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“Hey there, Sweetheart.”
Dean Winchester smirks from his place on the sidewalk, approaching the car with an exaggerated swing of his hips. He leans through the open window with a gorgeous smile, voice turning soft and slick like butter as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. A hum sounds from deep in his throat. “Mmm… what can I do you for, Handsome?”
The John blushes. “I want you,” he says breathlessly.
Den practically purrs. “I’m yours, baby.”
“H-How much?”
“For you? Fifty.” Dean licks his lips then, tracing a finger across a shaved jaw. “I’d fuck you for free but a man’s gotta eat.”
This sends the John into a fit of stuttering; nodding and opening his door as he speeds to the nearest empty lot. Dean focuses. FireFearAngerPainHelphelphelpless—SAM. His hands begin to twitch.
Five minutes later, Dean Winchester pulls his fingers away from the man’s temple, warmth fading down to the place inside him where pain bubbles dangerously. The John’s head lolls to the side, knocked out by a pulse of electromagnetic energy. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him woozy for the next couple of days. “Nighty-night, Asshole.” The young man’s eyes flash with something dangerous as he reaches for the man’s wallet, emptying it completely but for the picture of the John’s family. Dean glares at the photo and it bursts into sparks of light.
He gets back to his corner with a credit card and twenty dollars. Two more Johns and he can get back to Sammy.
“Tyler Adams?”
Dean turns towards the sound of his fake name, approaching the car and smiling as usual. He touches and strokes the other men as much as possible, quickly forgetting the names Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy. Two’s double, he says, and charges them one hundred. Once he’s in the car, the one called Charles calls him ‘Dean Winchester’.
Dean literally stops the moving vehicle. It’s easy; plucking the kinetic energy from the engine and wheels and gathering it in his palms, hands glowing before he shifts it into two balls of white. “Who the hell are you?”
Dean, calm down. Listen to me, you needn’t be afraid… We merely wish to show you you’re not alone.
Except that voice assuring Dean they mean him no harm? Yeah, that’s in his head. The young man almost blows up the vehicle on instinct… But that’s before he feels like he can’t move and the driver morphs into a hairy, skinnier blue version of the Hulk.
It turns out that Professor Charles Xavier runs a school for gifted people… gifted people like him. Like Sam. It turns out that he can offer the Winchesters a home.
It also turns out that Dean is a suspicious bastard. But, as that’s what’s kept he and Sam alive for so long, he’s thinking it’s probably fine.
~ * ~
“I’ll get it!”
“Sammy, no—”
Sam Winchester swings open the motel room door, rolling his eyes. At twelve years old, he’s big enough to handle whoever’s on the other side. Or, at least, he thinks he is. Dean is less sure. And by less sure, he means he doesn’t want his little brother near anything more dangerous than a firefly.
Especially not the guys that had tried to pick him up last night; the ones who’d known his name.
“Hello, Sam.”
~ * ~
“Dean! Dean, look!”
“Yeah, I see.”
Dean has never been the type of guy to ask for help. Not for any fault of his own, but when you grow up with a father who gets rough if you ask for too much, you learn to get by on the twenty bucks for a week’s groceries, and washing your stuff in the sink because there’s no change for a Laundromat. Dean is master in resourcefulness because he’s had to be; John was never forthcoming with any sort of paternal or financial support, and the fact that his kids are freaks? Dean has lost track of the number of bruises he’s had to cover up with cheap foundation.
Even now, a month after John’s death, Dean gets it. His powers are unnatural. They’re dangerous. They’re evil. The thing that killed his mother? It’d had special powers, too.
Those weird things he can do: the making people listen, the moving around energy, these are things only to be used when absolutely necessary. And Sam? Well, Sam doesn’t use his at all. The visions thing, the telekinesis… Dean has spent a lifetime trying to hide it from his father, and he’ll spend the rest of his existence hiding Sam from the rest of the prejudiced, cruel world.
So to see a crapton of kids running around? Kids with blue skin and toady skin that make weird noises and look at him like they know what he’s thinking? Kids who breathe fire and walk through walls and make things turn to ice?
It’s terrifying. It makes Dean want to run in the other direction.
Naturally, Sam dives in headfirst.
