A/N: Hey! So... this is my first ever Supernatural fic and, as luck would have it, I'm British, so I have tried to use Americanisms (i.e. 'Mom' rather than 'Mum') to as SPN's American, but I have stuck to British spellings due to personal preference. I do not in any way own Supernatural and its characters, nor do I own 'Heat of the Moment' by Asia. Thanks, and please review to tell me what you think :)

"Dean. DEAN! Get up!" said the voice in Dean's ear. From the audible pre-pubescent squeakiness, he guessed it was Sammy.

"What the hell, Sammy? I was asleep!" Dean muttered angrily whilst turning his body to face the peeling wall beside him.

"Dean, it's 8:30! I'm gonna be late, AGAIN!" Sam exclaimed anxiously.

"Oh fuck. Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"I thought you'd already be awake!"

"Shit okay, sorry dude, just let me get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs in five." With that, Sam stormed out and left Dean alone to his thoughts. Little Sammy was growing up so quickly that Dean could hardly believe he was already at his moody teenager phase. Hell, he wasn't even a teenager yet, but Sam had always acted older than his age. It was unsurprising, Dean thought, when you looked back upon his life so far. When Sammy was just six months old, their Mom had died in a car accident. She'd been taking Sam to the doctors' for a check-up, when a car came out of nowhere and swerved right into the driving seat, instantly killing Mary and leaving Sammy in a critical condition for several months. Sam eventually recovered, but John could never see eye-to-eye with him again. Once Sammy had gotten better, John's attention shifted from making sure his son was okay, to inwardly blaming him for his wife's death. John didn't know his sons had realised this, but how couldn't they, when John seemed to applaud Dean on all his successes, yet treat Sam like a disappointment to his wife's memory every time he tried to do something right.

At that, Dean snapped out of his thoughts with a sigh and stumbled around his room for some clothes. His wardrobe was a mess and, despite his appearance usually being one of the only things Dean outwardly gave a damn about, he ended up just dragging on whatever clothes he could find on his bedroom floor.

"Come on, let's go Sammy." Dean said as he came down the stairs and ushered Sam out of the door.

"Aren't you gonna have any breakfast?" Sam asked concernedly.

"S'fine, I'll get something from the vending machines at school." Dean replied nonchalantly, swinging into the driver's side of his Dad's '67 Chevy Impala. Dean was supposed to wait until he was eighteen to be able to use his Dad's treasured vehicle, but John stopped caring about those sorts of things a long time ago.

The drive was silent, apart from the loud thumping which was emanating from the stereo as Dean sang along to Asia's 'Heat of the Moment'. Sam had probably heard this song over a hundred times and had hated it every single instance. It reminded Sam horribly of his father's music, which was of a very similar style to Dean's. He noted that the only time John played his rock music was when he was drunk.

"Got everything?" Dean asked as he pulled up just outside the middle school.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam replied, stumbling out of the car whilst slinging his battered backpack upon his shoulder.

"'Kay, see ya later," Dean told him, before driving off in the direction of the high school. Dean didn't know why he was even going to school today. He had no reason to; his Dad was out of town, he had no work due in and it was a fine, sunny day. But in reality, he had nothing better to do and truancy was, after all, illegal.

So, Dean found himself in his school's parking lot. He was ten minutes late, but present all the same. He locked up the Impala and inspected his clothing in its reflection. He was wearing an old pair of sneakers, his favourite denim jeans, Sammy's amulet, an old black Pink Floyd tee (a.k.a. his 'stoner' tee, not that his family knew this) and a navy plaid shirt. Despite his hurried dressing only a half hour earlier, he looked pretty good. He'd forgotten his trademark leather jacket, but that wasn't even his anyway, so what did it matter. He guessed his 'bad boy' image could be compromised for just one day. Besides, he had the whole 'just woken up' look that the chicks seemed to dig to make up for it.

With that thought on his mind, Dean strode into school, a confident smile interrupting his face. It was rare that he felt this jovial, but he was going to embrace it nevertheless. Dean continued in this mood as he walked down the corridor to his classroom for registration. However, as soon as he opened the door to the room, he realised that his awful timing had once again made its mark this morning.

"Sorry I'm la-," Dean began, striding into the room.

"Mr. Winchester! What do you think you're doing, intruding on registration without knocking first!" Miss. Grayson demanded. She wasn't usually this strict about these sorts of things, Dean pondered.

"Hello? Earth to Dean? I was trying to introduce the class to a new student when you very rudely interjected."

"Wh- a new student?" and at that moment, Dean's eyes fell upon a rather small looking teenage boy who was standing awkwardly next to Miss. Grayson. Immediately he felt guilty. If his dress sense and timid but determined demeanour were anything to go by, this kid was a straight-up Mommy's boy; 'I mean, what sort of kid these days wears a trench coat?' Dean wondered. But there was something about this boy; his presence was almost ethereal in its nature; broken only by the piercing blue eyes which seemed to dominate his stature. For some inexplicable reason, Dean couldn't shake off the strange feeling of familiarity that he felt when looking at the boy. He was fascinating.

"Oh, uh…," Dean was almost lost for words; a rare occurrence, "um, sorry I'll just, uh, sit down then," he stuttered uncomfortably as he made his way to his desk at the back of the room.

"No, Dean, I think you'll be sitting at the front today. I can't have you disrupting my lessons any further by any inevitable chit-chatting with your friends," said Miss. Grayson, smiling smugly to herself as if she'd just cracked the enigma code. Dean glared at her, but was far too distracted by this new student to try dispute her order. She seemed disheartened by this.

"Anyway," she continued as Dean took one of the vacant front seats, "as I was saying, we have a new student today, would you like to tell us a little about yourself?" she gestured to the boy.

"Uh, hi. I- uh I'm sixteen and I'm from Massachusetts but I've moved around a lot. So… yeah," he said, glancing nervously at Miss Grayson, who stared at him expectantly, "Oh, and I almost forgot," he continued clumsily, "my name is Castiel."

'CRAP!' Dean thought. It couldn't be, could it? The Castiel? Surely not?! But then again, it wasn't exactly a common name, and the kid did seem kind of familiar. But how could it be? And how come he didn't appear to recognise him?

"Castiel what?" a kid at the back asked.

"Uh, Novak," he replied, slightly taken aback, "Castiel Novak."

Shit. It was him, alright.