Chapter Text
It’s not unusual that Cas usually wakes up to screaming matches between Michael and Lucifer. It’s a daily occurrence. In fact, Cas would think something’s wrong if they didn’t fight at least two times a day.
Gabriel is in the kitchen, immune to the yelling as he pours half a bottle of caramel syrup on his cocoa puffs. Cas scrunches up his nose at the sight. “Is it wise to eat that much sugar in the morning?”
Gabriel grins, his mouth full of cocoa puffs. “You can never have too much sugar, Castiel.”
Cas rolls his eyes and fills a mug with water, intent on making a cup of coffee. He makes a note to remind Lucifer to buy a coffee maker soon since he was the one who broke their other one by throwing it across the room last month. When they get another one, it’s going into Cas’s room. He doesn’t think he can live on instant coffee any longer.
“What are they fighting about this time?”
“Lucifer wants to leave us.” Gabriel’s voice is nonchalant but he can hear the worry underneath it. Lucifer and Michael have raised them since their parents died ten years ago. Lucifer and Michael agreed to get custody of them and take care of them until they were eighteen which wasn’t so far off. Michael seemed content, seeing as he was going to take over their father’s pharmacy but Lucifer was less willing.
“I’m gonna need a ride to school today since Kali has cheer practice early today.”
“I’m sure Charlie will let you ride with us.”
“And I get shotgun.”
“No.”
Charlie’s bright yellow van’s rumbling engine makes an appearance before it does. Cas and Gabe are already outdoors on the porch waiting for her, Lucifer and Michael's loud voices muted by the walls of the house.
“Get in, bitches!,” she calls out.
Cas and Gabe get in their respective sides. “I don’t get it, Charlie. You call us bitches when you frequently complain about how the word is misogynistic.”
“It’s only misogynistic when a guy says it.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes and looks out the window. “Yeah, like that makes sense.”
“Oh, it does.” Charlie grins at Gabriel through the rearview mirror. She looks back at Cas. “I don’t normally gossip but Dean has been dethroned back to the peasant he once was.”
Cas stares at Charlie, head tilted, waiting for her to elaborate.
“He and Lisa broke up.”
Gabriel scoffs and says. “Who cares?”
Cas shrugs, feigning indifference though his heart leaping in his chest says otherwise. “They’ll get back together next week.”
Charlie checks her rear view mirrors before backing out of the driveway. When a red van clears out of the way in the road, she starts to back the car up. “I think it’s serious this time. She cheated on him. With Alastair.”
Cas doesn’t try to hide his surprise. Dean and Lisa were the high school’s favorite couple. Lisa was the cheerleader and Dean was the wrestler. Their relationship was rocky at best but it always seemed to make Dean happy. And Cas had always reasoned with himself that as long as Dean was happy, he wouldn’t be angry at him for ditching him and Charlie.
“I know one thing. Dean would be smart to not come back crawling to us.”
+++
Gym is always the worst part of Cas’s day but at least he shares it with Charlie.
Coach Singer is taking it easy on them today for some reason and is just letting who wants to play sports play sports and anyone who wants to sit out sit out. They just all have to be dressed out, though, to receive an A for today. Charlie and Cas are lounging on the bleachers. Charlie is watching some of the students who choose to do laps and Cas knows she’s mostly watching because Gilda is one of the students running. Cas could care less, his nose is in the book they’re reading for class, Hamlet. It’s terribly boring.
He doesn’t notice when Crowley, in his customary black suit, approaches them at the bleachers. Crowley clears his throat and the two look up at him. When did Crowley take gym this period?
He looks between Cas and Charlie before settling his gaze on Cas. “I suspect you wouldn’t want Charlie around for this.”
“For what?”
Crowley sighs, like they’re the ones wasting his time. “The love letter you sent me. Never knew you had the hots for me. Quite touching, really.”
Cas narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about? I never wrote you a love letter.”
Except he did. But it wasn’t a love letter, per say. It was more of a why do I like you? Letter and i hate you now letter.
“Oh but you did.” He reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a white envelope. He holds it out for Cas to see. “It’s addressed to me, isn’t it and that’s your name as the sender, correct?”
