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dance-in-moonlight · 2 years ago

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Suptober Day 17: Muse

College had done wonders for Dean's self-esteem and his development. He missed Sammy and their mom now and then, but nothing beat being independent and surrounded by his peers. While people were more or less forced to go to school, these kids had chosen college, specifically picked their classes and found a balance between studying and partying. That influence worked like magic on Dean.

Back in school he had first been a trouble maker, then the edgy bad boy everyone liked but nobody really stuck with. But in college he'd become an A-student, always coming to class prepared, syllabus in mind, homework done a few days early. He was thankful for the opportunity to make something of himself, to try something new, and he loved life on campus. His friends were here, new and old ones, and there were lots of things to do.

Next to his engineering classes, Dean had picked a minor in sports science after growing up a jock. He learned about the way the body worked and how to treat it right, which led to him filling up his schedule with football, soccer and baseball training wherever it fit. He got to train his body along with his brain in both his major and minor, perfect balance.

And because that somehow still wasn't enough for Dean, and because he needed money like most students, he was working with the art department when they needed him. Sometimes he just helped moving heavy boxes of supplies or set up the easels for class. His most frequent and favourite task, however, was modeling. Whether it was a portrait, nude painting or a detail study (sometimes all the focus was on his hands or eyes), he enjoyed watching the students practice. He enjoyed flirting and getting attention, but something about the objective, strategic eye of the art students made for a nice change.

Ever since the end of his third semester (he was now in his fifth) Dean had an extra reason to love his job though. One of the students, a quiet, mysterious one, had stolen his heart. Dean had been paired with him for detail studies occasionally, and met him on campus another few times. He knew that Castiel studied art and something in the sphere of humanities, that he had siblings and preferred sweet over savory. That was about it, but it was enough to make him long for more. For the first time since highschool, Dean found himself having a real crush on someone - daydreaming and butterflies included.

So of course, when twelve models gathered in the class room for one-on-one studies, Dean pretended not to see Cas as he sat on the stool next to his easel. Cas was currently bent over, digging through his bag to get his materials out and onto the easel. He was a little shorter than Dean, with black hair and sapphire eyes. What got Dean most excited was his raspy voice, which he hadn’t yet heard today, and the way Cas conversed. Their few encounters had been filled with deep talk and meaningful words, and Cas listening intenltly whenever Dean spoke. He cared, that was what Dean adored about him.

When the dark haired artist turned to him, Dean curled his lips into a smile. "What are we doing today, big boy?"

Cas' gaze followed Dean's figure from his eyes down to his ankles for a second, quick enough to miss it. Dean didn't. He didn't blame him, afterall Dean was sitting there in nothing but boxer briefs and a bordeux robe, ready for any type of study his assigned artist wanted to do.

Cas cleared his throat and picked up something from the easel. When he raised his hand to wave it in front of Dean's face, he recognized a selection of pencils.

"I'd like to work on faces", Cas explained, and with a glance to his easel, Dean found a sheet of paper fixed on a board instead of a canvas.

"You have really nice features, they'll make for a good study", Cas continued while sorting his pencils back. Dean couldn't help but grin at the comment. Had Cas just very indirectly told him that he found him pretty? When Cas turned to face him again, Dean batted his eyelashes, waiting for instructions.

"Are you okay with that, Dean?"

"Yep", Dean responded. "I'm paid to do anything you need me to, your wish is my command." Ah...too much? Apparently it was just right, because Cas chuckled and said "I'll keep that in mind" as he lightly took hold of Dean's jaw to turn his head a bit.

Dean was pretty sure that the thin fabric of the robe must've been vibrating with his racing heartbeat, but if it did, Cas didn't say anything about it. Instead he began to draw, mapping out Dean's proportions before he went into detail. At least Dean assumed as much, the way Cas had positioned his head, he couldn't see the artwork. He could only listen to the scratching of pencil on paper, imagining what was happening. Now and then, Cas quietly asked him to change his position a little bit so he could see his face in different lighting. And when Dean didn't understand, or pretended as much, Cas would put his fingertips on Dean's jaw and gently move his head by himself again.

"Can I ask you something?", Cas asked after about thirty minutes. He spoke quietly in order to not disturb the other eleven artists and their models. There was a low mumble in the room, and so far nobody had said anything about it.

"Anything", Dean responded.

Cas put his pencil down for a moment to look at Dean. "Why do you model?"

