Chapter Text
Dean Winchester loved his job as an English professor. Honestly. But it’s mornings like this when he cursed at himself for not just quitting after high school and becoming one of those guys that lounged around in their boxers eating leftover pizza day after day. No, instead of doing this, Dean was flying around his apartment grabbing stray papers and stuffing them into his undone briefcase while simultaneously stringing his belt through the loops before giving up and walking out the door looking like he just woke up.
To be fair, that’s exactly what happened. He put some misguided trust in his old little alarm clock and apparently today was the day it decided to give up on life. Figures that it would happen today, Dean thought to himself as he revved his Baby to life and peeled out onto the street. Today was the day that a visiting author was coming to his class as part of a new lecture series for the English department. The one and only Carver Edlund. His students were thrilled when they heard the news because they had been studying the author’s Supernatural series in Dean’s Intro to Fiction class.
As Dean flew through a few red lights, he couldn't help but think what a joke this all was. After spending a few years after grad school working his way up the ranks in the department and earning his spot as a respected professor, he finally got trusted with hosting a lecture series and now he was going to be late on the first day. Not only that, the visiting author couldn't even get into his office because he’d be sharing with Dean and he obviously wasn't there yet. Fucking perfect.
The Impala skidded into the parking space and Dean tripped getting out of the car, sending his cell phone crashing to the pavement, shattering the screen. With a quick prayer to anything listening, Dean grabbed his coffee and briefcase before jogging into the building. Well okay, straight up running. He wasn't too proud.
Five minutes and about ten odd looks later, Dean rounded the hallway to his office and saw a man awkwardly leaning against his door, clutching a briefcase in one hand and a stack of books in the other. Dean looked at his watch. 8:17. Could be worse considering the disaster that had been his morning so far.
“Mr. Edlund,” Dean managed to croak out as he approached his office, desperately wishing he had taken Sammy up on his offering to start exercising that past summer. “I’m Dean Winchester. Thank you again for coming, the students are really excited to see you.”
The man lifted his eyes to Dean and stared at him for a moment, squinting.
“Well, yes. Yes, of course. I’m honored to be here Mr. Winchester, thank you for having me.”
Dean’s vision was suddenly blinded by impossibly blue eyes and it took him a moment to remember English. He tried to think of something else that has that exact shade of color and couldn't.
“Uh, yeah sure. I-I’m sorry about being late this morning, my stupid alarm clock broke and I had to get ready in like, two minutes which is not easy and…” Mid ramble, Dean stopped and noticed the man staring at his shirt. Sure enough, his coffee mug leaked during his run into the building and he was currently sporting a rather large, and rather embarrassing coffee stain right next to his tie. Fucking hell, he wanted to crawl in a hole a die.
“Ah, dammit," he muttered. "I swear this morning can’t get worse.”
Dean looked back up and watched as the man continued to stare at his shirt, slowly sweeping his eyes back up to his face with on unreadable expression.
This guy probably Dean was a loser. A well-known, published author who got to visit different universities simply to talk about his own work while Dean was just an undergrad professor with a shattered phone, a coffee stained shirt, and dignity that was dwindling by the moment.
Dean fumbled for his office key and quickly pushed open the door, signaling for the man to follow him. “So your desk is the one pushed against the wall, and you can have any of those file cabinets over there. I don’t use them so make yourself at home.” Dean tossed his stuff onto his desk and immediately noticed the stacks upon stacks of papers covering a good portion of the floor. Christ, he really should have cleaned up.
The man tentatively walked to his side of the room and looked around before placing his items on his desk and shrugging out of his tan trench coat. Odd choice, but strangely this guy seemed to make it work.
“Since class started about 30 minutes ago, maybe we should go on in? I don’t mind getting a tour afterwards,” the man hesitantly stated.
“Right, yeah. That’s probably a good idea, my class gets real pissy when I’m late. Uh, not that I’m usually late, you know. I just mean—well you know, sometimes…” Keep it up Winchester, you’re doing great. This is one hell of a first impression. “But yeah, let’s go.”
They both walked out of his office and started towards the classroom in silence. Dean tried to steady his breathing while not appearing to be such a mess. As they reached the classroom door, Dean paused for a minute. “So uh, Mr. Edlund. I know I didn’t give you much time to prepare so don’t feel like you need to do anything particular today. Besides introducing yourself, today might be a nice day for the class to take a breather and we can worry about in depth stuff later.”
The man turned to look at Dean for a minute far too long to be considered normal before reaching to grab the door handle.
