Author's Note: This is another one-off, a high school au that I actually wrote in three parts. Two of them were from last year, and the final part was written maybe a month ago. There won't be any continuation, though. Just thought I'd say that up front.

Accidents Don't Happen Accidentally

Dean sees what's about to happen maybe a millisecond before it does—the world does that thing where time slows down, and shit, Dean won't be able to stop it, won't get there in time, and goddamn it, Baby only just had a paint job done—

Some kid is holding a way-too-big cardboard box—and probably way too heavy for him, scrawny as he looks—and moving toward the parking lot, except that the box is obstructing his vision, and he can't see where he's going.

Dean knows he won't reach the kid in time, yet he breaks into a run anyway, watching as the clumsy little fuck slips and, in order to prevent falling on his ass, tips his weight forward instead, slamming the lower edge of his cardboard box against the hood of the Impala. Dean slows to a walk, stifling a curse—he'd rather save it for when the kid can actually hear him.

The cardboard box skids against the hood—Dean winces—and crashes to the ground, but the kid has caught his balance at that point and is just standing there, presumably staring at the car, when Dean grabs him by the shoulder.

"What the hell do you—" Dean says as he spins the kid around, and—

The world stops again, because wow.

Wide, ridiculously blue eyes. Like sapphires or the sky or the ocean or some shit. A well-shaped nose and really friggin' smooth cheeks. Full, pink lips parted in surprise. Lips that are moving, Dean realizes, and right, he's in the middle of something.

Time starts again.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't—" the kid is saying, and Dean gives him a severe look. It's somehow enough to get the kid to shut up.

Except Dean doesn't even know what he was going to say, and Jesus, Dean's fucked, because this kid has somehow made him forget to be mad about Baby. "What's your name?" he manages after a beat.

Blue-eyes looks surprised. "What? I mean, uh—"

A car honks, and Blue-eyes jerks back slightly, twisting to look behind him, and Dean tightens his grip on the kid's shoulder because he doesn't think he could let go if he tried.

"I'm really sorry about your car," Blue-eyes says, and hey, those wide, earnest eyes are turned back on Dean again. "I'll pay for the scratches, I promise. But I gotta go."

He's trying to back away now, but Dean can't seem to get his fingers to uncurl from around the kid's shoulder.

"Dean?"

"How the hell do you know my name, kid?" Dean asks, irrationally peeved because he's never met Blue-eyes before, yet Blue-eyes seems to know exactly who he is.

Blue-eyes quirks a small smile. "Who doesn't know your name?"

The kid reaches up and pats the back of Dean's hand, and he must think Dean's a fucking creep or something, but fuck-it-all, Dean just can't stop staring.

But the light touch makes Dean's hand relax, and Blue-eyes slips out of his grasp. The kid opens his mouth to say something, but then there's the sound of a car honking again, and Dean thinks he might just murder the driver if he interrupts Blue-eyes one more time.

Then Blue-eyes is turning away, picking up the giant cardboard box and doing his best to balance it.

"Need any help, kid?" Dean asks.

"Nope."

Blue-eyes makes his way over to the car—a pickup—and Dean thinks he recognizes the driver as someone from his year—Gabe, that's right. How does he know Blue-eyes?

Dean's still hovering at the edge of the parking lot when Blue-eyes is standing by the passenger door of Gabe's pickup, cardboard box safely stored in the bed of the truck. Blue-eyes turns as he pulls the door open, and his eyes linger on Dean. But then he's leaning into the car, and Dean's ready to turn away when he sees that Blue-eyes has shut the door without getting in, that he's coming closer.

Dean grins, cockiness sliding back over his features like a second skin, and waits for Blue-eyes to reach him.

"Miss me already?" he says.

"Yes, Dean, the separation was unbearable," Blue-eyes says dryly, and wow, Dean hadn't expected him to talk back. Before Dean can say anything, Blue-eyes holds up a pen and says, "I just wanted to give you my number. So you can uh, I mean, because of your car."

"Do I look like I have any paper on me, kid?"

"I didn't expect you to," Blue-eyes says, stepping closer, and is he seriously reaching for Dean's hand right now?

The next thing Dean knows, Blue-eyes is writing out seven numbers on his palm. His cheeks are turning a pretty shade of pink, and Dean can't help but smile because as cheesy as this is, Blue-eyes is fucking adorable.

Blue-eyes backs up a step, and Dean feels the loss like a physical blow, which, what?

"So, call me," Blue-eyes says, and then hurries to add, "About your car, that is."

"Right," Dean says. "Well, I'll see you around, kid."

