Thursday, April 21, 2011

Angelic Thursday: Cold Academic Hell verse

College is hell. Am I right? That's what most people say anyway. For Dean it's not so very different. Sam on the other hand fits right in. It's for that reason that Dean always goes to his little brother for college-related questions. But some things even Sam can't take care off and when it becomes obvious that Dean needs to pay a visit to a counselor, he's not excited to say the least. 

The guy isn't a total douche as Dean expected and he even falls head over heels for the strange older man. Acting like a love struck teenager, ranging from visiting every available second to bringing Castiel gifts, Dean can't deny his feelings. 
In the meantime, Sam has some issues to deal with himself. His counselor is a big dick who's out to harm Sam in any possible way. When Gabriel finds out -and yes, he's also a guidance counselor- he does everything in his power to help and protect Sam. 

The Novak brothers, as well as the Winchester brothers have some important decisions to make. Decisions that could ruin lives, and possibly carreers. What will they do?

A segment: 

Dean’s advisor is named Castiel Novak. Jessica pulls through, and informs Sam (and, through Sam, Dean) that Mister Novak is soft-spoken and intense, but well-liked despite that. Jessica provides them with several examples of people he’s helped – all of them are female, and all of them, as far as Dean can tell, have some serious issues. Bela is a kleptomaniac, and proud of it. Ruby’s a backstabbing, Satan-worshipping bitch. Becky has some sort of social anxiety disorder that makes it hard for her to talk to strangers. Madison has mood swings that wax and wane in time with the moon, and Anna’s religious fervor goes beyond “having faith” and enters well into the territory of “creepy”. By the third girl, Dean doesn’t even want to listen anymore, let alone visit this guy.

“You have to,” Sam says. And then, “Go and see him or I’ll hide all your cassette tapes.”

So, because Sam is freakishly good at hiding things, Dean goes. He makes an appointment on Sam’s laptop, and, that Friday, he shoulders his bag after classes are over and he heads down to the administration building. The place is maze-like, and the advisor’s offices are located in the basement, where visitors to the campus are less likely to wander. The only thing that keeps Dean from getting lost is the small signs scotch-taped to the walls, with arrows pointing right or left, and the words “STUDENT ADVISING” written in rainbow marker. Someone down here, Dean thinks, has a bizarre sense of humor.

He follows the trail of rainbows and arrows until he comes to what can only really be described as a cubicle forest. Rows of the things crowd together, down here in the basement, and Dean stands at the start of them like he’s preparing to enter a labyrinth, except he doesn’t have a ball of string to help him find his way back.

He picks his way through the path that winds through the cubicles, passing disaffected looking men and women, some of them fiddling with their phones or their computers, some of them doing paperwork, and one of them happily munching his way through a bag of Halloween candy (it’s November) and a deck of playing cards laid out on his desk. Solitaire.

“You look lost, buddy,” the guy calls out, seeing Dean paused, unsure, in the middle of the narrow path. “Help ya?”

Asking for directions is almost as stupid as needing an advisor’s help to get him signed up for this class, but Dean swallows his pride and says, “Yeah, I’m looking for Mr. Novak’s, uh.” He’d expected an office. Zachariah got an office, if Sam was to be believed. “…cubicle.”

“You’re in luck,” Candy Guy says, pushing away from his tiny desk and springing to his feet. He shoves his hand into his bag of candy and comes back up with a handful, which he offers to Dean. “Castiel just came back from lunch. Follow me.”

Dean cautiously takes a Tootsie Roll, and then follows the guy back out into the mess of cubicles – now, whenever they pass one that’s occupied, they’re examined like rats winding their way through a maze, and at the end they’re going to have to push a button, except one will shock them and one will give them booze and hookers, and everyone in the advising center is excited to find out which button they choose. Dean hunches his shoulders without thinking about it, and then mentally scolds himself for doing so; he pulls himself up straight as they pass row after row of tiny, three-walled rooms, wondering if these people will remember him, that obvious adult learner who needed help finding his way through the labyrinth in the basement.

“We kept asking for actual, individual offices,” the guy says. He sounds annoyed, but in a way that suggests irony, rather than true anger. “We got the basement complex. Consequences of a small campus, I guess. All the money goes to the tech people. Computers are a priority.”

“Sam would agree with that,” Dean says vaguely, and then adds, “He’s my brother.” They come to a stop in front of a cubicle that’s bare of the ornamentation that all the other advisors seem to have surrounded themselves with – no cartoons cut out from newspapers, no quotes from prominent authors or scientists, no pictures hanging on the thin walls of the cubicle itself. The man sitting at the desk inside has his back turned towards them, busily writing something down.

“Your brother,” Dean’s guide repeats. “Well, if he ever wants to defend that position, have him swing by here, I’ll give him a run for his money. Tell him to look for Gabriel.” And then he leans forward, balls up his fist and bangs on the side of the cubicle. The walls shake. “Castiel! You got a visitor!”

The man straightens up, neatly setting down his pen, and then swings his swivel chair around to face them. Dean stares, and Gabriel gives him a thumbs up.

“I’ll let you two get down to business,” he says, and then, with one last crinkle of his bag of candy, he disappears back into the maze.

Castiel Novak is nothing like what Dean had expected. He’s seen Zachariah before, and he’d been thinking that pretty much all advisors would be like that – pushing fifty-five, balding, having a permanent mid-life crisis and taking it out on everyone around them. Angered by the lack of prestige in their job.

Mr. Novak isn’t like that at all. Well, at least physically. He’s long and lanky, and he’s wearing, not a suit, but a dark blue argyle sweater-vest over a black shirt. There’s a pair of glasses folded neatly on the desk behind him. He can’t be much older than Dean is, maybe in his early thirties, and his hair is dark, mussed like he’s just gotten out of bed.

His eyes are blue. A clear, bright shade of blue, like the sky in October, just after the leaves have started to turn, so that the sky looks that much brighter against the foreground of reds and oranges and browns. Dean’s never seen anyone with eyes like that, before.

“May I help you?”

I don’t want your help, he thinks. Just your number. Except that’s wildly inappropriate, so he tucks the thought away somewhere in the back of his mind, to be examined later. Dean’s not the kind of guy who usually swings that way, but there have been a few occasions…a few guys who’ve caught his interest. But it’s been so long – there hasn’t been anyone new since his father died.

You guys just have to read this story. It has everything ranging from humor, longing, passion to heartbreak. I'm sure you'll love it. It's not a very graphic story. The most they've done so far is kiss. But it's beautifully written and perfect for a lazy Sunday. 
See you all next time. 

Shirley Out!


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