Author's Note:

**Trigger Warning**

There will be self-harm in this and the depiction of the main character's mindset leading up to it. It will not be the complete focus of this story, nor will it lead to suicidal thoughts or attempts but if this will be triggering for you... please please please be responsible and don't read it. I'm not going to warn of what will be in each chapter before-hand because I feel that lessens its impact.

Castiel has been staring at the same tight end of Franklin High's tight end long receiver for the past twenty minutes. Michael Ashton. Varsity football player. Highschool god. Senior. Gay. Well maybe. Castiel's pretty sure or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

"I don't know why you're torturing yourself," Charlie says around a bite of the cardboard cafeteria pizza.

He's dragged her out to the bleachers again; like he has every lunch period for the last month and a half to watch the school's pride and joys chase after a ball and run into each other. At least that's what it seems to consist of. But Castiel isn't concentrating on the details of a brutal sport at the moment. He only has eyes for Michael. Dark-hair, perfect profile, firm toned muscles and a boyish smile that causes flips in the pit of his stomach.

"There is no way he's 100% straight."

Charlie sighs, long suffering, flicking her lengthy red hair over her shoulder. The sun was blaring but mid September the air was cool enough that he could sit here in relative comfort even in his slacks and white dress shirt. He's long since stopped attempting to smooth his tie flat, the wind seeming hell-bent on kicking it over his shoulder.

"Could they not at least have the decency to practice at the same time as the cheerleaders? That'd be waaay more fun than watching boys hurt each other for a half an hour."

Castiel had found out he was gay sometime around 8th grade when for the first time ever, he started taking an interest around him in his peers and surprisingly it wasn't in anyone with boobs. He immediately told Charlie, his best friend since grade school, who only laughed, not realizing he hadn't figured that out yet. She'd said her own gaydar had pinged pretty hard in his presence, especially with his adorable determination to wear a suit to school. Since that day, they'd been closer than ever.

"You have Dory," he reminds her, tone carefully devoid of envy. Castiel had never had a boyfriend. He actually only kissed a boy once freshman year but it had never gone anywhere. Aaron had been too deep in the closet and scared of his over-bearing Jewish mother to pursue anything more.

But having luck with the ladies had never been an issue for Charlie. Dory was Dorothy Baum, Charlie's girlfriend since last year. They'd met at the local 7-11 over Cherry slushies and it'd been love at first sight. She goes to the fancy private school up the road from their neighborhood so they only get to see each other weekends and occasionally afterschool, a fact Charlie bemoans every chance she gets.

"Hey, I can look. At least the scenery would be nicer."

"I like the scenery just fine, thank you," he wrinkles his nose around a bite of the same tasteless lunch before tossing it down beside him on the uncomfortable aluminum bench.

Castiel was grateful to have someone like Charlie. She gave him courage when he might otherwise have been too frightened to admit what he was. Having a partner in crime to cling to and assure him he was normal made it a little less scary. He didn't make friends easily. It always seemed like too much work or like he was missing some piece of the equation that made people just click. He usually did the opposite, saying something apparently rude and putting them off. His quiet was often seen as sullenness or introversion mistaken for snobby. But not Charlie. She was outgoing enough for the both of them. He needed her. Someone he could tell everything. Everything. And she hadn't ever acted disgusted or scared. But he's not going to think about that right now. Because since he's had Michael to fixate on, he hasn't really had to.

"There are better choices to get your panties in a bunch over."

"You don't know him. He's..." Castiel trails off, scrambling for something that wasn't shallow like he's hot. "Nice." Even to him it sounds a little lame. Irritation has him chewing his lip. If only he could get to know him more, he's sure he could fill a book praising his good qualities.

"Cas, he's making you tutor him. How the fuzzy is that nice?"

"I offered. The teacher was unnecessarily rude in pointing out for the whole class that he was failing."

"Okay and it's been what... two weeks? Have you rescued your beefy damsel from the cliff of academic failure?"