Blue-eyes starts to turn away but changes his mind and says, "You can stop calling me 'kid.' I'm only one year below you, y'know."

"That so?"

"Yeah."

Dean shrugs. "You haven't told me your name, so unless you want me to make one up—"

"Cas. It's Cas."

"Cas, huh?"

Gabe honks again, and Blue-eyes—Cas—smiles apologetically. "I've gotta go."

"Go ahead. I've got your number," Dean says, brandishing his palm at Cas.

Cas blushes furiously and quickly says, "Bye, Dean," before turning away and hurrying toward Gabe's truck. He gets in, and a moment later, they drive off.

"See you later, Cas," Dean murmurs, looking down at the numbers written on his hand and wondering if it'd be too soon to call him now.

Yeah, he's fucked.

"Hello, this is Castiel speaking."

His voice is ridiculously gruff over the line, and who the hell is—oh. "Cas is short for Castiel?" Dean asks, and the line is silent for a moment.

"Who is this?"

"Uh, Dean." When there's no response, Dean clears his throat and says, "Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, I know," Cas says. "I just—I didn't think you'd actually call."

"Well, I kinda had to. Y'know, my car?"

"Oh," Cas says, sounding surprised and—disappointed? "Yes, your car. Of course. I presume you've determined how much it'll cost to repaint it. How much do I—"

"Hey, hey, what are you doing? I thought we could, y'know, talk a while," Dean interrupts, cheeks flushing, and just what the hell is that about? Dean hasn't blushed in years, yet talking to this kid has his cheeks lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"You wanted to… talk," Cas says slowly, as though having a conversation over the phone is a new concept to him.

"Yeah, y'know, that thing where two people move their mouths and communicate ideas," Dean says, and goddamn it, can he not make it through one conversation without mouthing off?

But Cas is laughing, and goddamn, that is a sound Dean needs to hear again. As much as he can. Possibly all the time.

Shit, he's a goner.

"What did you have in mind for us to talk about?" Cas asks.

"Uh…" and well, shit. Dean's got nothing. So he grins, even though Cas can't see him, and says, "I don't know, man. I was just wingin' it."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I'm familiar with that phrase. Winging…it?"

This time it's Dean's turn to laugh, because that just sounds hilarious coming out in such a hesitant tone. "Really?" he says. "You've never heard someone use that before."

"Never."

"What, have you lived under a rock your whole life?"

"No, I have not—Dean, I hope you didn't call me just to tease me."

"No! I wouldn't do that," Dean says, frowning.

In the background of the call, Dean hears someone calling Cas's name, followed by an odd muffling sound, and Dean figures Cas is covering the mouthpiece of the phone.

"You busy?" Dean asks, surprised by the sudden wave of envy that rushes through him.

Cas doesn't answer immediately, and Dean faintly hears his voice but is unable to make out the words, though he does catch the name, "Gabriel" once or twice.

"I apologize," Cas says eventually. "I have to go."

And Dean thinks he's so jealous he might be sick. "Because of Gabe, huh? How are you two uh, how do you know each other?"

Cas doesn't seem to pick up on the blatant envy in his voice, which is all for the better, because he responds with an annoyed huff, "Gabriel is my older brother."

Something unclenches in Dean's chest, and he holds the phone away from his face to let out a sigh of relief. And holy crap he's done for, if something stupid as this got him so worked up.

He brings the phone back to his ear in time to hear Cas say, "…but he can be extremely aggravating."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Dean says.

"I really do have to go, now," Cas says, over more shouting in the background. "Would you like to tell me how much money I owe you for the car? I can bring it to school tomorrow."

"Cas, you're not seeing anybody, are you?"

A pause.

Then, "What?"

Dean goes red again, and fuck, that's what, twice in less than ten minutes? Screwed, thy name is Dean Winchester.

"You're not attached to anyone right now, right?" he tries again.

"I am not—I do not have a conjoined twin, if that—" Dean can't hold back an incredulous laugh at that, and Cas pauses. Then he says, "Oh, I see. You mean romantically."

Dean chokes mid-laugh and says, "Dude. Don't say words like romantically. What are you, a girl?"

"I see nothing overtly effeminate about the word 'romance' or any of its variations."

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

"Is there a point to this line of inquiry? I really do need to go. So if you'd just tell me how much I owe you for the car…"

"Okay, okay, yeah. About that… how 'bout you let me buy you dinner this Saturday, and we'll call it even."

