Is This The End?
It was week three of Dean waking in Castiel’s arms. Week three, and how many days? Dean had lost count. Seemingly countless days of Castiel’s hands rubbing his back to wake him up, soft kisses pressed to his ear, an endless warmth as Castiel’s palms held him close and took away some of the dull aching in his knees, ready for the day ahead. Week three. It was a new normal that Dean could fast get on board with.
He smiled a little as Castiel blew against his ear, a tickle causing the hair on the back of Dean’s neck to rise. He scooted away, clinging onto Castiel so he didn’t fall off the small bed.
Another new norm: sharing a bed with someone pretty much the same size as him. Dean hadn’t been used to it before, but now he felt weird about the fact that girls were so much smaller than him. He liked the size of Castiel, he liked how Castiel’s arms were strong around him, his shoulders broad, his chest wide enough that the two of them couldn’t lie on their backs, side by side in the bed. One of them had to be on their side, or (preferably Dean) curled up against the other’s chest. He liked that Castiel was big enough to make him feel safe, that it wasn’t always the other way around.
Week three of untangling his legs from Castiel’s, smiling as Castiel’s hand skirted up his side.
Week three.
‘Do you have an exam today?’ Castiel whispered, even though the curtains were still muffled, blocking their sounds. If Benny had noticed Dean’s bed was stuffed full of pillows (curtains closed, totally empty) then he hadn’t said anything about it.
‘No,’ Dean replied, untangling his leg just so he could climb onto Castiel’s hips, kneeling in his lap as Castiel lay there, breathless, beneath him. The other boy’s chest was flushed, his hair tinged pink like a regular sunrise surfing above bright blue eyes. He was so beautiful like that. Beautiful, always. Dean leaned forward and kissed him slowly, receiving happy hums by way of reply.
Castiel’s hands traveled to Dean’s face, smoothing across his cheeks, up to his hair. Fingers scraped through Dean’s short strands, sending more tingles down his spine. Thank god Castiel was giving him daily doses of pain relief, because his knees didn’t hurt one bit as he straddled the other boy, smiling against his mouth.
Eventually, it was Castiel who broke away, a strong hand pushing Dean upright. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out, but he blinked a few times until the clouds cleared.
‘Well - I do,’ Castiel said, voice gravelly from sleep. It took Dean a moment to register what his words were in response to. Oh, right. Cas had an exam. Damn.
Dean resisted the urge to pout - that would be embarrassing. Instead, he rolled his eyes and slouched back.
‘Lame,’ Dean muttered. ‘What subject?’
‘Herbology,’ Castiel smiled. Of course, it was Herbology, pretty much the only subject they didn’t share together.
‘How many freakin’ Herbology exams do you got?’
‘I’ve only done three.’ Castiel crinkled his nose, rolling his own eyes now. ‘But I have five. Two theoretical, two practical, and one memory test where I have to identify a series of plants and their properties.’
‘Well, you’ll ace that,’ he scoffed, cocky on Castiel’s behalf, because Castiel knew his plants. Hell, he basically controlled plants.
Dean sniffed, remembering the vision of himself with the thick, ropey vines that ran like tentacles across his body. It made him shudder a little. He couldn’t remember any of it, even now, but he was grateful Castiel had shown him the truth. And who cared what Castiel thought about Teardenn’s magical properties? Dean was convinced Castiel was the reason those vines had healed him. Convinced.
‘Maybe,’ Castiel murmured, bringing Dean back to the present. ‘But it’s in an hour, so I need to get ready.’ He tapped Dean’s side, jerking his chin for Dean to move off.
They’d had the system down in just three days, but within three weeks it had become perfected. The system of how to sneak out of bed each morning without being noticed by their dormmates. Dean climbed off of Castiel and sat on the end of the bed as Castiel peeped through his curtains, checking the dormitory was clear. Yesterday, Max had been sitting on his bed. Castiel had talked to him from the other side of the dormitory, distracting him whilst Dean had scurried back into his own bed and pretended to climb out on the other side a moment later. They were stealthy like that.
This time, however, the dormitory was empty. Maybe Thursday was a big exam day.
‘What are you doing today?’ Castiel asked after his shower, drying his hair with his towel.
Dean was lounging on his own bed, flicking his wand idly against his knee and relishing in his slow start to the day. He shrugged. ‘Me an’ Charlie are probably gonna revise. The usual.’
‘Mm.’ Castiel set the towel on his bed and pulled a shirt over his head. He came to stand by Dean’s bed, offering his hand. Dean took it, their hands wrapping around the other’s wrists, a strong grip. He pressed his thumb into the inside of Castiel’s wrist, where his pulse was strongest.
‘Good luck,’ Dean told him, referring to the exam again.
Castiel leaned down and kissed him. A private goodbye that made Dean’s toes curl.
‘See you at lunch,’ Castiel murmured against his lips, and then he was gone.
With nowhere urgent to go, Dean stared up at the canopy of his bed for some time until he gained the strength to change and climb out of bed, a spring in his step. He met Charlie for breakfast, the two of them piling up on pancakes and planning their study session together. Charlie had a whole timetable written out, and she’d made a list of every topic Dean might need extra help with, owing to having missed them originally whilst comatose.
They were in the library, balancing books and quills, when Charlie brought it up. Casually. Like she hadn’t been thinking about it.
‘So, you guys are boyfriends, then.’ A teasing, careful statement. Barely even a question.
Dean choked on his own breath, coughing in surprise. He carried the books over to their desk, stumbling as he looked at Charlie. He knew he was bright red.
‘Uh. What?’ he mumbled.
Charlie hid her smirk, sliding into her chair and gesturing for Dean to do the same when he hesitated. ‘You and Cas. I figured it was a reasonable assumption to make.’
‘Uh,’ was all Dean could say again. He lifted his eyebrows, throat dry, and sat down. ‘Um. No?’ he offered. ‘We’re, uh, not - we haven’t exactly… discussed it. Like, at all. So - y’know.’ He flushed deeper, and held out a hand. ‘Steady on. Alright?’
‘Steady on?’ Charlie raised an eyebrow, her amusement blatant now. She didn’t bother to conceal her laugh. ‘Dude. You’re the one wearing lover boy’s jumper right now.’
