Well, I'm obviously very interested in serving my country. A the same time I feel a calling to become a physician. The Army offers aid to pay for medical school for those looking to become an Army doctor. My family is very afraid of the war in general, and are very against my joining. (but- I feel a strong sense that I was meant to be helping people in this way.) I'm not queasy and am currently in the best physical condition of my life. I've done research, but I'm sure it's different off paper.
Well if you’re meaning a bachelors, the Post 9/11 GI Bill would be available for just about any schooling, but it does have a limit that caps out at about 4 years of school. There’s other programs that you can get into and they’d help you pay for med school. And there’s also financial aid, of course. Do you have any college credits? Because that would be a good start to joining as an officer. I was enlisted but officers make more money right out of the gate and more so as you move up in rank. You need a bachelors degree (in anything - underwater basket-weaving would be fine) to enlist as an officer. All your doctors, physicians and types like that will be officers (as far as I remember). The lab techs and nurses will be enlisted. So it kind of depends on where you want to go with that. If you don’t want to wait until you have a degree to join, you can join as an enlisted personnel and do a program like the Seaman to Admiral program where you can become an officer later on.
This is all for the Navy as that’s what I’m most knowledgable in. But it looks like the Army (x), Marines and Air Force (x) all have their own programs too. Side note that all Marines are taught basic lifesaving skills but they actually use Navy Corpsmen for their doctors and nurses. So the Marines might not be the best choice if you’re wanting to practice medicine while you’re in the military.
An option that might work for you would be to join the reserve. I know that for the Naval Reserve you can usually pick your deployments and only have to do one weekend a month, two weeks a year. The other branches probably have a similar set up but the Army and Marines may require more as we’re still technically at war. As far as combat goes, if you’re female you won’t see much combat in the Navy or Air Force. Army and Marines are combat oriented and females aren’t allowed on the front lines (as far as I know) but there’s a lot of other jobs that will still get you close to the action in either of those branches. If you’re wanting to stay clear of the war though, I’d suggest the Navy or Air Force.
Also you can do college while you're in the reserve. I know that most schools are very accommodating to military requirements while you're there.
Your best bet will be to talk to a recruiter for the branch you’re thinking about joining and asking them about the branches’ programs available to you. I’d also practice for the ASVAB, because the higher you score on that test (generally - gender and availability also play a role) the more jobs are open to you.
I hope this helps! If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to ask!
You were in the navy? I'm in ROTC and really searching for the correct branch of military. Can I ask what your experience was in the Navy? Do you know anything about the other branches? Would you recommend one over another?
I was! My experience in the Navy was overall a good one but like anything else, there's good and bad. The right branch for you depends on what you're looking for. Why are you wanting to join the military? Are there any goals you have for while you're in the military?
I can really only speak for myself, but I really liked the Navy. The Air Force gets the new technologies first but the Navy actually has more aircraft than the Air Force does. The Army and Marines both have, obviously, a lot more combat jobs but it really depends on what kind of job you want to do while you're in. Do you have a preference for what you want to be?
Prompt: Person A and Person B are forced to be lab partners, one of them is the nerd and one of them hates school.
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“A Streetcar Named Desire? Are you in Mr. Singer’s lit class, then?”
Dean looks up from the project instruction packet, surprised. It’s the first time Castiel has spoken since they sat down at lab station 1, unlikely partners. Cas wonders, not for the first time, how they ended up together, given that the rankings were supposedly based on the scores from last week’s midterm.
Dean pulls the book from where it’s sticked out of his bag and strokes the pages delicately, a gesture Cas is startled to see from loud, rough-talking Dean Winchester, notorious womanizer and worse — slacker. “Oh, yeah. Well, no. I was in Bobby’s — Mr. Singer’s — class last year, but I love the play. It’s one of my favorites. The whole fantasy versus reality thing…” Dean trails off, looking down at the play as though he could lose himself in it, as though he’s already in the small New Orleans flat.
Cas’s mind, however, has taken a different turn. “Last year? That class isn’t available to sophomores.”
“Well, I took sophomore lit freshman year, so they let me in,” Dean explains, and returns to the packet on the chemistry project they’re supposed to be doing together. “Mr. Shurley wasn’t kidding when he said our project was ‘a bit’ tougher than what we’ve been doing. This shit looks like it might actually be fun.”
