Chapter Text
Ghosts are a fact of life. The first time Eoin had seen one was three days before his fifth birthday. He wasn't aware what he observed wasn't usual, not then. Not until a couple years later when his aunt Cara sat him down in her living room. An ironic place, he realizes now. Ghosts are people held from moving on, she told him. They're not to be feared, and should instead be helped if you're able. Eoin of course had questions upon questions for her, and all would be answered in the following years as he began middle school. By the time he was in eleventh grade, he was comfortable in his abilities as a witch. Cara was no stranger to magic, and as such she educated him in all manner of spells, sigils, hexes, and curses. Her words of wisdom she repeated often: the tools themselves have no intention, for that is given by the one who uses them.
He takes those words and teachings to heart as he walks the halls of his high school to first period. He keeps them in mind as he, once again, hears the faint sobs of a ghost in that same empty classroom. Nothing can be done while school is in session, so he carries on to Honors English 11. He didn't choose to be in honors, rather his counselor signed him up. She said she knew he could do it, to try to apply himself more. His grades are average for the class, so he supposes she was right. His desk is again covered in gum wrappers and fresh drops of elmers glue. The teacher looks away with pressed lips, and familiar snickers start from the back of the class. Seats are taken, and he cleans his space with tissues from his backpack.
"Alright class, please give a warm Wombat welcome to our new student, Dean Winchester!" Silence. A cough. Some feet scuffle. "Let's see, where to seat you," she mumbles.
Dean's eyes scan the room as if judging each person at a glance. Ms. Caulfield says his name, but he ignores her and takes his seat beside Eoin. Dean leans toward him and asks, "This seat taken?" Eoin shakes his head. "Good. You can continue, teach." Ms. Caulfield sighs, but ultimately begins the class.
A swirl of thoughts move through Eoin's mind, ranging from shock to respect.
He follows the class with his usual pen and notebook and jots important points down every now and then. As time slogs on, he notices Dean hasn't taken his hands out of his jean jacket the entire time. No book, no notes, not so much as a backpack.
The teacher's presentation nears its end. Dean flashes Eoin a cocky smirk and loudly pushes his chair back as he stands.
Ms. Caulfield scoffs. "Dean, sit back down. We still have-"
He saunters out, and the metal bell clangs above the door.
A snort escapes Eoin and earns him a glare. He pulls his book off the desk, pockets his pen, and follows after Dean. Eoin catches a glimpse of him turning into a stairwell before crowds of students flood the hall. He weaves and sidles through and enters the same stairwell. Not many classes are on the upper level, largely due to the plumbing never working longer than a week. A couple familiar faces nod or wave at him. It's a popular haunt for the unpopular kids, and Eoin's no stranger here.
A rough scratch of fabric pulls his attention down the hall to his right, followed by a soft clink of metal. "You know you're not supposed to smoke in here, right?"
Dean huffs a laugh through the lit cigarette. "And what are you gonna do? Snitch?"
Eoin shakes his head and lifts a hand above Dean's head. He eyes Eoin as he grips the window latch and pushes it open a crack. "I didn't say I gave a shite, but if the teachers find out..." he grimaces at what few memories come up. "Just don't let 'em, okay?" He leans against the wall with Dean.
Dean quirks his lip and nods. His hand is held out between them. "Dean."
"Eoin." He shakes it. "So, Dean. Going to a new school mid-March... why?"
Dean offers a cig. Eoin wants one, yet reluctantly denies it. Dean stuffs the box back in his jacket. "Family matter."
"Fair enough. It's just me and my aunt."
"Got a brother, Sammy, and my dad." He puffs another plume of smoke out the window.
"You staying here long?" Hope colors his voice.
"Uh... probably not." Dean rubs his neck, and turns to him with that signature grin of his. "But I'd like to get to know you while I'm here."
"Yeah?" Heat pricks at his face and rushes south in equal measure. "And why's that, tough guy?" Eoin gives his own smile, swinging his body to face Dean. He takes his jacket between his fingers and tugs with little force. His eyes meet Dean's, then drift down his face, and wets his lips without meaning to. Whether he was looking at Dean's own lips or the cigarette between them is... undecided.
Dean takes a long drag from the cigarette. He stubs it on the windowsill, hooks a finger into Eoin's pants and pulls him until they collide. Dean leans forward and releases the smoke against his mouth. Eoin breathes it in readily and sighs with a soft hum. "Because you're a cute piece of ass, and you look like you'll be fun company while I'm in town."
Eoin's head is full of smoke and lust as he checks the halls. "C'mon." Eoin pulls him into the old music room that's been in disuse for over fifteen years. It's kept clean and orderly, but no one knows why, and it's the perfect spot for privacy. He leads Dean further in, taking him into the spacious closet and closing the door. Unlike the main room, this closet is decorated to perfection. Posters of Black Sabbath, Metallica, Asia, and even Air Supply adorn the walls, effectively covering every inch of paint.
"Son of a bitch," Dean mumbles. "Knew there was something about you."
Eoin lowers himself to sit on a pile of cushions and blankets. "Not 'sposed to, but school staff don't come up this way much. The few classes left on the second level are down in the opposite end of the hall, so I've kind of co-opted this space as my own when everything gets to be too much."
Dean joins him with shoulders touching. "How often?"
"Hm?"
"I saw you cleaning off your desk earlier. How often are those guys dicks to you?"
Eoin shrugs. "Often enough, I guess."
"You ever give them shit back?"
"Not worth it," he replies solemnly. "See, the teachers have very selective vision. And the principal... she stopped caring about corporal punishment laws a few months ago, just after we got back from winter break."
Dean bristles. "Son of a bitch..."
"That about sums it up, yeah. Which is why I made this space, y'know? All my own, with no teachers coming to drag me back to class. Just me and some great music." Eoin slips a hand over Dean's thigh, simply resting it there.
Dean feels the softness of the blankets beneath them mindlessly, then pauses. "Hey, any chance you have records stashed away in here?" Eoin nods and points to a shelf, and Dean walks over. He flips through them before chuckling and pulling one out. He drops the needle with care, starts the record player, and rejoins Eoin on the pile. A familiar song begins.
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more
Eoin's face brightens. "What gave it away?"
"The sleeve," he says, nodding his head to the beat. "It's the most faded yet tended to of the whole collection."
Eoin leans his head on Dean's shoulder and closes his eyes. He had half expected his pants to be around his ankles by now, but... he's more content with the way it's turned out. This big closet may be his safe space in the school, but it's still school. With Dean here though, it feels... comforting.