“Sammy, hold up a sec—”
But Sam has already disappeared into the crowd. Dean panics, heat pooling at his wrists and in his palms as he whirls around, trying to pinpoint the mop of familiar brown hair. Instead, his vision slams into blue. Not just one shade, these eyes are all manner of blue; cerulean and midnight and ice and they all blend together in this swirl of colour that’s just so damn mesmerizing—
Blue eyes blink. Dean is suddenly thrown back into reality. He’s made aware that he’s looking at a boy about his age, with dark hair and chapped lips. The boy has at least two days of stubble on his cheeks and dirt on his face. He peers through the bars of the steps curiously, huge black wings ensconcing his body like a safety shell.
“Dean!” Sam, suddenly having appeared again, grabs his hand and tugs him down the hall. When Dean looks back towards the steps, the boy is gone.
~ * ~
Sam sleeps in his bed at night. It’s a safety thing; Dean would always cuddle him and charge the doorknob with just enough juice to knock out anyone who touches it. It takes concentration and energy to keep it there for the entire night, but Dean has gotten used to waking up exhausted. That’s just what he does.
When Sammy wakes, he pulls on some clothes and rockets out of the room and to breakfast, the smile on his face unlike anything Dean has ever seen. Though Dean had asked the professor to settle for a couple of days before starting classes, Sam couldn’t wait to get started. He’s got some genetics course right after breakfast.
Dean, ever the protective brother, shadows him. He does so for three days before Charles asks him not to. “Dean, I understand your concern. Truly, I do, but you’ve seen what we do here. This is merely a safe place for people with gifts, people like you and brother. It’s a place of learning and growing, and Sam can’t do that if you coddle him.”
“I don’t coddle him.”
“You don’t leave him room to grow, either.”
Dean clenches his jaw. “He could hurt himself.”
“He will,” the Professor assures. “But this is expected when you learn new things. If you never stumble and fall, how are you supposed to discover yourself and your limits?”
Dean is quiet.
“Explore the school, Dean,” the Professor says kindly, “get yourself settled. You’ve been so busy looking after Sam, have you even given a thought to your own future? To what you would like to do?”
“Like, for the rest of my life?”
The Professor gives a sad little smile. “That’s one thing, yes. But I was talking about anything. Everything. Who are you, Dean? What do you want; now and in an hour and in a month from now?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?!”
Charles Xavier stares. “I’m not sure. But perhaps that’s something to think on.”
Dean storms out into the garden, mimicking rudely under his breath: “What do you want, Dean? What does Dean want? Fuck you.” He feels the warmth again, the telltale signs of his power gathering at his hands. He knows they’ll begin to glow soon, so Dean hides them in his pockets. “Stupid fuckin’ old man. Don’t know shit about me n’ my family. ‘Bout my brother.”
The sky is overcast, and Dean’s thankful for the cool breeze and light, sporadic spatter of rain. He walks around the garden aimlessly, only pausing when he manages to make his way to the very far corner of the professor’s lot.
The gardens that everyone sees, those are pristine and trimmed and taken care of… This place? It’s a jungle. With vines that drape every which way and big, colourful flowers. Bees buzz in and out of the garden in a complicated symphony, and trees tower over them in strategically placed locations. Hedges line the entrance to this Eden, and Dean steps in without a second thought.
There are small dirt paths in between the huge columns of flowers and vines, and the perfumed scent manages to be just present enough without being overwhelming. Without even realizing it, all the power and anger has drained from Dean’s hands. Instead, he feels a sense of warmth and belonging deep within his chest.
“Nelson, could you please bring me that watering can?”
Dean freezes. The voice is deep and rich, and even from where he’s standing, Dean can hear the smile in it. Carefully, the eldest Winchester peers around a jasmine covered hedge.
The firs thing he sees is a trenchcoat. It’s hanging over the branch of a tree, rumpled and with an old, dirty ACDC t-shirt. When Dean looks around further, his eyes land on a gorgeous marble fountain, and a small black kitten pulling a watering can by a string. In a corner, the boy from yesterday sits shirtless, pouring over dirt and plants and flowers. He’s wearing jean shorts that look like they’ve been cut with a pair of scissors, distressed and ending about two inches above his knees. His feet are bare and from the way he’s hunched over, Dean can see his black boxer briefs peeking out. Black wings are tucked to his back, and flowered vines reach out to twine between dark feathers, threading through his hair like a lopsided crown. When he moves, Dean can see a twisting, puckered scar stretch against the skin over his ribs.
