Chapter Text
Whoever decided to start spreading the myth and lie that the university years were the best period of time a person could ever experience, deserved a circle of hell reserved exclusively for them.
Dean was in his third year of school—inferno—, a junior at Kansas State University, and while he could be proud of nearly finishing his studies, his condition was... terrible. He was raised to constantly push forward and never allow failure to get him down, and despite what happened during his high school years, he had finally learned how to keep up with his studies. His schedule was strangely well-organized but still extremely packed, however he was fortunate enough to be able to take a few breaths in the middle of it if he so desired. To be honest, it all worked out well for him; he had far more free time compared to other students. Who would have ever imagined Dean could balance his studies and his personal life—parties, women, and bad hangovers.
Even when life was smiling at him, he liked to find reasons to complain. He had a large circle of friends with whom he went out every weekend beginning on Thursdays, and he had a good time without having to hide his true identity, that of a Casanova. His academic achievements were once again superior to those of when he was in high school. Again, the women—and even some men—on campus admired, loved, and desired him. Despite his numerous hook-ups, only one person poisoned his mind and thoughts: Castiel Shurley.
His friends said he was obsessed, and who could blame him? That man was more than a jerk, he was a bastard, the haughty son of a whore. He looked at everyone as if they were insects to be crushed beneath the soles of his highly expensive, overly shiny, but yet magnificent black Yves Saint Laurent moccasins. He never spoke to anyone, and whoever had the audacity to breathe in his direction was met with an annoyed frown and a cocked head, much like a dog with limited intelligence. A dog with stunning black, untidy fur, as if he'd just gotten out of a bed with silk sheets, piercing blue eyes that appeared to glow in any light, and… yes, he definitely was nothing more than an arrogant daddy's boy.
Not to mention his social circle. The few individuals Castiel surrounded himself with were all snobs, much like him. Dean didn't know them; he couldn't even remember their names if anybody asked him, and he hadn't even had the chance to insult them in person, but he knew they were terrible people, just like Castiel.
He seemed too perfect, and Dean suspected he put too much work into his appearance. His clothing was always designer (he probably had a luxury shop instead of a wardrobe), his hair always messy to look effortless, and those sunglasses which frames caressed his face-shape in such a way that they made him shine. His grades were always high no matter what (Dean had every right to suspect that he was sleeping with some of the professors, or at least paying them, because someone couldn't possibly be that smart).
Just thinking about the raven hair man raised in him an indescribable anger that he had never felt towards anyone before. He had it all, served on a silver platter, and he didn't seem to care. But who was Dean to judge, right?
Who was he kidding. Dean had every reason and right to give his completely honest opinion about him. He always looked at him from a distance, confident that Castiel, that presumptuous son of a whore, was aware of it. Dean was certain that Castiel knew who he was, but he was too arrogant to lower himself to the level of a commoner like Dean. Rich people got him on his nerves.
“You're really creepy, you look like a maniac when you stare at him like that.”
Charlie snapped her fingers in front of his face, bringing him back to Earth. Too busy thinking about other things he had entirely forgotten that he was hanging out with his friends near campus. He returned to his black coffee with a snort and a roll of his eyes, as a tsunami of smells and noises overwhelmed him all at once, waking him up entirely.
How dared Charlie have the audacity to claim that he was staring at him. He was watching him from a distance without taking his eyes off of him, as any other normal person would. Just precautions; who knew what Castiel was capable of doing or saying? So it was preferable to control him whenever he had the possibility. His table wasn't far from the one where he, Benny, and Charlie were sitting, so he could not only keep an eye on him, but he could also try to listen to what Castiel had to say.
With only one table dividing them, he could hear Castiel's friend (blond, without style, undeniably arrogant) talking to him with a furious tone. They appeared to be arguing, or rather, the blond appeared to be scolding Castiel, who was staring at his drink without ever glancing up. Dean could hardly catch what they were saying to each other; he heard something like "stop letting him use you" and a name he couldn't connect to any face (Lucie? Lacey?).
“Trouble in paradise for mister perfect.” With a sneer on his lips, he returned to sipping the coffee, which had now gone cold. Even if the product was cold, $7 should never be thrown away. Benny and Charlie, both of whom knew who Dean was referring to, looked in Castiel’s direction with almost sympathetic expressions.