Dean choked on his own spit again. He looked down at his jumper and scowled, irritated that the soft, woolen purple of Castiel’s Pride of Portree jumper would betray him like that. ‘That’s bullshit, c’mon.’ His voice was weak. ‘It’s just a jumper.’ (It definitely wasn’t just a jumper). (It smelled like Cas).
‘The whole school saw you sucking face, Dean,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘It’s actually crazy to me that you two made out in front of all the teachers, eye fuck in every corridor, sleep in the same bed - yes, Dean, Benny knows - wear the same clothes, and still aren’t official. It’s crazy. You’re crazy.’
‘We’re taking it slow.’ He swallowed. We. Dean and Cas were a we. It made Dean’s heart skip a beat. ‘I think,’ he added.
‘You’re taking it stupid, is what you’re doing,’ was Charlie’s laughing reply, unbothered by Dean’s defenses. ‘What’s the hang-up, come on. What’s holding you back?’
Dean just shook his head. He tried to swallow down the bad taste in his mouth. Things with Castiel were - hell, they were great. It was the best thing that happened to him all year after a year of shite, and he worried that if he looked the beast in the eye, maybe it would all fall apart. He liked this realm. He liked this realm of devotion, security, and love. Why did they have to name it something? Words couldn’t even cover it.
‘Has he said something to you?’ Dean asked then, trying a different tactic as he looked at Charlie across the table carefully.
Charlie’s mouth twitched. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Then, does it matter?’
Charlie sucked in a slow breath through her nose. ‘Okay,’ she relented. ‘As long as you’re okay. Hell, Dean - you know I’m…’ Her voice faded away and she paused, chewing her lip. She reached across the table and took Dean’s hands. ‘You know I’m just living vicariously through you both, yeah?’
Dean pulled a face, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. ‘Come off it,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve got Gilda. Okay? You ain’t exactly single, if anything I’ve been the single one all year. You and Benny have been living it up.’
‘I know,’ Charlie said with a dramatic eye roll. ‘But it’s different. Me and Gilda are a piece of cake, smooth-sailing-sapphic-living. You and Cas have been at war half the year. So sue me, I’m invested. I’m rooting for you guys, so don’t - don’t fudge it up with stupid commitment issues and label-phobia. Yeah?’
Dean swallowed. He looked at Charlie, the fierceness in his eyes, and nodded firmly. ‘Yes,’ he said, clear as anything. ‘I won’t.’
Charlie looked satisfied. She opened her book to start flicking through pages and grabbed a quill. In a way, Dean would rather be interrogated than study, so he shifted where he sat and nudged Charlie’s leg under the table. She looked back up at him, lifting a brow.
‘I was thinking, uh…’ Dean’s voice trailed off. He sniffed. ‘I was thinking of asking Cas to the End of School Ball.’ He was bright red again even as Charlie smiled, slow and wide. ‘You got any bright ideas as to how I should do that?’
‘Dean,’ Charlie grinned. ‘I am the queen of bright ideas.’
Something caught the corner of Dean’s eye as Charlie spoke. A piece of paper was trapped on the desk beneath one of the many books Charlie and Dean had piled there. The part that caught Dean’s eye, however, was the picture printed on the paper’s front.
‘Is that-’ Dean cut himself off, tugging the paper out from beneath the book.
The paper tore a little, but he flattened it on the desk and stared down at the front page of what turned out to be a newspaper. The Hogwart’s Herald. Dean’s eyes bulged out of his head.
‘No fuckin’ way,’ he breathed.
There on the front cover, in all capitals, read: HOGWARTS HEADBOY HEARTTHROB, DEAN WINCHESTER, REUNITED WITH HERO, CAS NOVAK.
The front picture was of him, kissing Castiel fiercely in the Great Hall, Castiel’s hands on his waist, Dean’s hands on Castiel’s collar - and even the black and white print managed to capture how pink Castiel’s hair had turned.
‘Sammy,’ he growled, deep in his chest.
He screwed up the paper in one fist and pushed out of his chair abruptly - not caring when half the library-goers looked over at the sound of his chair scraping against stone.
Charlie followed him hastily as he stormed out of the library, leaving their books behind, piled on the desk. Dean couldn’t help but see red. His stupid little brother’s stupid little school paper - with his stupid face printed all over the front.
Dean knew Sam’s schedule like the back of his hand. He knew it was 11:45 on a Thursday and Sam had Transfiguration, so he stormed up to the correct floor, Charlie in tow, and he stood, breathing heavily, outside Sam’s classroom.
‘I’m gonna kill him,’ Dean grunted, pacing the floor.
‘Dean, c’mon.’ Charlie flicked through the paper, crinkling her nose. ‘It’s gotta be fake.’
‘It’s real.’ Dean jabbed the picture emphatically, flicking his own face on the front. ‘He’s an idiot - an asshole.’
When Sam left Transfiguration ten minutes later, he was met with Dean’s hands on his collar, pinning him to the wall. Sam’s classmates gave the scene a wide berth, a ripple of surprise.
‘What the hell, Sam?’ Dean said harshly, grabbing the paper off Charlie and shoving it into Sam’s chest. ‘What the hell are you doing writing this garbage?’
Sam grunted beneath Dean’s hands, a small, lanky boy opposite Dean who had several years of growth and muscle mass on his side. Sam worked his jaw uselessly, stumbling over words that never came as he looked at what Dean was holding, slowly turning red.
‘Dean, I swear,’ Sam mumbled, pushing Dean’s hands off himself and smoothing out the front page. ‘I swear I didn’t authorize this.’
‘It’s private.’
At this, even Sam had to pause to raise an eyebrow. ‘Okay, well - it was pretty public.’
Dean snatched the paper away. ‘It definitely doesn’t need to be in a shitty school paper. I’m done with the tabloids. Done.’
Sam crinkled his nose. He studied the paper in Dean’s hands, smoothing out the creases as he scanned the front. ‘I swear, I didn’t write this,’ he said fiercely. ‘It’s crap, Dean, that you’d even think that.’ He flicked the paper, letting out a sigh of satisfaction - exonerated from his crimes as he pointed out the name at the bottom of the front page. Rowena MacLeod.