Deftly, the boy reaches out to grab the watering can when the kitten drags it near enough, petting the animal’s head. “Thank you, Nelson.”
So basically, the dude is a Disney Princess.
Dean watches as the boy waters the earth, long, graceful fingers delicately parting the dirt as he closes his eyes. Completely enraptured, Dean doesn’t notice the kitten until it’s at his feet, meowing. Though, in all honesty, Dean thinks the little furball is trying to roar.
Angel Boy tenses and twists around.
“Uh, hey,” Dean says nervously, moving his hand in an awkward wave. “I’m—”
But in the blink of an eye and with the flutter of wings, Angel is gone.
~ * ~
Over the next couple of days, Dean sees Angel a lot: sitting on the steps, walking the school grounds, slipping from class to class. He’s quiet, and those swirling blue eyes are as weird and intense as ever, but the guy never sticks around long after Dean sees him. In fact, the moment Dean opens his mouth to say hello, the other boy takes off. Literally.
“Hey, your Sam’s brother, right?”
When Angel takes off yet again, Dean turns to the girl talking to him. She got blonde hair and big brown eyes, and she holds out her hand. “Name’s Jo.”
Dean accepts the handshake. “Dean.”
“Don’t be too weirded out by Castiel. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s a nice guy. Real shy, though. And his powers are…”
“Awesome?”
Jo gives him an odd look. “Useless,” she says. “No way flowers are gonna save the world.” A shrug. “But like I said, he’s nice. Harmless. Hey, you should have lunch with us.”
Dean lets himself be lead to a table with a whole bunch of other people about his age, trying not to dwell on the whole cryptic ‘no way flowers are gonna save the world’ thing. It doesn’t work. In fact, the only thing Dean can think about throughout the entirety of lunch is that he finally has a name:
Castiel.
~ * ~
“So, today we’re going to be learning about plants.”
Dean shifts in his seat at the front of the class, mentally cursing the fact that he didn’t get in early enough to grab a desk in the back. He’s never really been a science sort of guy, and is even less interested in plant biology. Who fucking cares as long as shit grows?
Storm goes on and on about Phloem and Xylem and Dean honestly cannot give two shits… until she pauses in her lecturing and sighs. “Look, guys, I know this isn’t the most riveting stuff you’ve ever heard, but if you think about all these different components and how they somehow make up a living thing…” No reaction from the kids. Storm sighs again.
And then her eyes catch on black wings.
“Castiel? Would you please come to the front of the class?”
Now Dean does perk up, green eyes trained on the awkward, fumbling form making its way to the front. Castiel stops off to the side and Storm tugs him until he’s right in front of Dean’s desk. From this close, Dean can see his dirt smudged face and hands, and smell the earthy, thunderstorm thing the guy’s got going on. When he tries to meet the other’s eyes, Castiel keeps his eyes carefully trained on the door of the classroom.
“Now,” Storm says, having her students’ full attention. “All these biological components we were talking about, they take days and weeks to grow and form until they become something complete. It’s amazing, if you think about it: how a system knows what to do and how to work even when it doesn’t have a brain. Castiel.” She turns to him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
Dean has to lean over his desk to hear Cas’s soft reply: “What would you like to see?”
Storm smiles. “Something beautiful, honey.”
Castiel holds out his arms, eyes closing and hands cupping in front of him as a gorgeous purple orchid sprouts from his palm. Its stem and roots and flower drape over his skin, and Dean watches in absolute awe as Cas blinks his eyes open to coo and smile at the plant in his hands, immediately blushing when he realizes he’s in front of his peers. There’s some whispering and Storm tells the class to hush. “Do you see the roots? If you look closely enough…” Storm’s voice fades into the background as Dean props his head up in his hands, smiling lazily at the boy standing before him. Cas’s cheeks are flushed and pretty underneath the dirt smeared in with his stubble, and his hands are cupped ever so gently. His vision is trained on the orchid, and Dean watches at it grows taller, smaller buds cropping up in his palms until he’s got a small bouquet of different plants.
The bell rings.
Dean packs his bag extra slow so he can leave soon after Castiel. But when he tries to find the other boy in the hall, he walks into something of a hostile encounter.
Castiel is scrambling to pick up his books, the plants he’d been carrying have been trampled on, and three students, two girls and one boy, are laughing at him meanly. “Fuckin’ fairy,” one mutters.
