Chapter Text
Dean rolled over in bed and groaned, not willing to face the day. He would give nearly anything to just stay in bed for the next...forever. He wasn’t even sure why he had agreed to this, why he had said he would go. He could just ditch; it’s not like anyone was really counting on him to be there. He didn’t have a date to drag along, or anyone that really cared enough to be concerned if he just didn’t show up. So why the hell was he even getting out of bed? Sometimes the disconnect between what his brain wanted him to do and what his body actually did was infuriating. Although, honestly, it had probably saved him a lot of heartache and some very probable jail time over the course of his life.
The entire day, hell...the entire week, his attention kept drifting to blue eyes and dark, unruly hair which eventually led to the confusing swirl of unresolved emotions that surrounded what they had been, or hadn’t been. Would he be there tonight? Would he run up and punch Dean in the face like he totally deserved? Would he even acknowledge Dean or act like he didn’t exist? It had been ten years, surely he had forgiven Dean by now….at least he hoped so. He ate a quick breakfast, went for a run, tinkered around with his car, cleaned up the house, and did literally anything to keep his mind busy throughout the day until it was time to get ready. He showered and threw on the one pair of jeans he owned that didn’t have grease stains or holes along with a simple black button up, quickly rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He slipped on his beat up black converse sneakers and, after one more glance in the mirror, figured it was as good as it was going to get. He swiped his wallet and keys off the counter, patted his pocket to make sure he had his phone, and headed out the door, still not completely sure why he was even leaving the house at all.
He pulled into the parking lot, the Impala’s engine rumbling loudly, and found a suitable parking spot. He turned the engine off and sat there for a few minutes watching others walk inside, a large banner hung over the doors welcoming them all back, like they wanted to be stuck in the same small town ten years after being told to fly and be free and make something of themselves. It appeared most of his old classmates walking across the parking lot had someone on their arm, a spouse or significant other, so they had that going for them, more than Dean had that was for damn sure. Dean heaved a heavy sigh as he opened his squeaky door and headed inside, not really ready to make awkward small talk with people he didn’t really care to talk to about things he really didn’t care to talk about.
His game plan was to sneak in undetected, find a table or chair off to the side in the shadows, stay for just long enough to say he went, and then slip out. Unfortunately, as soon as he opened the door, a familiar face spotted him and made it known he was there with a shrill noise that he could only describe as a screech.
“Oh my God! Dean Winchester? Come here, how have you been?!” Becky squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. She was a few years younger than him, but for some reason had been infatuated with Dean when they were in high school. He had always been polite, but dismissive.
“Hey Becky, why are you here? Aren’t you a few years after us?” he asked, detangling himself from her vice grip hug.
“Yeah, but your class president asked me for help...we are kind of together,” she loudly whispered. Dean racked his brain trying to remember who the hell their student body president had even been when Chuck walked into the little entryway and slipped his arm around her waist. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he held his hand out to Dean.
“Hey there...Dean right?” Chuck asked. It took everything in Dean not to roll his eyes at the little man as he reluctantly returned the handshake. Chuck knew damn well who he was, everyone did.
“Yeah, Winchester. How have you been?” Dean asked, trying to keep things civil. He was well aware he had plenty of people that would be there tonight that weren’t his biggest fans. Dean hadn’t always been the type of guy “upstanding” students wanted to be around: he partied, slept around, and couldn’t really be too concerned with his grades. He had given up caring long ago, stopped trying to justify his actions to others who had no clue what he had dealt with back then. Raising his little brother after his mom died and dealing with his abusive, alcoholic dad that thankfully was hardly ever around, he really couldn’t be bothered to give two shits about algebra or stress over finishing a dissertation on Hemingway.
“I’ve been alright. Becky, sweetie, can you come help me a second?” Chuck asked curtly, throwing a polite smile over his shoulder as he dragged Becky away.
“Check in at the table Dean! I’ll come find you later to catch up,” Becky shouted over her shoulder as she was whisked away. Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face as he walked over to the table Becky had indicated. There were posters propped up along the back of the table covered with old pictures, spanning the four years his graduating class had spent at the school. His eyes roved over them as he quickly wrote out his name on a name tag and stuck it on his shirt rolling his eyes. He continued looking over the pictures, grinning at those containing people he recognized, sparking memories to quickly flash to the surface. Just as he started drifting away, toward the main room, his attention was drawn to a younger version of himself. He was glaring up at the camera, clearly not thrilled with whoever was wielding it, even though it had probably been Charlie. After all, she was the only one brave enough back then to ignore Dean’s grumbling and overall shitty personality. In the picture he had a cigarette in hand, his old, brown leather jacket on, and a beautiful blue-eyed boy next to him with an arm slung over his shoulders. The other boy gazed up at the camera with a wide genuine grin plastered across his face and dark hair that stuck up in random directions--it had always been a mess, but Dean could clearly remember his hands tangled in it just minutes before the picture was taken, making it even more of a disaster than usual. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying any attention to him and plucked it off the board, shoving it into his pocket.
