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Cas sat alone in the library, staring out a window but not really seeing the lacrosse field on the other side. Homesickness was winding its cold, clammy hands around his insides once again, worse today than it had been all week. This place was so much bigger, and louder, and stranger than his high school. There was no rulebook, no detention, no obvious hierarchy among the student body. The freedom left Cas feeling a little queasy.
He stood up and grabbed his books, heading for the on-campus cafeteria. Maybe he’d feel better if he ate. He pushed through the double-doors, staring out across the crowded room; perhaps he should sit next to someone, attempt a conversation. The thought made him feel prickly inside, like a curled-up hedgehog. There was a nice-looking red-headed girl sitting alone at a table, maybe she wouldn’t mind if he -
Crash. Cas felt all the air in his lungs escape as something collided heavily with his midriff. He stumbled back, doubled-over and off-balance, with harsh metallic clangs ringing in his ears.
"Whoa, dude! I am so sorry, I didn’t see you there." Cas managed to regain enough composure to glance up. Standing a few feet away was a guy carrying an empty tray and wearing a slightly concerned expression, his green eyes wide. Cas thought he recognised the man’s face. "You OK, man?"
"Y-Yeah," Cas said, straightening up. "I apologise."
"What? Nah, it’s fine, I walked into you," the guy said, waving the tray at him. "Mind helping me pick these up?"
Cas frowned, only then noticing that they were surrounded by fallen cutlery.
"I’m supposed to be taking these to a dinner thing for the staff upstairs," said the guy conversationally, bending down and beginning to gather up handfuls of forks. "That dick Head Chef, Crowley, he’s always getting students to do random crap like this, and I’m his favourite person to pick on. I’m Dean, by the way," he added, smiling confidently up at Cas.
After a moment’s hesitation, Cas bent down to help Dean.
"Thanks, man," Dean said. "What’s your name?"
"Castiel," Cas replied in a monotone. His name was often a source of hilarity to new acquaintances; he didn’t suppose this time would be any different.
"Castiel?" Dean repeated, looking intrigued. "Unusual. I like it."
Cas found himself blushing, and bent his head under the pretext of grabbing more spoons to shove back onto the tray.
"Aren’t you in my english lit class?" Dean asked suddenly, and Cas thought that the spontaneity in his tone seemed slightly forced. He looked back up at Dean. So, that was why the guy looked familiar; he usually sat a few rows in front of him in their weekly seminars.
"Yes, that’s right," Cas said, without inflection.
"Well, maybe I’ll see you there," Dean replied with an easy grin, picking up the last knife. Cas nodded silently, and went on his way.
English Lit Class came around too slowly. Cas found his heart beating a little faster than usual as he approached the seminar room. His homesickness hadn’t been so bad recently; he’d had other things on his mind for the past two days.
He took his usual seat in the back row, and cast a casual glance around the room. No sign of -
"Hey!"
Dean slid in next to Cas, dropping his bag heavily on the desk.
"Man, what a day," Dean huffed. "Barely ten in the morning and I’m exhausted. What’s new with you? Anyone else dropped a tray of cutlery on you recently?"
"No," said Cas quietly, "I’m very picky about who I allow to shower me in silverware." Dean laughed.
"I’m glad I made the grade," he said. He was close, his shoulder almost touching Cas’. Cas resisted the sudden urge to scooch closer, and occupied his hands by opening up his bag to get out his copy of Much Ado About Nothing.
"You mind if I share your copy? I left mine in my room, what a freakin’ dork." Cas slid the book to lie between them on the table, flicking to the correct page as their teacher arrived. While the class were reading through the left-hand page, Dean held the book open while Cas scribbled notes; on the right-hand pages, they swapped.
"I’ll scan this and print it for you," Cas offered at the end of the seminar. "If you want."
"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, his smile wider and warmer than last time they’d parted. "I’ll see you around."