“Stop it,” Castiel pleads.
“Whatcha gonna do about it, Birdie?” Another jeers. “Make me a flower crown?” A sneakered foot grinds the plants into the floor, laughing when Cas begs more loudly, pushing on the foot hard. The kid stumbles back and Cas’s hands hover over the dead matter, brows furrowing as he closes his eyes. There’s a strangled cry when one of the other kids steps on his hand.
Dean, up until that point, had been speechless. And angry. Wasn’t everyone here a mutant? Didn’t the fact that they were all different unite them? But when he hears Cas cry out in pain, the green-eyed man suddenly springs to action. He pushes the other kid to the floor, hands hot and glowing as energy gathers at his fingertips. Stepping in front of Castiel, Dean growls at his fellow students. They take one look at him and smirk, readying themselves for a fight when Dean pushes out his palms, sending a huge blast of kinetic energy at all three bodies. They fly back and hit a wall before stumbling off, groaning and moaning.
Dean turns with his brows furrowed in concern. “Castiel?”
Cas has only just finished gathering his books and the dead plants, and is very clearly getting ready to disappear again when Dean grabs his wrist. Hard. “Hey, wait!” Cas freezes. “Just… wait.” Dean squeezes as much energy he can from his own body, using it to move and speed along the repair of as many skin cells as he possibly can. His eyes close in concentration, but Castiel is still looking at him in amazement when he opens them. Carefully, Dean lets go. “Sorry they were jerks,” he says somewhat awkwardly, thumbing a dirt smudge on Cas’s cheek. “Your powers are awesome.”
When Dean blinks, Castiel is gone.
The eldest Winchester does, however, find a potted purple orchid on his pillow, dirt particles ruining the pristine whiteness of it as he and Sam prepare for bed. Sam eyes the plant with a raised brow. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Dean, why d’you have a flower?”
“So you’d ask.”
“Fine, don’t tell me, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
For the first time since leaving the motel, Sam and Dean sleep in separate beds. Which is just as well, because Dean has the hottest, most inappropriate wet dream ever.
He thinks he might kinda have a wing kink.
~ * ~
Dean sees Castiel sporadically over the next week, but every time he gets ready for bed, there’s a flower on his pillow. Not a potted plant like the first night, but a cut daffodil, or lily, or a bundle of bluebells, or a single red rose. Sam teases him mercilessly for the latter and Dean rolls his eyes, but slinks down to the kitchen when everyone is asleep for an empty mug to put them in. As he arrives, footfalls disappear as they make their way outside, leaving the door ajar.
Which leaves Dean with a choice: he can either go back upstairs and keep an eye on his brother, or he can satisfy his ever-growing curiosity and trust that Charles Xavier is telling the truth when he says this school is a safe place.
Dean’s bare feet feel too warm against the coolness of the grass.
It’s dark other than the warm glow from the school, and for some unknown reason, Dean makes his way to the hidden garden in the corner of the lot; Castiel’s garden. He’s not entirely sure why, though he would have liked to be able to say it was ‘cause he sensed something. But honestly? Dean doesn’t sense a thing. He just walks.
He concentrates, forcing his hands to glow and light his way as he approaches the darkened hedges. When Dean gets near, he sees the glow of a lantern. His hands dim in response.
At first, Dean sees nothing; blackness but for the lantern sitting on the lip of the fountain and painting everything in warm, golden light. But then the shadows move.
Castiel’s wings are so big and so black, Dean hadn’t even been able to see him. The other boy works tirelessly in the dark, moving around earth and pressing his fingers in damp dirt, sighing and murmuring and sounding for all the world like a man with his lover… not a sixteen year-old kid planting flowers at midnight. It makes Dean feel embarrassed and like he’s intruding… but also kinda jealous, and really, really weird. Like, happy weird. With the warm, dropping feeling in his tummy and the sweaty hands and everything.
“Uh, hey.”
Castiel starts, wings flaring out so fast, he knocks over his lantern. The candle inside fizzles out immediately and Cas whirls around, chest heaving. Even in the dark, Dean can see the ethereal blue swirl of the other’s eyes.
Black wings spread in preparation for flight.
For the second time, Dean lunges forward to grasp Castiel’s hand before he can take off. “Wait! I just— Look, I don’t get why you hate me, or you’re scared or something, but whatever I did, I’m sorry. And if you don’t wanna talk or nothin’, that’s cool, but you keep givin’ me flowers and I’m gettin’ real mixed messages here, man.”