Dean’s eyes sparkle at this, and Cas blinks. How can anyone have eyes that perfectly green and mesmerizing and… Cas groans. This is not the time to be staring at — admittedly — pretty boys. Pretty, slacker boys, he reminds himself, even though that argument is growing increasingly thin. Dean must have gotten a high score on that midterm, too. Anna’s score had only been a point lower than Castiel’s, and she was at lab station two, after all — and Castiel had not done poorly. Castiel has never done poorly on an examination in his life, unless you count the singing tests they had to do in middle school choir.
“Cas?” Dean’s — horribly attractive — voice breaks his stupor. “Did you hear me? I was saying, you think we could work on this over the weekend? The report’s gonna take a while, and we need to do all the calculations do get the amounts right…”
“Uh…” Castiel can only stutter. Castiel never, ever stutters — he prides himself on speaking eloquently, unlike most of the students at school. “Yes, I can. My house would probably be appropriate. We have a large kitchen with plenty of workspace.”
The only indication Dean gives of noticing the subtle shift in Castiel’s tone is a small glance and crease of the eyebrows. “Great,” he says, his tone light and carefree. “Saturday at two, then? I’ve gotta bring Sammy to soccer practice at 1:30, but I should be good afterwards. If we don’t finish in time, Ellen can always pick him up.”
Cas offers a tight smile in return, before casting his eyes downward at the packet. He doesn’t think he can stand looking at Dean for much longer, not with his pretty lips moving so smoothly and not when he can feel the blush on his neck and not when he can’t stop thinking of the way Dean’s voice sounded when he said “Cas.”
Castiel, why must you always fall for the ones that are more likely to call you a faggot than look at you twice? he scolds himself, but it’s too late. All it took was a dreamy look, A Streetcar Named Desire, and two minutes’ conversation.
“…and I got partnered with this guy called Castiel Novak for Chem. Sammy, I fucking hate the guy. He’s one of those smart kids that acts like he’s better than everyone else because he uses words like ‘effervescent’ in everyday conversation,” Dean rants to his little brother as he jerks the wheel on the Impala a little too hard, sending Sam crashing into the door. “Sorry. You should’ve seen the look on his face when Shurley said we were partners. He looked like he had stepped in cow shit.” Dean paused, staring angrily at the red light as though it were to blame for all his problems. “And Lisa wants to go out on Friday.”
Sam utters a noncommittal grunt.
“What?” Dean asks, glancing over at Sam.
“Why don’t you just tell Lisa you don’t wanna go out with her anymore, Dean?” Sam’s still got that little kid’s way of stating everything so simply, even though he’s hardly a little kid anymore — not that Dean needs reminding.
Dean sighs. The truth sounds ridiculous and romantic and girly. He can’t just admit that he really hoped for something more, for something more like love and all the shit in the movies Lisa likes watching. He hates the fact that when he looks at Lisa he feels only mild interest. He used to look at her and see a sort of fantasy — to much like Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire, really. For all Dean’s posing and acting, he really just wants something solid, stable, real. And Lisa is far from being any of that.
Instead of saying so, Dean opts for, “I will, Sammy. But she’s got a killer body.”
Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean ignores it. “Maybe you should go for this Castiel dude if what you’re after is a killer body,” Sam adds at the last minute.
“What?” Dean jerks the wheel so hard that they nearly skid off the road.
“I’m just kidding, Dean,” Sam responds, but there’s that unmistakeable look of Sammy-scheming on his face. Dean knows better than to encourage Sam on this, so he keeps his mouth shut till they get home, where they find Charlie and Jo (making out on the lawn, to no one’s surprise) and the incident is forgotten in a flurry of shouting, laughing, and ice-cream eating.
The thing is, Castiel hates school. It’s not the learning or the people, both of which range from tolerable to decent. But he can’t figure out how he’s supposed to bear hours of note-taking and mind-numbingly dull lectures when there is just so much more he could be doing. He manages to do his homework during school (mostly because he always procrastinates until around 1 am at home) and still do well enough on tests, so even more than just not caring, Cas doesn’t understand why he should care. He finds it much more entertaining to go out for coffee with Anna and pretend to work (while instead reading up on the latest beekeeping tech). The hours flow steadily by, as they always do, with Castiel managing to convince himself that he’ll be able to do his homework in an hour — then two — then screw it, that’s what boring classes are for.
