"The Joy That Is The Library"
Title: The Joy That Is The Library
Author:tacotheshark
Recipient:annabella_aar
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Cas
Genre: AU
Warnings: N/A
Rating: PG
Prompts Used: Librarian!Cas
Summary: A very brief history of Dean Winchester and the very cute librarian he meets on a whim.
The carpet reminds Dean of a desert-a boring, dry, boring, boring desert that stretches out for miles from the deeper brown, a dark mahogany, of his boots. It’s like that color’s old grandparent, weak and dusty and… boring. Not the sort of grandparent who’s been in wars with fantastic tales to tell-the sort who never lets a kid up from the dullest possible variations of, Back in my day…
Still, the place in general isn’t dusty-not by Dean’s standars, at the least. Though he wouldn’t mind-probably wouldn’t even notice-if it was. It does look cluttered, though, bookshelves and bookshelves of god-knows-what, and if he was a third his age he’d probably be marveling at the sheer amount of books.
Not today, no, and as he stands just feet from the doorway, he scans the shelves, trying to determine to the best of whatever these sorts of abilities he may have whether he has even an inkling of a chance of finding anything on his own. None, it seems, because he hasn’t a clue how to even begin, hasn’t even been in a library for what feels like forever. He’s never been a fan, never felt quite comfortable handling something he’d be expected to return in perfect condition, came to this feeling fairly easily after years of failing to do exactly that expected-still, a nearly forgotten class assignment with just days to spare and a library have the drive as the closest Barnes & Noble are enough to make any man desperate.
And so he approaches the desk up front-reluctantly enough, he’s always hated seeking help from strangers even as he lets the feeling stir quietly in his gut for a more convenient time. “Hello?” And the librarian looks up from whatever book he has in his lap, bangs skewed this way and that, and Dean’s definitely caught off guard by the near magnetic pull of his big blue eyes-goddamn, he’s actually cute; can’t Dean ever catch a break?
He coughs, almost sheepishly-“Can I help you?”
Dean says, “I’m looking for a book.”
And the cute librarian, with not a twitch of his thin lips until after it’s said, “We have those.”
It’s found soon enough, fifth shelf and second row fro, the top, arranges alphabetically no less for the librarian to reach up and skim his fingers across while Dean listens to him mutter the author’s name under his breath and thinks, so that’s how it’s pronounced.
His name tag says Castiel, written in what Dean assumes to be his own messy yet consistent handwriting, pinned to the front of his blue plaid button up shirt.
“Do you have a library card?” Castiel asks, mumbles almost as he skims the book’s inside cover, looks up the few inches Dean is taller than him as he sets the hardcover down on his semicircle counter.
“Nope”-Dean says-“Do I need one?”
“Yeah, you’ll have to fill out a form but it’s pretty quick,” Castiel tells him as he slides the form across the counter and hands Dean a pen.
There’s Dean’s name, address, phone number. Simple stuff. Well, what a way to get to know a person.
He leaves with a book and without a phone number for himself, and resolves to do it next time by the time he’s back in his apartment, book open in his lap, boring boring boring. But okay.
Next time.
Until then he treats that book like it’s the fucking Bible, one of Dean’s own made religion, writ with the most important messages in the world even though it’s just sociology, and boring sociology at that. In fact, he treats it with the sort of care he doesn’t think he’s treated anything with since his younger brother was born. Because, really-how terrible a second impression would a torn book make? Probably not one worse than would a book spilled on by drink or smudged with motor oil-all things Dean is determined not to have happen for not the first time in his life.
When the time comes and the book is miraculously still in perfect condition, Dean wants to throw up a prayer to the God of Books or maybe even The God of Dean Winchester’s Love Life. He looks smug as ever as he hands Castiel the book, and Castiel scans the front, back, and inside covers.
“Most people are pretty haphazard with the books,” he mutters with a sigh, a tiny smile crawling up on his lips. “I’ve really got to commend you on this, Dean.”
And even though he’s probably just seen it on the screen, Dean can’t help but be a bit warmed by Castiel’s use of his name.
Dean wants more than anything to start a conversation, but-what do librarians even like? He leaves again, marked surely by Castiel though he’s sure he’s made no impression himself. Books? Yeah, Dean likes books-not enough to carry on a conversation about them.
So research, eventually, is what he resorts to.
“Sam-you gotta help me, man.”
Dean’s brother’s voice is grainy through the phone, relaxed and amused. “Dean, I can’t help you pick up guys-I mean, it isn’t like I’ve had much experience with that myself.”
“Fine-well, how do you talk to someone who likes books? And… man, I don’t know.”
“Read some more books, maybe?”
And so, Dean reads books. Dean reads books until his coffee table is covered in them and he has to eat with a plate balanced on his lap and a cup caught between his knees.
Dean reads too many goddamned books, but it’s entirely worth it every time he goes back to return or retrieve, and sees Castiel.
“I know this is none of my business, but”-Castiel says one day, stamping one of Dean’s books with its return date-“I’ve never seen you before last month, and now you’re coming in every week… I was just wondering if you’re new here, or what-I’m… I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive.”
