"Mr. Winchester, you're in luck. We have one seat left. You can sit next to Mr. Novak." A slight murmured filled the room as Dean Winchester looked around- there were several empty chairs.
"Uh... which one?" he asked, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. The room fell silent for a moment. Then the teacher-Mr. Cann- spoke again.
"Mr. Novak... please identify yourself." A hand in the back of the room rose slowly, but Dean couldn't see the person it belonged to very well- he was slumped forward, writing carefully in a notebook. As Dean began making his way to the boy in the back the hand fell and pulled a messenger bag from Dean's spot, placing it on the floor. The boy's measured writing never faltered and he didn't look up. Even once the teacher started talking, Novak kept writing. Dean was lost by the material within a few minutes, so he turned his attention to the boy next to him- he had dark, almost black, messy hair. He wore a loose black t-shirt with some logo on the front-Dean couldn't really see- and holey light-wash jeans. A quick to the ground confirmed Dean's suspicions- Converse.
"Hey." Dean whispered it to the boy. "What's your name?" The careful writing paused for a moment, and as it continued the boy spoke quietly, a surprisingly deep voice, especially considering how thin the boy was.
"My name is Castiel Novak." Dean smiled easily.
"I'm Dean. Do you get this stuff?" he gestured to the teacher who was waving his arms wildly while students furiously scribbled notes. Once more the writing paused.
"Yes." It was very soft and Dean wasn't entirely sure he heard it. The Castiel looked at him. His eyes were bright blue, and very familiar.
"Shit." All the air whooshed from his lungs. "You're Castiel Novak."
"I believe we covered that." Dean sat in stunned silence. Castiel Novak, world-wide best-selling author and all around boy genius was sitting next to him.
"Woah." Everyone had read his books, and the world was eagerly awaiting the last book in the series- Dean suspected that's what the boy was so studiously writing. Dean's mind was still reeling, but he found himself speaking. "Why your eye?" Castiel's hands played nervously with a frayed string from his jeans, and he spoke as if by route- he had been asked that very question many, many times.
"My sister took that picture. She loved it, showed it to anyone who would stand still long enough. When she dies a few months before my first book came out, I insisted. Refusing to sit for an author photo is my tribute to her." Dean frowned.
"I'm sorry. Was she older or younger?" Now the other boy's tone took on a softer quality, and he looked back to his notebook.
"Younger. My baby sister." he didn't look at or speak to Dean again for the rest of the class. As soon as the bell rang, the writer was up and out of the room. Laughter followed him
"What a freak." The girl sitting in front of Dean turned and placed her hand on his arm. "Ask Mr. Cann if you can more your chair up to me and Stacy's table." she smiled with obscenely red lips.
"Why?" Dean drew his arm away. The girl didn't seem to notice and leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Uh, hello? He's suck a freak!" Dean's lip curled involuntarily.
"Then why do you have his book?" he gestured to the novel nestled securely among her school books and the girl just shrugged.
"Everyone reads Novak's stuff." Dean shook his head and stood, his anger forcing the girl from his space.
"You're a hypocrite. I'll stick with Castiel if you're how 'normal' people act around here." Dean slung his ratty bookbag over his shoulder and stormed from the room.
By the end of the day, Dean had been propositioned twice, and warned away from Castiel Novak at least twice as many times. He had tried to find the boy at lunch, but hadn't been able to. He was waiting in his car for his baby brother, Sam, when he finally saw Castiel. He hopped from his vehicle- a 1967 Chevy Impala- and half-jogged to the slightly smaller boy.
"Hey!" the author didn't stop walking- if anything he sped up. "Castiel!" This stopped him in his tracks- but he didn't look up to see who said his name. Dean stopped next to the other teen. "Hey." he greeted with a grin. Still Castiel didn't look up from the ground, though he did mutter something that may have been 'Hello Dean'. "Are you okay? You look..." Dean trailed off hesitantly, his desire to help the-admittedly beautiful- outcast warring with the knowledge that he was talking to one of the most famous people in the world.
"I look what?" The boy's response was painfully quiet, and Dean had an epiphany.
"Are you... scared, Cas?" If he noticed the nicknae-which he totally did- the Castiel didn't show it. He did, however, nod slightly. "Why?" Cas shrugged and his eyes darted to meet Dean's own for just a moment before flitting back to the sidewalk beneath. Dean, without thinking, took Castiel by the wrist and gave a gently tug. "You wanna come over to my place for a bit? Play some video games, you know?" Cas nodded the slightest bit, his eyes fixed on Dean's hand wrapped around his arm.
"Yes." he whispered. Dean grinned and the blue-eyed boy chanced a second glance up with a small answering smile of his own. Dean began to lead Cas back to his car, not letting go of his wrist, pretending he didn't notice the unfriendly looks aimed at the two of them, while Castiel shrunk in on himself, staring at the ground directly in front of his feet. Dean chuckled to himself as they neared the car and he saw Sam looking curiously out of window.
"This'll be fun. Sammy'll love this- he's one of your biggest fans." Castiel didn't respond, but Dean didn't really expect him to anyway.