Cas’ next class, Spanish, was boring and lonely in comparison. He found himself flicking through Much Ado About Nothing, reading Dean’s cramped notes. At the end of the scene they’d read, in large letters, Dean had written, “It was knife to meet you,” and drawn a small, grinning cartoon knife. Cas tucked the book back in his bag, feeling bubbles of happiness filling him from his toes to his hair.
The next week, they sat together again. Cas had arrived first, had experienced a moment of plummeting horror as Dean had arrived with a rowdy gaggle of five or six other people - but he’d soon separated himself from the group and walked over to Cas.
"You can sit with your friends," Cas said, as Dean sat down. "I don’t care."
There was a pause, while Dean shifted some things around in his bag.
"I wanna sit here," Dean said eventually. "If it doesn’t bother you."
"No," said Cas, "it doesn’t." He decided to leave it at that.
"How come you didn’t text me?" Dean asked, after a moment. Cas stared at him.
"I don’t have your number," he pointed out.
"Right," said Dean. He held out his hand. "Well, I’m gonna give it to you now, so you can’t use that excuse again." Cas repressed a smile and handed over his phone, watching Dean key in his digits. Their teacher arrived, looking hassled, and Cas pulled out Much Ado About Nothing.
"Do you mind?" Dean asked, shuffling closer. "I’m such a freakin’ dork, I left my book in my room again."
When he was reading through their notes in Spanish, he found a little cartoon fork holding a cell phone. “Don’t you forket about me,” said the note beside it.
Week three. Dean was a little earlier than usual, but still didn’t arrive before Cas.
"How are you, Dean?" Cas asked.
"Tired," Dean replied breezily. "Run off my feet, too busy. The usual. You?"
"A little homesick," Cas answered honestly, and then regretted it. He didn’t want Dean’s pity or platitudes.
"Homesickness sucks ass," Dean said. Cas smiled, really smiled, and Dean got out his phone, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "Still haven’t had any texts, Cas."
"I - didn’t know what to text you about," Cas said awkwardly.
"Anything, man. Send me one now."
"What?" Cas felt himself reaching for his phone even as he protested. "Dean, I don’t know what -"
"Whatever you want, Cas. It’s no big deal," Dean said, rummaging around in his bag for something. Cas pressed his lips together, and typed out a short message. He hesitated, then hit send.
Dean’s phone beeped. He tapped it and opened the message.
"Hello, Dean," he read out loud with a laugh. "Boy, Cas, you’re a real smooth talker."
"Thank you," replied Cas, deadpan. Their teacher entered the hall, and Dean turned to Cas.
"Can we share? I left my copy behind again, I’m a -"
"A freaking dork," Cas finished. Dean blushed.
"Yeah, a freakin’ dork," he said, his voice low and his eyes twinkling. He took the book out of Cas’ hands, flipping to the right scene.
This week’s doodle was a kind of fork and spoon hybrid, with the caption, “I’m a freakin’ spork, and so are you.” Cas smiled when he saw it, and pulled out his phone. “If I were an item of cutlery, it would not be a spork,” he typed out. A few seconds later, his phone buzzed. “U can lie to urself but not to me,” read the reply.
The next week, Dean nearly missed the class. He arrived, breathless and sweating, ten seconds after the teacher had begun talking. He apologised quickly, and began picking his way down the rows of tables towards Cas.
“‘Scuse me, sorry, coming through,” he muttered, climbing up the steps.
"Excellent timing," Cas whispered as Dean finally sat down. "I was just about to give up on you."
"Can’t miss our regular appointment," Dean murmured back, bending over Much Ado About Nothing and catching up with the notes Cas had been making.
"Hey, uh, Cas?" Dean said in a low voice, halfway through the class.
"Yes?" Cas whispered.
"D’you… d’you think you’d like to… hang out, some time this week? Like, not in class?"
Cas felt his brain splutter to a halt.
"Me and you?" he said slowly, wanting to be sure that he’d understood.
"Forget it," said Dean in a rush, blushing bright red. "It was just a thought, no big deal."