“You're being a dick,” Benny was Castiel's roommate, hence he should have expected such a response from him. That bastard had taken Castiel's side and sided with the enemy, criticizing Dean for any of his "unsympathetic" remarks. Him and Benny had been friends for nearly their whole lives, dating back to their high school junior year, but Benny seemed to prefer someone he had only known for three months, four weeks, and eleven days. Traitor.
He didn't respond, distracted by the fact that Castiel's friends had gone away, leaving the raven-haired alone. It couldn't have been better: Castiel abandoned suffering like any other common person; perhaps it would have humbled him. He was once more lost in his thoughts and didn't notice that Benny—that treacherous—had called Castiel to their table, with the excuse of not wanting him to feel lonely.
Of course, that insolent son of a bitch had no manners; he sat down in the only free seat next to Benny without realising that no one wanted him there with them. Maybe, just maybe, Dean was the only one of the three who didn't want him, but his opinion certainly wasn't one to be dismissed! He really wanted to get up and leave, and even avoid his best friend for a while because of his disloyalty.
“Hello, Benny.”
That was the first time Dean actually heard the voice of the guy he despised so much, and dammit, it was deep. Shivers ran through his body, leaving him frozen in place, staring at Castiel like an idiot, unable to say anything. No, he had to be strong; he couldn't change his mind simply because of his extremely husky voice.
“Hello to you too, Cas. I'll ask you directly, no preliminaries: you remember you promised me we’d go out one of these days?" Dean's ears pricked up. Knowing Benny, he was probably plotting something evil behind his back—either to put him in a difficult position or simply to annoy him. Castiel nodded as if to say yes, but said nothing. “We were planning on going to the Trickster in a few hours; join us.” The tone he used wouldn't take no for an answer, and without explicitly stating so clearly, he was referring to Dean as well.
“Yes! Come with us, it'll be fun I promise.” Charlie also joined the conversation as she leaned over the table, speaking as if they had known one another for a long time.
“Charlie, I don't think I can do that…” As he fiddled with the lid of the mysterious drink, he flashed her a faint, apologetic smile. “Just this once, okay?”
He knew her name. He even smiled at her. They really knew each other and even seemed to be friends. Both of his best friends had put him up against a wall and betrayed him without caring for his opinion. He huffed loudly out of annoyance. The desire to flee was stronger, but he couldn't do it or even say anything to escape from that awkward situation.
Benny suddenly stood up, took some money from his wallet, and handed it to Charlie, telling her to pay for Benny's coffee and whatever Castiel's drink was. "We're going to get ready, see you in a few hours." After saying that, he grabbed Castiel's wrist and pulled him towards the coffeeshop exit door, undoubtedly on his way to their shared room.
“And they're gone.” “You betrayed me.” Both Dean and Charlie said in unison.
“You're such a drama queen; we can have friends outside of you or the friend group you know.” Talking about the group... he hoped they didn't intend to invite him to any of the actual group nights out either. He didn't want to put up with him or be in his company for any longer than what was absolutely necessary—the unpleasant situation that had arisen made him feel angry at the universe. What a stressful life!
★☆★
He had changed clothes at least thirty times in only a few hours, all because Charlie insisted on him adhering to the club's tight mandatory dress code. He knew there was no strict dress code, yet he still allowed her to choose his outfit. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but a touch less casual than what he was used to.
After countless attempts he eventually managed to convince the redhead, and together they went out to get Baby and at least try to make it to the club in time, arriving at the Trickster after approximately forty minutes. They stepped out of the car and headed towards the line that had formed outside the main entrance, which was terribly long. Despite the numerous people, they went to the back of the line to wait for the two whom still weren’t there—it was one of the best and most popular nightclubs near campus, the queue of people waiting to get in would no doubt grow even bigger in no time.
To pass time, he and Charlie began talking about random stuff, while more people joined up behind them. They stood there, still, for fifteen minutes before finally moving forward a little, although the entrance was still far from where they were in the line. He hoped that with that pace, they wouldn't be there until the place closed. He got a message from Benny saying he and Castiel had just arrived (along with an unusual combination of emojis that his best friend didn't usually use).
He saw them in the distance walking towards them and raised his hand to greet Benny, only him and no one else.
