for this year,” he allows, and Gabriel pumps his arm, making a low noise of exultation. Castiel cannot help but smile at his brother’s joy; he nods towards the lump camera that the camera makes in Gabriel’s jacket pocket. “Do you have plans to…do something similar?”
Gabriel’s lips quirk. “For Sam, you mean? My Sam, who isn’t a student?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose I might. How do you think he’d react if I gave him a photo of myself lying naked on a bearskin rug?”
“Unfavorably.”
Gabriel tilts his head back and laughs, deep, thunderous guffaws. “You never know! He might be into that sort of thing!”
“I highly doubt it.” Stuart continues to purr in Castiel’s lap as Gabriel glances towards the hallway, and the stairs that lead up to his bedroom and work area. Sharing a house with your brother, Castiel has learned, is sometimes tasking, but occasionally useful.
“I’ll go and get started on this,” Gabriel says, his voice taking on a vague, distant tone. He is thinking, Castiel suspects, of Sam. Perhaps trying to decide whether or not he will do something for Sam in the name of the holiday spirit.
Castiel hopes that he does. He is aware that this means he is not as ethical as he would have liked to think, back when he was still young and fresh from university, but he is also aware of how things tend to change. Beliefs, most especially, are prone to this. He cannot find it in himself to see Gabriel’s desire to protect and please Sam as wrong. His own feelings are easier to condemn, but not so easy, he thinks, as they once would have been.
“Perhaps you will come back downstairs in an hour or so,” Castiel suggests, and Gabriel glances at him. “I will be having ice cream.”
“That sounds…” Gabriel nods. “That sounds awesome, firefly.”
“Please do not call me that.”
“You know, I can’t wait to explain that one to the next person you bring home, Dean or not.”
“I would rather you did not.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Right. An hour, then.”
He turns, and then heads into the hallway, and Castiel listens to the sound of Gabriel going upstairs, walking around, and then silence as he most likely sits at his desk. Stuart stretches in his lap, purring quietly. “Come along, Stuart,” Castiel murmurs, and gently lifts his cat up and sets him down on the arm of the chair. “Let us go and purchase some ice cream.”
Stuart meows, and follows Castiel as he puts on his shoes and picks up his keys from the kitchen table, and then sits by the front door after Castiel leaves, patiently waiting for him to return home.