Behind Bleachers
Title: Behind Bleachers (for tacotheshark)
Author: skylinehorizon
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel
Genre: HS AU, light h/c
Warnings: swearing, bullying, violence
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: High school bully-related h/c
Summary: Dean trips over a kid with a bloody face behind the back of the school bleachers.
A/N: Written for the dc_summerlovin fic exchange for my wonderful recipient tacotheshark :) I really hope you enjoy this!
(AO3)
When Dean finds himself flying through the air and crashing into the back of the bleachers, he realizes he should have forgone the sunglasses and accepted that summer weather is shitty and wearing sunglasses does not mean the sun will come out. Either that or he needs to get his fucking eyes tested.
“Jesus Christ,” he snaps, regaining his balance and holding a hand to his head. He slips his sunglasses off and into his pocket, and lets out a slow breath as he realizes what he’s tripped over. Trust Dean Winchester to fall over an entire person.
Said person is now groaning and rolling over onto his back, and Dean sees the blossoming of pink beneath his right eye, the capillaries burst, on their way to a deep purple bruise. There’s a thin line of blood that’s stuck to his skin, a jagged, ugly line beneath his lip.
He leans down and looks the boy in the eye, watches as he runs a hand over his face and some of the dirt floats away through the air.
“You look like shit, buddy. Are you alright?” he says, dropping his bag to the floor and sitting down beside him. He crosses his legs and gets out his packet of Marlboro Menthol Lights he stole off his dad and slips one behind his ear while he searches for his lighter. “Someone do this to you?”
The boy doesn’t respond, just gives a small groan and leans against the bleachers behind him.
Dean slips the cigarette between his lips and lights it, inhales long and deep and blows the smoke out between his lips, the smoke rising into the air, carried along like plumes in the wind. He looks over to the boy, who’s watching him warily. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled tissue and passes it over.
“Thank you,” he says, taking it, finally. Dean smiles at him before taking another drag on his cigarette. There’s a small droplet of fresh blood rolling down his chin and Dean leans over and gently brushes it away with his thumb. The boy freezes beneath his touch, eyes wide and unblinking. Dean pulls his hand away, trying to hide his smile at this kid’s reaction to him and takes another drag of his cigarette. The boy dabs at the spot with the tissue Dean gave him and then shoves it in his pocket.
“This tastes like shit,” Dean says, and the boy frowns at him.
He clears his throat and asks, in a low voice, “Then why are you smoking them?”
Dean shakes his head and taps his cigarette, lets the ash float in the wind and cling to their clothes in the breeze. “Trust me, man. If I had anything else I wouldn’t go near this menthol crap. Don’t even know why my dad had them.”
The boy doesn’t say anything to that, just looks away and gingerly touches the darkening skin beneath his eye. Dean watches him wince and he smiles.
“How bad’s the other guy?”
“Excuse me?” he asks, looking back at Dean.
“You know, your eye.” He gestures vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette and notices the boy following the movement with distaste. Dean takes another drag and lets the cigarette hang there between his lips. “Who’d you fight?”
“Oh. Zachariah.”
“Zach’s a fucking douche,” Dean says, and stubs his cigarette out in the dirt by his boots. He watches as the smoke rises and the embers finally burn out. “You shouldn’t take his shit. What’s your name?”
The boy looks vaguely surprised and slowly reaches his hand out. “Castiel,” he says, and Dean stares at his hand because, really, who does that? Who shakes hands in the dark shadows behind bleachers? Nobody does that.
There’s a long silence as Castiel slowly retracts his hand and looks down, a small, pink blush clouding his cheeks. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I was being peculiar again.”
Dean can’t quite figure this guy out, but there’s something that interests him, something that feels familiar. He stands up and slips his bag back over his shoulder, and reaches his hand out. Castiel looks up at it in surprise and takes it, letting Dean pull him up.
“Dean,” he says finally, and Castiel smiles at him, small and soft. “Come on, Cas. Let’s go get some food. I’ll let you meet my baby.”
Cas follows him in an air of bewilderment and Dean walks a few steps ahead, smirking the entire way.
***
Dean takes him to one of those shitty diners at the edge of town, where there are only a few other customers drinking their lukewarm coffee and eating greasy burgers. They get milkshakes and take a booth by the door.
Cas looks at him from the other side of the table and takes a sip of his milkshake before asking, “Why are you doing this?”
Dean shrugs a little, not wanting to talk about it or examine it under a microscope. “Doing what? Taking you out to a diner? It’s not a big deal, dude.”
“No, I mean. Talk to me in the first place, as well as take me out. Help me. I’ve just met you.”
Dean looks down at his own milkshake and fiddles with the straw. Without looking up, he says, “It’s just, people can be dicks. My kid brother, Sam... He had some trouble, you know? With kids like that. He got hurt. I mean, he’s fine now, obviously. I know I don’t know you that well, but I don’t wanna see another good guy get hurt because of those douchebags.”
