WAVES [ dean x cas ]

Clichés and PB&J

Castiel saw him daily, sitting out in one of the school's courtyards, smoking a cigarette.

The cigarette was not attractive to him. Not at all. He may have been a single, virginal junior, but he'd been around enough smokers to know that he'd never kiss one. The thing that was attractive about him was his looks.

The boy obviously had years added onto his face due to smoking; the wrinkles around his eyes easily exhibited that. Despite the creases on his skin, there were yellow-green eyes, full, plump lips, and neatly styled dirty blonde hair. The boy didn't seem mean at all. Castiel knew of the boy's freshman little brother, though he'd never met him.

Castiel once saw him out in that courtyard, sitting on that bench, and he was on the phone, cigarette slowly burning away between his two thick fingers. Castiel was able to watch the boy if he positioned himself correctly from his lunch table indoors, and so he did just that, frowning as the boy's cheeks turned pink and he slammed his cell down on the table angrily.

"What's up your ass?" Gabriel questioned. Castiel snapped his attention back to his older brother. Despite the fact that Gabriel was a senior, Castiel hung around him and his friends rather than the other kids in his own class.

"That boy out there," Castiel quietly said, careful not to let any of Gabriel's friends hear, "Do you know who he is?"

Gabriel snorted and grabbed a curly fry from his tray. "Dean? He's a new kid this year. Senior. Came from Kansas or some shit. He's in my culinary class. Nice, smart guy, but real quiet."

Castiel nodded and took a sip from his Capri Sun. "Do you think he wants company?" he hesitantly asked. Gabriel rolled his eyes and resumed stuffing his face with rubbery pizza and soggy fries. Castiel glanced around his lunch table at this, suddenly feeling left out within the group of older kids.

"I'm gonna go talk to him," Castiel announced to Gabriel, shoving his sandwich, half-eaten bag of Fritos and carefully-bent-over-so-it-doesn't-spill juice bag into his lunch box. Castiel lifted his backpack up from the ground and swung it around his shoulders deftly, a practiced routine, and made his way out of the cafeteria and into the courtyard.

When Castiel pushed open the metal and glass doors, the muggy late-September air hit him hard. He suddenly felt all too warm in his long sleeve and jeans, but allowed himself to take a few bold steps into the corner of the courtyard.

"Um, hi," he said, half loudly, capturing the boy's—Dean's—attention. "Do you mind if I sit across from you?" Castiel held his lunch bag up as a sort of surrender; a white flag, and Dean nodded and gestured to the bench across from him.

Castiel shuffled his way over, the tips of his ears burning red under Dean's gaze. He slid his legs over his side of the bench and carefully placed his bag on the table, setting his backpack onto the bench next to him.

Castiel took his juice bag and sandwich out, his eyes not leaving Dean at all.

"I saw you," Castiel quietly said, "on the phone. I'm sorry you looked upset."

Dean chuckled, a dry, sarcastic thing. "It's not that big of a deal."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but paused, snapping his jaw shut. He carefully pulled his PB&J in half and handed the larger side to Dean.