Bruised: A Destiel AU

Chapter One

The green-eyed new boy was focused intently on his notebook when Castiel walked in and, with hesitation, took his normal seat beside what use to be an empty chair. He didn’t speak a word because he couldn’t find the ones to use. As the room gained people, however, the talk between their classmates-about their weekend, or their day, or whatever else they could possibly find to chatter about-filled the room with useless white noise that wasted air. Castiel, whos hearing was more advanced than most, felt as if his head would soon explode as he caught spare words or sentences exchanged between his peers. It only proved it to him that these people spoke only to hear themselves talk. Thankfully, the tarty bell run and shushed the class enough to allow his teacher to silence them, thus relieving Cas of his future headache for now. The kid next to him, Dean, glanced up from his notebook every so often and almost showed some form of interest in what the teacher was talking about.

“This next project,” Mr.Cobain says, finally reaching his point, “will be a group project. You can have up to four but no less than two. The person you’re sitting beside will have to be in your group. Choose wisely; you have one minuet.”

Each of them groaning internally, the two boys turned towards each other while the class scrambled around them to make groups. Having no interest in interacting with more people than necessary, they didn’t even bother to glance around the class. Instead, the two high school teens used the next minuet to look over each other, trying to figure the other out. As if squinting their blue and green eyes could unlock the other person and they would fall open like books, revealing the secrets held within their hardened cover.

Castiel noticed things about the boy he had looked over in the first block. His brown hair which was styled to stick up seemed slightly greasy, as if he didn’t have the chance to wash it often.  His face which read to be closed off and hardened, was decorated in freckles. Cas didn’t even try to glance towards the boys eyes, unsure how his body would react and not wanting to risk it. Deans clothes were all well-worn, if not overused. The jacket, which seemed a little big on teenage frame, had places where holes were forming which could only come from years and years of rough usage. The last thing Castiel noticed in his minuet of looking the teen over was a thick leather cord around his neck that tucked into his shirt.

Dean looked over the jock in the way he had been taught, cold, quick, and emotionless. The first thing he noticed was a stain of blood on the boys jacket.  He found finger shaped bruises on the wrist that was left exposed by his jacket slipping up. His shirt was a well pressed polo that had to be laid out by an overbearing mother. His hair was well done and his skin was clear but he wore bags under his eyes that came close to matching Deans. Somehow, he hid them well from his peers. He seemed to wear no jewelry except for a mass-produced leather braded bracelet that read Anna. Dean could only guess it was a girlfriend.

The teacher called them all to attention again with the loud clap of his hands. While he explained how the project  would work, Cas found himself zoning out in thought. Every so often, his blue oceans of eyes would drift their way in the direction of Deans stubbled chin and messily spiked brown hair. What was he doing? He had a date with Anny this weekend. Pretty Anny with the red hair and pink lips. With her olive green eyes that showed pain and the scars on her arms she tried hard to cover in makeup. She was so caring and kind and, as his friend said, “had nice tits and a sweet ass,” which Castiel guessed was things boys should care about. Why would he even spare a glance at this boy he didn’t know? Why would he-

“So this should be a blast,” the same boy Castiel had been questioning mutters under his breath, breaking Cas away from his train of thought. He’s looking expectedly at his new shop partner, no doubt for input on the instructions he hadn’t been listing to. So, at a lost, he returned Deans expectant look with one of lostness and confusion.

“If you meatheads can’t even listen, why bother taking the damn class?” Dean growls lowly, his annoyance at the jock, who showed no sign of listing to Dean either, dripping from his voice. Dean turned to a fresh page of his book and started scribbling something in a tiny scrawl that no one would be able to read but himself.  “We’re spose to be making a working robot.” He mutters to the football player beside him. “One person does the bot, the other makes the motor.” Dean pulls his eyes from the blue and red lined paper back up to Castiel. “So which do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Helpful,” Dean rolled his eyes, his voice soaking in sarcasm. “I’ll do the motor, but first I need ideas for how this thing’ll work.  Do you-“

“Does this work?” Castiel asks, pushing a notebook with a detailed drawing of a miniature robot. Certain parts on the bot were pointed out with a scrawled script beside it, explaining what the use of each part was and notes on how it would be made. Dean looked over the picture, stunned. “It’s a hobby of mine.” Cas speaks up, answering the silently asked question. “but do you think it’ll work.”

“Um.. yeah, sure. It’ll work great. Just it can’t be taller than two feet and wider than one and a half, “ Dean explains, pulling the drawing closer to him. “What kind of oil does this take?”

The two boys lean over the paper, fixing, adjusting, and improving the plan for their bot. They each say minimal amount of words to each other but work together well for the rest of the period. Walking out of the class, Dean felt relieved he was paired with someone that knew what they were doing and was excited about their plan.  Sadly, the jittery feeling was back, he noticed.

Castiel walked out of the classroom, feeling okay for once. He wasn’t stressed or annoyed for once as he made his way through the mass of students towards football practice. He had too much energy again, his hands jittery and shaky as they had been at the end of first block. Maybe it was just stress about Fridays game, he tried to reason with himself but knew that wasn’t it.