Well he certainly wasn't failing any longer. Michael was getting all his homework assignments in and on time now. Unfortunately it wasn't due to his own merit. In truth, Michael seemed happy with having Castiel show him the answers, saying he was crap with Trig and he wouldn't pass without getting the homework right. And with football practice there was no time… and well how could Castiel just help him out a little? Usually he did the homework and Michael just looked over it in his own time. Supposedly.

Wincing, Castiel knows he's not about to tell Charlie any of that. She just wouldn't understand.

"He's an athlete. They have a very demanding workload. But he is, um.. coming along."

"Cas. He's not gay."

Lifting his chin, he informs her that, "According to a Seventeen magazine poll, at least three out of every ten people questions their sexuality during their teenage years."

Charlie smiles, mouth open wide. "You are not reading Seventeen magazine."

His forehead pinches in confusion. "No. Gabriel told me."

Smirking to herself, Charlie shakes her head. "Okay that's your first problem. Stop listening to your insane sugar-addicted brother."

She lifts her soda to take a drink then drops it again. "And he's like 19. What's he doing reading- you know what, nevermind."

When he only frowns back towards the field, she bumps his shoulder with her own. "Should we review the evidence?"

"If we must," Castiel says without enthusiasm.

She nods. "I think we must."

Clearing his throat, he begins, "Exhibit A: His hair."

"Go on."

"Perfect."

Charlie counters with, "subjective."

"No it's not. I mean literally there isn't a strand out of place. That attention to his appearance is noteworthy."

Shrugging, she answers, "Okay, I'll allow it."

"Exhibit B: His jeans. He irons them."

Charlie squints, thinking. "Yeah but maybe his mom-"

"Even so. He's wearing them."

"Mmkay. What else ya got?"

Blushing slightly, Castiel adds, "he smells good."

Charlie just raises an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"When we're studying sometimes I can tell he's wearing some expensive after shave or something."

She snorts. "So because he doesn't stink he must be into guys?"

"From my observations, highschool boys, especially highschool boys that play football, either smell like sweat or wear something overpowering like Axe."

"C'mon. All this is circumstantial."

He presses his lips in a line of steely resolve.

"Well would you like my argument?"

"Not particularly," he says dryly, choosing to watch said teenage boy catch a football pass. Or complete a pass... Whatever they called it.

"Okay. Exhibit Uno: Girlfriend."

"You're supposed to go by letter and in response- shockingly little PDA," he immediately counters, but the mention of Michael's gorgeous blonde cheerleadering other half does bring him down.

"Two: His friends. They openly mock you and yours truly for being our fabulous selves."

Translation, they were both out at school and Michael's jock buddies cat called whenever they passed. It was embarrassing but he tried to take it as some warped compliment. They weren't exactly mean, just… Loud. Purposely making a scene. He usually just kept walking as normal as he could until he was out of their range.

"He... he never participated," is his only weak response. Michael seemed to just ignore the whole thing but he sure hadn't jumped to the rescue. "Maybe he's afraid to-"

"And three.." Charlie presses on with a little annoyance that he would defend that. She's told him several times that cowardice was no excuse. "He's never picked up on any of your obvious infatuation and honey you are very obvious."

"I can be subtle."

Shaking her head, she hums, "Mmm hmm," before downing the rest of her cherry coke.

Focusing past her, Castiel shields his eyes from the sun to see a silhouette of someone on a skateboard casually rolling down the pathway towards the front of the bleachers.

"Ugh, why does he always show up?

Charlie follows his gaze then smiles and waves.

"Oh stop being such a crabby pants. He's a super cool guy."

Castiel purses his lips, preemptive irritation building. "Why doesn't he just play hacky sack with the other glassy-eyed degenerates during lunch?"

Charlie gives him an unfriendly look. "Hey judgy, hacky sack happens to be fun and he's my friend. Just like you are. Try and make nice for once. Pretty please?"

Castiel leans forward so his elbows are on his knees and faces away as he hears the familiar drawl of one freckled green-eyed annoyance. "What's going on, Red?