“Dean Winchester,” Anna says unexpectedly as she works through her calculus homework on one of these coffee outings as three empty Starbucks cups sit between them. Castiel looks up from his browsing (or rather, pauses the guinea pig video he’s watching on Youtube). “I must admit, I was surprised when he got partnered with you.”
Cas tries to look nonchalant (though he suspects that Anna can see right through it, as always) and says, “As was I. He seems… intelligent, though.”
Anna runs a hand through her red locks and sighs. “Castiel, sometimes I worry for you. You could so easily get caught up with the wrong people.”
“Who said anything about the wrong people?” Cas asks with a laugh. “Dean and I are just working on a project.” And if I think he’s just a little bit attractive — well, a lot — that’s not illegal or anything, is it?
“Just be careful, Cas,” Anna responds. “I’ve seen Dean hanging around with Alistair and Lilith and those guys. You don’t want to get on their bad side. It’s bad enough here for kids like us.”
“His bad side? Anna, we’re working for a grade. Besides, who knows what he was doing with Alistair? He’s clearly smart. He probably wasn’t… we shouldn’t make hasty judgements.” Castiel knows the words sound brittle and false as they rattle through his teeth, but something in him makes him want to defend Dean Winchester.
Anna’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Castiel, are you defending Dean Winchester? You’re hardly one to talk of not making hasty judgements. That’s practically all you do, regarding your peers. I’ve been telling you for years that you need to be more open and see people for what they are — selfish and attention-seeking, yes, but also kind and honest and brave.”
“Anna, you sound like you’re delivering a speech in a Hollywood blockbuster,” Castiel snaps irritably, returning to his guinea pig video as the conversation shifts. He doesn’t want to admit that Dean seems very much like an exception to his usually rigorous judgements. “It’s not my fault most of our peers are common, uncouth, and uninterested in any sort of culture beyond drugs and sex.” He pauses and looks up at Anna again. “That especially goes for Dean Winchester.”
Anna goes very still as Castiel says this, her eyes even wider than before. Cas freezes. If Dean is behind me as though in the cheesiest of modern films, I will murder Anna, he thinks, turning very slowly to see — who would believe it — Dean’s green eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched with fury. Trying not to let his eyes linger too long on Dean’s jaw, Cas licks his lips nervously and practically squeaks, “Hi, Dean.”
“Castiel.” Dean’s smile is cold. “Fancy seeing you here.” There’s a pause, and Cas almost thinks Dean hadn’t heard him. Almost. “Listen, buddy. You don’t know anything about me.” Cas’s heartbeat quickens as Dean steps closer to him, so close that Cas can make out the individual freckles peppering Dean’s nose and cheeks. He suddenly finds it a little hard to breathe, and he’s sure that Dean can feel this strange heat between them as he continues to glare. Dean’s mouth opens, but then snaps shut, and Dean stomps away, saying, “C’mon, Sammy,” to a little kid — his brother, most likely, — who had been watching the whole exchange from a distance. The kid seems to be smirking a little at Cas, who turns to hide his red face, only to find Anna raising her eyebrows at him.
“Especially goes for Dean Winchester, does it?”
Cas scowls at her and buries himself in his reading, mostly to avoid looking at her sly smile.
Castiel has never dreaded anything as much in his life as this meeting with Dean. He’s all sorts of nervous. He’s sure Dean hates him now, just as he should hate Dean, but he can’t quite bring himself to do so, not when he thinks about the look on Dean’s face when he talked about A Streetcar Named Desire or about the insufferable attractiveness of Dean’s anger. And so Cas hates himself instead — hates himself for liking Dean and for wanting to know him better and for feeling these funny butterflies in his stomach as he pulls on what Anna refers to as his “nerd coat.” A plethora of irrational concerns plague him, too. What if Dean doesn’t show up alone? What if he brings Alistair to torment him? Surely Dean must know all about Alistair and Castiel’s relationship…
But somehow, he doesn’t think Dean would do that.
Still, when he greets Dean at the large double doors, he lets out a sigh of relief to see that it’s very much Dean, even though neither of them can quite meet each other’s eyes. They stand there for a second until Castiel says, “Would you like to come in? My parents aren’t home, so we have full access to the kitchen.”