Dean found himself taken aback. He hadn't expected that question, and he wasn't sure there was a definite answer to it.

"It sounded interesting", he shrugged. "I like art. They wrote that they really need people to do this, and I..."

He trailed off, biting his tongue. Okay, maybe he did know the answer.

Cas noticed him waver, of course he did. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I was just curious because...well, I feel much safer behind my easel. I wouldn't enjoy having a class of people stare at me all at once."

"I don't enjoy it", Dean sighed, giving in. "I don't mind it. I do enjoy watching you guys work though. But...I like that during class I'm not being stared at for being handsome or naked or whatever, but because everyone's trying to improve their skill and I'm kinda just...there."

It was quiet for a few seconds after that. Dean was beginning to worry that he might have bored Cas to death, or that his answer hadn't satisfied him, when gentle fingers cupped his jaw to turn his head. Cas was leaning in closely, his eyes fixed on Dean's. In their position Dean was 98% sure Cas would kiss him here and now. If only he'd lean in a little closer...

"Are you alright, Dean?"

Ah, nevermind. In less than a second, Dean's expression turned from dreamy to defensive and he shook Cas' hand off of him. He wasn't a charity case or anything, why would Cas even come to that conclusion?

"I'm sorry", Cas added quickly, raising his hands. "It just sounds like you made some unpleasant experiences, that's all. I didn't mean to upset you."

Dean shifted in his seat, changing out of the now uncomfortable position to stretch his stiff limbs. Then he looked around himself, and when he found everyone else busy with their work, he sighed and looked down at his feet.

"People have always told me I'm pretty", he murmured. "And I liked that attention during highschool. But I have a brain and feelings too, you know."

Again, Cas was silent. And again, Dean felt stupid. This wasn't how he'd expected this afternoon to go at all. In his mind they'd flirted through the whole session, maybe Dean would have chatted him up about his favourite artists, or could've given him advice on muscle placement with his sport science background...

Cas' voice ripped him out of his daydream.

"I think you're pretty great", he said, looking at his drawing. "You're funny, you're smart and you're a good listener. You deserve to be treated accordingly."

Without thinking, Dean responded. "Go out with me."

His assigned artist looked over with a frown. "What?"

"Go out with me", Dean repeated.

"Like on a date?"

Dean began to waver, Cas’ reaction wasn’t very promising. "That's what I was thinking, unless you don't want to...?"

Cas was frowning, frozen in his movement. Dean wasn't sure whether he'd even listened. "So Meg was right, you have been flirting with me?"

"For the whole semester, but thanks for noticing", Dean responded dryly. He wasn't mad, if anything he was relieved. If Cas' lack of flirting was based on him being oblivious rather than uninterested, there was still hope.

Cas sank onto his bar stool and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "God, I am an idiot, aren't I?"

"Sometimes", Dean chuckled and watched as Cas shook his head, then straightened to look at Dean again.

"I'm sorry. I'd love to go out with you", he said warmly, with an expression that made Dean blush. The guy was too dreamy.

"We could start with coffee after class", Dean suggested, nodding towards the easel, "but first, let's see what you produced."

Still smiling, Cas turned the easel. The wood dragged across the floor with a squeak. When the artwork was finally in his line of sight, Dean gasped.

"Damn, Cas", he said and leaned forward to inspect the image of his face more closely. It was perfect, at least Dean thought so. It was incredibly detailed and looked just like him, nothing seemed to differ from what he saw in the mirror every day. And Cas has chosen a pose and perspective that made him look even better. It occurred to Dean that maybe, just maybe, Cas generally saw him like that.

"What do you think?", Cas inquired, watching Dean inspect the picture.

"I think you're incredibly talented", Dean gave back, still admiring the creation.

"Maybe a muse kissed me”, Cas chuckled.

"Oh you're gonna get kissed, alright", Dean murmured as he straightened up again, only to find Cas tilting his head in question.

"What?"

"Nothing", Dean smirked. "I'm looking forward to coffee."

#suptober22 #Destiel #Castiel #Dean Winchester #my writing #college au #muse

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

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Wait For It

Dean stalks out of the Impala agitatedly.

It's a sunny afternoon, and Sam's on the porch, coffee on the table next to him, flipping through his political science handbook. He looks up when he hears the car door being slammed, and his eyes follow Dean as he lands in the other chair around the table.

Then, without warning or premonition, Dean starts to talk.

He's got a new colleague.

