One Less Voice (Destiel/Sabriel)

Part 6- Fields of Gold

Gabriel's POV:

Mondays are painful. I wake Cas up and together, we go to school. I can't help look for Sam in the swarms of people passing us as we each make our ways to first period.

I sit down in Chemistry and pull out my notebook. I smile, flipping through the pages. It had been so much fun studying with Sam.

Fun? No, that didn't seem quite right...

Hold on a moment, something's going on here, my brain is toying with me. I try to locate the discrepancy when I look up to see none other than the man occupying my thoughts. We lock eyes and in that moment, I find the discrepancy. I find the problem.

It's him.

It's Sam Winchester. It's everything about him. It's his hazel eyes that change color. It's his strong build and staggering height. It's his brown hair that curls around his ears. It's his lips that turn into a beautiful smile that vanquishes all dark. It's Sam Winchester.

I'm head over heals for Sam Winchester.

This thought resonates in my head and time stops. I try it from all angles, it can be true. I am not in love with my best friend.

But it is true. I know that now. I know it in his grin as he sits down, in the flutter in my stomach as I purse my lips.

It's true.

Shit.

Sam flashes a smile when we make eye contact and slides into the seat next to me. "Hey Gabriel," he studies me. "Everything okay?"

I nod, slapping on a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. We'll have to have you two over some time again soon. We had a blast when you were here."

"Yeah, it was a great time," Sam agrees.

With that, the lesson starts and Sam turns to the front pulling out his noteboaok. I can't focus all class, I keep turning discreetly to look at him.

God, I hope I don't mess this up.

Castiel's POV:

Dean and I struggle through Geometry together, (well, not really together because we don't sit together, but we both struggled through it.) We walk together to Health, I telling him about yesterday and he laughs to me when someone yells in our direction, "Hey fags, keep it in your pants, will you?"

Usually, I tend to ignore such behavior of my contemporaries and I raise a hand, palm up, in mock confusion as to the cause of our victimization when I look at Dean's face. He's shell shocked. He stares at the ground and breathes faster, beginning to hyperventilate.

I move him gently to the lockers and look to him for permission before putting a hand to his shoulder. Standing in front of him, I block him from the sights of passers-by. "Dean, look at me." He does, fear still masking his face. "Shh, it's okay. They're not going to hurt you, I promise. Deep breathes."

I hear a crash behind me and I turn to see Balthazar of all people standing over the kid who yelled at us who's on the ground. Traffic through the hallway stops abruptly as people watch, disgustingly fascinated by drama.

Balthazar grabs the kid by the lapels of his grey hoodie and pushes him against the lockers adjacent to us. "Apologize," he whispers in his British accent, though the near silence carries his voice to spectators. His tone is deadly.

The kid stalls and Balthazar pushes him into the lockers again. "APOLOGIZE!" He yells into the kids face.

"I'm sorry..." The kid is cowering away from him.