Dean was getting wailed on. That's all that there was to say about it. He was outnumbered three to one and the other guys were taking turns. The first was on the football team, was probably the linebacker. Dean didn't pay much attention to the sports offered at his school, though. The other two were obviously just there to make sure he didn't run off. They were both about a head shorter than the lead goon and looked like they ran track rather than played football. But they were lean and carried a punch.
Dean leaned against the wall, seeking any form of protection. At least now, he wouldn't fall over. His head snapped back and hit brick as the linebacker punched him in the jaw. Dean pushed up, making an attempt to regroup, maybe find a way out of there, but his head was going fuzzy and he couldn't quite figure out how he was supposed to do that.
As the trio closed in again, Dean realized that this was just going to keep happening. This was, after all, what happened when you insult someone's family. He would know, as he'd thrown the first punch. Now, he figured that they were just putting him in his place. But they'd insulted his father, calling him a drunk. Dean could've walked away-hell, he almost had-but then they insulted Sammy. They said things that made Dean's blood turn to lava and his vision go red. He couldn't let that one slide. So he hadn't. And now he was being battered against a wall in an alley off of a grocery store.
So, of course, his first reaction to a new voice coming to his defense was the assumption that they'd hit him too hard and now he was hallucinating. That happened, right? But then the goons turned and he realized that there really was someone there.
A tall, lanky someone in a sweater.
He honestly looked like he'd just come from Sunday school.
His brown hair was slicked back and his khaki pants looked pressed. Honest-to-God ironed. Who dressed like that?!
"I said," the newcomer advanced, "leave him alone." His voice was deep, almost gravelly, but not quite. His eyes flashed angrily in the dim light when the goons didn't immediately run for cover. They flashed again when the linebacker laughed.
"Get outta here, Bible Boy, or we'll have to hurt you, too. This doesn't concern you."
The new guy didn't look like he could deliver, or even take a punch. But, as Dean watched, he realized that looks could be misleading. Very misleading. This kid fought like he could go three rounds with Mr. Miyagi without breaking a sweat. He took down the resident football star in under three punches and, with a look, sent his goons running. When he was sure that they were gone, he turned to Dean and grabbed him from the wall that was currently serving as Dean's spine. They both ignored the fresh gush of blood that came from the various open wounds on Dean's face at the sudden movement. The kid threw Dean's arm around his shoulders, supporting Dean as they slowly walked to the mouth of the Alley.
"What are you," Dean's words slurred slightly due to the repeated blunt force trauma to his head. "Some kinda guardian Angel?" The other kid smiled.
"No, I'm Castiel Novak. I'm on the baseball team." He added as an afterthought. It seemed kinda pointless to Dean, but then again, he was the one with a minor concussion.
"Castiel," He repeated, his brain slurring the name to 'Cassl.' "Sure as hell sounds like an Angel name." Castiel smiled.
"That's probably because it is."
"Now you're not making sense." Dean's footsteps faltered, and he stumbled. Castiel tightened his grip on Dean's arm and resettled it on his shoulders. "For what it's worth, I'm Dean Winchester."
"Nice to meet you, Dean."
"The feeling's mutual." Dean coughed. "But I hope you know that nothing you can say will convince me that you're not an angel."
Castiel sighed, but smiled slightly. Later, he would insist that it was a trick of the light, but he could never quite convince Dean.