Novak, he calls him. With gritted teeth, frowning eyebrows, and feeling.

They don't usually talk about people. So Sam listens.

Considering the amount of time Dean devotes talking about how Novak walked into his office, stride radiating importance as though he'd been summoned by Dean himself - well, he really must be a pain in the ass.

Over the next week, Sam's not always outside when Dean comes home from work. When he finally is, on a Thursday, Dean plants himself across him and starts speaking immediately.

Sam closes his book, purses his lips and pays attention.

Castiel, he's become.

Horrible, he's remained.

When Dean's done ranting, the sun's gone down. He gets up, hands on his hips. "He's just a jackass about everything, Sammy. Who's pretentious about eyecolor? Nobody's eyes can be that blue."

Sam nods sympathetically.

Dean goes away to make dinner, satisfied.

Midterms are round the corner.

Without really paying attention to it, Sam's stopped flipping through his handbook, and started highlighting in his textbook. He stays up late, and wakes up early, determinedly chipping away at the ginorminous block of syllabus, bit by bit.

He also stops being out on the porch when Dean comes back from work, and Dean tends to not barge into his bedroom to talk about the awful people he works with, so that's that.

But dinner isn't saved.

It's a simple conversation about mashed potatoes, and Dean goes off. "You won't believe how ridiculous Castiel is about honey, dude." Sam asks for a second helping, he also receives an anecdote on Castiel's ungrateful attitude towards Dean.

Sam doesn't even dare to mention his dislike for bacon once, for all the times Dean offers him it - because he's sure he'd get another indepth analysis of how Castiel hates Dean.

But when they settle down to watch Law & Order after dinner that night, Sam gets a chance to think. He wonders, not for the first time, how truly terrible Cas must be, for Dean to talk about him all the frigging time, and by the end of the episode, he's decided to be the pillar of support his brother needs, right now.

So when Dean starts, randomly, about how Castiel doesn't even appreciate good music, Sam whips out his puppy eyes, and listens to the entire tale.

Weeks pass.

His first paper is Tuesday, Ethics. Sam spends most hours of the day on his desk, holed up in his room.

It would be unfair to Dean to say he used up all the time Sam did spend around him, to talk about Cas.

(Which Castiel had ended up being, obviously.)

He only used like sixty percent of it.

"He's just...a weird, dorky little guy." Dean ends, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. His hands play with the hem of his jacket - he's still in work clothes.

Sam sighs.

"You know what?" Dean stands up. "I'm going to make coffee. Do I get you a mug or a thermos?"

"Thermos, please." Sam calls after him, gratefully.

"Okay. Carry on, bitch."

Sam feels guilty.

He's been so caught up in college, deadlines and exams, he's hardly talked to Dean except to thank him for all the coffee and sandwiches.

Dean may be a jerk all year, but he can get really supportive when Sam needs him to be.

Sam feels bad for not doing the same.

So when Dean puts a peanut butter sandwich in front of him, at one am while Sam panics through his last night revision, he looks up at his brother blankly and asks. "Hey, how's the guy who's been making your life hell? You stopped telling me about him."

"Oh, uh." Dean pauses.

Sam waits, but Dean takes too long, as if he's contemplating, so he takes a bite of his sandwich instead.

"He's not that bad." Dean finally lets out, exhaling into a hint of a smile.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"To you kicking Stanford's ass!" Dean raises his bottle, perhaps the sixth toast of the night, giant grin plastered on his face.

"I keep telling you the results are a far way from being out yet - but hear, fucking hear!" Sam clinks his glass to Dean's beer, smile equally wide. He's finally done. There's finally no more papers, no more tests, no more revision.

He made it through.

"I'm proud of you." Dean mutters lazily, leaning back on the seat.

"Y-yeah. I know." Sam returns joyfully, neither of them really thinking about what they're saying. They've been drinking for hours. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at his words. There's a moment of silence - well, as silent as it ever gets in the Roadhouse. Then Dean speaks up. "Guess what, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't even correct him.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask Cas out today." Dean declares, and Sam's eyebrows go up again, because while he's definitely known his brother's into guys for years, he hadn't expected Dean to come out like this.

But six beers in, and a declaration of pride out, Dean just ups and says it.

"I think I have a crush on him."

Many months go by. It's Sam's final year. And he's moving back onto campus.