"I’d love to, Dean," Cas said quickly. "I’d like that a lot. How’s tomorrow for you?"
Dean turned to stare at Cas for a moment, open-mouthed, his eyes full of surprise. After a second, he looked back down at the book, wearing a wide, dopey grin as he casually replied,
"Oh yeah, tomorrow’s good for me. I’ll text you my address, yeah?"
"That sounds good."
Sitting in Spanish with an irrepressible smile on his face, Cas traced his finger over the cartoon of a waving teaspoon. “See you spoon!” read the note.
The next week, on the day before English Class, Cas pulled out his phone with a sick, angry feeling roiling in his stomach.
"I can’t come to class for the next two weeks. Have to help in the kitchens, Head Chef Crowley’s fault. He ensnared me on the way out of lunch, wouldn’t listen when I told him I had a class, just said he’d report me if I didn’t turn up," he typed, stabbing at each letter on the keyboard furiously.
Dean’s reply came through a few minutes later. ”Damn. I hate that guy. He probably couldn’t report u to anyone but best to be on safe side. Still on for Friday tho?” Cas felt the twist in his gut unwind a little.
"Yes, of course. And don’t forget movie night on Sunday. I’m looking forward to the Final Frontier." Dean had been introducing Cas to Star Trek over the past week.
"Hell yeah. Can’t wait. C u then" Dean replied. Cas sighed, allowing a small smile to crack through his frown. He’d been suddenly, deeply worried that without the class to tie them together, Dean wouldn’t want to hang out any more. It seemed, however, that Dean valued Cas for more than just his note-taking skills.
Two weeks later, and Cas was happy to be back in the English Lit classroom. The notes that Dean had made for them were more than decent, but he missed spending the extra time together.
It was time to admit it, Cas thought. He liked Dean. He liked Dean a lot. They’d been hanging out almost every day for the past two weeks, and every time Cas noticed some new, gorgeous detail about Dean - his freckles, his wide shoulders, the soft hairs at the back of his neck, his full-body laugh, the way his knees didn’t touch when they were sprawled on the bed, legs straight out, shoulders pressed close together in an accident that kept on happening.
Dean arrived, chucking his bag down on the table and breaking Cas’ train of thought.
"What’s up, Cas," he said, seeming a little distracted.
"The ceiling," Cas replied.
"Whoa, did - did you just make a joke?" Dean asked, pulling a mock-horrified face. "Don’t you know you could hurt yourself?"
"Shut up, Dean," said Cas, narrowing his eyes but smiling.
"Make me," Dean said, and then they were staring at each other and Cas’ thoughts were wrapped entirely around what exactly that would involve. He cleared his throat and Dean blinked. The teacher began talking, and Cas turned to Much Ado About Nothing, gazing thoughtfully at the page without reading a word. His heart was pounding.
How could he be friends with Dean, if every time Dean made some innocuous comment Cas’ mind fell into the gutter? He’d been trying extremely hard to avoid making his crush obvious, but it was clearly only going to get harder. He couldn’t possibly stop being friends with Dean, though, could he? Even the thought gave him a cold, curling feeling in his gut, like homesickness but a thousand times worse. He pushed the idea away. He’d just have to get better at ignoring how he felt.
The lesson passed far too quickly, and soon Dean was pushing Much Ado About Nothing across the desk towards Cas and then dashing off, much faster than normal and without saying goodbye. He probably knows, Cas thought glumly. He knows, and now he doesn’t want to be my friend. He probably doesn’t want to see me again. I’ve ruined it.
He walked to Spanish like a zombie, almost colliding with several people and a few walls in his abstraction. Settled in his chair, he pulled out his copy of Much Ado, more out of habit than hope. He flicked to the right page.
Waiting for him at the end of Act Four, Scene One, he found a doodle of a large, long-handled spoon. In smaller, shakier letters than usual was written, “I think I’m a ladle bit in love with you.”