Castiel is silent. Dean rolls his eyes and lets go of the other boy’s wrist, though Cas stays put. Dean bites his lip. “I’m grateful for the flowers, Cas. They’re really nice. But just… I don’t get it. You won’t even look at me.” For the first time, Castiel’s head snaps up at the words, looking at Dean in a pointed way. The green-eyed man smiles. “There, see? S’not so bad, lookin’ at my ugly mug.”
Cas frowns. He steps up to Dean and presses their foreheads together, eyes focused meaningfully. And before Dean can ask what the hell is going on, Castiel is gone.
When Dean gets back inside and heads upstairs with his water-filled coffee mug, there’s a gorgeous, open white flower on his pillow. Beside it, a post-it note reads: Moonflower.
Dean goes to sleep with a smile.
~ * ~
The next day, Dean gets to Biology early and slips into a seat in the back. Three minutes later, Castiel slides into the seat next to his. They don’t speak, hell, Cas doesn’t even look at him, but Dean spends most of the period sneaking glances at the other boy. It’s the least boring class of his day.
This pattern continues for another week and a half, until one morning, Castiel, after sliding into his seat, looks at Dean pointedly. “Hello,” he says softly.
Dean blushes wildly, almost unable to get the ‘hey’ out around his grin.
Cas says hi to him every day. Sometimes it’s in class, and sometimes—on the days they don’t have Biology—it’s a rushed greeting in between classes or during lunch. Either way, Castiel always says hi, and either way, Dean always replies the same. When he gets to bed at the end of the day, there’s always a different flower on his pillow, its name written on a post-it or a napkin or a scrap of paper.
Yellow lily. Spanish jasmine. Iris. Hibiscus. Baby’s breath. White and yellow acacias.
Despite Sam’s teasing, Dean never tells Cas to stop. He tells Sam it’s nothing, of course, but secretly, Dean loves seeing a new flower on the dirt-smudged whiteness of his pillow every night. He’s got three mugfulls now, and every time it seems like one stem is wilting, Dean will walk into his room and find it refreshed and good as new.
It’s another week before Dean starts meeting Cas in the garden at night. He’s padding downstairs, looking to borrow yet another mug from the kitchen when the green-eyed boy sees the tips of black wings disappear through the back door. Mug forgotten, Dean rushes out to catch up to the boy he now calls his friend, reaching forward to lightly pluck at a pinion and get Castiel’s attention. Cas nearly jumps out of his skin. Dean smirks. “Boo.”
Though Castiel rolls his eyes, his fingers wrap around Dean’s wrist. “You’re not funny.”
“But I am adorable.”
Cas spins around so quick, they end up nose-to-nose. Dean can clearly see the playful narrowing of the other’s eyes, and gets the distinct feeling Castiel is counting his freckles. “Yes,” Cas finally agrees. “You are.”
In a blushing, embarrassingly thrilled stupor, Dean is dragged to the garden.
They lay down on one of the only clear patches of grass, extinguishing the lantern and looking up into pitch-blackness. The sky is overcast in addition to the natural canopy of leaves above their heads, but it’s pleasant; feeling Cas right next to him. At some point, they wriggle to be shoulder-to-shoulder, the arch of Castiel’s wing extended under Dean’s form. It’s not the most comfortable position for him, Dean’s sure, but Cas has assured him he's fine. In all honesty, forgetting that Castiel is slightly uncomfortable becomes easy when the other boy brushes their fingers together. The way he does it is almost flirtatious; work-roughened fingers tracing patterns across his palm, trailing up the pad of his thumb. Short nails scratch at the skin of Dean’s fingertips before moving away completely.
Though both boys looks resolutely at the sky, Dean lets go a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He can feel Cas’s smile.
Carefully, the green-eyed boy reaches for his companion’s hand in the same manner. He, belatedly, thinks it’s like playing some weird form of footsie. Handsie. Except not. “Hey, you wanna see something cool?” Dean’s voice is thick and hesitant, and he can hear Cas turn his head, possibly in concern.
“Dean?”
“It’s—or, it was—something I used to do for my brother when he had bad dreams and shit. But I think it’s kinda cool…”
“I’d love to see it.”
