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It’s not that Dean is flunking physics. He’s got a steady D average, which is enough to pass, but his guidance counselor is concerned about his GPA even though Dean assured him he’s not planning on college. They can’t both go, and Sam deserves it. Dean doesn’t want a tutor, especially not some kid his age in a tan sweater with a tie and a freaking button-down, but his mom insisted.
"I don’t want to be here," Dean gripes during their first session, in the library after school on a Tuesday.
"So leave," says Castiel. That’s actually his name, Castiel. He regards Dean with a stony expression.
Dean slams open his textbook and decides that Castiel is a dick.
+
So maybe he passes his next test with a C. Fine. It doesn’t change the fact the Castiel is just this shy of an asshole.
"What are they paying you to be this rough on me?" Dean demands when Castiel tells him that he calculated the friction wrong, again, and demands he do it over.
"I don’t get paid anything," Castiel confides.
"What? Why?"
"Is it hard to believe people do things just to be nice?"
"That hasn’t been my experience."
Castiel regards him knowingly, nods and looks at his pencil. “I see,” he says. “You don’t think you deserve help.”
“No,” Dean counters. “I don’t see the point. I ain’t gonna be a physicist.”
“I’m not,” Castiel corrects.
"Ain’t gonna be a writer either."
"I’m just trying to help," Castiel says. He’s speaking calmly, but the frustration is plain on his face, in the way the skin bunches on his forehead.
"Can we skip to another question?" Dean suggests, and Castiel lets out a sigh.
"Fine."
+
After six weeks, Dean stops showing up for their sessions. He tucks himself away in the last row of the auditorium, slumps low in the seat and closes his eyes. He’s almost asleep when someone approaches, a series of determined footsteps. They stop the row in front of him. He knows who it is without looking.
"Whaddya want, Cas?"
"Why did you miss our session today?"
"Didn’t feel like it," Dean announces. He hears Cas tap his foot, imagines him with arms folded peevishly over his chest. "You better cut out that scowling. It’ll give you premature wrinkles."
"You have an exam tomorrow," Cas admonishes.
"Yup."
Cas exhales in a manner that goes beyond frustrated. He’s pissed, and for a brief moment, Dean wonders if he’s underestimated Cas’s strength, if he’s in danger of getting his ass kicked by a nerd.
"Well," Cas says. "I won’t stick around to watch you fail."
He storms off before Dean can think of a retort.
+
He earns a solid B on the test and lingers next to Cas’s locker after first period the following Monday. Their lockers aren’t far apart, just on opposite sides of the hallway from one another. He’s a little surprised he never noticed Cas ‘till now. Turns out, he’s actually a year ahead of Dean, and they’ve had a couple classes together.
Dean feels like a jerk. Cas has been trying to help him for weeks, for no reason other than to be a nice guy, and Dean’s been nothing but ungrateful.
"Hey," he says when Cas appears, opens his locker without a glance in Dean’s direction, and extracts a notebook.
"Hello, Dean."
He says it flatly. Dean rubs the back of his neck and has the grace to look sheepish.
"So I got a pretty good grade," he says. "Wanted to say thanks."
Cas looks up, baffled, blinks a few times, like he’s waiting for Dean to say something else—maybe take it back. But Dean doesn’t, just waits for Cas to gather his thoughts. He wets his lips, which are full and pink. Dean’s surprised he hasn’t noticed that until now, either.
"You’re welcome," Cas says.
"Listen," Dean mumbles. "If you’re not doing anything later, you wanna hang out?"
He’s surprised that Cas is frowning. “Why?” he demands.
Dean can’t believe it. Shouldn’t he be psyched about Dean’s invitation? It’s not like he does anything besides study and go home to his family with six siblings or whatever. Cas could use a little fun, and instead he’s looking at Dean like Dean is the crazy one.
"You know what, forget about it," Dean says and stalks off before anyone sees him blushing.
+
Still, he does show up to the next session, with a CD in hand. He shoves it toward Cas and opens his notebook.
"What is this?" Cas asks, turning it over like he’s never seen a CD before.
"Just some songs I like," Dean says with a shrug. "Thought you might be into them."
The next morning when he catches Cas in the hallway between classes, he’s humming the chorus to Ten Years Gone.
+
The air between them is less hostile after that. Dean brings extra snacks and slips them to Cas despite library policy, and sometimes they meet at Cas’s house instead when he has to be home to watch his younger sister.