Cas ran. He tore across campus, feeling his bag jolting against his shoulder, and a stitch in his side. His breathing was heavy, and his face was bright pink, he was sure, but he threw open the doors to the cafeteria. He was sure Dean would be here, he usually got himself a coffee after class -
Crash. Dean’s tray was loaded with cookies and a slice of pie this time, but it still made an incredible noise as it clattered to the floor.
"Dean," said Cas, clutching his stomach where the tray had hit him.
"Cas," said Dean, his tone intense, almost hushed. He made no move to pick up his fallen plates, but clung to his tray with white-knuckled hands.
"Dean, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to -"
"It’s fine," Dean interrupted, tense as a tightrope. "Why, uh. What are you doing here, don’t you have -"
"Your note. Um. In our book," Cas said, hearing the quiver in his voice.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, letting the other fall to his side, still clutching the tray.
"Yeah, that. Do you - do you mind?"
Cas stared, and then stared some more. Dean… didn’t know? Dean was worried that Cas was going to reject him? The idea was ridiculous.
"What are you smiling for?" Dean demanded, but there was a hint of hope growing in his eyes.
"You’re a dork," said Cas simply, and stepped forward, and kissed him. Dean went completely still for a long moment, and then wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, dropping the tray and gathering their bodies together, pressing close. Dean’s mouth was warm and sweet, the sweep of his tongue over Cas’ sending electric sparks shooting up his spine and exploding in his brain, as though a single kiss could transform his whole world into fireworks; he bit at Dean’s lip, and grinned when Dean hummed with enjoyment.
"Dean," he murmured, staying close enough to Dean that their lips still touched as he talked.
"Mmm?" said Dean, sliding his hand to rest on Cas’ hip.
"I like you." Dean smiled, and pushed his hand slightly higher, under Cas’ t-shirt.
"In fact… there’s no one grater.”
It took Dean a few seconds. When he got it, he groaned. And smiled. And kissed Cas, twice.
"Your jokes are worse than mine," he said.
Three years later, Cas came back to his room to find that old copy of Much Ado About Nothing on his desk. He smiled, a little sadly, remembering the start of his relationship with Dean.
Everything was changing soon. College was almost over, and whilst Cas knew what he wanted, he wasn’t sure if Dean was ready to settle down. Maybe he’d want to spend some time apart, take a break or even end things completely, start afresh.
Cas picked up the book, wanting to read through the handwritten conversations they’d had during class, and look at the stupid little notes Dean had left at the end of some of the scenes. He ran his fingers down the cracked spine, and flicked quickly through the pages. He frowned, opening up the last page.
There was something small and round taped to the back cover. Cas stared at it, and then started peeling at the sellotape with shaking fingers. He read the note:
"I want my life with you to share,
Cas, would you my silverware?”
The ring, slim and silver and perfect, sat twinkling in Cas’ palm.
"Silverware, ‘cause I want you to wear my silver, get it?" came Dean’s voice from the doorway.
Cas turned to him, his heart a rapture.
"Yes," he said.
"Good. Wait, yes you get the joke, or yes -"
"Yes, I’ll marry you, you dork,” Cas said, striding across the room and pulling Dean into a fierce kiss. “You’re ridiculous. You’re amazing.”
"You’re alright, I guess," Dean replied. "I’ll give you plate out of ten.”
Cas went still.
"That is the worst one you’ve ever done," he said finally.
"Yeah, I’m not proud."
"I mean it, Dean, that was truly terrible."
"I’m sorry." Dean kissed Cas’ neck, moving along his jawline.
"I might call off the wedding. It was that bad."
"Sorry, you can’t. No takesie-backsies."
"Fine." Cas paused. "As long as that was the glasst one.”
Dean shook his head sadly.
"That was worse than mine," he said.
"That’s not possible, Dean."
"No, really. Now I’m the one reconsidering."
Cas leaned up to kiss him, long and slow, enjoying the graze of Dean’s stubble on his chin.
"I love you," he whispered. "And your jokes are worse than mine. And I love you."