He slipped into the large gymnasium and glanced around. The decorations were typical of any reunion, or high school dance for that matter. Streamers in the colors of their alma mater were twisted together and wrapped around door frames, hung from the basketball hoops, and plastered in what appeared to be random designs across the painted concrete walls. There was music playing, tables scattered throughout the room in no discernible pattern or order, leaving a sort of dance floor in the middle just in case anyone felt the need to dance. There was, however, also a makeshift bar along the wall to his right, thank you Chuck. He quickly grabbed a drink and made his way to one of the empty tables in the back corner of the room, settling in, content to people-watch. As he sipped his drink, his eyes drifted over his former classmates as too many of them squealed and flailed upon seeing someone they “hadn’t seen in like forever.” Had these people never heard of social media? He rolled his eyes and set his whiskey down as someone slid into the seat next to him.
“I see you haven’t grown out of your sullen and antisocial phase,” Bela said before grabbing his drink and taking a sip. Like always she was dressed to impress: a simple black dress hugged her curves in all the right places, the neckline plunged just low enough to draw attention but not be obvious about it and the hem rode up just high enough on her thigh when she sat down to draw a wandering eye or two.
“Hello Bela,” Dean said warmly. She was maybe the one person he had actually been looking forward to seeing.
“Hi Winchester. How have you been?” she asked kindly, resting her elbows on the table.
“Eh, you know, I’m here,” Dean said, shrugging; “how about you?”
“About the same,” Bela responded, downing the rest of Dean’s drink.
“You going to get me another one now?” he asked, eyebrows raised questioningly.
“I was thinking you could go get us both one,” she said, batting her eyelashes. Dean groaned as he got up.
“Can I just say I haven’t missed you,” he said as he walked away. Bela simply smiled back innocently, so he huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes as he turned his back to her.
He strode across the room and ordered two more drinks, throwing a tip in the jar. While he waited he looked around, trying to figure out if there was anyone else he should try avoiding for the short time he planned on being there. Then he spotted an all too familiar mop of dark, unruly hair walking through the door, Dean spun away quickly, trying to catch his breath.
Fuck.
The bartender handed him his drinks and he practically ran back to the safety of his dark, secluded table. Bela, of course, noticed the near-frenzied state Dean was suddenly in when he handed her drink over and sat down. She started looking out over the room, trying to piece together who may have sent her tablemate into a panic; then her eyes landed on him and a wicked grin spread over her face.
“Ah, your blue-eyed angel is here,” she cooed.
“Shut up,” Dean muttered, sinking down in his seat, averting his gaze. Bela stared at him incredulously and chuckled.
“What the fuck happened between you two anyway? Suddenly you just hated each other, after being connected at the...well, practically everything for a majority of our time at this school,” she asked innocently. And it was a valid question, no one really knew what happened between the two of them. As far as everyone knew, one day they just stopped talking.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it. I just don’t want to see him,” Dean mumbled, downing about half his drink in one go. Bela sighed and rolled her eyes.
“You boys were always so dramatic.”
“Excuse me?” Dean sat up straighter suddenly, staring her down.
“Oh please, you with your constant ‘he’s just a friend’ and that was before he came out senior year, which threw you into an obvious spiral. You were always so concerned about what other people might think just because you two were ‘best friends’.” Bela gave him a knowing and disbelieving look before she continued. “Yet, practically everyone knew damn well that you two were more than that. You just never wanted to admit it to yourself let alone anyone else,” Bela said with a shrug before taking a sip of her drink.
Well shit, she quite literally just succinctly and nonchalantly laid out what had always been one of his biggest fears and subsequent regrets of his high school career, hell...still to this day if he was honest, like it was nothing. Who the hell was she to assume she knew so much about him?
If he was honest with himself, something he had admittedly never been great at, the deciding factor in starting up his relationship with Lisa their senior year had been the rumors that seemed to cling to him. He had started to make a show of making out in the busy hallways around school, making a point to let hands roam and slip below clothing now and then. The few class periods they shared were spent in a back corner, Lisa typically placed in Dean’s lap as he made a point to tease and distract her, more for show than anything else. It’s not that he didn’t like Lisa, on the contrary, he loved their time spent together. Not only was she incredibly attractive but she was also smart as hell and was actually a big reason Dean even graduated.
They had even moved in together, right after graduation. It was just a small, shitty apartment, nothing exciting or impressive by any stretch, but it was their first taste of freedom. Dean had worked at Bobby’s garage and managed to save enough money for a down-payment on a modest house across town. So, they had moved and started their white picket fence, apple pie life together, one that he had never felt totally comfortable with, in a house that didn’t quite feel like home.
They lasted a total of just over five years before she called him out on his shit, packed her stuff, and left him. He was honestly surprised it had lasted that long. He knew he had been a shitty boyfriend, he drank too much, spent too much time in seedy bars--using his fake ID before he was of age--and had no real plan for his future. He danced around her questions of marriage and kids, never really giving an actual answer, simply avoiding and redirecting, never being able to picture himself with any real type of family. He had been young, dumb, and in the closet with no direction and no purpose in life and, honestly, not much had really changed.