‘Rowena,’ Sam growled, letting out a noise of frustration, his face as angry as Dean’s had been ten minutes ago. ‘I’m gonna kill her.’
‘Yeah - damn right you are.’ But Dean stepped back, letting his hands fall to his side as Sam scanned the paper, both of them filled with identical fury.
‘Winchester,’ a voice said, and both Sam and Dean snapped their heads up, eyes landing on McGonagall standing in the doorway of her classroom. She raised a thin, unforgiving, eyebrow, her hands clasped behind her back. ‘I hope I didn’t see any fighting back here.’
Sam and Dean swallowed, identical shakes of the head and straightened up instinctively. Sam tried to hide the paper behind his back whilst Dean elbowed him, half-stepping in front of Sam to shield it from view.
‘Nope,’ Dean said clearly, whilst Sam blinked innocently at McGonagall. ‘No fighting.’
‘The article was a good read,’ McGonagall added, a tiny quirk of her lips - a glint in her eye. ‘A very positive commentary on the situation. It is refreshing to see good things happen.’ She looked at Dean who was flushed deep crimson. ‘I take it you’ll be in my office tomorrow? A final report.’
‘Yes, Professor,’ Dean mumbled, swallowing. He nodded. McGonagall looked amused behind her stiff features.
‘Excellent. As you were.’
She disappeared into her classroom, the door falling shut behind her, and Dean smacked Sam on the back of the head. Hard. Sam winced but accepted the hit.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.
‘Get it taken down,’ Dean huffed, grabbing the paper and screwing it up. ‘If I have to read my name in one more freaking newspaper - voluntary journalists or not - then I’m gonna start throwing punches.’
Sam had the good graces to look guilty as he scarpered off, leaving Charlie to cross her arms and raise an eyebrow.
‘Ask Cas in a romantic way,’ she said simply, jumping straight back to their previous conversation. ‘Take him to the Owlery and flirt his goddamn pants off like it’s your god-given purpose, okay?’
‘No way,’ Dean said shortly, still bristling at everything that had just happened. He hated fuss. ‘No way - I’ll… I’ll figure something out. Something that isn’t gay.’
‘Isn’t gay,’ Charlie scoffed, elbowing Dean sharply in the side as they walked back to the library, Dean’s fists clenched at his side. ‘You’re one of us now, Winchester. One of us.’
Dean ignored her commentary for the rest of the day, deeming it complete drivel. He met Castiel for lunch and spent the whole hour bitching about Sam’s newspaper crap whilst Castiel spent the hour trying not to look too amused and offering Dean his chips to placate his mood. The rest of his Thursday was spent bouncing between those two moods; frustration at his little brother, and pleasant gratitude at Castiel’s ability to calm him down.
Friday was, as McGonagall had pointed out, Dean’s last Friday as Head Boy.
His last meeting with McGonagall in a professional manner.
He and Castiel stayed up late that Thursday night, compiling a folder of all the notes he’d made during his time in charge, with all the suggestions for improvements and all the things that had worked and helped. It was this folder that Dean presented to McGonagall when he reached her desk the following Friday morning. He’d been comatose when Bela had presented hers, but he figured that was fine. That was better, even. He wouldn’t have to share the stage.
‘This looks very… thorough,’ McGonagall commented, flicking through the folder idly. It was hard to tell, as always, whether she was impressed or disapproving.
Dean nodded, his hands clasped behind his back where he stood, to attention. He liked pretending to be more professional than he was, even though McGonagall had officially seen him kiss a boy over breakfast and squabble with his brother less than 24 hours ago.
‘Yes, Professor,’ he said, speaking clearly. ‘I had the First Years fill in a survey a month or so ago - I drew up some graphs and charts detailing their responses. I thought you might find this folder useful. If not for your own records, then maybe for the incoming Head Boy or Girl.’
McGonagall nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She closed the folder and looked up at Dean, eyes filled with pride - an unmistakable emotion this time. ‘That is very considerate of you, Winchester. You have been a remarkable Head Boy, if I do say so myself. Please. Take a seat.’
Dean sat. He rubbed at his knee self-consciously, a slight twinge of pain there.
‘It’s been a difficult few weeks for you, I imagine,’ McGonagall said after a pause, studying him carefully over her half-moon glasses.
Dean shifted in his seat. ‘No more difficult than the rest of the year,’ he said evasively.
‘I must say, you’ve put the school in good spirits,’ she said with a tiny smile. ‘Everyone enjoys a heartfelt reunion.’
Dean flushed again, uncomfortable. Would he ever shake that damn stunt off? No. It would be a part of his Hogwarts legacy forever now, as much as being Gryffindor Beater and Head Boy would be. Dean would be the boy who didn’t die that one time, and then kissed his savior in front of the whole school’s breakfast.
‘Your mother would be very proud of you,’ McGonagall said after a pause, and Dean felt his breath hitch. He swallowed and nodded numbly. ‘You’re leaving Hogwarts as an accomplished student, with plenty of friends, and a lot of light in your soul. I expect you’ll get a fine collection of grades - but grades don’t matter. You’re leaving here with great leadership skills, humility, compassion, and an admirable ability to care for others. Not to mention, an offer to join the Auror Recruitment Programme. Any mother would be proud.’
‘Thank you, Professor.’
‘I’m proud,’ she added, and Dean’s chest felt tight.
He could only nod. There weren’t words - he’d always known that he liked McGonagall as a mentor, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d like her support all year until that moment. How much he looked up to her. How much she - well. She wasn’t a maternal figure, as such, but she was certainly close to it now.
‘Have you responded to your offer?’
Shit. His Auror Recruitment Offer remained stuffed at the back of his bedside table drawer. Not even opened again since he’d opened it with Sam.
‘Not yet, Professor.’
McGonagall lifted an eyebrow. ‘When you do - what will you say?’
Dean paused. He thought about it. His hand tightened on the fabric of his trousers where it bundled at the knee. Those same knees that Nicodemus had snapped like twigs on the ground. A wave of nausea hit him.
‘I’ll say no thank you, Professor,’ he said quietly.