“Sorry we’re late, I couldn't find my car keys.” Benny apologized as soon as they reached them.
Castiel stopped for a few seconds near them and then started walking towards the entrance, as if to arrogantly surpass the very long queue that had been created. Who did he think he was? Just because he had money didn't mean he could do whatever he wanted. Benny also looked confused for a moment, but went after him anyway, motioning for Dean and Charlie to follow him too. Undecided whether or not to leave his place, he walked away, only to have the possibility to laugh once his enemy failed.
When the bouncer noticed them, Dean assumed he was about to send them back in line, or worse, to tell them to leave. When they all stopped in front of him, however, none of those things happened; instead, he smiled. “How long has it been, Mr. Shurley? They’re with you?” He asked Castiel, referring to the three behind him, and the man simply nodded. “The usual, I suppose.” He moved to let the four in, and Dean didn't mind the black-haired boy's privileges just that once.
They entered and were immediately greeted by the smell of alcohol (of good, if not high, quality alcohol), commercial music full of bass, and LED lights dancing above their heads. Castiel moved as if he knew the place by heart, going straight towards one of the very few empty tables that seemed to be waiting for them. The bouncer mentioned a "usual table," and remembering it, he noticed the surname "Shurley" written on a placeholder, almost as if it were permanently reserved for the family. The four of them sat down, and as soon as they did, what looked like a waitress came up to them. Dean went there often, usually arriving very early to be able to get in and sit at a table with his friends, and no one had ever come to ask them what they wanted to drink—the client was supposed to go up to the counter to place an order.
“Mr. Shurley, I’ll bring you the alcohol-free Fallen Angel right away, and for your friends?”
Alcohol free? What was the point of going to a club if you didn't drink alcohol. Dean rolled his eyes, finding Castiel's choice highly stupid. He didn't think too much about it though, ordering something with whiskey in it, and after taking Charlie and Benny's orders too the waitress left.
“I know they're very strict about ages and everything, it's amazing you were right that they’d let you in even though you're not twenty-one.”
“They know me and they know that I don't drink alcohol. Do you like this table? I mean, staying a little further away from the rest of the club." He responded, quickly changing the subject. He had something to hide and Dean would make sure to find out what it was.
No one had time to say anything else before their drinks arrived, which was unusual given the large number of people present. However, it was a man, not the waitress from a few seconds before, who had brought their beverages. Dean couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that the club's owner had brought them personally their drinks and was even taking a seat close to Castiel.
“Cassie! We haven't seen you here for I don’t know, ages, you've finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
And there the great mystery was revealed, Castiel was fooling around with the boss and it was because of that reason that he was able to enter the club without problems. He hid a smirk, happy to have figured out what was going on, and began sipping his Old Fashioned. Daddy’s perfect kid appeared to be someone easy, who offered himself to older men in order to enter clubs that weren’t meant for people his age. Dean was then hit in the ribs by Charlie’s elbow and kicked under the table by Benny, at the same time, both with an angry look on their faces. There were only two possibilities: either he spoke everything out loud, or they were mind readers.
“Gabriel, I didn't think you were here.” Castiel commented as he sipped his non-alcoholic cocktail.
“I can't be absent, I'm the owner, remember. But tell me, do I know them?” He finally looked at the other three, who all shook their heads no. They had never met before and Dean had only heard rumours about him, usually eavesdropping them in lines or in the bathroom. From the information he gathered, he could say with certainty that Gabriel was an eccentric figure, known not only for being the owner of the best place in the area, but also for his exclusive afterparties and his special and extremely hard to order drinks—nobody could find on the menu and only a few had managed to taste them.
“Does he know?” He questioned Castiel again, who started playing with the straw and staring at the dance floor.
“I'll take that as a no. No te preocupes, he won't find out.” He got up from the table without moving away. “Enjoy the drinks guys… and red girl, it’s on the house.” He smiled mischievously at the four of them and left with the same speed with which he had previously reached them. Both Benny and Charlie—what were they, connected telepathically?—looked at Castiel with a face that demanded explanations, but clarifications never came.
“Guys come on, you can see it on his face that he doesn’t want to tell you anything. Let’s just enjoy our drinks and this night out like Gabriel said.” Dean spoke, for once taking Castiel’s side.