As he sat in the back of his chemistry class while his teacher explained the assignment for the umpteenth time, Dean Winchester found himself actually missing Catholic school, and it wasn't even lunch yet. Going to church three times a week on top of a religious education class every other day seemed like Heaven in comparison to this new kind of Hell. Dean found himself having trouble wrapping his head around the idea that some two-thousand or so people were voluntarily attending this school, which he very recently nicknamed, "Satan's [insert profanity of choice]". St. Mary's was an annoying school, but Dean had a stinking suspicion that his new life at Thomas Hobbes High School would somehow land him in jail. He wasn't a troublemaker per-say; Hobbes High simply gave off strong vibes in the law-bending region, from the countless security guards stationed throughout the building to the pungent smell of what could either be very strong body odor, or marijuana.
At the famously homophobic, first-in-conservatism-last-in-education St. Mary's, Dean had been expelled for conducting a very important, VERY legitimate science experiment called, "Is it possible to get kicked out of a school for publicly kissing a boy on the last day of school?". Unsurprisingly, the results were mostly pointing towards a definite 'yes'.
Though it hurt to be dragged down to the principal's office and put to face his father's look of disappointment was, Dean knew the joy of watching his teacher's face go white as a sheet was worth the pain.
Or so he had thought.
He had pulled the stunt on the last day during the end-of-the-year church service, with the whole school crammed inside the tiny chapel. His (now ex) boyfriend, Benny, had been a bit wary of the idea, but he had eventually succumbed to Dean's 'oh-so-scientific' reasoning, though he regretted it later when they were hauled out of church and, eventually, expelled. Dean laughed at the ridiculous idea of getting expelled on the last day of school, but he quickly stopped laughing after he was informed that he wouldn't be attending the next year either.
Benny wasn't laughing either.
Later on, Dean received a very annoyed phone call, confirming that he was most definitely dumped. He had seen it coming, but he still had a shred of hope that he would not be expelled, grounded by his father, and broken up with in the same afternoon. Of course, that was exactly what had happened.
After a long, angst-ridden summer, suddenly, Dean felt like he was back in kindergarten, being led by hand into the building by his father, who was worried sick about how his son would handle the school. Except this time, Dean wasn't nervous about whether or not he had remembered to bring all of his crayons, or if his shoes were going to come untied. Instead, his goal was to make it through the day without getting mugged in the hallways.
At St. Mary's, little spurts of insane behavior popped up maybe two to three times a year—like two boys smooching it up during church. Here, in Hobbes High, it seemed as though insane behavior was a norm. Dean could have sworn that he witnessed a drug deal on the way in, along with several public-displays-of-affection that could be classified as public-displays-of-something-far-beyond-affection, and most certainly beyond sanitary. When he had first heard that his father was sending him to Hobbes High, he was relieved that there would be no uniforms, as the white button-ups and navy blue pants of St. Mary's were getting a little old. However, when he caught sight of what these students wore on a daily basis, Dean saw many reasons as to why a dress code would be necessary in the first place. Boys everywhere sported jeans sagging so low that Dean could easily point out what brand of underwear they wore, and freshman girls wore shirts with necklines so low that, if he wasn't an atheist, he might be tempted to consult his bible. Maybe he was old-fashioned, or maybe he just wasn't used to it yet, but one thing was sure: he felt weirdly indecent just being present in the building. It was like watching a raunchy movie with his dad.
"Are we gonna do the icebreaker or…?"
Dean was suddenly jerked from his thoughts at the voice, and he abruptly dropped the pen he had been fiddling with. "Sorry, what?" He asked as he glanced up at the person who spoke, then did a double-take.
This guy, who Dean assumed to be his lab partner, was a real piece of work. Dark, black-brown hair stuck up in unusual places on his head, as if he had just gotten out of bed. No doubt, from the way this guy looked, he probably just did. He wore a white button-up, which looked fairly decent—besides the endless wrinkles—and a yellow and black tie with cartoon bees on it. This combination may have worked out if the tie hadn't been tied so messily, and it hadn't been put on backwards. The ensemble was completed with black slacks, one of those plastic, digital kids' watches with a two overlapping Star Wars lightsabers on it (the time reading 1:53 am) a (currently orange) mood ring, and rectangular, black-rimmed eyeglasses. Out of all of the outfits Dean had evaluated today, this one took the cake. He wasn't much of a fashion critic, but if looks could kill…
"The icebreaker," the boy repeated, his voice low and hesitant, as he held up a paper that had been passed out. "Do you want me to go first?"
"Uh, go ahead," Dean replied, though he hadn't processed a word that just came out of the boy's mouth. He turned his attention back to the profane carvings on his desk to avoid staring for any longer.
