It's In Your Eyes

Doodle

Charlie's POV -

It's been odd, the last few days. It seems like everyone is confused, gotten lost and now that we've been thrown back together, no one knows what they're doing anymore. Jo is being less flirty with random boys, her card-playing even better than it was. Benny has hardly spoken. Ash is sleeping a lot. But that's just Ash. And Dean. I don't know what's the matter with him. And the new kid?

He's sitting at the desk with Dean now. Our first day of lessons tomorrow. We've had a week to reconnect, and soon we'll be slowly drowning in coursework. So Dean said he'd take Castiel over his notes from last year. Get him up to speed.

I say his notes. Really they're mine. Dean doesn't do notes. He's an extraordinarily cleaver boy, the cleverest I've known and that includes Ash with his computer brain. But if he actually applied himself he might happen to achieve something. He might, God forbid, excel. So he uses my notes and muddles through, keeping a low academic profile and, in turn, his don't-care image.

He's spending a lot of time with Castiel. It's good. But when he's not around him, he sticks by me, even more than before. He's spent more time nestled against me this week than he has over all the time I've known him. I know something is nagging at him, troubling him, causing him to feel as confused as everybody else. He just won't tell me what it is. He won't just tell me. Why won't he tell me?

"Charlie?" I look round, spinning my chair, shocked to see Jo reaching out to shake me. "Hey. Did you take in any of what I just said?"

"Err... I- something about... Um, you- No. Sorry." I wince apologetically and she just pats my arm, holding back a laugh. I push my hair back and lean against the table.

"I was just saying, we're going outside before lock-in. Are you coming?" She nods at the door leading to the gardens.

"Oh. Um, yeah. Maybe. In a few. I'll catch up." Jo nods and she and Benny head out. I rub my hands over my face, shoving my hair back again, behind my ears, just to have it fall into my face again. I give an aggravated growl and put my head in my hands.

"Tick tock, Charlie. Tick fucking tock. You have to sort all this out." I pull my face up past my fingers and get up, heading for the door. I hang on the doorframe and look back over at Dean. He's smiling. That's good. But... I've never seen him smile like that. What does that smile mean? What aren't I seeing. "You have to sort yourself out first, you idiot. You have to stop procrastinating and deal with Charlie for once. You never just think about her."

Stop talking to yourself. Freak.

Dean's POV -

"See, they make us do art. I don't see the point myself, but we get it three times a week." I look at our timetable and grumble, thinking back to last year and my simple inability to put paint on a canvas without painting my face too.

"Oh. I don't mind art..." Cas sounds hesitant, like he's scared I won't approve or something, and a smile tugs at my mouth.

"Oh?" I look up, about to say something 'smart' and playful, but I stop short, looking down at the doodle in the corner of his page. "Oh." I look down into my own face and everything is there. The creases, the damn freckles, the soul in my eyes... "How can you do that?" I gasp.

"Do what- oh. Don't, that's just. It's just an annoying habit." He stumbles over his words, his hand covering the little drawing in embarrassment as he blushes a deep, beet-red.

My fingers wrap around his, gently lifting it away. But my hand lingers there, resting on his, just resting. I try not to react to the definite static that tingles between his fingertips and mine. But I don't protest when his hand tilts the tiniest bit, letting them drop together a little more.

My phone chirps in my pocket and, before I can realise or move, his hand is snatched away and hides under the desk, in his pocket probably. I flip open my mobile phone after the fifth chirp and hold it up to my ear.

"Hello? Dean the wonderf-" on the other end, someone is making little, hiccuping, sniffing sounds. Someone is clearly crying. And from the sound of it, muffled and crunchy, they don't know they've called me. My heart beats against my throat and I lower my phone to check the caller ID. Cas stares at me, looking as confused and afraid as I feel.

"What is it, Dean? What's wrong?" He begs.

"It's... Charlie's crying..."