fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: March 2012
Universe: College/University AU
Fandom: Supernatural (2006)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,348 words
Warnings: Drug Use, Medical Inaccuracies, etc
Notes: Not reread…sorry!

Dean is making a huge mistake here.

There are plenty of things that can go wrong: he could end up in jail for disturbing school property without The Dean’s permission; the person he’s doing this for can just, not like him back; and then there’s the whole issue with how he’s a poor college student and obtained these stupid lights in a not-so-legal way–but he‘s worth it, he’s probably worth everything.

Dean came to college with one thing in mind and that one thing was to get through his courses and not waste the thousands of dollars his family was spending on him.

Halfway into his Junior year, he’s actually accomplished that so far.

Castiel also happened, and he wasn’t someone that Dean had really expected, either. Castiel’s different, a Theology and Pharmaceuticals double major (“What better way to discuss religious issues than to be stoned while doing so?” Castiel had said, while probably blazed, when Dean had first asked) with a minor in Social theory, because Castiel’s probably the most intelligent person Dean has ever met whilst also being the laziest.

But Cas is great, even when he’s two sheets to the wind shitfaced, and even that one time when Dean walked into Cas’ dorm to wake him up for his mid-morning final and he found him with his face swimming in his own vomit.

Dean has probably liked him since they met in the standard English course they were required to take Freshman year. He wasn’t so eccentric then–he was a little more humble and was more focused, but soon the college life got to him, and Dean doesn’t mind so much anymore because they’re young and Cas likes it and that’s really all that matters, right? He’s not really hurting himself, either, contrary to popular belief.

But yeah, so, Dean likes Cas, and Cas may or mat not like him–probably not–but he’s tired of holding it all in inside, tired of carrying it around and pretending like every touch from the other man doesn’t completely set his skin ablaze.

So, he did the responsible, smart thing, and bought a shit ton of lights from a local hardware store, because they were Cas’ favorite to look at while completely smashed, and it’s finals week so it’s not like he’s going to be anything but stoned.

It’s taken him four hours to deck out their dorm hallway in these lights, and half of them ended up exploding on him, as his hands may have been shaking while doing this and he’s more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. Seriously, this is some nerve wracking shit, because Dean feels like he’s laying his entire heart out for some guy whose possible reciprocal feelings haven’t even been explored yet–and may never be if Dean doesn’t metaphorically embrace the pair of balls he was born with and knock on his fucking door already.

Dean gets passed all of the sentimental bullshit after standing outside of Cas’ dorm room door for about twenty minutes, and after looking back to make sure most of the lights are still blinking, he knocks on the door, loud and sharp.

He hears mumbling and crashing in the background (yeah, definitely blazed) and then the door opens and Cas’ hair is sticking up in odd directions, the “weed be cute together” shirt that he’s grown so fond of since Dean made it for him for his Birthday a year ago hanging off of his shoulders. His eyes are glazed over, bloodshot but crystal clear, the depths of them proving just how skilled he was at willing his mind to work in a way that would otherwise prove to be impossible for most people.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, voice pure gravel and unadulterated sex. There’s a swirl of interest that gathers in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He wills it to go away, thinking that a voice that he hears nearly every day shouldn’t make his body react this way anymore.

“Hey Cas,” Dean answers casually, and yeah, he might be smiling too fucking big for his face, but it’s not like Cas really notices (or cares) anyway. “I need to show you something,” he adds on, after he’s had enough of the “I’m too high for this conversation so I’ll just stare at you instead” stare that Cas is directing at his face right now.

“What’s that?” Cas asks, and it’s almost like he’s blowing smoke into his face, but Dean doesn’t mind. He doesn’t really like pot, or the smell of it, not really, but something about Cas smoking it is appealing to him–but, now that he thinks about it, everything Cas does is appealing to him, so he’s more than a little biased.

“Just come out here,” answers Dean, willing the nerves to not creep into his tone.

Cas gives him a bewildered, curious look, tilting his head like a startled puppy and all, but comes out into the hallway nonetheless. The look doesn’t fade from his eyes when he sees the lights adorning the hall, and there has to be at least a thousand of them, all blinking and twinkling brightly, coloring Cas’ face so beautifully that it’s hard for Dean not to kiss him.

“Lights,” Cas breathes, fingers reaching out to touch one of them that is at least fifteen feet away from his face, and that’s when shit hits the fan.

The whole thing is kind of a blur, but Cas ends up reaching too far, and falls flat on his face, arms flailing wildly enough to knock some of the lights down. There’s screaming and Dean realizes belatedly that it’s coming from his own mouth, and he sounds like a fucking girl, but Cas is lying motionless on the floor.  It’s really hard to see if he’s dead or not, because the lights he yanked off literally cover all of his face and torso, but then he hears the increasingly pained whimpers escaping. And those, those are definitely coming from Cas.

“Cas?” Dean asks, approaching the still motionless figure. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, Cas’ body springs into motion, limbs moving awkwardly and in every-which direction, trying to get the lights offer them. “Dean,” he says, calmly, belying his jerky movements. “Why are they’re glowing snakes on me and how come they’re not biting?”

Dean can’t help but laugh at that, but then he happens to see the blood gushing out from Cas’ forehead, and pure, hot panic runs through his veins. He springs into action.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he says, practically ripping the wires from his best friend’s body before hauling him up and hightailing it out to Cas’ car.

“Why?” Cas asks once they’re seated, playing with Dean’s fingers as he tries to get his fucking seat belt buckled, fingers pushing away Dean’s hands. Dean finally has enough of it, and holds Cas’ hands above his head with one of his own, and the whole ordeal is almost worth it when Cas lets out a fucking adorable giggle, like it was all just a game to him.

“Because, you probably have a concussion and I don’t want to be responsible for the death of Castiel Novak,” he says.