“We were just friends,” Dean grumbled out, not meeting Bela’s stare.
“Oh my...are you fucking serious Winchester? You’re still in denial? Darling, you’re almost 30, can you just admit you like guys too? No one but you cares, I promise,” Bela said, rolling her eyes, like it really was just that easy.
“I’m not...I don’t...I...shut up,” Dean said without any conviction, drinking the rest of his whiskey. His brain whirred as he started to get lost in a flood of memories flashing through his head. He shook his head, attempting to clear it, and instead channeled his energy into keeping his eyes focused on the table in front of him when all he wanted to do was look up and scan the room for piercing blue eyes. He was doing his best to lie to himself, arguing with his own head that he didn’t care what the other man was doing, who he may be talking to, if he was here with anyone.
“It’s not that easy,” Dean croaked out after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah, it really is,” Bela said flippantly. Dean leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, head in his hands.
“No it’s not Bela. My family...my dad...he...just no it’s not,” Dean trailed off and ran his hands down his face as he let out a deep sigh.
“You’re an adult now, yeah? Back then maybe it wasn’t, but from what I can tell you’re in the same holding pattern. The only difference is that you’re 28 years old, not 18. It’s time to be your own man Dean, be whoever you want to be and fuck anyone who says differently,” Bela said simply before she stood up, smoothing out her dress.
“After this some of us are going over to Stella’s if you want to join,” she said as she walked away. Dean groaned and laid his head on the table in front of him. He really just wanted to go home, but what the hell would he do once he was there? Drink alone for the rest of the night until he was drunk and passed out on his couch, again. Instead, he could join some people he didn’t completely hate over at one of the local clubs, drink a bit, and maybe get dragged out on the dancefloor as he half-heartedly protested. Hell, maybe he would end up bringing someone home with him; it had been a while.
Besides, of all the clubs, Stella’s was by far his favorite. The atmosphere was laid back, they had old school arcade games lining the back hallway and the music all centered in the late 90s and early 00s, meaning the crowd was typically missing those obnoxious early 20 somethings who were only out to get completely shit faced and always seemed to be screaming for no discernible reason. He groaned and sat up, knowing he would end up with the rest of the group at the bar by the end of the night.
When he opened his eyes again he was met with glacier blue staring back at him, locked in from across the room. As soon as their eyes met, the other man started stalking across the space, his attention completely zeroed in on Dean.
Shit.
He glanced around frantically, trying to find someone, anyone else, close enough to save him from a confrontation he did not want to have in the middle of a crowded room, or really at all, ever. Dean had never been so relieved to see Becky sliding into the chair next to him, scraping it across the floor and getting just a bit too close for comfort. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to deter the man who was laser focused on him and quickly closing the space that separated them.
“Hey Becky! How have you been?” Dean asked over-excitedly, throwing an arm around her shoulders, making a show of obviously being involved in a conversation with the woman.
“Oh, I’ve just been wonderful Dean! Chuck is the sweetest and absolute best--” her rambling was cut off suddenly.
“Becky, can I please steal Mr. Winchester from you?” the familiar gravely voice asked. The request really sounded more like a command due to his no nonsense tone.
“Oh, uh, yeah...uh, sure,” Becky stammered as she quickly got up and walked away, glancing at the two men over her shoulder a few times as she retreated.
“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted, trying to mask the nerves and anxiety, hoping his words came out as light and unbothered. He quickly tangled his fingers together in his lap so the other man couldn’t see them shaking. Cas slid into the chair next to Dean gracefully, resting his arms on the table in front of him, making Dean feel trapped against the wall on his other side.
“Hello Dean, long time,” Cas said, voice even, deep, still doing things to Dean that he didn’t want to admit. After a few minutes of silence, Dean chanced a glance at the man next to him and was greeted by an intense gaze pinning him in place and stealing his breath.
“We should talk Dean,” Cas said, not a question but a command.
“Uh, yeah...yeah I guess we should,” Dean agreed, dropping his gaze to the table top and picking at the cheap vinyl tablecloth with his thumb nail.
“We shouldn’t do it here, at least I would rather not,” Cas said, glancing around the rapidly filling room.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed quietly. Cas sighed and reached for his wallet before sliding a card over to Dean.
“Here, text me sometime,” he said almost dismissively before standing up and walking away. Dean figured he was angry and upset with him which was nothing new. He rolled his eyes and picked up the card which read “Castiel Novak, LMSW: Children’s Therapist” with his phone numbers and email below. A children's therapist? That was definitely not anything Dean would have guessed Cas would have gone into. Although, now that he thought about it, he was the one who always listened to him, helped him, and talked him down off the ledge more than once, both figuratively and literally a couple times. He couldn’t help but grin as he tucked the card into his own wallet.