Chapter Text
Baseball may be America's favorite pastime, and without a doubt there's nothing Dean Winchester loves more than the crack of his bat or the thump of the little white ball hitting the leather of his glove, but for Christ's sake, four hours is waay too long for a friggin baseball practice. Especially on a Friday night.
"I swear, Coach is completely insane." Benny Lafitte laments with a groan, bending backwards and slightly to the side to stretch his back. Benny is Carver High's catcher and Dean's best friend. "I mean, four bloody hours we've been here Dean!" The boy says with a slight southern accent, a memento of his childhood in the south. His tone is dripping in disbelief and his expression is one to match.
Dean lets out a snort and shakes his head at his best friend. "Ever the drama queen, Benny boy."
"Ah shut it Winchester."
Dean just laughs as Benny punches his shoulder, though lightly. The two friends drag themselves off the field and into the dirt floored dug-out, followed by the rest of the team.
"Alright boys! Good practice!" Coach Zachariah Milton gushes enthusiastically. Coach Milton also happens to be the math teacher at the high school; he has a reputation with the students for being the only math teacher in the history of ever to actually make class relatively fun. "So same time tomorrow, what do ya think boys?"
As an answer, the entirety of the varsity baseball team lets out a groan, bringing a burst of laughter from the much too energetic coach. "Kidding boys, kidding!" He grins.
His statement only brings out more groans. "Coaach!" The shortstop, Ash Richardson, whines. "Don't even joke with us Coach, we're beat."
While their coach just chuckles at the boy's comment, Dean and Benny pat Ash's back sympathetically.
"Seriously though boys, you practiced well today. Go home, get some rest, socialize. Just don't party too hard, remember our first game is next week." Coach Milton sends his team off with a wave of his hand and turns back to his clipboard.
Too exhausted to do anything but drag their equipment and walk slowly, the boys make their way across the school grounds and into the locker rooms. Soon, the hot water and steam of the showers wakes everyone up and the team regains their youthful energy.
"Dean!" Dean turns from shoving his equipment into his locker to find Benny and their other friend, Garth, making their way towards him. Garth Fitzgerald is the skinny but tall center fielder for the Carver Angels.
"There's a party tomorrow night, at Lisa's house. You'll be there right?" Garth asks Dean enthusiastically, though with slight apprehension. Lisa Braeden; popular, gorgeous, and Dean's ex- girlfriend. They dated for two years, breaking up just half way through last year when Lisa finally got Dean to pay attention to his feelings and helped him come out.
"Garth, we're good." Dean says, talking about the other boy's nervousness at mentioning Lisa. "And sure, I'll make an appearance." It's kind of an obligation, attending parties like that, when you're as popular as Dean.
Honestly though, Dean hates the popularity. He hates the pressure, the expectations, the judgment. He wants to walk down the hall and not have everyone watch him, waiting for a wrong move, for something people can gossip about. Not that people normally gossip about him; that ended last year when he came out in front of the entire baseball team. To his surprise, not one of his friends gave two shits that he was gay (Benny had said with a smirk that he's guessed it all along), and so Dean took to not caring about any of the whispers in the hall or the glances during class. But, when there's eyes on you at all times, and you have this ridiculous obligation as the star pitcher of your high school baseball team to act cool all the time, it's kind of easier to just go with the flow. But there's a side to Dean, parts of his personality that no one, except Benny, knows about. They don't know about his love for music, or his car, or his baby brother. They don't care that he can sing like nobody's business or that he's pretty good at Guitar Hero. They certainly don't care that he can sing every word to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody by heart, or that his music of choice is a good classic rock beat. All they care about is the number of strikes he throws in a game.
But Dean never confesses his wish to not be noticed, so he just grins and nods, confirming his presence at a party that will most likely be filled with drunk, hormone crazed teenagers going wild and breaking things.
"Great!" Garth practically shouts before embracing Dean in a totally unnecessary bear hug. Dean let's out a surprised huff at the sudden impact while Benny just laughs at Dean's discomfort.
"Yea sure, Garth." He pats the skinny boy's back and carefully detaches himself.
While they were talking, the rest of the baseball team had finished up and left the locker room. Garth and Benny follow close behind, slinging their bags over their shoulders and excitedly talking about tomorrow night's party.
With a sigh, Dean strips off his dirt filled baseball pants and t-shirt and heads towards the shower with a towel slung over his shoulder. "Boys better not have used up the hot water." He grumbles to himself.