Castiel’s shyness is intoxicating, brings a grin to Dean’s lips that hasn’t been so genuine in years. With an over exaggerated shrug and a small chuckle, he says, “I guess I’ve just discovered the joy that is the library.”
Or the joy that is Castiel, the infatuation that won’t seem to leave Dean alone. He finds that he doesn’t quite mind it, granted he feels a bit like a teenage girl with a crush.
Except this isn’t a crush because it’s goddamn devotion, Dean realizes, it’s devotion and it’s fucked up because he doesn’t even know this guy, as much as he would like to. Love to. Be unable to consider a life without, or at the least trying to.
He rents books and he returns them, every week he goes in with a stack of a few and comes out with the same.
This is the sort of devotion Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt before, and the sort for convenience’s sake he doesn’t ever want to be under the burden of again.
After all, having a schedule to keep up with is exhausting.
“You on a reading binge or something?” Castiel asks him, a small smile on his lips present in his voice, the low but never dull monotone Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever be tired of.
“I guess you could call it that,” he says and, god, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Castiel’s smile. Or Castiel’s eyes, or Castiel.
It’s been two months, and Dean’s down to one book a week, and he knows more about literature than he’s ever really wanted to, and know not nearly enough about Castiel.
So, subtlety and quiet flirting be damned, he strolls into that library with his latest borrowed hardcover under his arm and strolls up to the counter, fueled with the confidence he’s never been able to shake, never tried. “Castiel,” he says, and Cas is there as always.
“Hello, Dean.” And there’s that smile, that shaggy but well kept hair. “What can I help you with today?”
“Not books, surprisingly.” Castiel’s eyebrows rise at that, in genuine interest it looks like. Dean’s glad. “Well, after I return this one. Which is entirely besides the point.”
Castiel urges Dean silently to go on, palms flat against the surface of his desk.
“I just wanted to suggest, since you have my number on file and all, that you call me sometime, maybe?” He almost laughs at himself, before he decides to let Castiel do that if need be.
And Castiel does, a light chuckle, and he looks up through dark eyelashes over raised lids. “Yes, of course. Dean-is that why you’ve been coming all this time?”
“You underestimate me, Castiel. Yes, but the assumption hurts.”
“Dean”-Castiel smirks-“If you wanted to go on a date with me, all you had to do was ask.”
Dean ends up coming to the same library for years to come, with a newfound appreciation of books and far more that is new, and he’s never been a fan of the library but now it seems that barren desert is that no longer, but a place to bear fruit to which nothing can compare.
Author:tacotheshark
Recipient:annabella_aar
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Cas
Genre: AU
Warnings: N/A
Rating: PG
Prompts Used: Librarian!Cas
Summary: A very brief history of Dean Winchester and the very cute librarian he meets on a whim.
The carpet reminds Dean of a desert-a boring, dry, boring, boring desert that stretches out for miles from the deeper brown, a dark mahogany, of his boots. It’s like that color’s old grandparent, weak and dusty and… boring. Not the sort of grandparent who’s been in wars with fantastic tales to tell-the sort who never lets a kid up from the dullest possible variations of, Back in my day…
Still, the place in general isn’t dusty-not by Dean’s standars, at the least. Though he wouldn’t mind-probably wouldn’t even notice-if it was. It does look cluttered, though, bookshelves and bookshelves of god-knows-what, and if he was a third his age he’d probably be marveling at the sheer amount of books.
Not today, no, and as he stands just feet from the doorway, he scans the shelves, trying to determine to the best of whatever these sorts of abilities he may have whether he has even an inkling of a chance of finding anything on his own. None, it seems, because he hasn’t a clue how to even begin, hasn’t even been in a library for what feels like forever. He’s never been a fan, never felt quite comfortable handling something he’d be expected to return in perfect condition, came to this feeling fairly easily after years of failing to do exactly that expected-still, a nearly forgotten class assignment with just days to spare and a library have the drive as the closest Barnes & Noble are enough to make any man desperate.
And so he approaches the desk up front-reluctantly enough, he’s always hated seeking help from strangers even as he lets the feeling stir quietly in his gut for a more convenient time. “Hello?” And the librarian looks up from whatever book he has in his lap, bangs skewed this way and that, and Dean’s definitely caught off guard by the near magnetic pull of his big blue eyes-goddamn, he’s actually cute; can’t Dean ever catch a break?
He coughs, almost sheepishly-“Can I help you?”
Dean says, “I’m looking for a book.”
And the cute librarian, with not a twitch of his thin lips until after it’s said, “We have those.”
It’s found soon enough, fifth shelf and second row fro, the top, arranges alphabetically no less for the librarian to reach up and skim his fingers across while Dean listens to him mutter the author’s name under his breath and thinks, so that’s how it’s pronounced.
His name tag says Castiel, written in what Dean assumes to be his own messy yet consistent handwriting, pinned to the front of his blue plaid button up shirt.
“Do you have a library card?” Castiel asks, mumbles almost as he skims the book’s inside cover, looks up the few inches Dean is taller than him as he sets the hardcover down on his semicircle counter.