In late October, when Cas comes down with a severe cold that keeps him out of school for three days, Dean barges in with homework assignments and a whole pot of his mom’s homemade chicken noodle.
"My mom swears by this stuff," Dean assures him, and sticks around until Cas has eaten a full bowl.
They hang out and watch movies the following weekend.
"Do you have plans for college?" Cas asks him as he’s fiddling with brochures. He’s got them strewn across his desk and his bed, along with half-completed applications.
"My brother’s going," Dean answers, running his finger along the edge of a brochure for a university in Michigan. He’s stretched out on Cas’s bed, propped up on his pillow. It smells good.
"But not you?" Cas asks, rolling onto his side to look at him.
"Nah," Dean says and hopes he drops the subject, but Cas lays a hand on his arm.
"I can help you apply for scholarships," he offers.
Dean doesn’t respond. His mouth is dry. Cas smiles, slides his hand to Dean’s shoulder, and squeezes.
+
Tutoring sessions shift from an obligation he spent time trying to avoid, to something he kinda enjoys, to something he looks forward to. A little before Thanksgiving, he gets to the library early to find Cas already waiting for him.
He’s reading something, probably a book. His hands are always full of them. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, like that kid in those Harry Potter books that Sammy reads. Dean takes a chance and sits on the same side of the table.
"Afternoon," he offers.
"Hello." Cas sounds downtrodden.
"You okay?" Dean asks.
"Fine," Cas says and bristles when Dean turns in his chair to face him.
"Hey," he says, softer, touching Cas’s elbow. "Talk to me."
"I got into my college of choice," Cas says, which isn’t an explanation at all.
"Isn’t that a good thing?”
Cas laughs mirthlessly. “For most people,” he says. “I’m excited about it. It’s just a big change.”
"Far from home?" Dean guesses.
"That used to be its appeal," Cas admits. He rubs his hands over his face and points to Dean’s textbook. "We should get started."
"We should get food," Dean counters.
He thinks Cas is going to turn him down, but he nods at the last minute. Physics can wait.
+
Cas’s mood hasn’t improved since they arrived at the diner. He repeatedly stabs an innocent piece of cherry pie. His plate looks like a damned massacre.
"It’s not just the school, is it," Dean says.
Cas, to his credit, shakes his head.
"I chose it to get away from my family," Cas murmurs. "Before this year, I didn’t have many reasons to stay here."
"Did you meet someone?" Dean asks, hating the sour jealousy coiling in his belly.
"You could say that."
"I don’t know much about relationships," Dean says, "but if you found somebody worth a damn, a few miles is nothing."
"You would wait for someone two thousand miles away?" Cas asks without looking up from his plate.
"Hell yes," Dean says with conviction, proud when it causes pink to rise in Cas’s cheeks.
"Four years is a long time," Cas says solemnly.
"People have cars. And there are these things called airplanes. You should check them out."
Cas laughs, but it comes out sad. “I can believe people would wait for you,” he says. “I have a harder time believing it about myself.”
"Well, if she won’t wait for you, she’s an idiot."
“He,” Cas corrects, which makes Dean’s stomach flip. “And he’s not.”
"He’s got you feeling pretty bad about yourself."
"I’m just feeling sorry for myself."
"I didn’t know you were dating anyone," Dean says. Cas shifts in his chair and looks around, everywhere but at Dean.
"I’m not," he says. "We’re just friends. I don’t even know if he…" Cas sighs into his hands. "It’s complicated."
"Look, if you like the guy, just say something. If he gives you any shit, I’ll kick his ass."
Cas is a long time before replying. “If another man asked you out,” he begins slowly, “what would you do?”
It makes Dean freeze, his mind working over the possibility that Cas isn’t talking about some other guy at school, but talking about Dean. His head is angled down, focused on his lap, and he’s shaking.
"Depends on the guy," Dean says, practically choking on his own voice.
Cas swallows hard. “What about me?”
Dean doesn’t hesitate before replying, “I’d be a lucky sonofabitch.”
It’s enough to make Cas’s head jerk up, for Cas to catch his eye. “And what if someone else came along, someone who wasn’t on the other side of the country?”
"Tough shit," Dean says, beaming, because he’s sure now. He nudges Cas’s foot under the table. “I’d rather have you.”