Charlie lifts her stiff pizza up. "An Italian tragedy rivaling The Godfather."

Dean laughs. "First or second one?"

"Third," she answers, solemnly.

"Ouch." Dean puts on a fake grimace. "That bad, huh?"

After a second, Dean dips his head trying to see Cas' face which is pointedly aimed at his clasped hands. "You here droolin' again, Novak?"

Sighing, Cas looks up. "Don't you have ramps to hop or 'sweet' flips to do?" Castiel air quotes 'sweet' sarcastically as Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He kicks up his board to catch the tip and plops down next to Charlie.

"Dude, I would take the time to correct everything wrong with that sentence but some people are beyond even my help."

"I don't think you of all people should be correcting anyone's sentences."

"Cute." Dean sneers and motions back to the field. "So this doin' it for ya? Sweaty apes with testosterone squirting out their ears."

"Your insecurity is becoming very transparent. Perhaps with some introspection, you can figure out why you are so threatened by-"

"Introspection? C'mon, who the hell talks like that?

"Intelligent people."

"Or people with a stick up their-"

Charlie whacks them both simultaneously in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Dean protests as Castiel only frowns at her.

"Oh, man up. I didn't hit you that hard." While they're still wincing she looks back and forth at them in aggravation. "I don't get it. You're two of my favorite people. You guys both like me. I'm awesome so you both have great taste. Why aren't you friends?!"

"He's a robot!" "Dean is brain dead." They shout simultaneously.

"Just. Stop." Charlie gets up and stretches, giving up the fight on her lunch all together.

"Whatever." Dean digs in his backpack until he finds some sticky bun thing, ripping the plastic open with his teeth to take a ridiculously large bite and groan obscenely.

Castiel rolls his eyes, trying to put him out of his mind and turns back to watch the players grab their gear and head over to get water. Dean and Charlie's voices are dialed down to background noise as they talk about a new Xbox game he didn't care about.

The bell would ring soon. Today is Tuesday. He can't wait and at the same time wants to push it off another day. He's always a flustered mess by the last bell.

As if following his gaze and thus his thoughts, Dean suddenly says,
"So you uh, got your study date with jockstrap later right?"

Castiel looks over his shoulder with incredulity. Dean shrugs and waggles his eyebrows. Charlie pointedly doesn't meet his eyes.

His cheeks are hot but he has to say something. "Not that it is any of your concern but yes."

Nodding, Dean glances towards the field again even though it's now empty.

Castiel glares hard at Charlie, willing her to look at him but she was busying herself chipping away at her blue nail polish. The thought that they talked about him – about his ridiculous obsession with someone so out of his league- has his fist balling at his side.

Dean shifts and rubs the back of his neck, unwillingly drawing back his attention.

"Do you have a problem, Dean?" He said it as flatly as possible.

Surprisingly, the response didn't have an ounce of teasing in it.

"Look, not that it's any of my business who you go moony over but that guys-"

"You're completely right. It's none of your business."

Dean seems momentarily frustrated then just sighs. "Just don't want my favorite android short circuiting over a douchebag."

Castiel stands with his back to Dean and the bell rings in the distance a second later.

"Alright, alright. I can see where I'm not wanted," Dean backs away with arms raised in surrender. Shouldering his bookbag, Dean chucks Charlie under the chin. "Later, Red." He hops down the bleachers a few at a time, only pausing once to glance back over his shoulder before dropping his board and riding off.

Castiel turns back to watch him leave and stoically says, "I would appreciate you not discussing my love life or lack thereof with him."

"I just wanted a male perspective," she whines, shifting in place. "Dean thinks he's-"

"What makes you think I'd be interested in what he thinks?" A small curl of betrayal burns in his stomach. It was bad enough having him rub his nose in their choice of lunch spots every day. Now that Charlie had apparently clued Dean into his doomed infatuation, he could only imagine the fodder he would have.

"Seriously why does he bug you so much? He's nice. Really nice. Not 'makes you tutor him' nice."

