It started with:

"Winchester, you're partnered up with Novak."

And it all went downhill from there.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean Winchester was popular.

Castiel Novak was not.

It was just the way things were; both were content in their social standings, and were aware of the other.

Dean knew Castiel from Sam, his sometimes-way-too-smart-for-his-own-good brother, as they were both on the soccer team. Dean had given Sam and Castiel rides home a few times, though few words were ever exchanged with Dean and the mysteriously quiet friend of his brother's.

Castiel knew Dean because of Sam, but probably would have known him if not for that because, well, everyone knew Dean.

In Castiel's junior year, they had probably spoken less than fifty words to each other, that is, until that fateful day when their history teacher, Dr. Uriel decided he wasn't going to let his students pick their partners for their social studies project.

Dean shifted in his seat, hoping he would get

"Winchester, you're partnered up with Novak." he said, looking at Dean from behind half circle lenses.

Dean stopped for a second, frowning.

Novak? Why does that name seem familiar?

"Get together and discuss schedules, exchange numbers, the like, until class ends," Dr. Uriel instructed, glancing up at the clock.

"Hello, Dean."

The gravelly voice snapped his attention upward, and he was met with icy blue eyes, and a blank, but somehow polite looking expression. Dean's eyes wandered to his trenchcoat, and tried to suppress a laugh.

Who the fuck wears a trench coat?

He let himself look at his face once more, and to his surprise, he realized… he was kind of pretty, in an angelic sort of way. A little bit different, but he felt like if he stared at him too much, he'd find that he looked… sort of…

Beautiful.

Oh! Dean remembered now. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he definitely knew him from somewhere. It would be tough to forget eyes like that.

"Hey…" Dean trailed off, suddenly feeling like a total ass for forgetting his name.

Ca- Cap- Cas?

"Castiel." He finished for him, not seeming to be annoyed.

"Right. " Dean smiled tightly, his heart dropping as he realized Castiel (what the fuck kind of name was that anyway?) probably wouldn't be one to just do all the work. He would actually have to put in effort in this project. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked, still standing awkwardly even though there was a seat next to Dean available.

"Yeah. So look, Castiel," he said, tasting the name and realizing that he really, really liked the way it felt on his lips, "I don't know if you know this, but I don't actually do this whole… academic bullshit, so I apologize in advance for being a dumbass during this whole ass of a project."

Dean played it off as funny, but it stung a little. At times, it sucked to be known as just another dumb ass jock.

"I'm sure you won't be."

Dean was prepared to reply with a comeback when he stopped, mouth half open. "Wait. What?"

"I doubt you will be a 'dumb ass'," Castiel replied, the swear sounding ugly and foreign with his voice, "as you so delicately put it. Sam says you're smarter than you let on."

It was then that Dean remembered where he'd seen Castiel from. Sam used to come home, all excited that a junior had actually talked to him, a freshman, on the soccer field. Dean had no idea they still even conversed.

"Oh. Well Sam's full of shit, he doesn't know what he's talking about," Dean said, just a little bit playfully. Castiel smiled a tight smile, and sat down next to him.

"So. Let's get started," said the blue eyed boy.

SPNSPNSPN

Actually, that wasn't where things started to go wrong.

It was that day at lunch, when Meg went:

"Truth or dare, Dean?"

Yeah. That's when things started to take a turn for the worse.

"Truth or dare, Dean?" She asked, toying around with the tip of a lollipop with her tongue. If Dean had been paying attention, he might have found it a little suggestive. But he wasn't. He was too busy staring at a blond guy's ass across the lunchroom. Normally, he protested skinny jeans. But in this case? Damn.

"Dean?" Meg asked again, shoving him playfully.

"Huh?"

"We've been playing truth or dare," she explained, motioning to the rest of their lunch table. It was an incredibly cliché popular kid lunch table, complete with the jocks wearing their uniforms, and the cheerleaders wearing theirs. They were seated in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, and they could usually actually feel the envious (and sometimes spiteful) stares and glances they received reverberating around the room.