To his delight, the water flows down in a warm current, washing the sweat and grime from his body. He stays in the shower for a few minutes after washing down, closing his eyes and enjoying the steady, relaxing stream of warmth against his chest. Finally, he shuts off the water and grabs his towel, running it quickly over his body before wrapping it around his waist.
He sings a soft tune to himself, not really paying attention to what it is he's singing while he walks out of the showers. Dean enjoys the silence of the empty locker room, it's a much needed rest from the constant chattering of his team mates. How ever much he loves those boys, they can drive him crazy.
"Lynyrd Skynyrd, huh?" A low, unfamiliar voice stops the next line from leaving Dean's lips and he turns around in shock.
Dean's green eyes widen as he takes in the boy standing in front of him. He recognizes him, Castiel Novak, notorious leather clad bad boy. Known for his sleek, black (and Dean has to admit, pretty sexy) motorcycle and this bad habit of skipping classes. Though now that he thinks about it, Dean has only one class with this guy and he's almost always there, which really doesn't support that skipping class fact.
Cas, as Dean has heard people call him, raises one eyebrow in a questioning expression. His shockingly blue eyes are ringed with subtle eyeliner and they sparkle as if he knows a secret. Against his will, Dean's eyes travel down Cas' body, taking in the leather jacket over a white t-shirt, the black skinny jeans tucked into combat boots, and Dean unwillingly admits to himself that despite what everyone says about this boy, Castiel Novak is gorgeous.
"Hello?" Dean wrenches his eyes up and feels his cheeks flush red when he stares straight into that sea of blue. Cas has one eyebrow raised as he leans lazily against a locker. A smirk grows on his pierced lips and Dean watches, slightly stunned, as Cas' eyes travel up and down Dean's body. Dean remembers with a jolt that he has nothing but a towel on and suddenly becomes self- conscious, gripping the towel tighter around him.
"Sorry, uh, what?" He stutters, flustered. Why can't I think straight!? Dean thinks to himself, frustrated at his reaction to Cas. Really, he can't be attracted to this boy. And yet...
Cas' smirk grows wider and Dean shifts slightly as Cas blatantly checks him out, eyes taking in every bit of him. "I said 'Lynyrd Skynyrd'. That's what you were singing wasn't it?" He asks, knowing full well that it was.
"You know Lynyrd Skynyrd?" Dean asks, surprised enough to forget those blue eyes wandering over his body. He had, in fact, been singing a Lynyrd Skynyrd song. "Simple Man", to be exact.
Cas scoffs and drags his eyes back up to meet Dean's. "Yes I know them. What, doesn't fit my rep?" He adds, a bit sourly.
Dean's eyebrows scrunch together in slight confusion at Cas' tone. "Sorry, man. And yea, I guess I didn't expect you to know that kind of music."
"I could say the same for you, Winchester. Figured you'd be a Top 40's or rap kinda guy."
Dean can't help the indignant noise that escapes from his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean doesn't really hate a lot of things, but one of the few things he does hate is rap music and shitty pop.
"Nothin'." Cas shrugs, indifferent to Dean's obviously offended expression.
"Well, you might want to find a new expectation from me because obviously your assumptions are wrong. How do you know me anyway?" Dean doesn't care if this boy is one of the most attractive guys he's ever seen in his life, he's a presumptuous asshole.
"How could I not know you. You're Dean Winchester. Gorgeous, popular, baseball star, Almighty King of Carver High." Cas keeps his tone light and airy, almost teasing, but Dean can't help but catch a slight edge of bitterness to it.
Dean, for some totally unknown reason, chooses to ignore almost everything Cas just said. Except one word, gorgeous. Dean knows he's fairly attractive, sure, he's just never really seen himself as anything more than average. He normally brushes off any compliment given to him about his looks, and that's why it's so strange when his brain chooses to latch onto that one word, casually thrown from those frustratingly perfect lips.
With an unexpected rush, Dean suddenly feels inexplicably confident, his previous insecurities about being almost naked in front of a handsome stranger gone. "Did you just call me gorgeous?" He questions, voice lowering slightly against his control. He takes a step forward and Cas abruptly straightens up, no longer leaning against a locker.
"I did." Cas answers simply. He slips a hand into his pocket and cocks his head, a smirk playing across his features again. "Don't you know it, Winchester?"
"Nah." Dean waves his hand nonchalantly, trying to seem as though Cas isn't affecting him with those stupid blue eyes and tight shirt against an obviously toned stomach. "I'm not so gorgeous, Novak."