Dean pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing his hands together. When Cas tries to sit up, too, he’s told to lay back. “It’s better that way,” Dean assures. “You’ll get the best view.”
It’s easy to pull energy out of the air. Potential energy is everywhere, and grabbing and molding it into something tangible is easy with all the practice he’s hand. Closing his eyes, Dean spreads his hands wide, palms up, and makes several little balls of light, throwing them into the air. His eyes close and brows pinch in concentration, but by the time he’s done, it’s like Cas is laying among the stars.
“Oh.”
Dean’s eyes crack open. He smiles at the awed expression on Castiel’s face, making the energy stars move and dance in the air. When one burns out he makes another, changing frequencies of vibration to paint his stars green or purple or red. “You like?” he manages through the haze of concentration.
Cas’s response is breathed, long fingers reaching out towards a ball of golden light. “It’s beautiful.”
Dean zones in, letting the other stars fizzle out while he moves the one Cas is reaching for with ease, making it dance and play with his fingers. They never touch, that would be dangerous… but it’s enough for Castiel to huff a laugh and smile.
The sound makes Dean feel bold. “Wanna see something really cool?”
He digs deep, searching for all the control and power he can muster as he forms a huge ball of golden light, then moving on to form nine smaller ones. He colours the first brown, the second orange, the third green… Dean makes them rotate in the appropriate pattern, too. He’s sweating from the effort and though he can’t break concentration enough to look at Cas, the little noises of amazement and awe are enough. “Dean, it’s—”
A grunt of affirmation.
“It’s gorgeous. It’s—wait. Pluto is no longer considered a planet.”
“F-Fuck that.”
There’s a huff of a laugh, and Dean almost looks over. He forces himself to focus, however, a blush painting his cheeks instead. Cas sits up. The other boy keeps his wings tucked in close, carefully maneuvering to sit behind Dean’s shoulder. “Sam is a very lucky boy.” Castiel has leaned forward, lips near his companion’s ear. “Even if it is scientifically inaccurate.”
Heart hammering in his chest, Dean rolls his eyes, the mini solar system burning out into nothing as he turns his head, coming face-to-face with playful blue eyes. “Fuck that noise, Pluto deserves to be a planet,” he pants.
Cas raises a brow in challenge. “It’s too small.”
“You’re too small.”
“I’m of average height for my weight and build.”
“You’re also a know-it-all.”
Cas’s breath hiccups for only a moment, like he’s not sure if what he’s about to say is right. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low and playful, though the small crease in his brow speaks of anxiety. “You love it.”
“I—” Dean shuts his mouth, giving the other boy an impressed, wide-eyed look before nodding bashfully. It’s completely dark again, and Dean thanks his lucky stars for that because his face is bright red. “Yeah, I do.”
Cas seems taken aback at the confession. “That’s… good,” he says lamely, unsure.
Dean tries very hard not to find the confusion adorable. “Yeah, it is.”
“Good.”
“Mmhmm.” He smirking now, and Cas rolls his eyes in embarrassment. Still, he makes no move to pull away.
In fact, the other boy scoots closer. He takes one of Dean’s hands, cupping it, palm up. “Look,” he says softly. Both boys look down simultaneously, heads pressed together as a flower begins to bloom in Dean’s hand. He can feel the roots tumble over his palm, and the weight of the stem pressed into his skin. It’s amazing, it’s so amazing… but the most insane things about the experience? The flower is glowing. Not like the energy balls, but it’s got swirling patterns of fluorescent light inlaid into the petals and stem. It looks like something out of Avatar, and Dean can’t help but swear in absolute awe: “holy shit.”
“They don’t technically exist,” Castiel says quietly. When his index finger touches a glowing petal, it pulses in happiness. “But the protein is already there… I just had to modify it a bit.”
“Fuck, how do you even know how to do that?”
A shrug. “The same way you know how to make the night sky out of thin air.”
Dean looks up then, breath hitching when Cas does as well. They’re so close, and it’d be so easy to just…
When their lips press together, Castiel turns completely still. Dean pulls away quickly, ducking his head in shame and embarrassment and muttering apology after apology before falling silent. Cas, quiet Cas, merely puts a finger under Dean’s chin, pushing his face up while his other squeezes their clasped hands. He leans forward hesitantly, like he doesn’t really know if what he’s doing is okay.
Dean meets him halfway.