Dean nods, then goes to enter the house just as Castiel goes to open the second door, so that they positively crash into each other. For a split second, their entire bodies end up pressed up against each other, before they stumble backwards. They both mutter apologies and Cas makes a big show of closing the doors in order to hide his tomato-red face from Dean. When he’s sure he’s calmed his heartbeat down a bit, he walks Dean to the kitchen, stiffening as they brush arms in their attempts to go through the door.
“I have everything ready, then…” Castiel starts, figuring that as awkward as he is, nothing can make the situation in the kitchen more awkward than it already is. He pulls nervously at the sleeves of his trenchcoat before confidently striding towards the large center island. “I thought that we might start testing first, because it might take a while, and then we can type up the report while we wait.”
Dean shrugs and sits at the counter, reaching for the test tube rack that Castiel has prepared. Cas shuffles around awkwardly before sitting down on the stool next to him (and cursing the lack of space between the stools, which means that he and Dean are brushing elbows practically every two seconds). Somehow, they manage to complete all of their trials without saying much more than, “Can you pass me —?” and “Here, let me write down —.” For the report, Dean dictates the numbers to Cas in a monotone voice that still manages to be somehow attractive, but sounds horribly bored. In fact, by the end, Cas is pretty sure that he’s never wanted something end as much as he wants this to end. It’s humiliating, especially since Castiel can’t keep himself from turning crimson every time Dean’s hand brushed his shoulder as he points to the screen. Dean has to have noticed. He can hear Alistair’s teasing already… Should’ve known you were a fag, too. You been lusting after my cock, nerd? ‘Course you have… who wouldn’t want a piece of this?
Castiel closes his eyes.
“Cas? Cas? You alright?” Dean’s voice breaks through his stupor.
Cas blinks. He hadn’t realized he’d been so out of it. “Oh, sorry.” Stop fucking blushing, he tells himself angrily. “I… sorry. What were you saying?”
Castiel risks half a glance at Dean and is surprised to find him looking just a bit concerned. He thinks he must have imagined it, though, because then Dean continues dictating in the same monotone as before.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, they’re standing at the door. Cas hands Dean the last of the glassware that they have to return to Mr. Shurley and unlocks the door. “Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says weakly, half expecting Dean to rush out and slam the door.
Instead, Dean pauses, looking straight into Cas’s eyes for the first time that day. Cas thinks he forgets how to breathe. In any case, he can’t move, so he just stands there as Dean stares at him.
After a moment of silence, Dean stutters a bit before managing to ask, “Uh, Cas, can I ask you something?”
Cas thinks he says “Yes,” but he isn’t quite sure. Dean’s eyes are just a bit distracting.
“Why d’you always wear that trench coat?”
Of all the things he might’ve thought Dean would ask, that wasn’t one. “Uh,” Castiel says, lost for words. “I guess — I…” Castiel can’t speak. This hasn’t ever happened to him before. And somehow, maybe because his brain is so foggy, he can’t think up a good enough answer, so he goes for the truth. “I wear it as a sort of armor.”
“Armor?”
“Yes, armor — a protective suit worn to battle.”
“I know what armor is,” Dean responds, annoyance flashing across his face.
“I — of course you do,” Castiel amends hastily. His default response didn’t seem to work with Dean. “I just meant — well, I know you’re friends with Alistair, but he’s — he and I — I just decided that if I embrace the identity of a nerd, I couldn’t get hurt as much. And the trench coat is weird and I might as well be as weird as I can be, right? I suppose at some point it just became comforting.” Castiel stares defiantly back at Dean. Let him tease him. Let him say what he will. Castiel just doesn’t care anymore.
And suddenly Cas feels deflated, tired. All of the stress and awkwardness makes him want to slam the door in Dean’s face and leave it be. Why does he even care what Dean thinks?
It must be a minute before Dean speaks again. “I know how you feel,” he says slowly. “But Alistair’s not my friend. Never.” He doesn’t offer an explanation, and Cas doesn’t ask for one. “Well, ‘bye, Cas.”
Cas opens his mouth to say goodbye, but Dean brings up one hand and sort of claps his upper arm, an odd half-grasp, half-brush that makes Cas lose the ability to speak again. Dean turns and shuts the door, leaving Castiel standing there, mouth half-open, more confused than ever.