The boy paused and looked over the paper with directions. "I'm Castiel Novak," he said, holding out a tentative hand for Dean to shake. He put on his best smile and waited for his lab partner to return the gesture, but he must not have noticed, as he was still staring at the desk. Castiel licked his lips nervously, his smile faltering. All this morning he had anticipated having to introduce himself to everyone, and he had even practiced in the mirror. He had mulled over all possible scenarios of what could go wrong, and what he would do to recover. Castiel had not, however, thought he would meet someone who appeared to be more socially awkward than himself.
Perhaps this golden-haired boy didn't like him, or just didn't want to shake his hand. 'Maybe the tie was too off-putting,' Castiel wondered. He silently cursed himself for picking such a bold yellow; he much preferred pastels anyway.
No, no, he was overthinking this.
Defeated, Castiel dropped his offered hand and set it on the desk, drumming his fingers lightly in hopes of getting this boy's attention; it was to no avail. The guy seemed to be spaced-out nearly all of the time, and Castiel had noticed from the moment he walked into class. No doubt, by the description, this was the 'new kid' that Balthazar had been talking about earlier that morning. Then again, he was more so gossiping about an apparent 'scandal' at a catholic school that had gotten him expelled, though from the sound of it, the act wasn't worthy of a scandalous title. Now, Castiel was glad he had eavesdropped on the conversation so he could place a name: Dean. Dean was a bit weird with maybe a side of douchebag, but Castiel couldn't help but feel a shred of sympathy for him. Word got around fast at Hobbes High, so the story of the 'scandal' had probably reached the teachers within hours.
"Are you new here?" Castiel asked, unable to resist any longer.
This quickly got Dean's attention. He sat upright and turned to Castiel with a face full of confusion and perhaps suspicion. "How did you know?" He fired back. Apparently, he was also the type to answer a question with a question.
"You're white," Castiel answered at once, as if it were obvious.
Dean frowned, "So you knew I was new because I'm a white guy?"
Self-consciously, Castiel glanced at his hand, the ring on his finger turning a bright orange-red color. Hastily, he took off the ring and held it up for Dean to see. "You're white," he repeated, "Confused, dazed, uncertain of your surroundings." He set the mood ring on the table.
Dean glanced from the ring to his lab partner, then back again. Not only did this guy have a terrible sense of fashion, but he was apparently also insane. "Yeah, okay," Dean replied, slowly, then added, "And you're right, I'm new."
He had intentions of ending the conversation there, but Castiel persisted, "Do you like Hobbes High?"
Dean pursed his lips and shook his head in response. "Nope. It reeks and it makes me want to kill myself."
Castiel suddenly reached over and grabbed Dean tightly by his forearm. He jumped in surprise and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the boy had a stone-like grasp.
"Please don't," he whispered, his eyes wide and fixed on Dean. "We would miss you."
Dean swallowed and glanced around the room to find several students staring at them, a few whispering among themselves. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice low as he still tried to wrench himself out of Castiel's grip; it was like being caught in a bear trap. Helplessly, Dean looked to his classmates for explanation, but none came. Castiel then abruptly snapped his fingers in front of his face.
"Don't do that," he said, more sternly this time, his fingers squeezing Dean so hard it was starting to hurt.
"Cas, cut it out."
At the new voice, Castiel dropped his hand immediately, his face flushing a bright red.
The boy that spoke strode over to the lab table, his hands in his pockets. "Come on," he said, with a sigh, "I'm going to take you to the nurse. Did your mum forget to drop off your pills at the office?"
Castiel folded his hands in his lap and turned his attention to the floor. He shook his head.
The boy folded his arms, "Then why didn't you go during lunch?"
"I did." Castiel retorted without looking up.
A silence hung between the two that Dean couldn't decipher, before the boy plucked the mood ring from the table and crammed it on to one of Castiel's fingers. "Take your ring, we're heading to the nurse."
"I told you, I already went—"
"Good. Then we'll go to make sure that you're not lying to me."
Castiel's face went white as a sheet, apparently realizing he had been cornered, and he slowly rose to his feet. Meekly, he followed the other boy out of the class, the blond of the two giving a nod towards the teacher. Mrs. Moseley waved them off and scribbled something down on a piece of paper.
Perfect. Dean had somehow been put in a class with a crazy lab partner and his blond, douchey-looking, v-neck-wearing friend.
What a great first day of school.
For the remainder of the class, Dean mostly filed through the papers that had been handed out in the classes beforehand. About halfway through the class period, Castiel and v-neck dude returned, both boys looking much more relaxed than they were earlier. A brief jolt of fear surged through Dean as he considered the idea that they had run off to get high, but the absurd thought quickly vanished when Castiel took his seat again.