McGonagall blinked. ‘You’ll turn down the offer?’
‘I’ll turn down the offer,’ Dean confirmed.
‘This has been your plan for some time, Winchester. Why the change of heart?’
Dean swallowed. ‘I think I’d be a good Auror, Professor,’ he said quietly, honestly. ‘I’m a good fighter. A good thinker. I work well in teams - and I’m pretty damn fearless.’ He chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘But I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I’d be able to make the right call if ever I had to. I think about - about Nicodemus all the time. He was Cas’ brother. You know? ’ Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head. ‘Hell, if my brother went dark - if I knew the guy I was fightin’... No way could I fight them. I could never do that,’ he said. Adamant. ‘I would never be able to do something like that.’
‘That’s an extreme case, Winchester. Aurors very rarely are cornered into positions where they must kill their opponents…’
‘No, Professor. That’s not what I mean.’ Dean licked his lips, nervously. ‘These people aren’t opponents - they’re people. People I know. People I’ve probably met. People I’ve gone to school with - or are friends of my friends of my friends.’ He screwed up his face, his knees aching. How could he be an Auror with knees like these, anyway? Snapped in a heartbeat. If he’d been Castiel, he wouldn’t have been able to fight Nicodemus. If Sam went dark, he wouldn’t lift a finger - Dean knows it, he’s certain. He’d rather die than do something like that.
‘I don’t want to be an Auror anymore because I don’t think it solves the problem,’ he mumbled eventually, voice rough. ‘It’s just - attempting to manage the side effects. By the time someone goes dark, it’s too late. We’ve failed them. I want a career path where I can stop the bad guys before they become the bad guys, or I want a totally different career path, full stop. Once they’ve become the bad guys, it’s too late. We’ve already messed up. We’ve already lost. I’m not sure I wanna add to more graves in this war than I have to.’
McGonagall nodded, expression severe. ‘And what do you have in mind for this career path?’ she asked carefully.
Dean wasn’t sure. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that I don’t know what I’ll do yet.’ It was honest, at least. ‘I don’t think I can make a choice just now.’
McGonagall sat back in her chair, fingers lacing together. ‘Well,’ she said with a sigh, adjusting her glasses. ‘You’ll certainly be one of the first rejections the Auror Department will have received, I expect. But I understand your reasons. You’ve experienced a lot, recently, and it may take time to learn what path you wish to proceed on after this. I think you would be a dedicated and invaluable soldier for the Ministry - but I also believe you deserve a career that isn’t so dangerous or hard-boiled. It is not the only path for you. There are so many options for you beyond school, and I will support you in whatever decisions you make - right now, and over the coming years.’
Dean felt a small smile twitch at his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he said, meaningfully. ‘Thank you.’
A quiet life, he thought. Maybe that was what he wanted. A quiet fucking life.
He stood up and smoothed a hand down his shirt, straightening the kinks. At the top, pinned to his collar, was the bright golden Head Boy badge. Dean unclipped it and placed it delicately on McGonagall’s desk.
‘It’s been an honor,’ he told McGonagall sincerely. ‘And I’ve loved working with you.’
McGonagall smiled. ‘The feeling is mutual,’ she assured him.
When Dean left her office shortly after, he felt as though he was walking into a completely different life path. He’d spent his whole life working towards one goal; to be a fighter. To fight evil. To serve justice. But now that dream felt like something Dean had only believed in because he’d had to believe in something. And what was justice anyway? Was it suffering the way Castiel had done, only to be slandered in every newspaper for being different? Dean didn’t trust the system. The system was fucked and he’d find his own way of helping people. But it wouldn’t be under the instruction of the Ministry.
When he left McGonagall’s office, he felt as though he was making the first steps into the beginning of his life. The first steps in figuring out who he was and what he wanted - what career he would dream of if he hadn’t spent a lifetime wanting vengeance that would never satisfy him?
Friday was warm. Hot, even. Hot enough that Dean was in a t-shirt, robes abandoned indoors as he trudged down the front lawn of the Castle. He’d said he would meet Castiel by the Lake after his meeting, and Castiel’s plant-memory-test had taken place in the grounds that morning as well.
Dean arrived at the Lake and found Castiel lying there, his legs crossed at the knee, his arms over his face. On his stomach rest a copy of The Hogwarts Herald. Dean crinkled his nose at the sight of it, picking it up with two fingers and flicking it onto the floor.
‘Not you as well,’ he sighed, coming to sit beside Castiel.
Castiel shifted his arm, squinting up at Dean from his bed of grass, eyes a dazzling, scrunched blue. Dean bit back his smile, tapping Castiel’s side to make room for him in the sun.
‘It’s nice to read our highlights for once,’ Castiel murmured, making room. Dean wanted to throw the paper in the Lake, but Castiel would probably complain that it’s bad for the environment or something.
He lay down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Hand creeping down until their fingers brushed and interlocked.
‘How was the exam?’ he asked, listening to the soft buzz in the air. A couple harmless flies. The fish on the water.
‘Awful,’ Castiel sighed, arm moving to cover his face. ‘Abhorrent. Heinous.’
‘Gee, man. Tell me how you really feel.’
‘Repugnant.’
Dean put his hand over Castiel’s mouth, smiling at the way Castiel’s mouth moved with more terrible words.
‘Sounds like ass,’ Dean summarized for him. ‘I take it you’re not feeling optimistic.’
Castiel sucked in a long breath through his nose, then out. He gave it a moment before he sat up and shrugged, cricking his neck and reaching for his newspaper again.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ve sort of adjusted to worst-case scenarios at this point, so failure isn’t going to destroy me,’ he told Dean, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve become quite used to living in a pretty consistent timeline of bad events.’
Dean pulled a face. ‘C’mon,’ he mumbled, nudging Castiel’s back with his hand, gentle. ‘Don’t talk like that. Go back to reading your highlights, yeah?’
Castiel smirked, resting the paper on his knees as he flicked through the pages.
‘You need a win,’ Dean told him simply, standing up and wiping the grass off his jeans before it stained. ‘It’s been a shit year.’
He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he wandered to the water, pulling his jeans up to the knee.
