Chapter Text
Castiel looked around the room slowly. He felt a bubble of inappropriate laughter trying to make its way up from his chest to escape, but he was pretty sure that would earn him some pretty strange looks from his equally bored classmates.
The teacher was going over the syllabus for the semester, and as grateful that Cas was for the very detailed description of every single test, assignment, and quiz for the next few months, he really couldn’t focus on anything but the spit piling up at the corners of her mouth as she spoke. Occasionally, she would pause to take a breath, and the next utterance would be just forceful enough to turn the collected saliva into a projectile, launched at whatever poor soul decided it would be a good idea to sit in the front row on the first day of school.
Castiel had the forethought (actually it was more on the side of cowardice) to sit close to the back of the room so he could observe without being drawn into any unnecessary interaction. The closest student was a slender red headed girl who was busy trying to fold her syllabus into an intricate origami swan. She had smiled when he sat down at the start of class, and seemed to radiate a sort of carefree, comfortable attitude that Castiel himself had yet to master in the presence of others.
None of those observations were the actual cause of his out-of-place amusement.
Midway through the teacher’s explanation of why they would be learning to write movie critiques as part of their grade, Castiel had been struck with the sensation of being in a completely surreal situation. He had that sudden grounding punch of connection to reality strike him as he sat there, akin to having your ears pop after a change in elevation. He didn’t know how not-present he was until he was present.
And his present had him sitting in a classroom of a small, private art college on the first day of school.
Simple, really. A very simple setting, with a simple role to fulfill.
But reality up until then, had been dramatically different, and the sudden contrast between ‘junkie mental patient living in a halfway house while on probation’ and ‘fine art college student attending English 101’ was so ridiculous he wanted to howl with laughter.
But he held carefully onto the stoic mask he reserved for the judge, his PO, and that scumbag, Crowley who ran the halfway house. The mask he had carefully honed to protect himself and to appear that he had his shit together, when inside he was having a complete come-apart.
“Six times,” whispered a voice from his right.
Castiel glanced at the redhead who was still working on the creases of her swan.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
“Six times,” she repeated, “I’ve counted six times that she’s hocked a pretty sizeable loogie onto the front row in the last half hour.”
Cas snorted a laugh that he had to quickly turn into a cough. The teacher raised her eyebrows at him and he waved an apology at her and continued his cough charade for a few more seconds.
As soon as her back was turned, Castiel turned to his classmate to address this very important topic.
“I counted seven,” he deadpanned, “if you were to include the one that landed on her arm as she gesticulated while explaining her office hours.”
It was Red’s turn to stifle laughter. She looked over to him with a knowing smirk.
“Did we just become best friends?” she asked him with a mad gleam in her eye.
Castiel returned the smile, flashing teeth. He was about to respond when he realized how quiet the room suddenly was. He looked up to see the teacher glaring at them and the rest of the class focusing their general disinterest in their direction. Castiel muttered an apology as his face reddened. Probably not good to get in trouble in his first class on his first day.
The teacher huffed and continued her graphic description of what would happen if you turned in an assignment late. After a few moments, Red turned and gave him a guilty look mouthing an apology. He smiled and waved her off. He liked her. It felt childish to actually wish that maybe they would be best friends (he hadn’t had a best friend since sixth grade), but he was a goddamn grown-ass man. He should be cool no matter what. But looking at her Star Wars backpack and Pokemon digital watch and red Pumas made him want to squeal and proclaim them BFF’s and go ahead and set up the first slumber party.
Class ended none too soon, and Castiel shoved his rumpled syllabus into his messenger bag and stood up.
“I’m Charlie,” his new friend said, extending a hand gleefully, “sorry I got you in trouble, I do that when I get bored.”
“Not a problem,” Castiel replied. “I’m Castiel Novak.”
An awkward silence followed and he knew this would be the moment she would decide he was a weirdo and wander off. She’d probably sit somewhere else next class and avoid him in the hall.
“Soooo....” she said, quirking her brow and rocking back on her heels, “wanna go smoke a cigarette?”
He looked back at her, surprised.
“Absolutely,” he sighed in relief. They headed out down the English hall to the front doors of the school. He was glad he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t quit smoking yet- it seemed everyone his age was quitting. His sponsor had recommended he try to quit after he’d been clean for a year first.
They made their way to the pillar to the left of the entrance. There was already a small group of students gathered there, some leaning against the wall, some standing, others sprawled on the ground, talking and laughing, and of course, smoking.
Castiel alway enjoyed the fellowship that came along with being a smoker. He could be anywhere- a meeting, an appointment, outside a restaurant- and he would make friends with whoever else was smoking too. It was an excellent conversation starter and ice breaker. It kept both your mouth and hands busy so there didn’t have to be a lull in the conversation. You could always use ‘do you have a lighter’ as a conversation starter, or ‘I really should quit.’ It was also a good way to find out who had dope, or at least who were the people were that liked to party. It was the illusion of cool, the mystique of the badass, the ultimate timekiller.
Castiel pulled his pack out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Charlie, offering her one.
“Oh, no, I don’t smoke,” she said, plopping her books on the ground and sitting against the pillar. “I just could tell you might need one. And besides, I like to sit with the smokers because they are generally more interesting people to photograph.”
Castiel hummed thoughtfully at the camera bag he had just noticed she was carrying. He lit up and slid to the ground as well.
“Photo major?” he asked, taking a long drag, “or film?”
“Right the first time,” she said, “and I’m guessing by the eyeliner, tattoos, and monochromatic fashion that you’re in fine arts.”
Castiel looked down at his all-black clothing. “What? They’re easy to match this way.”