"Sorry I touched you," he said, flatly, jabbing a finger at Dean's bruised arm for emphasis. "It was inappropriate and I should keep my hands to myself."
Dean pursed his lips and shifted in his seat. These words were obviously rehearsed, as if v-neck guy or the nurse had told him exactly what to say. Though this kid was weird as hell, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. "It's fine," he muttered. "Just don't do it again."
Castiel grunted and saluted him in turn. "You're the boss."
Though Dean was tempted to reply, he shut himself up to prevent another outbreak. Besides, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel contently browsing through his textbook, giggling at what appeared to be covalent bonds; it was best to leave him alone for now.
Several minutes later, the bell chimed in dismissal, and the rest of the class flooded through the door to the hallway, Dean included. In his time alone in the science class, he decided he would plan an escape route to Guatemala so that he wouldn't have to go to school again. There was no way in hell that he could tolerate another day there.
In the midst of his planning, a familiar, grating voice came from behind. "You're Dean."
With a groan, Dean hauled his backpack out of his locker and nudged the door shut. "Yup," he replied, attempting to evade the situation by starting down the mostly-empty hallway. That is, until a firm hand reached out to his shoulder and tugged him to a stop.
"We need to talk," the boy said as he rounded to face Dean, confirming his fears; it was the douchey v-neck dude.
Dean rolled his eyes and folded his arms, but he made no move to escape again.
"Let's skip the foreplay," v-neck guy continued, "I'm Balthazar." He stuck his hand out to shake, but Dean only cocked an eyebrow. He'd be damned if he was going to trust anyone here enough to make physical contact. Balthazar got the hint pretty quickly, and he meekly lowered his hand. "We, ah, need to talk about Cassie."
Dean bit back a laugh. "Cassie? What, is he your boyfriend or something?"
Balthazar's smug look snapped into a glare and he retorted, "Step-brother, actually. And I don't swing that way." He eyed Dean up and added, "You, on the other hand, need to stop acting like you can put on that arrogant straight boy façade. Most everyone already knows about what you did at St. Mary's, so you can go ahead and cut the crap."
Dean's eyes widened and he tried to explain himself, but Balthazar cut him off right away. "I need to talk to you about Cas because this is just as new to him as it is to you. He's been going to this school for years, but this is the first time he's been ah… nudged out of his comfort zone. He's been practically shadowing me his whole life but I suppose his teachers recently realized that it's not good for him." His expression suddenly grew grim, and he bowed his head in what could have been shame. "Especially considering I'm leaving for college next year… if he gets more exposure to other people now, it'll be easier for him." Seeing Dean's confused expression, Balthazar continued, "Anyway, what I'm basically saying is that he needs more friends. He's very attached to his family at the moment, to the point where he feels uncomfortable around anyone else. He's extraordinarily clingy. And look, I'm not saying that you have to be his best friend but at least be patient with him. Ask him about his meds, walk him to the nurse, sit by him at lunch sometimes, you get the gist."
Dean frowned, "Why do I have to do this? There are tons of other people in this school that would be way better at this than me. Plus, it's not like I'm volunteering here ."
"You're new to this school, which makes you perfect for this position; you don't know Castiel at all, and you won't have any preconceived judgement." Balthazar sighed, "He's a great kid, really. He just needs a few pushes in the right direction. The least you could do is try to introduce him to other people."
"I'll think about it," Dean said, slowly, then added, "But don't get your hopes up. I'm not making any kind of promises right off the bat, because you're still shady as fuck."
"Thank God," Balthazar breathed, hurriedly pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and holding it out to Dean. "This is his contact information. Go ahead and text him first because he's like a wet noodle when it comes to socializing. Explain who you are and… I dunno, work your charm and gay magic."
"Oh my god, I'm not gay," Dean hissed, snatching the paper from Balthazar's hands.
Balthazar chuckled, "How is Narnia doing, way back in that closet of yours?"
"That's not what I meant," he muttered. "I've had girlfriends."
Balthazar feigned shock and gasped dramatically, "I am so sorry, princess. How dare I insult your bisexuality!"
With a huff, Dean stuffed the paper in his pocket and continued down the hall, brushing past the other boy roughly. "You're really digging a hole for yourself here, Balthy," he called over his shoulder.
"I have a nickname now, do I?" Balthazar called right back, a stupid grin smothering his stupid face, "Ooh, I'm so scared of the big bad church boy!"
A few kids in the hallway turned towards them, their eyes following the 'church boy' in question as he stormed out of the school, his face hot and red with embarrassment.
It wasn't until he reached his car that the first thoughts of, "What the fuck?" hit him.
Seriously. What the fuck.