Castiel doesn’t get it, but Dean didn’t expect him to, so he just shrugs and feels eyes on his back all the way to the hospital’s emergency room.

*

“It’s going to take at least thirty minutes until a doctor is available to see him,” the nurse-type woman says when Dean runs up to the counter, Cas following sluggishly behind, giggling into his hands as he goes.

Dean levels a glare at her face. “Look, lady, my best friend might be dying, and I ain’t gonna sit here waiting until he does.”

The woman, unimpressed, smacks her gum quite obscenely and hands him a clipboard. “Lucky for you, your ‘friend’ is in a hospital,” she quips back.

Dean grunts and takes the clipboard from her hands forcefully when he realizes that she isn’t going to help him, and drags Cas into the waiting room area.

“Gonna be a while, Cas,” Dean says, in an apologetic tone.

Cas only looks at him, eyes a little less bloodshot, but definitely more glazed, and it’s then that Dean realizes that the pain is probably setting in now. “Pretty,” Castiel breathes, his eyes focused on a shiny pen a woman across from them is using.

Dean sighs, because this seriously can’t actually be his life right now.

*

The doctor comes out exactly forty-five minutes later, calls Cas back, and Dean has to follow because he’s his potential might-be-might-have-been-if-Dean-didn’t-royally-screw-up boyfriend, and also the hospital is a scary fucking place. Especially when said friend is exceptionally high and possibly sporting a concussion.

Castiel is practically liability in this situation. It’s only the right thing to do for Dean to follow him, and it’s not at all because Dean’s going to sit there and harass the doctor with questions to make sure Cas ends up being okay.

“What happened, exactly?” The doctor–Dr. Meyers, as his name tag so helpfully reads–asks.

Castiel opens his mouth, but Dean beats him to the punch. “He fell in our dorm hallway and hit his face on the corner of the crown molding,” Dean honestly doesn’t know what Cas hit his face on, but that’s his best guess.

The doctor hums, and then looks at the gash. “Well, he’s going to need a couple stitches, but other than that, your friend is fine.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “No long term damage?”

“No.”

“He’s not going to suddenly wake up and want to eat my brains?” The last thing that Dean really needs is to have Cas suddenly wanting to eat him alive (and not in the fun way)–not even Cas can make a Fido-esque future look even slightly appealing.

The doctor levels him with a questioning stare, and it’s enough to rival Cas’. “No,” he says, his reply slow and deliberate.

“Good as new?”

“Yes,” The doctor says, seemingly exasperated now.

Dean grins at him, feeling satisfied and just on the right side of that amusement you get when you annoy the utter shit out of someone. “Great. Thanks for your help, doctor.”

*

Cas ends up getting two stitches and a fucking Hello Kitty sticker (“Now, that’s one fabulous Kitty,” Castiel had remarked seriously, and then Dean slapped his hand over his mouth, vowing that this would be the last time he ever took a high person to the hospital) because Cas is a maniac and likes stupid things. The doctor prescribes him pain medication, and Dean has to bite his tongue on the “not needed” that wants to come out of his mouth. It’s not like Cas isn’t already stocked, so Dean tucks it away into his pocket and ends up ditching it in a trashcan on the way to Cas’ car.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean doesn’t even know what Cas is thanking him for, because as far as Dean is concerned, he royally fucked up tonight and there’s probably no way Cas will remember this night anyhow, but seriously, worst attempt at wooing ever.

“For what?”

“Just, you know, for being awesome.”

Dean most definitely doesn’t blush on the way back to their dorm building, but if he turns up Led Zeppelin a little louder than necessary, then it’s all because of the fact that Cas is okay, and as far as Dean knows, isn’t going to die today.

*

When they get back to their dorm hall, Dean looks at the mess that he inadvertently created, and looks at the gauze on Cas’ forehead, and breathes out apologetically. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel looks up at him, eyes more alert and focused; alarmed. “For what, Dean?”

Dean bites his lip. “For ruining everything,” he says. “I had great things–”

And then Dean can’t really talk because Cas is kissing him.

Dean arms thrash about wildly for a second, but eventually settle on Cas’ hips, and he has enough state of mind to feel Cas’ arms slide around his neck, and then everything is clouded over by Cas. His mouth tastes like the toothpaste he uses mixed in with the faint taste of weed and the chocolate that Cas has to buy in excess because “munchies are the devil incarnated”.

Dean tugs him closer, his lips pressing back into Cas’, and he’s never felt so light before, feeling Cas’ tongue gently slide of Dean’s lips.

They kiss lazily for a few moments, just enjoying the tastes of each other’s mouths and exploring, learning each other. Eventually, though, Dean has to pull away, because while this is possibly the best thing to happen to him all year, he wants to know why it’s happening in the first place.

Dean flushes brightly, cursing his too-pale skin. “Not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy that,” Dean says, “but what was that for?”

Castiel smirks slightly, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, and he shivers involuntarily. “Dean, you drove me to the hospital after I hurt myself,” he says, like this explains everything.

“I’m not following you here. . .”

“You threatened the hospital staff,” Cas elaborates, and at Dean’s still “I-Don’t-Understand” look, says, “you strewn up thousands of lights and it would take an idiot not to realize what you were planning, Dean.”

“Oh,” Dean says, and then, because there’s no use in not acknowledging it anymore, says, “I like you, Cas.”

Cas tilts his head. “I know,” he says, slowly, that bastard, but Dean smiles anyway.

“Expression of mutual feelings would be appreciated,” Dean suggests in a too-obvious voice.

Cas sighs, like Dean is the most difficult human being in the world, when he was the one that tried to touch lights fifteen feet away from his face.

“Just kiss me, you stupid idiot,” he says, and Dean doesn’t hear it back because he feels it on his lips.