Dean lays awake for a long time that night, staring at the ceiling of their run-down little house on the edge of town. Unfortunately, he doesn’t hate Cas, no matter how much he wants to. The earnestness and pain in Castiel Novak’s voice when he’d explained his ugly ass trench coat make that impossible. It makes it impossible to blame him for his prejudices and snobbery, knowing where all that came from. Dean knows what it feels like to walk around in a suit of armor all too well — after all, what does anyone see him as besides a mindless slacker who lives for sex?
After listening to make sure that his dad is safely asleep and Sammy’s in bed (if not asleep), Dean flicks on his light and extracts his textbooks and notebooks from under his bed. If he can’t sleep, he might as well do homework — who cares if it’s Saturday? He can at least work on that Romanticism versus Realism essay for European History… but while he would normally be enthralled by an assignment of this sort, he can’t quite focus on it tonight. His eyes refuse to stay focused on the Turner paintings that he’s trying to analyze; instead, they wander back to Castiel’s house and those insistent blue eyes.
Alistair. Bile rises in his throat. Dean has always hated Alistair and Lilith and their cronies with a passion, but this term, it’s just so happened that he’s earned their favor. And so, he figured, he could hang around them and use their aura to avoid trouble for him and especially for Sammy. No one asks questions about deadbeat dads — not even concerned teachers — when Alistair is around. Even more so when Lilith is there. As long as Dean can get himself through a little under two more years of high school and get his diploma, he can find a decent enough full-time job to get Sammy through college. Sure, college sounds wonderful, even better than school, in terms of learning, but Dean isn’t foolish enough to think he can go. Sam’s the important one. He just needs to keep everyone’s noses away from their business, because if social services get in the mix, he can’t hope to get through it all.
The shift from romanticism to realism reflects the period’s changing… The lines start blurring on the page. Dean finally gives up and throws down his pencil, resigning himself to sleep. I’ll just get up early to do it… that’ll work…
All thoughts of Alistair and Castiel are drowned as he clicks the light off and plunges into sleep filled with dreams of running away from a figure that morphs from Lilith into his dad and then finally into a weird angel with brilliant blue eyes.
“Well done, boys,” Shurley says as he slaps Dean and Castiel’s report down between them at lab station 1. They both reach for it, end up brushing hands, and blush a little bit, before Dean takes it and flips to the back to see the score. Dean grins and hands it to Cas, who carefully pages through to read each comment that Shurley has written. There’s such concentration in Castiel’s eyes, such concern, as though he would be heartbroken had Shurley criticized one sentence.
“C’mon, Cas, we did really good. Who cares if it’s not perfect?” Dean nags when Cas has been reading for a good minute and he’s gotten bored of watching the rest of the class work on their “corrections,” the new assignment. It’s the first thing either of them has said to the other after that day at Cas’s house.
“I do,” Castiel replies seriously, neatly folding the report when he’s finished.
“Is that what keeps you going, then? Perfection?” Dean asks. He’s not sure why he cares, but something about Cas makes him want to figure out exactly what makes him tick.
“Of course. Isn’t it that for you?” The mere idea that Dean could think differently seemed foreign to Cas.
“Uh, no. I just… think it’s awesome.” Dean pauses, then can’t quite resist. “Weren’t you saying just a few days ago that all I care about is drugs and sex?”
Castiel’s face, which had been quite earnest up until now, falls. He swallows, and then, like it is really painful to get the words out, apologizes. “I’m sorry about that, Dean. I was just angry at my friend, Anna, because she implied I might like you, as I defended you when she said…” After the initial struggle, all of these words seem to tumble out of his mouth so quickly that Cas doesn’t realize what he has just said until now.
Dean grins a bit. “Are you saying that you actually developed some sort of friendly feelings for a mere mortal like me?”
“Dean, I didn’t mean to imply…” Cas stops, his mortification clearing up a bit. “Well, I must admit, I was a bit prejudiced. I thought you didn’t care about school and I have had bad experiences with people like that in the past, so I was biased.”
Dean genuinely laughs now. Who knew that conversation with Castiel Novak could actually be entertaining? His deadpan seriousness is strangely amusing. “Okay, okay, you can stop, before I feel like I’ve walked into a Jane Austen novel,” Dean assures him.