“That will be fine Mr. Winchester. And please, call me Carver.”
*****
Given the way that the day started out, the class went surprisingly well. Carver didn’t seem to be overwhelmed by the student’s onslaught of questions and he even put an endearing amount of thought into answering each one. However awkward this guy may be, Dean was instantly relieved to see that he seemed like a decent enough person. That would totally suck if he were stuck dealing with an overly praised writer with major ego issues. No, Carver seems humbled to be there if anything which strikes Dean as odd because he assumed that this man was used to this kind of attention by now.
By letting Carver stand in front of the class, it gave Dean prime time to get a better look at him. He had deep blue eyes that look like they had the ability to pierce straight into a person’s soul, a sharp jawline, and just the right amount of stubble. He dressed slightly nerdy in Dean's opinion but it was easy to tell that under his navy sweater, this guy was built. Not in an obnoxious way though, he looked like he had a runner’s body. Strong shoulders and muscular abs that looked like they were made to run hands over and—
Jesus, get ahold of yourself.
Dean immediately looked down towards his feet in hopes of hiding the blush that started to crawl up his neck and over his ears. After spending a few moments cursing himself for creeping on the visiting author and trying to get is coloring under control, he decided that enough was enough for today and dismissed the class a few minutes early.
“Dude, that was awesome today. I’m pretty sure the kids like you better than me,” Dean tried to joke while leading Carver out the door. “Keep it up and I’m betting that they’ll be begging you to stay and take my place at the end of the semester.”
“Thank you Mr. Winchester, but your students seem to be very fond of you as well. It's obvious that they look up to you as more than just a professor.”
Dean tried to suppress a slight smile. He loved his students and had always thought being a professor was more than just a teaching job but it surprised him when someone caught on to that after just one class. “Well, uh thanks man. It means a lot. And call me Dean. Mr. Winchester seems stuffy and makes me sound about a hundred years old,” Dean remarked as they walked through their office door.
“Ok, Dean then. If you excuse me I need to head to a meeting with the department heads right about now. They wanted to welcome me to the university and I don’t want to create a bad first impression by being late.” Carver gathered up a few notebooks and grabbed his trench coat off the desk before turning around and looking at Dean with a small smile. “Not all of us are charming enough to get away with it.”
Dean choked on his spit as he watched Carver leave the office and start walking down the hall as if nothing unusual happened. Did he just…? Was that...? Dean quickly composed himself and started frantically grabbing tests to start grading, anything to distract him.
This was going to be one long ass semester.
*****
After hours of stolen glances and awkward small talk with his new office partner, 4pm hit and Dean bolted out of the office without so much as a glance behind him. This guy was painfully attractive and sweet and respectful and if Dean had to spend one more second closed up in a room with him he may just burst. Or, you know, propose to the guy. Whichever came first.
Dean dragged himself up the flight of stairs to his apartment as he wondered why no one thought to put in an elevator and turned the key to his door. It was a small place Dean thought to himself as he set down his things and grabbed a beer from the fridge, but it was home. There was one bedroom and one bathroom where the water pressure left a lot to be desired. The kitchen was a little cramped but served the purpose. The living room was a bit cluttered seeing as it served as his office and TV watching area and the guest bedroom when Sammy stayed over. There were a lot of things that could probably use a refresher but it worked for him.
After barely getting himself and Sam through high school and working his way through undergrad, there weren’t exactly a ton of funds left for himself. Anything extra he had Dean used to help put Sam through Law School and he wouldn’t have it any other way. They came from so little and now Sammy was a big hotshot lawyer with a beautiful girlfriend. Dean was stupid proud.
Dean watched a few reruns of Doctor Sexy M.D. (truly underappreciated if he says so himself) and heaved himself up off the couch to get ready for the evening. He somehow got roped into meeting Sam and a few of his lawyer coworkers for drinks tonight and already regretted agreeing to it. He loved spending time with Sam but not his stuffy, overpaid, overworked friends. Dean never knew what they were talking about and usually ended up drinking until they seemed mildly amusing which took a lot of alcohol.
“Deeeean, please!” Sammy had whined through the phone the night before. “I promise it’ll be fun and we won’t talk about lawyer stuff the whole time."
“No way Sam. I’d honestly rather light myself on fire than listen to your nerdy friends go on about depositions and deadlines. I’m spending tomorrow night in my apartment with a nice cold beer, takeout, and the Star Wars Trilogy. That’s a perfectly respectable way to spend a Friday night.”
