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When he tried to express himself with words, he could never get it right. But with his hands, he could shape things, mold things, make things. He had discovered that gift as a kid when he first took hold of the silver his dad had left out. It had almost been like a trance, the way everything else had just floated away as he heated the metal, bending it and twisting, tying it off into his first ever protective charm. Mom had gaped at him, shock written all over her face as he tried to explain with a six-year-old’s vocabulary that it had just come to him, easy as pie. He could remember worrying at first, cause mom and dad had spent the rest of that night talking in hushed tones in the kitchen behind him while he watched bedtime cartoons in the living room with Sammy.
The next morning though, the charm had been dangling from a bracelet on mom’s wrist as she made pancakes, so he figured everything was fine.
It wasn’t until high school that he learned it wasn’t as easy for everyone else. Most people in Workshop glared at him for the first month. Teenagers were fickle and mercurial, though, and by the end of the semester he had a lucrative side-business going that survived clear up to graduation.
College, even community college, meant that the other students had a little bit better of a grasp on charmcraft, but still Dean’s craftsmanship made him The Guy on campus – requests came in almost on the daily, especially by email after Sammy set the thing up for him.
So, the requests came mostly by email. This piece, though, wasn’t by request. In fact, Dean was reasonably sure the first one hadn’t even been requested by the person wearing it. At least, the name in the email he’d sent the confirmation pic to – Anna – sure didn’t sound like the dude with messy dark hair, a gravel pit for a voice, and more snark than could possibly fit into his body. Since all he had to go on for email requests were names, the charm dangling from a chain around this guy’s neck… didn’t match.
Most people stuck to the basics in charmcraft. There were simple designs for basic level castings – protection, defense, safety, strength, safe travel. Some people branched out a little, adding more detail, adding another level of strength to their charms – the more specific the charm design, the better it worked. Dean’s charms for family and friends were near-infallible, though thankfully they’d only been truly tested to their limits the once. He still shuddered to think about what could’ve happened if Jo hadn’t been wearing it at the time… Anyway, most people didn’t give that level of detail to their charms. If they wanted something particularly strong, most people went to a specialist.
The charm hanging from Tall, Dark, and Perpetually Disgruntled was, to Dean, very obviously out of place, as it had been crafted for gingerqueen87. It was so out of place that when Dean first noticed it he had nearly laughed out loud, before narrowly avoiding yanking it off the guy’s neck when class let out and there’d been a stern-looking redhead waiting for the guy just outside the door – Anna, presumably. Maybe she was the dude’s girlfriend and just hadn’t thought that it might be kind of important for the crafter to know that the charm wasn’t actually for her.
In any case, he’d easily shifted his attentions over onto the new charm. He couldn’t let the dude walk around with a subpar charm and ruin Dean’s reputation, after all. It would still protect him fine, of course, but not the way that one made actually for him would. So, Dean had kept an eye out during the next couple class periods. Nobody ever said the guy’s name – he didn’t seem to have any friends in this class – which was disappointing. A person’s name held power, which Dean could weave into the charm if he knew it. But Dean wasn’t a one-trick pony by anyone’s standards, so instead he observed what he could of the guy’s personality, which could be almost as useful in creating personalized charms. Snarky, sarcastic and snide were his first observations. Definitely interested in the subject material – ancient Chinese poetry this week, which was notable in itself. Then there was the day he’d opened up the window and led a honeybee out it after protesting vehemently when the girl in the corner of the room had tried to kill it.
It was Sunday now, class again tomorrow. His classwork was all done, which usually meant he was at his workdesk filling his next commissioned charm – Sam had been pestering him to add them to his resume, in which case he absolutely had to call them commissions – ‘nobody cares about a hobby, Dean, they want to know you’ve been making money off this shit for years!’ Well, maybe Sammy hadn’t said ‘shit’, but the point was the same. Instead of doing that though, here he was, 45 minutes into crafting something he wasn’t even going to get paid for. If he was feeling like thinking, he’d probably be laughing at himself and wondering why. As it was, he’d never moved past that phase that had come over him the first time he crafted that charm for his mom. There was just something about charmcraft that put all of his higher functions to rest and everything just… faded out. He was just a transmitter, bringing the pieces for the charm at hand into the human realm.
Usually, it took him about a half an hour to finish a commission. The passage of time wasn’t really something he usually noticed, but he’d learned to set a timer to check his progress. He’d also learned, after one missed test, not to do any of it any time before a class. So his average completion time was around 30 minutes. This one, though. It was almost cathartic, in a way he didn’t want to let go of, the way that his hands twisted and looped and melted and pulled and bent on autopilot, his brain just along for the ride as he wove a personality and his will into the metal.
When he finally zoned back in, he almost blushed. Lucky no one else was in his dorm today. Sitting between his hands on the workdesk was… probably the strongest charm he’d ever made for anyone who wasn’t family. Definitely the strongest he’d ever made without knowing the person’s name to etch it in with everything else. To Dean’s eyes, the power in the metal sang like a glowing gemstone, winking in the afternoon light falling over his workspace from the window. Ignoring the heat in his cheeks, he carefully strung the charm on a length of iron chain he’d picked up at the crafting store this weekend on autopilot – whatever the current one was on, he was sure this would offer more protection. Gently wrapping it in tissue paper and placing it in a gift box, he resolved to drop it off early at the guy’s desk tomorrow morning. Win-win-win for all parties involved that way, yeah?