Cas feels his heart drop to his feet. How did Crowley get this letter? He turns to Charlie. “I’ll see you later.” He follows Crowley to the edge of the field by the water fountain. This must be a mistake.
Crowley has a self-satisfied grin on his face as he stares Cas down. “I must say, ruggish good looks, english accent that makes you want to melt into a puddle,” he says, listing every embarrassing thing Cas wrote in the letter. “I’m flattered. Never took you for someone with an accent kink. Who knew a good boy like you would be interested in a handsome devil like me?”
Crowley’s smirk has turned into a wide, twisted smile now and Cas wants to hit him. He should punch him but he settles for glaring at him instead.“I can assure you I don’t feel like that anymore.”
“Too bad,” Crowley looks him up and down and Cas feels naked like Crowley can see through his clothes. He feels violated for some odd reason. “I would’ve loved to ruffle your feathers. See what’s underneath that horrible coat you choose to wear everyday.”
Cas clenches his fist. “Can I have the letter back?,” he says through gritted teeth.
Crowley’s eyes get a glint in them. “What if I want to keep it? Love letters are hard to come by these days.”
“Surely your hundreds of admirers would be willing to write you one,” Cas says, this close to losing his patience. What did he ever see in him? Cas thinks back to a number of embarrassing things that happened in his adolescent days and this one tops the lists.
“Us, millennials prefer swiping right as a form of a love letter. If only I lived back in the golden ages where technology didn’t exist. But I do love candy crush. Personal favorite of mine.”
“I don't care. Give me the letter.”
Crowley smirks. “Only if you beg.”
Cas rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have time for this. He reaches for the letter dangling in Crowley’s hand and the smaller boy dances away, just a step out of the way. “Crowley.”
“Castiel,” he says mocking Cas. He slides the edge of the letter over the palm of his hand. “Riddle me this, I’ve already read it. Why do you want it back so bad?”
“Why do you want to keep it so bad?”
Crowley shrugs. “I love fan mail.”
Cas grits his teeth.
“Let’s make a deal-”
“No.”
“I’ll make a copy of it and then give it back to you,” he continues, ignoring Cas’s input. He smirks at Cas. “What do you say?”
“Just give it back.”
Crowley shrugs and begins to walk away. “Guess that’s no deal.”
But Cas isn’t taking no for an answer. He lunges for the letter and it soon becomes a tug of war with the letter in between them. Crowley tugs it so hard that Cas ends up bumping into him, sending them both tumbling towards the ground, Cas lands on Crowley’s chest with an oomph.
The letter falls on the grass beside them and Cas is quick to snatch it up.
“Ah, bollocks,” Crowley murmurs as he gets up, dusting dead grass and dirt of his dress shirt. He groans. “My suit. It’s silk. Do you know how hard it is to get dirt out of silk?”
“I don’t care,” Cas says, already walking away.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Crowley shouted at Cas.
If Cas was that type of person, he would’ve shot Crowley the finger.
+++
Dear Crowley,
Where do I start? I’m never going to have the gall to tell you in person so i’ll say it in writing, in a letter to you that you will never receive. I think you’re cute. You intrigued me when you came into English class in a suit. I’ve never known anyone in seventh grade to always wear suits. You’re sleek and polished and regal. Dean thinks you’re a joke but I don’t. Really, it shouldn’t matter what Dean thinks anyway.
You’re only in seventh grade but you have the soul of someone older and wiser. You also look older with your facial hair. It makes you look, as one of my friends would say, “rugged.” I think I could classify you as having rugged good looks.
I like how different you are. I like how you correct Mr. Meyer in English when he makes grammatical errors. I like how you speak two different languages and is more fluent in French than our french teacher is. I like the smirk you get when you prove the teachers wrong. I like how you make me feel challenged because there’s finally someone in class that knows more than me. I’ll never forget the look you gave me when we both corrected the teacher that cheese isn’t a carbohydrate, like we were kindred spirits.
Your accent is the best thing about you. I’ve never met someone from England but I admire them. The accent suits you. It makes you different. It makes you regal.
Love,
Castiel