Cas smiles at this, and Dean is struck by the fact that he’s never seen Castiel smile before. Dean’s stomach flutters a little as he realizes that he likes Cas. His heart doesn’t normally beat that fast, does it? And a guy smiling at him definitely shouldn’t make him feel like if he tries to stand right now, he would fall over. It’s been ages since he’s liked a guy, though… and doing — anything — with Castiel would definitely put him at the mercy of Alistair…
Sam’s voice echoes in his head. Maybe you should go for that Castiel dude if what you’re after is a killer body.
Shit.
Dean and Cas develop a sort of uncertain friendship, that kind of classroom companionship where you’re both very aware that you’ll never talk to each other when the class is done but you both hope that you’re wrong. They work through several successive projects for Mr. Shurley and spend most of class together at the lab station, working on various worksheets and assignments. Cas finds himself spending most of lecture days staring at Dean and appreciating everything that he did not see before: the way his eyes light up when he gets something or the way that he slouches down during example problems not because he’s not doing them, but because he’s finished them long ago. Sometimes, Dean will turn and catch Cas looking — prompting, unsurprisingly, a magnificently crimson blush — but neither of them say anything. They laugh together and they slowly find out more about each other. Dean tells Cas a bit about his family. It’s impossible not to fall for him, Cas thinks, when you hear him talk about Sam.
Cas, for his part, divulges few details at first, intensely private and intensely embarrassed about the coat incident as he is, but eventually finds himself ranting about his ever-absent parents to Dean as though he isn’t quite another person but a part of himself.
He quickly realizes, too, how much Dean cares. Not just about Sam — about school. Castiel from a month ago would never have expected Dean to be teaching him how to appreciate his education, but today’s Cas isn’t at all surprised when he finds himself actually interested in solving equilibrium problems or discussing Nietzsche, all because of the way Dean lights up when he talks about it. Castiel actually enjoys doing some of his homework when he looks at it from Dean’s perspective, like something new and exciting and illuminating.
All good things must end, however, and so the class does. The last day is nerve-wracking; their finals finished, they’re left to their own devices, and Dean and Castiel both nervously avoid each other’s eyes. There’s something so desperately unspoken between them, but Cas can’t bring himself to say anything, so he just goes along and acts like it’s a normal day. He laughs as they discuss Poe, a frequent topic this past week because of a project Dean is working on. He injects the appropriate amount of sass and is just serious enough when they talk about the holidays and what they mean for their various families. Castiel always dreads Christmas; it’s not much fun when your parents just send very expensive gifts from somewhere far away.
“Mom promised she’d try to make it this year, but she called last night and said no go,” Cas sighs. “Dad… I haven’t talked to Dad on the phone for more than a minute in over a year.”
Dean sort of pats his hand comfortingly but quickly draws back, leaving Cas breathless. Dean’s staring at his hands, so he doesn’t notice. “Yeah, well, my dad’ll probably be drunk, again. Bobby and Ellen invited us to Christmas dinner, though,” Dean says, a touch of hope coloring his voice. Cas wants to hug him or kiss him or something. No one should have to be hopeful that Christmas might for once be bearable.
“I’m sorry,” he says instead, prompting Dean to finally meet his eyes.
“No, it’s… okay. Lisa wants me to go over to her parents’ though, and I have never wanted to do anything less.” Dean’s voice takes on that edge that it has whenever he talks about Lisa.
Suddenly Cas can’t take this anymore. “Why don’t you just break up with her, Dean?” he asks, knowing he sounds tired and angry but not caring. The mention of Lisa used to set Castiel alight with jealousy, but at this point, she could hardly be less relevant.
Dean looks surprised at this response, surprised enough that he doesn’t answer immediately. “Actually, I’m going to,” he says, almost as though he has just decided this. “I really am. I just don’t care about her.” A pause. “I don’t know if I ever really have.”
There’s a silence so loud that Castiel wants to clap his hands over his ears. His heart is drumming along to a faster march than ever before and he can feel his hands shaking under the table. They’re sitting there, just staring at each other, and Cas is sure something is going to happen, something has to happen —
And then the bell rings. Everyone scrambles to their feet around them, shouting exultantly about the beginning of winter break, and though they both stand there for a few more seconds, they’re both eventually pushed out through the door and into the snowy courtyard.