‘I do need a win,’ Castiel agreed quietly, and when Dean looked over, his cheeks were flushed.
Their eyes met for half a beat too long. Dean’s insides were goo by the time he was looking back out at the Lake, reaching into the water to pick out the smoothest stones available.
Exams were nearly over. Coming to an end. Dean wished he could’ve spent the whole year like this, hanging out with Castiel, studying with Charlie, getting wound up by Benny. The year was tainted with so many bad memories - but now he had a chance to finish it with only the best kind of memories.
‘Ain’t you a little warm in that sweater?’ Dean asked idly as he threw a stone across the surface. Castiel was in his Prides sweater again, and maybe Dean was commenting because it wasn’t sweater weather, or maybe he was commenting because deep down he was annoyed Castiel managed to grab the sweater before him that morning. He wrinkled his face up and stared into the sun ahead, deciding it definitely wasn’t the latter. ‘I feel like my skin is melting. Just looking at you makes me wanna pass out.’
Castiel turned over a page in his newspaper, not looking up, but Dean could see his tiny smirk. ‘That is one way to call me attractive,’ he said dryly.
Dean huffed. ‘Alright.’ He skipped another stone. ‘Big up Comedy Cas, huh.’
Castiel looked up. He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing as he squinted. ‘I don’t know what that means,’ he said simply before returning to his paper.
He looked adorable like that, hair a mess, sweater ugly, the newspaper balanced on his knees. He looked adorable, and he looked like Dean’s.
Dean just laughed at the comment, though. It meant nothing.
‘Comedy Cas,’ he repeated to himself under his breath, fishing for another stone. ‘Don’t you feel like everything we do at the moment is a long stream of finals, and lasts, and never agains?’
‘Mhm.’
‘I told McGonagall that I won’t accept the Auror offer,’ he blurted, the weight heavy in his chest, stone heavy in his hand. Castiel looked up, studying Dean carefully. In the back of his mind, he could feel that soft warmth of Castiel’s consciousness, nudging his. Comforting. ‘She took it alright.’
‘That’s good,’ Castiel reasoned. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but. Like.’ Dean threw the stone. It didn’t skim the surface but instead splashed horrifically, disturbing the peace. He grimaced. ‘I’m tired of this feeling, man. Like my life is over once I leave here. I can’t picture anything outside of school anymore, and I hate it.’
‘Your life isn’t over, Dean,’ Castiel said simply. ‘Surely being an Auror wasn’t the only thing you wanted for yourself?’
Dean chewed his lip. It had kind of been the only thing Dean had wanted for himself. ‘I guess I never thought about it much,’ he admitted, rolling up his sleeves as he ducked down for another pebble.
‘School’s over.’ Castiel closed the paper. ‘But our lives are just beginning. Everything we do now, we do because we want to do it - not because we have to go through the system, get grades, get through. Not because someone else is pulling the strings - we’re doing it because we choose to. There’s no need to rush anything from here.’
Dean puffed out his cheeks. ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he grumbled, a little childishly. ‘You have a plan.’
‘Had,’ Castiel corrected. Dean looked over. The other boy set the paper down on the grass and crossed his arms over his knees. ‘Had a plan.’
‘Aren’t you still going for the Healer training in St Mungo’s?’
Castiel shook his head. ‘No, I’m…’ He twisted his mouth. It looked like this was something he’d been thinking for some time but had kept to himself. ‘After this year, I think I need to take some time out,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve seen enough death - not been able to heal enough wounds, physical or mental… I don’t think I have it in me currently to take up a career so draining.’
Dean swallowed. He nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.’ Maybe this was why Castiel had been the least surprised of his friends when Dean had told them his plan to turn down the offer? Castiel was going through the same struggle. Dean felt stupid for not even considering Castiel might feel the same.
‘Maybe I’ll go back to Skye,’ Castiel continued. He smiled a little, the small kind that only twitched the corners of his lips. Dean turned the pebble over in his hands as he paused to watch Castiel talk. ‘Maybe do something simple at home for a while. Maybe even work in a Muggle shop. Maybe help my mother with the owlets. Figure out a long-term plan. That kind of thing.’
Dean nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he murmured. He dropped the pebble into the water and stared up at the clouds. ‘That sounds like a great plan, Cas. Some time out. You deserve it.’
He wanted to ask - where do I fit in that life? But he couldn’t bring himself to. Just in case Castiel shrugged it off, said, I don’t know. Or worse, nowhere.
Dean swallowed the tightness in his throat, and before Castiel could say anything else, Dean cut across him - just in case Castiel was going to say something he didn’t want to hear.
‘There’s the ball,’ Dean said weakly, words a little fast, a little jumbled. His neck was warm, not from the sun. ‘Uh. Next week.’ He scratched the back of his neck and looked over at Castiel’s squinting face. The strong arch of his eyebrows, the pale bow of his lips. Dean couldn’t believe he got to kiss those lips. ‘It’s the end of school ball.’
‘I’m aware,’ Castiel murmured. Tiny smile.
Safe in the water, Dean clenched and unclenched his hands. Ask Cas in a romantic way. Take him to the Owlery and flirt his goddamn pants off like it’s your god-given purpose, okay?
Dean stood in the water and grimaced. God, Charlie would be so disappointed in him.
‘I was wondering,’ he forced out, through grit teeth. ‘If you’d like to go with me.’
Castiel’s smirk was almost annoying - like he could tell how much it pained Dean to ask. Like Dean didn’t feel like an idiot standing in the Lake, awkward and embarrassed. Like Dean didn’t wish, there and then, that he’d asked Castiel to every single dance that year already.
‘Of course,’ Castiel said softly, not moving from where he sat, leaning back on his palms. ‘You only had to ask.’
Dean grinned. He grinned, then he scooped up a handful of water from the Lake and ran back to Castiel, pouring the cold water down his shirt - soaking him. Ice cold. Freezing wet. Laughter turning to kisses.
The final day of exams was June 5th. Castiel and Dean had finished by then - they both had their final Potions exam with Charlie the day before. The rest of the dormitory had a final History of Magic exam, but not Dean and Cas. They had the whole day (and the whole dormitory) to themselves. But June 5th was the end, for everyone. It was the day of the end of school ball, it was the day everything ended. Last day of their lives at Hogwarts. First day of the rest of their lives.