“Nope”-Dean says-“Do I need one?”
“Yeah, you’ll have to fill out a form but it’s pretty quick,” Castiel tells him as he slides the form across the counter and hands Dean a pen.
There’s Dean’s name, address, phone number. Simple stuff. Well, what a way to get to know a person.
He leaves with a book and without a phone number for himself, and resolves to do it next time by the time he’s back in his apartment, book open in his lap, boring boring boring. But okay.
Next time.
Until then he treats that book like it’s the fucking Bible, one of Dean’s own made religion, writ with the most important messages in the world even though it’s just sociology, and boring sociology at that. In fact, he treats it with the sort of care he doesn’t think he’s treated anything with since his younger brother was born. Because, really-how terrible a second impression would a torn book make? Probably not one worse than would a book spilled on by drink or smudged with motor oil-all things Dean is determined not to have happen for not the first time in his life.
When the time comes and the book is miraculously still in perfect condition, Dean wants to throw up a prayer to the God of Books or maybe even The God of Dean Winchester’s Love Life. He looks smug as ever as he hands Castiel the book, and Castiel scans the front, back, and inside covers.
“Most people are pretty haphazard with the books,” he mutters with a sigh, a tiny smile crawling up on his lips. “I’ve really got to commend you on this, Dean.”
And even though he’s probably just seen it on the screen, Dean can’t help but be a bit warmed by Castiel’s use of his name.
Dean wants more than anything to start a conversation, but-what do librarians even like? He leaves again, marked surely by Castiel though he’s sure he’s made no impression himself. Books? Yeah, Dean likes books-not enough to carry on a conversation about them.
So research, eventually, is what he resorts to.
“Sam-you gotta help me, man.”
Dean’s brother’s voice is grainy through the phone, relaxed and amused. “Dean, I can’t help you pick up guys-I mean, it isn’t like I’ve had much experience with that myself.”
“Fine-well, how do you talk to someone who likes books? And… man, I don’t know.”
“Read some more books, maybe?”
And so, Dean reads books. Dean reads books until his coffee table is covered in them and he has to eat with a plate balanced on his lap and a cup caught between his knees.
Dean reads too many goddamned books, but it’s entirely worth it every time he goes back to return or retrieve, and sees Castiel.
“I know this is none of my business, but”-Castiel says one day, stamping one of Dean’s books with its return date-“I’ve never seen you before last month, and now you’re coming in every week… I was just wondering if you’re new here, or what-I’m… I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive.”
Castiel’s shyness is intoxicating, brings a grin to Dean’s lips that hasn’t been so genuine in years. With an over exaggerated shrug and a small chuckle, he says, “I guess I’ve just discovered the joy that is the library.”
Or the joy that is Castiel, the infatuation that won’t seem to leave Dean alone. He finds that he doesn’t quite mind it, granted he feels a bit like a teenage girl with a crush.
Except this isn’t a crush because it’s goddamn devotion, Dean realizes, it’s devotion and it’s fucked up because he doesn’t even know this guy, as much as he would like to. Love to. Be unable to consider a life without, or at the least trying to.
He rents books and he returns them, every week he goes in with a stack of a few and comes out with the same.
This is the sort of devotion Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt before, and the sort for convenience’s sake he doesn’t ever want to be under the burden of again.
After all, having a schedule to keep up with is exhausting.
“You on a reading binge or something?” Castiel asks him, a small smile on his lips present in his voice, the low but never dull monotone Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever be tired of.
“I guess you could call it that,” he says and, god, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Castiel’s smile. Or Castiel’s eyes, or Castiel.
It’s been two months, and Dean’s down to one book a week, and he knows more about literature than he’s ever really wanted to, and know not nearly enough about Castiel.
So, subtlety and quiet flirting be damned, he strolls into that library with his latest borrowed hardcover under his arm and strolls up to the counter, fueled with the confidence he’s never been able to shake, never tried. “Castiel,” he says, and Cas is there as always.
“Hello, Dean.” And there’s that smile, that shaggy but well kept hair. “What can I help you with today?”
“Not books, surprisingly.” Castiel’s eyebrows rise at that, in genuine interest it looks like. Dean’s glad. “Well, after I return this one. Which is entirely besides the point.”
Castiel urges Dean silently to go on, palms flat against the surface of his desk.
“I just wanted to suggest, since you have my number on file and all, that you call me sometime, maybe?” He almost laughs at himself, before he decides to let Castiel do that if need be.
And Castiel does, a light chuckle, and he looks up through dark eyelashes over raised lids. “Yes, of course. Dean-is that why you’ve been coming all this time?”
“You underestimate me, Castiel. Yes, but the assumption hurts.”
“Dean”-Castiel smirks-“If you wanted to go on a date with me, all you had to do was ask.”
Dean ends up coming to the same library for years to come, with a newfound appreciation of books and far more that is new, and he’s never been a fan of the library but now it seems that barren desert is that no longer, but a place to bear fruit to which nothing can compare.