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Early tomorrow morning didn’t come, though, because apparently the dude was always the first to class, even though Dean showed up ten minutes early. Who came in early for 10 ams? Apparently McSnarksalot, who was talking with the professor about one of the poems from the homework that Dean had actually enjoyed. He wasn’t about to offer that information up though – reputation, and all that. He did notice that when it was just the dude and the prof talking, he was a lot less snide. All respectful-like. These were observations Dean made as he set up his class shit. It only took so long to pull out a book, some pens and a notebook, though, and soon Dean was left staring down at the plain box in the front pouch of his backpack. There was a lull in conversation and he figured, why wait.
“Hey,” he opened. The guy always sat in the same spot, like the rest of the class, which meant he was a row up and two seats over from Dean; the perfect distance to toss something small. “Heads up!” He tossed the box over as soon as he had the dude’s curious attention. Long fingers caught it easily, and Dean tried not to focus too much on them or the curious look on the guy’s face when he finally unwound the charm from its tissue paper prison.
“Dude, the one you’re wearing is just… Killing me to look at it. Like, it doesn’t fit at all. Please take it off,” he went for just shy of casual begging, if that was even a thing. The look on the guy’s face only got more confused as he lifted the charm, the chain draped over his hand as he held it up in the light.
“Yes, my sister does not have the best understanding of how advanced charms work. She never excelled at charmcraft, so I suspect she refuses to learn any more about it simply on principle,” the guy said, tilting the new charm this way and that, the morning sun gleaming on the rounded edges. For some reason, the word 'sister' resounded in Dean’s head. Finally the guy turned away from inspecting the gift – was it? a gift? – turning intense blue eyes back on Dean.
“Thank you for the new charm, though I suspect most people would not notice that the one I am wearing isn’t quite right,” he said, like he was conceding a point that Dean hadn’t made.
“How much do I owe you,” he said, setting the charm down on his notebook to unhook the chain around his neck. Dean was caught off-guard.
“Uhhh… You didn’t ask me to make it dude, ‘m not going to charge you for something you didn’t even ask for,” he argued. Somewhere inside, a very tiny voice that sounded a little like Sam’s business voice moaned ‘$75 down the drain’, but he effectively ignored it. It was a very tiny voice, unlike the kid it sounded like. The guy turned incredulous eyes on him as he latched the new iron chain around his neck, the darker metal contrasting nicely with the tan skin there.
“Dean, I may not be a master at charmcraft, but even I know the theory of how much work goes into a charm of this level. I will pay you,” he argued, eyes as intense as ever and focused solely on Dean. He tried not to jump when the guy said his name. Probably he’d learned it during class and Dean was just too focused on getting out of class to catch anyone else’s name most of the time. He tried to brush it off, leaning back in his seat.
“No, you really won’t. Your sister already paid for a charm, and if something got lost in communication, well, then Mrs. Winchester didn’t raise no scammer,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the guy. Nobody would fight back against the mom virtue. The guy just narrowed his eyes though, almost the opposite of the exasperated expression Dean was expecting.
“Fine. If you refuse outright payment, then perhaps you will let me buy you dinner and consider it a discounted rate. After all, any miscommunication was on my sister, the customer,” he shot back. Dean was dumfounded, allowing himself a quick reappraisal of the guy. Cute, definitely cute. Built in a lean way – runner, maybe? The eyes were an obvious draw. And well, it was no secret he’d always dug brunettes. The smirk grew almost unconsciously on his lips, and he didn’t try to stop it, leaning forward instead even though the professor was still the only other person in the room and she was deep into some last-minute grading.
“Coffee, maybe a muffin. Don’t think I don’t know the nice dinner places on campus could run you more than what I usually charge. I’m only going to let you buy me something if you tell me your name first, though,” he quipped, raising his brows in a way he had on reliable intel was hot. Blue eyes stared at him blankly for a moment.
“You,” he started, looking down at the charm hanging between his collarbones. “You didn’t,” he looked back up, the confused light back in his eyes.
“Castiel. My name is Castiel,” he said.
“Nice to meet ya, Cas.” Cas frowned, but it looked like a thoughtful frown, so Dean soldiered on. “There’s a coffeeshop off Reynolds Drive, if you like the indie-hipster feel more than mainstream Starbucks. Plus they make their own coffee. Gotta buy a bag for my mom, actually. I don’t have another class until 2, if you’re free?” Lucky for him, Cas returned his most convincing smile with a smaller one of his own. Another student swung the door open, voices trailing inside behind them as they shuffled to the back row. Dean leaned forward again to give the sauciest wink he could manage.
“Keep it on the hush-hush though. Don’t want just anyone thinking they can talk me into discounts so easy,” he stage-whispered. Cas’ smile grew and he ducked his head to hide it. The self-satisfied feeling stayed in Dean’s gut all through class and well past their impromptu coffee date.