"I'm going to miss you." Sam tells Dean, after they've finished lugging all of his bags into Jessica's room. Dean's half sitting on Baby's hood, and Sam has his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Shuddup." Dean throws back, and he definitely sounds weird. "I'm like, seven minutes away."

"Still." Sam grins, earnest.

"Yeah, alright. I'm not making you move out, okay?" Dean straightens, scoffing. "Have fun convincing Jessica to make you breakfast food at midnight."

"Yeah but," Sam laughs. "You live like, seven minutes away."

"Like hell I do. Get your ninety-percent peanut butter ass over here." Dean sighs, and Sam walks up to him, letting Dean pull him into a hug.

They hold onto each other, safety in the familiarity. Both of them know that they're probably not going to live together again. Sam has a plan after college, which doesn't involve moving back to Dean's. But they've shared a house for so long, it's going to feel weird.

It's going to be strange.

To lighten the moment, Sam whispers. "So, uh. Cas is moving in after I'm gone, isn't he?"

"He's probably already redecorating the place to get rid of your nerd cooties." Dean thumps him on the back, as they separate. There's a smile lingering on his face.

"What about your nerd cooties?" Sam bitchfaces at him.

"He likes those." Dean defends, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I bet he does." Sam snorts, and Dean reddens, realizing he just walked right into that, and then he just swears under his breath goodnaturedly as Sam walks into his new place.

Sam's phone rings.

It's only eight, on a Saturday, and Sam doesn't have to leave for office at nine like everyday, so he's sleeping in. Amelia's next to him, and she elbows him when the annoying ringtone wakes her before it wakes Sam.

"Sorry, babe." Sam tells her, kissing the top of her head distractedly, picking up the phone and sitting up when he hears Dean's voice.

It's trembling with excitement.

"Sam!" Dean gushes, and there's really no other word for it. There seems to be a commotion behind him, but the happy kind. Dean's tone is almost ecstatic.

"Dean?" Sam confirms, groggily.

"Dude, Cas just asked me to marry him!" Dean let out, almost breathless. "And I said yes! Of course, I said yes! We're getting married, Sammy!."

A smile grows on Sam's face. "Dude. You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!" Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at something Cas is saying apparently, because then he tells Sam he's putting him on speaker.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greets him, sounding thoroughly overjoyed.

"Congratulations, Cas." Sam says, beaming now. He's so happy for them both. Cas is amazing, and he gets Dean, and Sam knows Dean loves him so much. "And, uh, Dean? You better fight a good fight for my Bestmanship, versus Castiel's brother, okay?"

Dean laughs, and it's the kind of rare excited laugh which makes everyone around smile too.

Cas answers, instead, his voice just as excited. "Don't worry, I'd rather have Gabriel be the caterer."

Sam chuckles. "Good."

"Give the phone back a minute, Cas," Dean says in the background, and then it's off-speaker, and just Dean, again. "You're not busy being important or anything, are you?"

Sam looks around him. "No?" Dean hesitates for a beat, until Sam catches the gist. "Dude! Of course I'm not busy. Tell me everything!" Dean lets out a sound which is definitely a squeal, though he'd never own up to it. "How did it happen? Why did it happen so early?"

Dean exhales, happily, and Sam can picture the smile on his face.

"Wait, is there a ring? Dean, I need you to show me the ring." Sam adds, just before Dean starts to tell Sam about it all. Just like he had, at the very beginning.

Six days to the wedding, Sam sits on the old porch chair, tapping his pen on his notebook.

He needs to write a speech.

There's so much to tell. The two of them are adorable, for god's sake. They tend to be cheesy even in front of him, and so unaware of it - Sam wonders if they turn into mushy marshmallows when his back is turned.

Maybe he should include that in his speech. "Mushy Marshmallows" is a cute alliteration. Huh.

After an entire evening of thinking, he pushes himself off his seat to get a cup of coffee. (He'd try to convince Dean to make some, but him and Cas have an appointment with a florist for the wedding.)

In any case, Sam may not be done with the speech entirely, but he figures he's earned a break. You see, he's already got an unbelievably great title. He can work from there.

"How Dean Is The Worst Judge Of People."

He has a good first line, too. "Exhibit A: Novak-slash-Castiel-slash-Cas."

#destiel #deancas fluff #deancas fic #deancas au #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #castiel/dean #castiel/dean winchester #young castiel #young dean winchester #stanford sam #sam winchester fluff #sam and dean #destiel ficlet #domestic destiel #i wrote a thing #dean is bi

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