“That’s crap Dean. When was the last time you went out drinking with anyone? Hmm? That’s right, you can’t think of anything because it’s been so long! You’re going to end up living like a hermit and dying alone” Sam huffed on the other line.
What a little bitch. “Uh, first of all Samsquash, I happen to like being a hermit. Second of all, I won’t die alone because I’ll have you. You’re stuck with me Sammy. I’m just going to grow old and move in with you and bug you forever.”
“Oh my God Dean you’re going out with us tomorrow night. No buts.”
“Sam, no, I—"
“Dean! 7pm, meet us at the Roadhouse. And Jesus Christ wear a nice shirt in case you see someone cute there. I refuse to take care of your suborn ass when you get old.”
He heard a click and suddenly the conversation was over. If Sam weren’t his favorite person in the world he’d have another thing coming.
Dean sniffed the shirt he was wearing and deemed it acceptable for the rest of the evening. It wasn't like he was trying to impress anyone. He grabbed his wallet and shattered phone off the side table before heading out the door and remembering that he needed to find time to get a new phone because it no longer worked. He tossed it back inside and headed into the crisp September air.
The Roadhouse was everything that was good in the world. Nearly everything in it was beer soaked and smelled like a weird combination of sweat and grease but it was comfortable. The jukebox in the corner played the good classic rock songs and the pool tables long the side were where Dean learned to hustle money for wins growing up, securing that he and Sammy would have enough funds to last until their dad decided to show up again. They also served the best damn burgers in all of Kansas so that definitely added to the appeal.
Dean walked in and immediately saw Sam and his friends sitting in a booth towards the back. He tried to suppress his groan as he slid in and prepared himself for the evening.
“Dude! You made it!” Sam yelled over the music.
“Well you didn’t exactly give me much choice, did you Sammy?”
“No,” Sam barked out a laugh. “I guess I didn’t. Anyway, Dean, these are a few of the guys I work with. Guys, this is Dean. I’m gonna go get the first round, be right back.”
As Sam slid out of the booth, the three men across the table nodded and looked back towards Dean. “So, Dean,” one of them started, “Sam told us you’re a professor at KU, how’s that going?”
“Good, I guess, yeah. I like it so I could be doing worse things with my life,” Dean chuckled nervously. Something about meeting Sam’s friends always made him feel so inferior. Rationally, he knew he had a respected job, a respected English degree, and was doing a lot of good for his students but he was no lawyer. He didn't go to work in a suit every day and make million dollar negotiations like it was no big deal.
“That’s awesome man. It’s great that there are people like you willing to do something like that. Not all of us can be climbing the corporate ladder, you know what I’m saying?” The other guys nodded in agreement and started a conversation among themselves.
Well damn if that wasn’t one of the shadier backhanded compliments he’d heard in a while.
Dean forced a smile and looked over to see Sam mercifully arriving at the table with a tray of beers and shots.
The first shot went down rough and Dean was reminded that he hadn’t gone out to drink like this in far too long. He gulped down his beer and stood up, mumbling something about getting the next round. As he ordered a few more shots he noticed that everyone apart from their table seemed to be coupled up. It was right about the time of night when mild interest quickly turned in to desperation and a willingness to jump on anything that moved.
Maybe he should try and get lucky tonight. It’s been embarrassingly long since he’s gotten laid. He dated a sweet girl named Cassie about three years ago and it was nice but didn’t last because apparently Dean had “commitment issues” or something equally as annoying. Ever since then he’s been a fan of one night stands with girls looking for a good time but even that got old after a while. Dean pounded back three more shots and stumbled back to the table.
“Dean, Jesus, are you okay?” Sam asked as Dean all but tripped into the booth, landing on the lap of a seriously annoyed coworker of Sam’s.
“Yeah, Sammy, never been better,” Dean hiccupped and reached for Sam’s beer.
“Hey, let’s ease up on the alcohol tonight… you sure you’re fine?”
Dean threw on the best grin he could muster up. “Positive. Next round’s on you Sammy! Bring me back some tequila!” He yelled as he pushed Sam out of the booth and towards the bar.
So, was getting drunk one of the best ideas that Dean’s had? No, probably not. But if it could help him forget about the disapproval towards his job, the realization that he would probably die a hermit, and the unfairly perfect author he now had to share an office with than so be it.
Dean stumbled through his apartment door a few hours later after Sam drove him home and tossed his keys at the side table, missing it completely. He made his way down the hallway tripping over the legs of his jeans and flopped onto his bed half undressed. Before he knew it, everything faded out around him.
That night was the first night Dean Winchester dreamed of blue eyes.