Why does Dean Winchester bug him? Maybe it was because he always made everything he did seem so effortless. Nothing seemed to bother him. He had an easy teasing sense of humor most probably found charming. He seemed to be a mediocre student at best and was happy with it. He was always in a good mood when he sat with them and it was just irritating. High school was far from the best years of their lives like all the stupid books say. It was an awkward, hormone crazed hell and whenever Dean was around it seemed his unofficial mission to get a rise out of him.

"He's always messing with me," he settles for because saying someone seemed too happy just sounded bitchy.

"That's the way he jokes, Dork."

"I don't like it."

Charlie raises an eyebrow but sees he's not giving an inch. She was wrong and she knows it.

"Okay sorry. I get it, he ruffles your feathers." Charlie smiles guiltily and rocks back on her heels with thumbs in her pockets. "I just worry about you."

"Duly noted."

"Cas.."

After a second he loses the tightness in his shoulders and thinks about forgiving her. It never takes much and possibly the knowledge that he has his afterschool study session to look forward to is making him more lenient than he might otherwise have been.

Seeing him giving in, Charlie quickly adds, "I'm super sorry with two scoops of sorry, extra sorry sauce and sorry sprinkles on top."

He sighs through his nose. "Okay, but only because I need to get to French. And you're on probation for telling that connard."

"Ohh, you know I love it when you whisper sweet French nothings to me."

"It means, asshole." He smirks to himself as he begins to hop down from bench to bench like stairs.

"Hey," she stops him at the bottom with a hand on his arm. "Really though. You're... okay? Everything's been good lately?"

Cas tugs at the cuffs on the long sleeves of his shirt on reflex and smiles with strain.

"Yeah it's... I'm fine. I'm good. Thanks."

Charlie hesitates, but lets it go. She's referring to his tragically stereotypical problem that doesn't even happen all that often really.

"Okay well promise you'll text if you need me, kay?"

He nods then lets the smile fall as he turns away. He won't. But he won't need her either. He's pretty sure. He's got it under control.

The final three classes pass quickly, his stomach in knots the whole time until too soon it's after school and he's hurrying through the sea of rushing kids to the library. It stays open an hour after school ends but the buses leave promptly at 3:45. So he has to walk home, but this is worth it.

Castiel's early. As always. He sits and waits, spreading his books out and arranging the papers just so. Michael usually doesn't show up until after 4 anyway which only gives him time to worry and chew his lip raw.

By the time he finally strolls in at 4:10 and slumps into the seat across from him, Castiel has moved and adjusted the set up likely three times.

"Sup, Cassiel?"

He smiles awkwardly. His name was hard to pronounce to some and he lets it go. Again.

"Um well I thought we'd work on this section-"

"Nah I mean, how's it going?"

"Oh." Please don't let him be red. "Good. And you?"

"Yeah, alright. Coach has us running drills day in day out. My legs are killin' me."

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods sympathetically before he can embarrass himself by offering to rub them or something.

"And Shauna's been on my ass all week to go dress shopping with her for homecoming. Shit, sitting in a mall all Saturday while she tries on a never-ending supply of sequins? Nightmare."

Castiel averts his eyes to the ceiling and sighs. "Yes that does seem tedious."

"Yeah you got no idea. And it's all nag nag the entire time."

"Girls, right?" he awkwardly throws out there, only to have Michael shrug noncommittally.

"Yeah, what can you do?"

You can let me kiss you stupid and show you a better sequin free life! Castiel blinks and tries to think of something normal to say. He swears there's a moment where their eyes connect for a second too long but he can't be sure he didn't imagine it. Most likely he was just awkwardly gawking because Michael finally says, "So anyway, you got my homework?"

And within only twenty minutes he's gone and out the door. Castiel spent the whole time staring at his mouth or cheek bones when he wasn't looking, taking in the way his forehead wrinkles slightly in concentration as he skimmed through the notes or his tongue rolled under his bottom lip. Castiel savored these glimpses of mannerisms because too soon their "studying" was over and that'd be all he got until Thursday when he'd repeat the whole pathetic thing. Michael always thanked him and said things like he didn't know what he would do without him but he always left. In the minutes afterward, Castiel entertained fantasies of Michael reaching across the table and kissing him in thanks instead. Or pushing him against a bookshelf and cupping his face telling him how long he's wanted this.