They woke up together, as they had done every day since Castiel had returned to Hogwarts. Dean woke him that morning with soft kisses pressed to his neck. He smiled at the happy hum his actions received, enjoying the tiny dark mark his kiss left behind as he continued lower, trailing further down.
‘Mm, Dean,’ Castiel mumbled, voice deep with sleep. He opened his eyes and blinked blearily. ‘Exam today?’
‘No,’ Dean grinned, pausing his trail against Castiel’s collarbone. ‘No exams ever again. Not for us.’
Castiel looked sleepy and pleased by this fact. He hummed once. ‘You can continue, then.’
And continue Dean did.
The final weeks at Hogwarts were a steady stream of finals and lasts, but Dean and Castiel managed to squeeze in a couple firsts by themselves in that Dormitory that morning, before Hogwarts would be in their past forever.
That night, they dressed for the End of School Ball together, with Charlie sitting on Dean’s bed providing unhelpful commentary on the state of Castiel’s hair and Dean’s robes.
‘Why are you wearing that?’ she huffed, exasperated by the robes Dean had pulled on. They were dark green with a thick collar that wrapped all the way up his neck. Dean flushed.
‘Uh.’
Charlie rolled her eyes and stood up. She fixed Dean’s hair and tried to correct his collar.
‘You look like a Vulcan,’ she accused, and Dean smirked at the reference, grateful that he’d kept in touch with his Muggle roots. She peeled back the collar and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the dark hickey that stretched across Dean’s throat. He flushed. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘Don’t blame me!’ Dean huffed, batting Charlie’s hands away. ‘Blame Cas. I can’t metamorph them away like he can.’
He waggled his eyebrows, aware that his and Castiel’s antics were written all over his face and marked well and truly into his skin. Castiel’s hair turned pink at the comment, but he didn’t look up from the shoes he was tying.
Castiel straightened up eventually, his expression entirely neutral even as Charlie and Benny looked at him accusatorially and Dean smirked, reading into the micro-emotions that flickered across Castiel’s face, barely noticeable to the others. Just at the sight of Castiel stood there, in his best robes, his hair slicked back and a fading pink, Dean felt the ghost of Castiel’s lips across his skin, the memory of Castiel’s touches. The way he reduced Dean to a melt of a man at the slightest of touches.
‘You smell whipped,’ Benny sniggered into Dean’s ear as he passed, and Dean ignored him pointedly. So what if he was whipped? He was whipped for the best person on the planet.
Once everyone was dressed for the ball, Charlie enthusiastically badgered the four of them into position for a photograph, one of many photos of the four of them. Except this time, Dean and Castiel were in the middle, their hands held tight together behind their backs, whilst Benny grinned at Dean’s side, and Charlie beamed beside Castiel. For the first time that whole year, there was finally a picture of the four of them that Dean could frame.
He smiled down at the picture once it developed, at the way Castiel’s eyes shone brightly and Charlie laughed at something Benny muttered. All his best friends, all in the same frame.
The four of them head to the ball together that night. It was held in the Great Hall, and Dean had no idea what to expect. Nobody knew what the End of School Ball was like because by the time you experienced it, you were gone. It was an event that could only ever be anticipated and not ever retroactively discussed.
When the Great Hall doors fell open, Dean’s jaw dropped. The House tables were gone, replaced by marble statues of the Hogwarts Founders, and a large fountain in the center from which sparkling, silver water ran. There was a live band at the top of the Hall, where the teacher’s table usually resided. Dean lifted his eyebrows, impressed at the sight of a string quartet, a guitarist, and a singer. They were dressed in flowing, golden robes. The Hall was entirely packed, every single student from their year was there - every single one.
‘Holy fuck,’ Charlie grinned, eyes following Dean’s trail as well. ‘This… is insane.’
‘Benny!’ came a voice, husky and pleasant.
The four of them looked over, eyes landing on Andrea who waltzed over in a beautiful, silver dress. It was tight in all the right places, and her lips were painted a deep, blood red.
‘Andrea,’ Benny smiled slowly, voice deep.
‘Who’s whipped now?’ Dean quipped and Benny took a moment to scowl his way before he was stepping over and taking Andrea’s hand. They kissed with far too much passion for anyone to witness, so Dean pulled his gaze away and wrinkled his nose. ‘Jeez,’ he smirked, ‘didn’t need to see that.’
‘I have to go find Gilda,’ Charlie said abruptly, stopping to wrap her arms around Dean and hug him tight, then Castiel. She pressed a kiss to both of their cheeks. ‘You boys don’t have too much fun without me, yeah?’
Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie was long gone. She disappeared into the crowd of students with a flurry, and when Dean turned around he realized that Benny and Andrea were gone too, lost to a sea of students. With a frown, Dean pressed his lips together and slowly looked over at Castiel who was standing beside him innocently, hands pushed into the pockets of his robes, hair a pastel pink.
‘Uh,’ was all Dean could think to say. For all the time they’d spent together, and even though they’d been best friends since they were eleven, Dean had no idea how to navigate the sudden awkwardness that built up between them both in that moment.
Castiel flushed, eyes the same blue as the Lake in the sunlight. He swayed a little where he was stood and people bustled past, knocking his shoulder, jostling him. Jostling them both.
Dean swallowed.
‘You look good,’ he told Castiel, the words a little rough. Hell, hadn’t Castiel pinned him down that morning in bed, and totally torn him apart? So why did Dean feel so flustered? When would he stop feeling so nervous?
From the way Castiel smiled, shy and quiet, Dean had a hunch that Castiel was equally as nervous.
‘Thank you,’ Castiel said warmly, soft. His eyes creased at the corners and he reached forward, hand finding Dean’s face. One touch from him and Dean was like putty. His knees were weak, breath taken. Did Castiel have any idea how infinite he made Dean feel?
‘Will you dance with me?’ Castiel asked, eyebrow curving in question as he nodded at the couples around them, their bodies swaying to the music. It was folk music. Dean hated folk music.