Cas' carefully controlled expression seems to slip for a moment, showing a flash of what could be surprise or confusion and Dean isn't sure if he's surprised at Dean's knowledge of his name or the fact that Dean doesn't believe himself gorgeous. "Oh but you are, freckles." Referencing the smattering of light brown dots covering Dean's face.
Dean feels his face flush red at the comment, something that seems to be happening a lot, talking to Cas. "So, you like Lynyrd Skynyrd?" Dean chooses to move the conversation in a different direction, because hearing these unexpected compliments from Castiel Novak of all people is making him slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it's the way Cas holds himself, with an air of confidence, like nothing can bring him down. Or maybe it's the way those blue, eyeliner ringed eyes seem to pierce Dean's very skin, or the way Cas' white t-shirt clings perfectly to his body underneath his jacket as he takes a step closer to Dean, or maybe it's the way he runs his hand through that tousled black hair, hair that Dean has a very strange urge to reach out and pull his fingers through. Whatever it is, it's driving Dean crazy and he needs something to distract him. Like a topic change.
If Cas is startled by Dean's sudden change in topic, he doesn't show it. "Yea I like Lynyrd Skynryd. They're pretty fuckin' brilliant." His tone is tinted with a sort of passion that surprises Dean, he hadn't expected Cas to be a classic rock kind of guy.
"That they are." Dean nods his head in agreement. "Something about classic rock makes everything else seem dull. Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Aerosmith. These modern artists don't got jack shit on them."
"God, tell me about it." Cas sighs. "I heard you singing 'Simple Man' earlier. I got curious and came in to see who it was. You can imagine my surprise when it was the one and only, Dean Winchester. Who'd have thought you'd have a pretty voice to match that pretty face."
Once again, Castiel manages to make Dean blush, a feat that not many others have accomplished and the fact that Cas is having such an effect on Dean is frustrating to him. "Yea well, I like to sing I guess. It calms me down." He rubs the back his neck, looking down at the floor.
"You got a pretty good voice, Winchester. Keep it up." At that, a ringing erupts from Cas' jacket pocket. He pulls out his phone and with a glance towards Dean, answers it.
Dean stands there in his towel, not sure what to do as Cas begins to speak to the person on the other side of the phone. Dean wants to get out of this dripping towel, to change into his clothes. But there's a big difference between changing in front of your team mates and changing in front of a guy you've only technically just met today. Especially if said guy is frustratingly attractive and somehow manages to constantly make Dean flustered. So, Dean has nothing to do but listen.
"What?" Cas answers. "Dude, slow the fuck down I can't hear a damn thing you're saying. Are you fuckin' drunk!?" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Can't you just- alright fine. I said fine! Christ, chill I'm on my way." Cas hangs up the cell with an angry jab at the screen. He turns to Dean, an expression that looks almost like disappointment on his face. "Sorry. My dumb ass brother went and got himself in a bar fight. Again. I'm going to pick him up." He cocks his head in an almost unsure way. "To be continued?" He says, surprising Dean.
Dean barely has time to nod his head yes before Cas has disappeared from the locker room, leaving Dean with still wet hair and an inexplicably happy feeling in his chest.
Still slightly in shock over his brief and very unexpected exchange with Castiel, Dean pulls on his street clothes and shoves his practice clothes into a bag. When he leaves the locker room with the bag slung over his shoulder, he begins to think of Cas. 'To be continued', he had said. What does that mean? Cas wants to talk to him again? Castiel Novak, the boy with a reputation for being a total ass and not giving a shit about anything or anyone, wants to talk to Dean again. Cas was uncharacteristically nice to him, and the way he watched Dean, well let's just say that those blue eyes were doing things to Dean that made him think some things that would definitely get him kicked out of church. Dean used to think that Cas was bad news, someone he should avoid at all costs. But now, he's not so sure.
So that night, when Dean Winchester is lying in bed with the lights all out and the rest of the house asleep, he thinks of Cas. He thinks of the tight, black clothes, of the little silver piercing on his pretty lips, of the tattoos just barely noticeable underneath the white of Cas' t-shirt, but most of all, he thinks of those eyes. It's easy to get lost in eyes like that. So that's what Dean does, he let's himself get lost in the deep, deep blue. And the last thing he sees as he drifts off into a peaceful slumber is that boy, a boy with a face like an angel but a reputation like the Devil. But what's in his heart? Is what Dean wonders; and he has an unexpectedly strong desire to find out.