"What are you? In eighth grade?"Dean asked, incredulously, though he knew full well that they were all seniors. They were the elite of the elite, and Dean, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, relished it.

"Oh, calm your tits, Winchester," one of the boys said, donning a leather jacket. His name was Luc. He was their crew's resident bad boy. "We aren't daring you to lick the floor or anything. Just go."

Dean figured it was best to agree; getting on Crowley's bad side, even for something as miniscule at this, wasn't a smart decision. Not that Dean ever prided himself on making smart decisions, but still.

"Fine. Dare, I guess."

"Alright!" Meg clapped, excited. She turned to Ruby, eyes wide as they whispered something, hands covering their mouths and all.

Dean picked at his fries, not feeling too hungry at the moment. He waited, eyes wandering over to the cute blond guy, who had just sat down. Dammit. His face wasn't nearly as hot as his ass.

"We got it!" Ruby announced, and suddenly half of the lunch room was quiet, as if they'd been listening in the whole time. To think of it, they probably were. "Dean Winchester, you have to make out with someone, right here, in the middle of the cafeteria."

Dean groaned inwardly, as their table cheered, and by default, so did most of the lunchroom.

"Wow, Meg. I congratulate you on your creativity; I'm surprised you came up with that that quickly." He smirked. Some of the football players adjacent to him laughed.

"Say what you want, Winchester, but you agreed. You have to do it." Ruby answered for her, smiling deviously.

"Fine, fine," making out with someone shouldn't be too hard, Dean thought to himself," who's the lucky lady?"

"Uh-uh-uh…" Meg drawled. "Oh. Sorry. Did we forget to mention?" Dean grimaced. He knew what was coming. "You're not making out with a girl."

Tension vibrated though the hall; even a few oooohs could be heard.

Dean was going to have to make out with a guy. In front of everyone.

Dean didn't really find the thought unappealing, actually, depending on the person, it sounded kind of hot. Deep down, Dean knew he wasn't completely straight; he had come to terms with it in sophomore year, when he enjoyed watching the boys swim team just a little bit too much.

Comfortable with it as he was, it wasn't a fact he'd wanted to shout out to all the upperclassmen. He bit down on his lip. He could act his way through this.

"What the fuck? I'm not a fag," he spat, though inside, he winced when he heard the slur. It felt wrong in his mind.

"Too bad, Dean. Too bad." One of the other boys, Crowley, said, smirking at him from across the table.

"That's disgusting," he said, frowning. He hoped he was as convincing as he wanted to be.

"Well, your dare. Your problem," Meg said, "oh, and we don't mean just a kiss, Dean. We said 'make out' for a reason." She sneered, looking triumphant.

"Fine, whatever, let me get it over with. Who am I supposed to make out with?" He said it with enough disdain in his tone and on his face for his act to be believable.

"Him."

Ruby's finger pointed behind him, and he turned, following her line of sight. His heart dropped into his stomach as he found her target, a guy sitting all alone at a table all the way in the back. He couldn't see his face, but he gulped. He recognized the beige, out of place trench coat.

"Oh!" Crowley said, obviously amused, "That's the freak with the super religious family. I'm sure he'd love a little boy on boy action, considering how accepting Christians are of that and all."

Dean suddenly felt a little guilty.

He was far, far from religious, but he knew if he was, he probably wouldn't want to go around doing things that would send him to hell. But he could tell by the looks on everyone's faces, some disgusted with the idea, but curious to watch, some girls who probably were going to get off on it, some people just wanting to see Dean squirm, that he wasn't going to be able to get out of this.

He stood up, and as he made his way towards the trench coat wearing boy with the sea blue eyes, almost every everyone watching him as he neared the table, there was a part of Dean that wanted to taste Castiel, to see if his lips tasted as good as the way his name did on his tongue.