Charlie chuckled and held her hand out to take his wrist and examine the work on his forearm. She whistled lowly in appreciation. He had designed all of his tattoos and had only had that particular piece completed a month ago. It was a gift from a friend- his only friend at the halfway house. Meg was from a wealthy family but all the treatment centers in the world couldn’t keep her clean. So her parents sent her to Crowley’s dump of a halfway house hoping to teach her humility. She was cool and a good friend to Castiel, and they looked out for each other.
The tattoo actually started on his shoulder and twisted the length of his arm. It was black and gray ink (ha! Also monochromatic) and the linework was detailed and beautiful.
“Wings,” Charlie sighed, “I’m so jealous. I want to get a tattoo, but I’m a chicken. And also I’d probably get some cartoon character that will be obsolete in a few years. The one time I got drunk, my friend had to stop me from getting squirtle holding an umbrella tattooed on my left buttcheek. Reason number 243 that I don’t drink.”
Castiel snickered. This girl was really cool. And she didn’t drink, so that was a major plus. Castiel hadn’t really made any friends in recovery besides Meg, mostly because everyone was so much older. 25 was pretty young to be getting clean and sober, but Castiel had honestly felt like he’d already lived an entire lifetime by the time he went to rehab.
“Hey Ansel Adams,” said a voice from the direction of the front doors, “who’s your friend?”
Charlie’s face lit up as saw the owner of the voice approach. Castiel watched as a young man rounded the pillar and grabbed Charlie by the arms and hauled her up off the ground into a bearhug. She squeeked and kissed him loudly on the cheek. He chuckled and looked down at Castiel. The sun was at an angle but after he stepped to the right, Castiel recognized him from the class they were just in.
He was tall, broadly built, and pretty. Holy shit, he was pretty. He offered out a hand to Castiel who took it and dumbly shook it, wondering only for a split second if this adonis would haul him up and hug him too.
“I’m Dean,” he said, teeth flashing, “and you are…”
“Castiel.”
Dean plunked down on the concrete right between Charlie and Castiel.
“Castiel?” Dean said with a smile, “I like that, it’s different. Sounds French?”
It was more a question than a statement. Castiel shook his head, a smile slowly creeping its way across his face. It was hard to look directly at the boy without smiling, he was just so damn pretty.
“I’m named after an angel,” he said, “Castiel is the angel of Thursdays.”
“Oh…” Charlie said, dragging out the word, “I get it now, angel wings.”
Castiel nodded and took another drag of his cigarette to fill the silence. As if on cue, Dean pulled his out and lit up, grumbling about needing to quit.
“So, Cas,” Dean said, with an appraising eye, “I’m guessing fine arts?”
Charlie giggled, “I guessed that too, but it has yet to be confirmed.”
Castiel smiled. “You got me. I’m the college’s poster child for the fine art program. They dressed me this morning for the photo shoot and I haven’t had a chance to change. Usually I look more like a tax accountant. But Admissions didn’t like that- they said it would ruin the image the Fine Arts department needs to uphold.”
Dean was cracking up. Castiel felt a warmth bloom in his chest as he smiled broader. He had made this beautiful man laugh and he was simply breathtaking with his eyes sparkling and his nose crinkled up.
“Oh, whew, I like you,” Dean said wiping an eye, causing Cas to blush slightly.
Dean glanced down at his phone.
“Oops, shit, I gotta run,” he said, jumping to his feet, “I need to talk to my advisor before my editing class.”
“I guess that means you’re in film,” Cas ventured.
“Yep,” Dean said winking, “You’re looking at the next Scorsese.”
With that, he waved and spun, headed back into the school. Castiel watched his retreat and sighed.
“What was that?” Charlie asked knowingly.
Cas jolted slightly, having forgotten she was there. She was wiggling her eyebrows at him.
He reddened and looked away, hoping this wasn’t going to be an awkward conversation.
“Oh, I’m just kidding,” Charlie said quickly, “If you’re not out, I won’t say anything, I would never put you on front street like that.”
Cas looked at her gratefully.
“Was it that obvious?”
“You mean when you were ogling his ass?” she smirked, “I mean even I think he has a nice ass, and boys are not exactly my area of expertise.”
Cas nodded at the implication and felt relief. He sighed wistfully.
“It is an ass I’d like to bounce a quarter off of,” he said, scratching at his forearm absently while Charlie lost her shit, “Is he straight? He’s straight isn’t he.”
Castiel waited patiently for Charlie to stop giggling.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” she responded, “sometimes I’m not too sure. I’m really drawn to him. And I have this theory about gay folks being pulled together like magnets. In fact, when I hadn’t come out yet, wasn’t even sure really yet, I one day looked up and realized that every single one of my friends were gay or bi. I think I was able to feel more comfortable with myself being gay when I had surrounded myself with people who I felt comfortable with. Like I knew they would already accept me. And Dean seems the most relaxed when he’s with us.”
“Us?” asked Cas.
“Oh, yeah,” Charlie said, “my friend Kevin and I. He’s bisexual and Dean made friends with him too. He’s also in the film department. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon enough.”
“I feel like I’ve just been adopted,” Cas said with a touch of wonder in his voice, “and you don’t know anything about me.”
Charlie just smiled warmly at him.
“You’re older than most students, I’d say 25-ish? And that means life got in the way of going to school until now. You like me, so that means you’re awesome, and you like Dean’s ass, so that means you’re at least 50% gay. You probably have baggage like the rest of us losers, and art school? It’s a magnet for weirdos and head cases, so you’ll fit right in.”
Castiel couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. They stood up and walked back into the building together.
It was going to be okay. He had a few new friends and felt less like an alien than he did before class. He had another three hours left, then he could get to a meeting and call his sponsor. Something could actually work out for once in his life.