CONTENDER, the Heavyweight Prequel
a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0)
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SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1924. During their rise to fame, two professional boxers at the beginning of their careers meet and begin a turbulent affair. Set to the backdrop of opulent parties, dark-lit speakeasies, and the bright spotlight of the championship ring, Dean and Cas get caught up in boxing's seedy underworld.
CHAPTER PREVIEW:
That night, Dean stood in front of the slotted, gold-plaited mailboxes on the wall in Cas’ apartment building. He hovered his finger over the plaques with the handwritten names on them, dragging it across each until he found the one he’d been searching for.
C. Novak, 4a
“Yahtzee.” He turned toward the wooden staircase and trudged upward until he got to the second-from-the-top level, then stared down the gold lettering on Cas’ door. 4b was the only other apartment on the landing. In between, a thinner door leading to a checkered-tiled bathroom sat between the apartments, uniform with the other floors.
Dean formed a fist but didn’t yet raise it to knock. It was still pretty early in the evening. There was a chance that Cas wasn’t even home from the gym yet.
Half of Dean was even banking on that fact.
He didn’t even know why he was there in the first place. He’d thought he’d made up his mind to leave Cas in the past. But there he was, standing outside Cas’ door, getting ready to ask him to attend a party with him and his friends.
Dean had decided there wasn’t any real harm in it. Lisa would be going. She’d be hanging off Dean’s arm all night. He’d barely even notice Cas was there, and there was no chance of anyone sniffing out the fact that they were having sex.
If they were still having sex. Dean wasn’t really sure anymore. And so what if they weren’t? What did Dean care?
With that thought in mind, he knocked on the door—and ignored the way his stomach swooped down to his shoes and his breath tightened in his throat. It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps from inside echoed in his ears. Quickly, Dean straightened out the collar of his jacket and pressed down on the sides of his hair to make sure it was still laying flat.
Just as soon as he dropped his hands, the door swung open. Cas stared back at him through squinted eyes, his head tilted. Discoloration sat under his ocular bones and contused his sharp jawline. A nasty red scab cut a line down his left eyebrow. Voice rough and confused to match his face, he asked, “Dean?”
It sounded like there was more of a question behind the name. A what are you doing here? And that was a good question. The reason for the visit flew out of Dean’s head for half a second before his brain kicked into gear again like someone had finally oiled his machinery.
“Tell me you at least won,” Dean said smartly, nodding toward Cas’ bruises.
Cas’ expression went pinched. He straightened his posture slightly. He stared Dean down like he was waiting for an answer to his original question that he never actually asked.
Smile fading in the less-than-warm-welcome Dean had been hoping for but didn’t actually expect, he pointed past Cas’ shoulder and said, “Can I come in? Wanna talk to you about something.”
Cas stepped aside, seeming really annoyed about it. Dean didn’t let it deter him. He strode through the door and took in the small apartment.
It was pretty standard as New York City apartments went. A remnant of the last century with some modern amenities shoehorned in. A cramped, square room with a fireplace, sconces on the wall, and a dusty chandelier hanging from a ceiling medallion. There was a secondhand armchair, a coffee table, and a fraying rug over the hardwood. An old chamber stove and drainboard sink were shoved into the back corner among some shelves with barely any dishes racked onto them. The only food Dean saw was canned. There wasn’t even a dining table. A single bed was pushed into the corner beneath a window.
All told, the place would have been nice if Cas actually took the time to make it a home.
“You planning on moving in any time soon?” Dean joked, turning around.
Cas frowned again. Dean deflated his chest in defeat.
“What did you want to discuss?” Cas asked, still hovering by the door.
Dean figured it was probably better to just ask him to the party, hear Cas say no, and then leave. Instead, what came out was, “Did you get any of my calls?”
Cas nodded once. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Dean echoed, popping his brows. He flung his arms out. “So, what? You were just ignoring me?”
“I was busy.”
“Too busy to have some common decency? I spent two dollars on those calls!”
Cas rolled his eyes like he was the one who was being inconvenienced. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”
Dean blanched. He didn’t even know why he was trying anymore. “Why, you got somewhere to be?”
“Actually, yes,” Cas told him matter-of-factly. For the first time, Dean realized he was fully dressed; shoes on and everything. He was in a suit, to-boot. It was a little wrinkled and faded, but he looked good, like he was trying to make a good impression, even if his hair was still its usual spiky, disheveled heap.
Dean’s stomach soured. “You got a date?” Catching himself, he plastered on a grin and wiggled his brows. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
Cas frowned in confusion again. “No one, I—It’s a job.”
cas is so funny bc his moral compass is entirely centered around dean so if he did something wrong but dean didnt yell at him abt it he just shrugs it off in like two episodes but if dean is mad at him it takes him abt four seasons to recover
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Vanessa’s Supernatural Rewatch (Episode 12 of 327)
↳ Season 01, Episode 12 “Faith”
“May God protect us from half the people who think they're doing God's work.”