‘Of course,’ he grinned, not even caring. ‘You only had to ask.’
His hand locked with Castiel’s and the two of them pushed themselves into the crowd of people.
‘Who the hell picked this music?’ Dean asked as the band started playing a new tune, and the crowds begin to part.
‘It’s ceilidh music,’ Castiel explained over his shoulder, raising his voice over the music. ‘You’ve never been to a ceilidh?’
Dean grinned giddily. ‘We didn’t all grow up on Skye,’ he scoffed.
But everyone else seemed to know the dance moves.
‘It’s Strip the Willow,’ Castiel told him seriously as everyone began to link arms and grab onto their partners, jigging up and down in a circle and a line.
People were passed around. Dean must’ve lost sight of Castiel a dozen times as he stumbled over his feet trying to keep up with the fast pace of the music, the intensity of the fiddle. He was sure his calves would burn for days after the jumping and skipping and twirling he was having to do. After Strip the Willow it was the Gay Gordons, apparently, and after that it was a break. Dean grabbed Castiel and pulled him out of the crowd, breathless and exhausted.
‘Dude - this ain’t dancing,’ he laughed, chest heaving, ‘it’s gym.’
Castiel’s hair had turned electric green at some point and his cheeks were flushed, but his metamorphosis had slipped slightly, revealing the faintest of bruises against his throat. The sight of it made a hunger curl deep in Dean’s gut. The band played on, everyone danced maniacally around them, and every so often Dean caught a sight of Charlie’s red hair in the background.
‘I love you,’ Dean told Castiel over the music, both of them breathless and giddy, because he’d already said once it so the words came easy now. ‘I love you - but I need a fucking drink.’
Castiel grinned. He grabbed Dean’s face and kissed him without remorse, the two of them scrambling for purchase on each other, their breath mingling, and Dean could taste the happiness in Castiel’s mouth.
They found themselves by the drinks table not long after, and Dean was grateful that Benny had given him a flask of whiskey earlier that day. He hitched up his robes, pulled out the bottle and discreetly tipped some of the contents into his and Castiel’s drinks.
‘This isn’t very Head Boy of you,’ Castiel smiled.
‘Oh, I ain’t Head Boy anymore, sweetheart,’ Dean explained. He tipped his head back, the drinking spilling down his throat. It sent a flush of heat through his body and he winced and shuddered at the sharpness of the whiskey. It made his hair stand in end. Flushed and overpowered, Dean added carelessly, ‘I’m yours.’
Castiel seemed to like that. He kissed Dean again by the drinks table, knocking over a wayward bottle of Butterbeer. Their kisses were desperate and fumbling, heated and overeager.
‘Dudes!’
Dean pulled away abruptly, him and Castiel falling away from each other. It was Charlie, bursting out of the crowd, hand in hand with Gilda.
‘Come dance again!’ she cheered, letting go of Gilda in order to grab both of their hands and tug them back into the crowd.
‘Woah, woah,’ Dean laughed, batting her hands away. ‘I am tired. This ceilidh crap ain’t for me.’
‘Dean has some powerful juice,’ Castiel added, popping his brows.
Charlie pulled a face of disgust. ‘Ew, Cas. Jesus. Way to overshare.’
Dean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.
‘Not that,’ he muttered, picking up a glass of punch and subtly tipping some whiskey into the glass from the flask up his sleeve. He sniffed it, swirled it, and held it out for Charlie. ‘Actual juice. Knock it back, Charles.’
Realization dawned in Charlie’s eyes and she smiled slowly, holding the glass up in salute before she downed the drink in one gulp. Dean poured them all more drinks, the whiskey sharp and vile down their throats. Between the four of them they finished the flask very quickly.
‘It’s okay,’ Dean said, ‘Benny has another.’
They danced for another hour after the whiskey had loosened Dean’s joints and relaxed his mind. He hated being passed around in the ceilidh but enjoyed every time he was partnered with Castiel, every time Castiel’s hands were on his waist, or in Dean’s. He loved when their chests were pressed together, when they were locked at the hip. He hated it when Castiel’s place was taken by anybody else, or when he caught sight of Castiel partnered with some other student, who didn’t smile at Castiel the way Dean did.
The more the night progressed, the drunker Dean became - and the drunker Castiel became as well. They finished Benny’s flask of whiskey. Then Benny’s other flask of whiskey he kept in his other boot. Then the flask of whiskey Benny kept god knows where but it came from a mysterious crotch-area of his robes.
‘Dude,’ Dean said thickly, leaning against the table heavily as he regarded Benny with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘You’re magic, you know?’
Benny smirked, flicking the last drops of whiskey into Dean’s glass and handing it to Dean.
‘I’ll drink to that, brother,’ he said breezily, the words smug.
They clinked glasses clumsily and tipped their drinks back. Behind them, the band had calmed down. It had taken a break from fast-pace dance music, as most people had fallen away with their exhaustion. The songs became gentler now, with the singer taking centre stage.
Castiel and Dean leaned against the wall of the Great Hall and watched the scene together. Castiel was humming along to the tune.
‘You know it?’ Dean asked, the words a little slurred.
Castiel nodded, leaning his head onto Dean’s shoulder heavily.
‘Skye Boat Song,’ he responded, equally as slurred. ‘Merlin’s Beard, Dean. You don’t listen to traditional music very often, do you?’
Dean huffed, rolling his eyes up to the star-covered ceiling.
‘I’m too busy listening to good music,’ he huffed, ‘actual music.’
Castiel’s smile melted into the crook of Dean’s neck and they leaned on each other heavily, holding each other up against the cold, stone wall. The music vibrated against Dean’s back, another song starting up. This one was slow, and everyone knew the words. Even Dean. They were summoned out of his mouth from the back of his mind. The cello played the softer, deeper notes, resounded through the fiddle and the guitar to support.
By yon bonnie banks, by yon bonnie braes…
‘Come on,’ Castiel whispered, eyes glazed from their whiskey. He tugged himself upright and pulled Dean away from the wall.
Everyone sang the words, giddy and slow, and Dean allowed himself to be pulled into the crowd, his arm tight around Castiel’s neck. Castiel held onto his waist, bunching up the fabric around Dean’s hip with his grip so tight.