It’s warm and wet and nice, and though the fluorescent flower drops to the ground unnoticed, it’s left in favour of dark hair and freckled skin. Castiel’s wings flutter noisily at his back before moving to cocoon them both, the added appendages forcing Cas onto Dean’s lap in an attempt to be closer. Hands wander under lose t-shirts while hips move slowly and with the innocence of first love, pulling gasps and groans from kiss-swollen mouths. They slow down eventually, smiling and blushing and loving between huffed laughs and the quick, chaste press of lips. Around them, rogue roses and lilies and moonflowers have pushed out of the ground, trapping them; an island in a sea of flowers. “Sorry,” Cas breathes when they finally look around.
Dean plucks a red rose and tucks it behind Castiel’s ear. “I’m not.”
There’s a lot more kissing after that.
The sun is coming up when Cas and Dean walk about to the school. They’re holding hands and stop to kiss at the top of the stairs before saying goodnight. Castiel weaves a quince blossom into Dean’s hair.
The next morning, neither of them make it to Biology.
~ * ~
Dean and Cas begin seeing each other in earnest. They eat meals together and ask to reserve the TV room on Wednesday nights, they meet up every night in the garden, and they make-out like it’s nobody’s business. Sam makes like he can’t stand the latter, but truth be told, he enjoys the fact that Dean’s now perpetually covered in dirt. His brother smiles more often, their room has flowers on practically every available surface, and Cas is a funny, awesome guy.
He’s also extremely smart.
And so while Dean is off on dates: watching Dr. Sexy and eating pizza, cuddling in Cas’s room when Colossus is out with Kitty, making love in the garden for the first time, having study dates and important dates and dates for no reason, making love in the house only to short the entire building when he comes… While Dean is off being exceptionally cute and gross with the boy he’s now started affectionately referring to as ‘Angel’, Sam starts looking at the seemingly random array of flowers in their room.
And then he realizes it’s not random.
“Dean, Cas loves you.”
Dean is just about to go downstairs for breakfast. He pauses in the doorway, looking at his little brother with a raised brow. “Yeah, okay, Sammy.” He and Cas joke about loving each other all the time, but that’s all it is—jokes. And fine, okay, if Dean thinks he might be in love with Cas, nobody has to know. Not until they stop joking. Not until they officially become boyfriends.
“No, Dean, look at this.” Grabbing his laptop, the younger boy pulls up a webpage of flower meanings, protesting at Dean’s groan. “Just hear me out, okay? Look:
Yellow lily: Flirtation
Spanish jasmine: Sensuality
Indian jasmine: Attraction, I attach myself to you
Ivy: Affection
Hibiscus: Delicate beauty
Baby’s breath: Pure of heart
White and yellow acacias: Elegance, friendship, secret love.”
Sam looks up from his computer screen, reaching for the single closed little rosebud in the nearest coffee mug. It’s the flower Dean received yesterday, and one he keeps looking at. Cas had fumbled with it when they’d parted ways, kissing him extra tenderly and blushing every time he looked at it.
“Moss rosebud,” Sam reads. “Confession of love.”
Dean’s smile almost breaks his face. He has half a mind to run downstairs and tackle Cas himself, breathing his own confession into his angel’s warm skin until the words have soaked past mortal flesh to settle in the other’s very core. He has half a mind to show Castiel how much he loves him, to display his affections in every possible way he can think of in front of the entire student body. But Dean has more self-control than that. Or at least, he thinks he does.
“Sammy, I need your help.”
~ * ~
Dean doesn’t wait for Cas to meet him in the kitchen. Instead, the green-eyed boy pads to Castiel’s room, two flowers held behind his back. Cas opens the door in the middle of toweling his hair dry, face breaking out into a grin as he leans forward to give Dean a sweet kiss. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Nah. No, you’re, uh, you’re good.”
Cas narrows his eyes. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m—good. Yeah, I’m good. I brought something for you.” Dean thrusts the hand at his back forward, a jonquil and red tulip held tightly in his closed fist. He swallows nervously. What if it had really all just been a coincidence? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all? “It’s—ah, it’s supposed to mean—”
But Cas has launched himself into Dean’s arms. The dark-haired boy presses their bodies together wantonly, gasping and murmuring ‘I love you’ until his throat starts to hurt. They fall back on the bed in a flurry of clothing and feathers.
Twenty minutes later, the power shorts.
Declaration of love (red tulip), returned (jonquil).