Dean/Cas: Catch, Carry
For winterjared, who asked for a HS!AU with music nerd Cas and science
nerd Dean, as well as trombones, biology, and test tubes. My answer is
this fic, where Cas is a klutz and Cosmo gives terrible advice.
#1 ‘Trip,’ fall against a man’s chest, and say “Damn, your pecs are so hard, I felt like I was falling into a wall.”
Cas figures fake-tripping won’t be any more difficult than actual tripping, at least for him, given that he runs into everything from locker doors to music stands pretty much on a daily basis. It’s gotten to a point where his mother’s wondering whether he needs glasses, but the fact of the matter is that his eye sight is fine; the real problem is thin air miraculously transforming into tangible obstacles around his feet.
So when Dean comes up to his locker during passing period, right by Cas’ own in the hallway, Cas turns to say hello and promptly trips over his trombone case on the floor.
“Whoa,” is all Dean says before steadying Cas with a hand on his arm. “You alright there, Cas?”
His glasses are askew and his eyes are so green, especially this close, closer than they’ve ever been. They probably don’t even have a name yet for the color swimming and blending in those irises, and Cas stares, awed and silent, before remembering the script and blurting out, “I fell into a wall.”
Dean laughs, eyes lighting up from moss to apple. “What?”
“I mean- I…” Cas ignores his brain screaming god, abort the mission, you moron. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I apologize, Dean, my trombone is clearly a menace.”
“S’not as bad as my brother’s cello.” Dean shrugs, straightening his dark-rimmed glasses. His grin is bright enough to make Cas feel like falling again, but he waves instead when Dean tells him “See you later,” and wonders if Cosmo has an article just for klutzes.
#6 Study his face, and remark on how much he looks like [insert hot male celeb he kindasorta resembles here].
Alright, Cas admits that this one is ‘kindasorta’ incredibly stupid.
It’s not that Dean isn’t hot - Cas stumbles, okay, he isn’t blind. But despite his limited knowledge of pop culture, Cas knows Dean’s much better than some Hollywood heartthrob with high cheekbones. Because Dean is beautiful without being vapid, funny without ever being mean, and whenever he smiles, it’s like watching the sun rise, and yeah, Cas has got it bad but wouldn’t anyone if given ten minutes to spend with Dean?
So rather than churn out a comparison, Cas commits to just the first half (‘study his face’), which was already part of his pitiful crush routine. Except, well. Except he doesn’t quite realize how creepy all this might seem, not until Dean catches him looking moonstruck across their lab station and shit, abort again.
“Hey, Cas,” he says easily enough. “Can you measure out twenty mills of ethanol in here?”
Cas blinks because, because oh, Dean didn’t notice his staring at all. Which is definitely good and everything for his creep-o’-meter but the purpose of the exercise was to send Dean a message and- Wow, he is so pathetically bad at this, isn’t he. The phrase ‘sexually active band geeks’ is such a blatant lie, a bigger one than the moon landing, bigger than freaking Watergate.