There's a long pause, and fuck it all, Dean's nervous. He's done this type of stuff—dating stuff—with girls way more than once, and it's always been ridiculously easy for him to charm his way into a girl's pants. And even when he doesn't succeed, it's no big deal to him. There are fish in the sea, or whatever the saying is.

But Cas, despite his huge eyes, pert nose, and pretty, pretty lips definitely isn't a girl, and for some reason, Dean doesn't think he could handle being turned down by him.

Finally Cas says, "But I owe you money. Isn't it counterintuitive for you to pay for my dinner?"

"Cas, do you wanna have dinner with me or not?"

"Yes, of course I do," Cas says without a moment's hesitation, and then he stammers, "I—I mean, if—if uh, if you insist."

Dean grins, because it sure sounds like Cas doesn't want to come across as overeager, and god knows that's a good sign because it means he is eager. "Well then, I do insist," Dean says. "Text me your address, and I'll pick you up at six."

Cas! Dean hears over the line, and this time Cas doesn't bother muffling the phone when he answers, Will you just give me one fucking minute, Gabriel? Dean doesn't even try to hold back a laugh because Cas somehow manages to make cursing sound stupidly adorable, and Cas says into the receiver, "As I said, he can be aggravating."

"Yeah, I heard. What is he on your case about, anyway?"

"I have to get changed for swim practice. It starts in approximately five minutes, and it takes ten minutes to drive to the pool," Cas replies.

"Oh, I'd better let you go, then," Dean says, even as he imagines Cas stripping down, wearing that tiny excuse for a swimsuit that people in the swimming world call a speedo. Fuck, does he want to see Cas in that. Or less. Yeah, preferably less.

"Yes, that'd probably be best," Cas answers.

"So, Saturday at six. We good?"

"Yes, Dean. We are… good."

"Okay. See you then, Cas."

"Goodbye, Dean."

There's a click signaling the end of the call, and Dean takes his phone away from his ear, putting it down on the countertop.

Not one minute later, the phone dings with a text message alert, and Dean opens it to find an address, along with the following:

I'm really looking forward to Saturday, Dean. ;)

Oh, that cheeky little shit.

"For the last time, it doesn't matter what you wear, Cas," Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. "One look at those big, blue eyes of yours, and you could be wearing a tutu for all the attention he'd pay to the rest of you." Then his face lights up, and he says, "No, that's brilliant! You should wear a tutu!"

"Gabriel, you are absolutely no help. Go away," Castiel says, looking at himself in the mirror. He's wearing a dark brown button-up over black jeans, and he's pretty set on the dark jeans… but does the dark-pants-dark-shirt combination make his skin look too pale in contrast? He doesn't have the palest complexion, but anyone would look pasty against such dark colors.

"Are you going out on a date?"

The new voice startles Castiel, and he turns to see Michael in the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest.

"Yeah. He's gonna get all nice and cozy with Dean," Gabriel says because he can never just keep his mouth shut, and Castiel contemplates swapping out his giant bag of cotton candy with a bag of actual cotton.

"Dean Winchester?" Michael says, brows raised.

Castiel sighs. "Yes, Dean Winchester," he replies, turning back to the mirror. His hair is hopeless, as always, and he doesn't even bother trying to flatten it out.

This is as good as it's going to get. Besides, lingering too long before the mirror is a sign of vanity.

He turns away just as Michael says, "Where will you be going? When will you be coming back? Is he driving you? When is he—"

"Michael—" Castiel tries, but there's no stopping his brother.

"—going to pick you up? Why did you even agree to this?" Before Castiel can even begin to answer, Michael rounds on Gabriel and says, "I thought you said that he wasn't gay."

Gabriel shrugs. "How was I supposed to know that one look at Cas's face would have him batting for the other team?"

A muscle in Michael's jaw twitches, and Castiel decides to head him off before this gets out of hand. "Michael, it's just dinner. We're going to have dinner, and then he's going to take me home."

Michael looks at him suspiciously. "If he asks you to go anywhere after dinner, the answer is no. And if he tries anything—"

"I'm not useless," Castiel says huffily. "I can take care of myself. And if all else fails, I can run."

"Hey, if you're seriously that worried, why don't you just tag along?" Gabriel says, rolling his eyes.

Castiel glares at him, because Michael would take that seriously. When Castiel turns his gaze on his eldest brother, he really does seem to be considering it. Oh, no. "Michael, that's ridiculous. Please tell me you understand that that's ridiculous."

It takes a moment, but Michael eventually nods. "Just be careful," he warns.