Where me and my true love, will never meet again, the crowd sang.
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
Dean grinned. ‘Oh YOU’LL take the HIGH road!’ he roared, and Castiel laughed effortlessly beside him. He looked through the crowd and spotted Benny with his arms around Andrea, and Charlie with Gilda. And all the other people from Dean’s year who he had grown up with, for better or for worse.
Bela was there, smile sly as ever as she sang, her arms around a boy. And there was Max Banes - Alicia, too. Balthazar, Castiel’s weird nerdy friend from Chess club. Everyone he’d ever known, really, all in one room. For better, or for worse.
But he didn’t see any of them as he looked at Castiel.
‘I’m glad you’re here, man,’ Dean said over the music, thinking about the countless times he’d lost Castiel that year. He brushed a thumb across Castiel’s cheekbone.
Castiel turned his head and kissed Dean’s palm, not looking away.
‘I’m glad you’re with me,’ Castiel replied.
Where me and my true love, will never meet again. On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
The song was still reverberating through Dean’s skull as they left the Great Hall that night. They snuck out before the crowd completely deplenished, his hand tight in Castiel’s as he summoned Charlie, Gilda, and Benny and Andrea to all sneak out through the front of the castle and down the sloping lawn.
‘Someone’s gonna see us!’ Charlie squealed, but she was too excited, too tipsy to slow down.
The six of them ran down the lawn, skidding against the grass. The girls hitched up their dresses, the boys tripped on their robes, and they held onto each other with laughter that ricocheted into the night sky.
‘Where are we going?’ Andrea howled with laughter, both hands gripping tightly onto Benny’s wrist.
‘The Lake!’ Dean yelled back. His tie was loose, robes slipping off, and he lengthened his strides to lead the group, running to the front.
Benny immediately took to the chase, competitive as ever.
‘You’re not beating me, old man,’ Benny panted gruffly as he found pace with Dean, the two of them running in step.
Dean looked over, the forest still in the distance as the grass whirred around them, the speed of their running.
‘You think I’m- m’gonna outrun a… a professional Quidditch player?’ Dean managed to say between heaving gasps. He tried his best, but Benny was better. Without a doubt.
Benny reached the Lake first, his shoulders rising and falling with his pants.
The six of them collapsed onto the dirt floor, flushed and breathless. The moon shone overhead, a bright white that illuminated the gentle ripples of the Black Lake, and carved hollows into Castiel’s cheekbones. He was so beautiful. He looked as serene as the moon itself.
Benny had another flask of whiskey stored up his sleeves, so they passed it around whilst Castiel lit up a fire with his bare hands. The fire crackled and spat, suspended in the air without the need for wood.
‘What a year,’ Charlie said after a while, curled beside Gilda near the fire.
‘What a life,’ Gilda replied. She smiled sweetly, all dimples and elegance as she nestled into Charlie’s side. Dean rolled his eyes at the sight, but with endless affection.
Happiness suited Charlie. In fact, it suited all of them.
He wrestled Benny by the Lake for a while, the two of them kicking ice-cold water onto each other before they calmed down and joined the others, tipsy-nay-drunk, and filled with heavy emotion as they all lay around the fire, staring up at the stars.
‘This is the end,’ Charlie said weakly, after a while.
‘Don’t be dramatic,’ Benny laughed. ‘It’s the beginning.’
Dean smiled, looking up at the stars. The song from before played over and over in his head as his view became interrupted by Castiel’s head, peering over him. Castiel scanned his face, as though checking Dean was alive, he was happy. Dean could feel the gentle nudge of Castiel’s consciousness in the back of his mind, like a boat taking to the tide, bobbing along, a gentle, constant reassurance.
Castiel leaned down and kissed him quietly, and nobody paid them any mind. They were as young, as whipped, as the rest of their friends.
How many times had they been to this Lake together? How many times had they met on this shore - in Dean’s mind, let alone in real life?
‘I want to be here with you, forever,’ Dean whispered, sincere. He reached a hand up and ran his fingers through the soft curl of Castiel’s hair at the nape of his neck. He didn’t want to go on to the next chapter of his life. He wanted to rewrite this one - to start fresh and do it all better than before.
Castiel just shook his head, pleasant and gentle. Behind him, Charlie and Benny started singing The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond loudly and crudely, as tuneless but enthusiastic as ever. Above him, Castiel leaned down again and kissed him softly, a warm brush of lips against Dean’s. It set fire to Dean’s bones.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Castiel whispered, voice gravelly in Dean’s ears. Dean closed his eyes and listened. ‘About what you said the other day. About me needing a win.’
‘Mm.’ Dean nodded, unthinking.
‘Would you like to be that win?’
Dean’s eyes snapped open. He worked his jaw to say something, but could only manage a weak and feeble, ‘What?’
Castiel smiled, it creased his eyes and crinkled his nose. ‘I’d like very much to leave here, with no plan, with you. I’d consider that to be a win.’
Dean licked his lips. He hesitated, checking Castiel was serious, before he sat up a little on his elbow.
‘With me,’ he repeated.
‘With you,’ Castiel confirmed. ‘Will you come with me - wherever we end up going next?’
Dean smiled, it tugged at his cheeks and ached with how wide he smiled. ‘To the ends of the earth, baby,’ he said breezily, tongue poking between his teeth. ‘I’ll be right there with you.’
Castiel sealed the deal by kissing Dean again, whilst Benny pulled Andrea up for a dance and Charlie and Gilda swayed where they were sat, arms up in the air.
‘Is this the end?’ Charlie moaned again an hour or so later, once they’d exhausted their final supply of whiskey and ran out of strength to sing. ‘It feels like the end.’
Dean smiled to himself, thinking of Castiel’s hand in his. Of how they were going to leave Hogwarts with no plan, but at least they’d be together. And he’d still have Benny, and Charlie, and all the friends he’d made. Hogwarts was over. Tomorrow morning, they’d be on the train home to their respective futures. School was finished. But these people? These friends? They weren’t going anywhere.
‘It’s not the end, Charlie,’ he laughed, more patient than Benny. Although, Benny had been right.
‘It’s the fucking beginning.’