Chapter Text
It was eight in the morning on a Thursday, and Dean Winchester was struck by an urge to head downtown and get a book. He had seen someone quote T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, and now he was desperate to read it. Dean knew he could look it up online, but he preferred to be able to hold the words in his hands. He had always been like that—a tactile learner.
If anyone ever found out that Dean Winchester legitimately liked his English classes, he was going to kill them and then himself.
He often felt like a bit of a bull in a china shop, to be honest, a lesson in contradictions. He was a six-foot tall guy who basically just wore flannels, old band tees, jeans, and combat boots, was majoring in social work, had a side job as a mechanic, and, apparently, a soft spot for Shakespeare.
But English? Literature? That shit was fascinating. Dean had signed up for a class on Shakespeare’s tragedies because he needed an extra English class for his pre-reqs, and was now low-key considering minoring in English.
Dean ducked into the bookshop, and he heard a “Hi, welcome to Johnson’s Books,” from the counter. He nodded in acknowledgment, and then whipped around, “Castiel?”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said sheepishly, his cheeks turning slightly red as Dean walked to the counter, “How are you?”
Castiel Novak was in Dean’s Shakespearean Tragedies class. He hadn’t talked to Castiel much before, but, if Dean was being honest with himself, he had thought about Castiel quite a bit. Dean also knew that they were both juniors. They sat on opposite ends of the same row in class, and more than once Dean had caught himself staring. With ridiculously tousled dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and an expression that always made it look like he was concentrating really hard, Castiel was pretty nice to look at.
“I’m alright. I didn’t know you worked here.” Dean put his hands in his pockets, missing the first time, as he fidgeted slightly.
“I, uh…just started.” Castiel glanced around, “Can I help you find anything?”
“For once, yes. I normally just wander around until I see something I like, but…do you have T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland?”
“Of course! It’s actually uh, my, favorite poem,” Castiel said, coming out from behind the counter, “Follow me.”
Dean took a moment to appreciate Castiel’s appearance fully. He was wearing skinny jeans (something Dean wouldn’t be caught dead in but somehow…worked for Castiel?), beat-up Converse, and a dark blue t-shirt advertising the bookstore.
Castiel stopped in front of a shelf, running his hands through his hair, rumpling it further, “Here it is.” He slid a thin volume off the shelf and handed it to Dean, “I hope you enjoy it.”
Dean lost the ability to concentrate for a second when their fingers brushed. After regaining control of his brain he said, “Favorite poem, huh?”
“Yeah. I, uh, actually…” Castiel flipped his arm over, showing Dean his wrist. Tattooed on it, in a sloping, old-world script, were the words, what have we given?
“Is that from the poem?” Dean asked.
Castiel didn’t answer immediately, but after a pause he softly quoted, “Then spoke the thunder: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart, the awful daring of a moment’s surrender—which an age of prudence can never retract.” His voice became steadier as he continued, “By this, and this only, we have existed, which is not to be found in our obituaries, or in memories draped by the beneficent spider, or under seals broken by the lean solicitor in our empty rooms.”
Another pause, with Cas staring at a spot on the floor right next to Dean’s feet before raising his head and continuing, “That’s the full bit. It’s from the poem, yeah.”
“It’s....” Dean really liked the way the words sounded on Castiel’s lips, but he was attempting to formulate an answer not related to that, “Nice. Eliot sure knows his way around words.”
“I hope you enjoy the whole thing,” Castiel said, leading him back to the register, “Are you reading it for fun or for a class?”
“For fun.”
There was a small, peculiar smile on Castiel’s face at that, “I’m glad. I find things are better appreciated when we do them because we’d like to.”
Dean smiled back, and then finally really took a glance around the bookstore, “You guys really went all out with the Halloween decorations, huh?”
“The owner, uh, really likes Halloween,” Castiel said, “But if you think this is a lot,“ he gestured at the fake cobwebs adorning the bookshelves,“You should head to Crypt Coffee across the street. They always go....big, to say the least.”
“Will do!” Dean grinned, “Thanks for helping me out, Castiel. I’ll see you around?”
Castiel smiled again, this time stretching all the way to his eyes, “I hope so.”