Castiel nods, relieved, and passes by Michael on his way out of the room. The doorbell rings then, and Castiel hurries down the stairs to get it. Raphael has already opened it by then, and he and Dean are standing awkwardly across from each other.

"Dean," Castiel says, and Dean's face goes slack with relief. Oh, he's gorgeous—gold-green eyes, short hair neatly styled with an upward flick at the front, and those cheekbones, that chin and jaw…

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, grinning, and Castiel wants to lick his teeth.

He manages to get out of the house with minimal casualties, and Michael only glares at them from the doorway as they drive off in Dean's frankly glorious black car, so Castiel counts this as a victory.

The fortunate beginning, however, says nothing about how the rest of the night will progress. After all, Dean is and always has been part of the "in" crowd, surrounded by a circle of friends and acquaintances because something about him just draws people in, something charming and warm and confident about his every move. The fact that Dean Winchester would ever even look at Castiel is… unthinkable.

Castiel twists his fingers together in his lap, unbearably nervous.

Dinner is far easier than Castiel had expected it to be.

Dean takes him to an old diner that he's never been to before, one that would certainly make Michael grimace. Castiel enjoys the burger very much, though the fries are probably greasy enough to take a year off his life, and the milkshake is so much sweeter than he'd expected.

They talk about Castiel's childhood—Dean seems very interested in the life that he led with his father, up in the mountains. Castiel hadn't exactly lived a monastic life, but he'd grown up away from his siblings, and the cabin he shared with his father hadn't had a television or a radio. Regardless, Castiel doesn't understand Dean's fascination with his past.

The pie is good, too, though Dean proclaims that his mom's pie is better. He invites Castiel over, casual as anything, and Castiel is so surprised that he almost doesn't respond.

But it's the end of the night now, and Dean pulls up in front of Castiel's house and puts the car in park.

"So," Dean says, taking his hands off the wheel.

"So," Castiel repeats with a small smile.

The grin Dean throws his way warms him from the inside out. He doesn't say anything, though, and in the silence between them, Castiel gets the sense that it's about time he looked away. Yet Dean's gaze never wavers, and Castiel can't quite look away, either. Castiel licks his lips and doesn't miss the way Dean's eyes flick down, following the motion.

"Cas…" Dean says quietly, but his voice trails off.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I want to kiss you."

Castiel feels his eyes widen fractionally. They're right in front of the house—surely Michael has noticed already and is counting down the amount of time Castiel is taking to get out of the car. Castiel is unafraid of his brother's thoughts, but he doesn't want Michael to scare Dean off.

"Cas?"

The uncertainty in Dean's voice settles Castiel's mind, and he leans forward swiftly, aiming for Dean's lips. He's nervous, though, and ends up catching the corner of his mouth instead. Dean makes a soft, surprised sound, and Castiel starts to pull back, cheeks reddening with mortification. But Dean quickly catches his cheek, lifts his other hand to cradle the back of Castiel's head, and presses their mouths together.

Dean's lips are smooth and warm under Castiel's, and up this close, Castiel can smell the leather of Dean's jacket. The kiss deepens, and Castiel can taste a hint of apple pie from their dinner. Castiel reaches up and runs his fingers through Dean's hair, softer than he'd expected under his touch.

There's a rap on the window then, and Castiel tries to pull back, startled. Dean holds onto him a moment longer before releasing him, and Castiel twists away and pulls his hands back, only to see Michael glaring at him through the window.

"Aw, shit," Dean mutters, and when Castiel looks back, his eyes are caught on Dean's reddened lips, slick with spit. "Is that your brother?"

"That's Michael," Castiel answers, and Michael raps his knuckles on the window again.

"I'll see you at school then, okay?"

Castiel nods. "This was an enjoyable date, Dean. I'd like to do it again."

"Good," Dean says, something relieved in his wide smile.

Castiel!

Michael's voice is muffled through the glass, and Castiel says to Dean, "I should go. Don't get out of the car."

"Hey, I gotta meet your brothers eventually, right? And I already met Raphael."

"Regardless, I'd rather have you and Michael meet officially in better conditions," Castiel says.

"If that's what you want," Dean says, shrugging.

Castiel nods and says, "Thank you," before pushing the door open.

"Cas—" Michael starts, but Castiel waves him away and hurries to close the passenger door, turning to gesture for Dean to leave.

The sleek black car pulls away from the curb, and Castiel stands in place, watching it drive away. Michael turns to go back to the house, already starting his lecture, but Castiel disregards him for the time being—there'll be plenty of time for Michael to lecture him when they get inside.

Castiel contents himself with watching the Impala disappear around the corner at the end of the street.