But that's what high school crushes were for, he supposed. To be gorgeous and unobtainable. At least he had a good vantage point.

He grabs his stuff and begins the thirty minute walk home. He never feels especially great about himself after their short time together but at the same time he'll get lost in his thoughts, going over every bit of it like he couldn't help it. Five minutes in, Castiel's startled by a familiar voice behind him.

"Cas. Hey man, what's up?"

He clutches the strap of his bag hard with one hand and curses whatever rotten luck has Dean Winchester on the same road as him at this moment. Not glancing to his right where the other boy is now rolling lazily on his stupid skateboard to keep alongside him, Castiel answers in a monotone, "Hello Dean."

He kicks the ground at a leisurely pace like he has nowhere to be and nothing to do.

"Did you want something?"

"How'd study date go?"

Castiel glares ahead and evenly answers, "Stop calling it a date. I don't appreciate being mocked."

"Why do you have to take everything like an insult?"

Castiel keeps walking, hoping he just leaves without encouragement, but that proves to be too optimistic of a wish.

"So…"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he says, easily. "Just a sucker for a teen romance."

"Perhaps you should purchase one then. I've heard Seventeen magazine has excellent literary recommendations."

Dean snorts his laughter, having to step off his board and falls behind for a moment. Despite himself, Castiel smiles but doesn't slow. Dean eventually catches up until he's beside him again.

They continue in silence for about another minute before he can't take it anymore. Idly he asks, "Interesting mode of transportation. Don't you have some loud and ridiculously masculine car?"

"Baby's in the shop. So I'm all yours."

"Lucky me."

Dean frowns and shakes his head. "So what's up? Why don't you like me?"

"Does everyone have to?"

Shrugging, Dean allows, "Guess not."

When the silence stretches again without Castiel adding anything, Dean makes a little scoffing noise of impatience. "What's a guy gotta do to get a decent word from you? Wear shoulder pads? Speak real slow? I could crush a beer can on my head if that'd help?"

"That's not- He's an athlete," Castiel grinds out, and Dean only rolls his eyes. Annoyed, he stops and turns to face him for the first time. "Michael has a lot more going for him that you. He might get a scholarship for college. Are you even going to college?"

Irritatingly, Dean just smiles like nothing Castiel said touches him but there's a tightness in that familiar upturned of lips now. A small victory. "Bite me, Nerd Angel."

"Nerd Angel?" he repeats, scrunching his face in confusion.

Dean, who had been focusing on balancing the board at a 45 degree angle next to him, screws his mouth up like he might not even answer then shrugs nonchalantly and says,"Yeah didn't you say you were named after an angel?"

Had he told Dean that? It must have been quite a while ago. It aggravated him even more that Dean could remember this detail from whenever ago and Michael couldn't even remember his name.

"What are you even doing here?" Castiel growls suddenly.

Dean puts a foot down on the road, dropping the board abruptly flat and just looks at him. For a second, he thinks he might have actually seen some hurt in those bright green eyes and fleetingly regrets taking it out on Dean.

"Yeah. What am I friggin' doing here?" He shakes his head and rolls off in the opposite direction.

Castiel bites his cheek, trying to understand the confusing mix of contrition and relief. Finally, he resolutely talks himself out of feeling bad. He never invited Dean to share his trip home anyway. He reserved every right to be sullen in peace. Alone once more, he adjusts his messenger bag strap across his chest and continues on his path home, trying to put the other boy out of his mind.

Author's Note:

FYI: I picture Michael as young John Winchester/Matt Cohen.

I apologize for those of you wanting more Skirts and Ties. I'm not in a great headspace for adding to that story at the moment. I just needed to write something so I actually start writing again.. so here you go. Fair Warning, I might be a little rusty.