Morning, Teach (destiel/sabriel)

Chapter 2

(6751 words)

Castiel doesn't even wait for Gabriel to be done dancing for the night, just texts him that he has a headache and is going home as he's barreling out the door. It's not a long walk to a nearby BART station, the regional transit train that travels underground through the city, and he's lucky that he catches one of the last ones out of the city and into the sprawling suburb that is Daly City, where all the houses look just the same, two story boxes painted in puke worthy pastels. He goes up to the house he's renting with Meg, and walks inside, thanking whatever deity it was that let her still be at her job waitressing down the street at a fancy club restaurant. He showers, flushing the used condom and feeling instantly sick as the memory of what he did comes rushing back.
It wasn't Dean that made him feel sick, no the green eyes and cocky smile, that sweet voice saying his name in such a breathy way, that had him almost hard again as he showers off the stench of the club.
No, what made Cas sick was the idea that he'd just cheated on his girlfriend, and betrayed not only her trust but his parents. He was the straight son, the one they were pining all their hopes and dreams of a successful marriage and grandchildren on. And he'd just had mind blowing sex in a club with the most beautiful person he'd ever seen, male or female.
Cas goes to bed that night thinking of the lost look on Dean's face as he'd practically run out the door, and wondering to himself if he'd ever see the man again.

Friday night drifts into Saturday morning, and Gabriel is calling him, despite it only being 8am. He refuses to take the call, and lays in bed all day, claiming a hang over when Meg tries to coax him out to take her shopping. She huffs out of the apartment and Cas stays in bed all day, thinking about a galaxy of freckles and smooth planes of muscle, and feeling sick to his stomach at the realization that maybe he just wasn't as straight as he'd originally thought.

Sunday comes far too quickly, and he spends the entire day getting ready for Monday, the first day of school, and his first day teaching art at the High School in the city, something for under privileged that had nowhere else to go. Monday would come far too fast for his taste, but Castiel still road the BART train into work and got into his spacious classroom, with 18' ceilings and drop down fans, large windows with chipping paint that let the morning light in, and far too little art supplies for the 4 classes he would be teaching a day.

He sighs, and gets to work, rolling up the sleeves on his blue button up and taking off the charcoal vest to hang it on his chair. The entire classroom needed to be swept and cleaned, and he had an hour before class, he may as well make the most of it. By the time he's done Castiel's formerly neat hair is mussed, hanging over his forehead in haphazard spikes, and he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, opened the back door to let a breeze in as he's sweating just slightly despite the fall morning air. The classroom though, looks much better. The high tables that are placed evenly around the room seat four students each, on high stools that would barely let kids touch the ground if they were seated on them. Each station boasts a minimum of four different mediums to experiment with, from crayons and pastels to colored pencils, pens and acrylics. There was a long line of cabinets filled with broken or half used supplies, shelving units used for storing drying paintings, and a movable stage in the back covered in threadbare blue carpet for life drawing. Castiel smiles to himself and leans against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

Today was going to be a good day, he could feel it. For the first time since Friday night, he could breath easy.

*

You know that something's off when Dean Winchester refuses to have pie for breakfast.

Sam stands in the doorframe of his older brother's room, frowning deeply at the crouched form on the bed. He wants to ask what had happened, wants to figure out how to cheer his brother up, but knows as good as nobody else, that when Dean didn't want to talk, it would be impossible to get through to him. Dean isn't himself all weekend and Sam has a hard time convincing him to leave the house on Monday morning. Dean doesn't care about grades that much but even he couldn't deny how incredibly stupid it would be to miss his first day of his last highschool year.