Ready for the Fall // Destiel

Ready for the Leaves

It's around six in the morning when Dean wakes up, fully ready to have yet another boring-until-around-four day.

It's around four thirty that he starts to worry, realizing that not once has he seen the familiar tan trench coat or five-alarm blue eyes. He debates texting Cas, before considering how desperate it'd make him seem.

He scraps that resolution at five, finally pulling out his phone and typing a quick hey, where are u? in the hopes that Cas isn't on a date or anything.

"You look uptight."

Dean turns to find Benny, absently twirling a straw in his fingers, a single eyebrow raised in his direction.

"Who? Me? Never." He says it more to convince himself than anything else, his eyes flitting to the untouched Frappuccino on the counter. "Okay, maybe a bit."

"Where is lover boy anyhow?" Benny asks, laughing at the cross between horror and enthrallment on Dean's face. "Sorry, I meant Cas."

Frowning, Dean realizes how much he dislikes the nickname rolling off Benny's tongue so easily. "I don't know. Normally he'd be here."

"Maybe he's just stuck in traffic," Benny offers with another shrug, "or you can just go to his house and give it to him if he doesn't show."

"Good idea, except I have no idea where he lives." Dean flatly replies, "And he isn't answering any of my texts."

"Calling is a thing, y'know."

"Oh." Dean looks down at his phone and turns it over to reveal the silent screen. "True."

"You're off in ten minutes anyhow, why don't you just go home?" Benny suggests, motioning at the practically dead shop. "I can handle it. You go find him and give him whatever the hell that is."

"Uh, sure thanks." Dean scrubs a hand through his hair, unsure why he feels so nervous. Pulling off his apron, he neatly hangs it and slides over the counter again, sparing Benny a wave.

"See you 'round, brother."

"You too!" Dean calls back, immediately rushing to his pride and joy-a four door, hardtop 1967 Chevrolet Impala, kept in mint condition by none other than Dean Winchester-also known as Baby.

He quickly unlocks her door and slides into the car, which smells faintly of McDonald's from his last supper.

Which reminds him that eating is a necessity, and since he hasn't had his daily doughnut he'll need something to eat. Luckily there are a few fast food shops just across town that he can easily access, and if he takes the long way he can pass Cas' school.

And maybe, maybe if he's there he can deliver his drink.

The drive is quiet for about ten minutes, until Dean can barely handle the silence pressing in on him. Wordlessly, he selects a random cassette tape, satisfied to hear AC/DC blasting through the car's not yet out of date sound system.

However, just before he reaches Cas' school, the traffic starts to slow and the sound of sirens become audible over the pounding music, which is promptly shut off. Dean presses his lips into a line as he rolls up to the school, with its ancient, vine covered brick walls, lit up red and blue from the ambulance parked out front. A small crowd of people are gathered around, murmuring among themselves. Only a couple of them pause to spare so much as a glance toward Dean's car, before turning back to the collection of police cars and ambulances.

Dean debates pulling over and checking the situation out, before realizing that he probably has absolutely no relation to anyone there, and since he can't see Cas standing around, he can just assume that he must have gone home. After all, it looks to be either hit-and-run, or maybe a fight, and personally he wouldn't want to have doughnuts or coffee after witnessing either.

Shrugging, he continues on at a slow pace, cringing at the poor person being loaded into the ambulance. Behind all the blood and the oxygen mask he can make out pale skin and dark mop of hair, which makes his heart pound, before he has to tell himself that no, Cas wouldn't be stupid enough to walk in front of a car.

Hopefully.

* * *

Later that night, Dean's sitting in his familiar armchair with a beer in hand; half paying attention to the news, he perks up when Cas' school flashes across the screen. The reporter continues on to say that it's a horrific hit-and-run, involving a young male, who's name is yet to be released. Groaning, Dean flits his eyes over to his fridge, which he knows contains the vanilla bean Frappuccino with a double shot of vanilla, soy milk and a bumblebee straw. Despite everything, his gut is still twisting with worry. Cas still hasn't answered him, and he didn't have the heart to throw out the drink.

"Dean."

He looks up suddenly, surprised to find his brother standing beside the fridge with a frown on his face.

"Oh, hey Sammy." Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighs and forces his attention away from the fridge. "What's up?"

Sam shrugs, kicking his school bag across the linoleum floor. "Ruby dumped me. Again."

"Ah, she'll come around." Dean halfheartedly mumbles. "What for this time?"

"I didn't want to go to a party."

"Why not?"

"Dean!" Sam exclaims, "I'm still in high school."

"Twelfth grade, Sammy." Dean waves a hand in his brother's general direction, "Let up a bit."

"I need to keep my grades up if I want to get into Stanford."

"Prude."

"Jerk." Sam snaps, before his eyebrows furrow and his face contorts into a look of confusion, then pity. "Isn't that your boyfriend?"

"What?" Dean's head snaps around so fast he'll probably get whiplash from it, but that's the least of his concerns as Cas' name flashes across the screen.

His ears are ringing, but he can still hear the reporter say, clear as day:

"The victim of the Lawrence hit-and-run has been identified as twenty-three year old Castiel Novak, a student at the Kansas School of Arts. He is currently in critical condition at Lawrence County hospital. Anyone with information-"

"Oh, son of a-balls!" Dean shouts, rocketing out of his chair. Sam watches, wide eyed and open mouthed as his brother flies across the room to the fridge, and then out the door.