Castiel doesn’t know why he’s crying. Actually, he does, but it’s too painful to think about — too painful to think that he might never talk to Dean again except for a quick “Hi” in the halls —
He pulls his pillow over his head and wishes for sleep.
Sammy can tell something’s wrong. He always can, smart kid. “Dean, are you moping about Lisa? You’ve been wanting to break up with her for months! It’s good for her that you finally did it! You didn’t want to lead her on any longer.” Sam runs through all this quickly, his debate team work showing.
“No, I’m fine, Sammy, just a bit… tired,” Dean responds with a smile and a fake yawn.
“This is about Castiel, isn’t it?” Sam’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously.
“Castiel? What? Why would — no,” Dean stammers, telling Sam all he needs to know.
“Dean, you’ve been talking about the guy for weeks. Just go ask him out already,” Sam tells him.
“Ask him — why — Sammy, I’m not — I wouldn’t…” Dean trails off at the hard look Sam is giving him. He’s admitted to himself that he likes Cas — he did that a long time ago — but Alistair…
There are ways around Alistair, an annoying voice in his head says, He’s not all-knowing.
Dean looks at Sam for a second longer before reaching for the keys to the Impala, his heart thudding so loud that half the state of Kansas must be able to hear.
“Dean.” Cas sounds surprised to see him on the doorstep. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Dean frowns. Cas looks like he’s been crying, and he’s clearly nervous now — he always says idiot things when he’s nervous. And otherwise. It’s one of the things you like about him, that snide voice whispers.
“Cas, I… I’m sorry about…” Dean trails off. He’s not really sure what he’s apologizing about. He stares into Cas’s eyes for a moment and then hesitantly steps forward, until their bodies are aligned and they’re nearly touching.
Dean licks his lips uncertainly, closes his eyes, thinks, Here goes nothing, and kisses Castiel Novak.
His lips are soft and supple, perhaps a bit raw but not horribly so — but Dean can’t really think about the details, not when he’s fucking kissing Cas, and not when it feels like his entire body is tingling with some sort of unstoppable electricity, and not when Cas lets out a tiny moan that sets his cheeks burning with embarrassment again.
Dean can’t help but laugh. “I really like it when you blush,” he whispers, and Cas shudders at the gravelly tone.
“I really don’t,” Cas responds before pulling Dean through the door and out of the snow.
“I love you as much as.. As books love libraries..” He trails off and cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair. The dark locks stick up wildly. “As much as pens love paper. Or chilly feet love warm slippers!” Castiel giggles again, a flush rising up to swallow the tips of his ears. It spreads down past his collarbones. “Or tea bags love hot water.” Dean leans in close, almost touching his stubbly chin to Castiel’s shivering shoulder, “Or Uncle Gabe loves candy.”
Words: 1491, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Kiddie!Verse, Part 2 of Kiddie!Verse
“When you get sad, your eyes..” His breath halts, another round of water works trailing down his flushed cheeks, “Your eyes look sad. Like empty. Like-“ His eyes go round as he finds the perfect words, “Like that broken swing set outside the Bunker looked before you fixed it. Sad like that. All.. All sad.” Castiel wipes at the tears drying on his cheeks and Dean makes a note to apply more sun-block. The small child pats the goat’s head. The goat just grinds its teeth together, crushing the hay in its mouth. “The goat looks sad like you, when you drink that brown stuff at the dinner table or that time we saw Grandma’s big, fancy stone in that creepy ghosty yard-“ He continues to ramble on. The blood in Dean’s veins is molten hot, singing the inside of his skin. “Uncle Sam’s eyes kinda looked like that, before he started to go with Gabe. Now his eyes are kind of like… They’re kind of like the swing set after you fixed it. So.. Happy. I guess? Yeah, happy.”
pt 2 Halfway to the next building Bucky tackles Steve. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he tucks up his knees to take the brunt of the blow. The two lay, panting on the moonlight soaked rooftop. They kiss, fumbling.“Tag, you’re it.” Bucky whispers.
Pt 1 Steve Rogers leaps from the lip of his apartment building. His legs kick for momentum and his toes touch the next roof. He takes of running, laughter ripping from the base of his lungs. Bucky’s head pops up the ladder on their building and he grins wickedly. Bucky sprints, body always on a hair pin trigger. He jumps from one building to the next, steadily gaining on Steve.