“He told me,” Cas starts quietly, sitting back against his seat and looking away. “He told me not to tell anyone about any of this.”
Dean lets out a measured breath and looks back at him. He wonders why Cas is telling him, how he obviously trusts him after knowing each other so little. He feels churning in his stomach, an icy coolness in his chest. This is something much too close to what Sam went through to feel comfortable about the situation. “I could kill that son of a bitch.”
Cas is smiling at him, small but genuine. Dean tries to not to smile but he can’t hold it back, allows himself, and says, “I kind of like you, you weirdo.” It’s not something he would usually say, especially not unprompted, but Cas seems to relax into a state of happiness after he says, so he doesn’t regret it.
“I like you too, Dean,” he says, pulling out a crumpled couple of dollar notes from his pocket. “Thank you. For everything.”
They pay for their drinks and Dean drives them back to school, sharing an awkward goodbye before heading off to their respective lessons. Dean sort of hopes this isn’t going to be the last he sees of him.
***
It’s a couple of days later, and Dean is walking along the deserted hallway, skipping math again, and running his hand along the lockers for any that could be loose enough to break into. He finds one that looks pretty easy to force open when he hears the thundering laughter of that asshole from the end of the hallway. Dean starts walking again and turns the corner towards the boys’ toilets, and sees Zach and another boy at the end of the hallway, crowding around Cas, his head ducked and the contents of his bag at his feet.
Dean straightens his shoulders and walks towards them. “Hey, dickface. Get the hell away from him.”
Zach turns, some smirking kid beside him that looks just as smarmy watching him too, and Cas looks towards him as he approaches, eyes widening in surprise and relief, and Dean ignores the pang of subdued happiness it gives him beneath the newly burning adrenaline that’s searing through his body.
“Winchester,” Zach says, and steps back from Cas to turn and face Dean. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Dean stops a few feet away from Zach and smiles at him, cool and menacing. “I’m not asking you, douche. Step away from him and stay away.”
Zach takes a step forward, leering at him, and stops when he’s only inches away from Dean’s face. He keeps his head held high and sees Cas shuffle backwards in his peripheral view.
“You his boyfriend, Winchester? You fuck him? You stand up for him because you love him and he’s your only friend in the entire--”
It’s at that moment that Dean feels a jarring sense of disconnect as he watches Zach fall backwards to the ground. He knows he’s not the one who hit him, he hadn’t even raised his fist yet, and when he looks up to see Cas’ fist in the air, Dean realises he pretty much loves this kid. Cas is standing there breathing heavily, staring in shock between Dean and Zachariah, and Dean shakes his head in amused disbelief before lunging forward and punching the other guy right in the face. He falls down with a satisfying crunch. Zach comes up for a swing and Dean dodges it before kicking him in his stomach, and he collapses backwards against the impact, groaning as he hits the floor.
“What is going on here?” a booming voice shouts, echoing down the corridors, and Dean grabs his bag, reaches for Cas’ arm, and starts running, pulling him along with him. They break out through the emergency exit doors and carry on running towards the back of the bleachers on the field, Dean laughing and gasping for breath the entire way. They stop and Dean lets his bag drop to the floor and runs a hand through his hair.
“Jesus, Cas, you punched him, you insane son of a bitch. That was awesome.”
Cas smiles at him, all teeth and gums, and Dean is taken aback by it, the first time he’s really seen him smile like this, seen him truly happy. He can hear Mr Singer shouting from across the field and Cas’ heavy breathing, his face drawing closer, and then their lips touching and Cas’ hot breath is mingling with his. It’s short and it’s sweet, and Cas pulls away after only a brief moment, eyes bright and happy. Dean brings his hand up to wrap around the back of Cas’ neck, before bringing their lips together again, and Cas is smiling against him.
Dean pulls back and says, “You know we’re gonna be in a lot of trouble for this. Probably get detention forever. Might get excluded. I mean, I could probably say it was just me, Singer would probably take it--”
“Dean,” he says, pulling the taller boy close, so their bodies are pressed together. “Shut up.”
Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise and then smirks. “Jesus, Cas. A little pushy, aren’t we?”
Cas looks up at him, a challenge in his smile, and yanks the taller boy forward, locking their lips together for another kiss, this time more intense and Dean sinks into it, a little stunned. They pull away as Mr Singer reaches them, and he escorts them both back across the field and towards his office.
Dean loosely circles his fingers around Cas’ wrist, and strokes his pulse point with his thumb and Cas smiles at him again. Cas slips their fingers together and gives a little squeeze before stepping into the office, Dean beside him. Dean sits down, looks towards Cas, and he smiles.