HERE WE GO! This is my first real fanfiction, so please be gentle with me! Yes, this is a Destiel High School A/U with slightly OOC characters, but only just. I would greatly appreciate reviews saying if you like the beginning or not. Thanks so much! -the-lady-loki (Liberty)

1. Remembrance and Repetition

"C'mon, Sammy, hurry up!" Dean called over his shoulder.
His younger brother was being painfully slow, stopping to admire every single bin of brightly colored fruit and vegetables along the road. They were beautiful, he had to admit, but he was not interested in fruits or vegetables that day, he had his intentions set higher. They were making their way to Madame Pailor's Pies, where existed the best pies in all of Kansas.
"Dean, we're in no hurry," Sam shouted as he, once again, stopped to pick up a shiny red apple.
"Unless that apple is going to end up in a pie, than ,yes, we are in a hurry!" Dean was getting impatient, and he knew it, but the pie was calling!
Dean could hear Sam sigh heavily as he placed the apple back in its bin and jogged to his older brothers side. He glared up at him but did not venture a word for he knew Dean was not to be trifled with where pie was involved.
"Do ya smell that?" Sam asked, his grey-green eyes closing and his footsteps slowing.
"Smell what? Oh, hurry up!" Dean grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him along the road.
"Dean! Just smell it," he insisted, the little jewels that were his eyes bored into Dean like tiny drills.
He sucked in an exaggerated breath simply for Sam's benefit, but was pleasantly surprised by what he smelled. Warm, fresh-baked bread.
"It's pumpkin spice bread, like mom makes," Sam said with a fond, reminiscing smile. "May we buy some? Just one piece."
"Sam-" He groaned, but was cut off.
"Dean, please?" He stuck out his trembling bottom lip, tears threatening to spill on to his cherry red cheeks.
Dean rolled his green eyes towards the heavens at the little boy, but dug into his pocket anyways. He pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it over.
"One slice." He said sternly before shooing him away to buy the bread.
When, at last, he returned, he held in his tiny hands a slice of brown bread. He tore it in half, holding up one portion for Dean. He took it and bit a chunk off. Dean had to admit it was delicious. Sweet and spicy, like Halloween and autumn leaves.
"See? It's good, Dean." Sam smiled, his cheeks full of bread. He oddly resembled a chipmunk.
"Yes, yes, it's good. Now can we go?" Dean sighed as he turned and began to walk down the street.
By the time they were just around the corner from Madame Pailor's, Sam had convinced his brother to by a sleeve of butter crackers, a small pound cake, a bag of raspberries, and two shiny, green apples.
They rounded the corner and the pie stand was in sight. Dean nearly sprinted for it, but managed to restrain himself to a fast paced walk. He arrived at the stand before his brother and what he saw made his blood boil.
Beneath the brightly painted sign which announced it to be Madame Pailor's Pies, was no more than an empty table… She had already closed for the day.
Dean spun to face Sam, the anger within him bubbling over, threatening to burst into super nova. He was standing there, a cracker in one hand and a smile on his lips. At that moment, though he would never actually do it, he so badly wanted to smack that grin off of his little face.

. . .

Dean awoke with a strange sensation in his hand. His palm was itching like he wanted to smack someone. Then the tears came…
He missed Sam so terribly that the memory, which was very nearly ten years old, still brought him to heart-wrenching sobs every time it crashed its way into his head. Ever since his brother had been killed by a drunk driver, Dean's life had been a living hell. Nothing made sense, he didn't feel like being happy anymore, he had gone almost completely catatonic.
So when his friends started to drift away, he couldn't blame them. He was alone now, living by himself since his parents had died in a house fire the year before. No one cared, it seemed. But no matter how deep he drowned in his own sorrows, he had to keep trudging along. So he got ready for school. Dressing in colors, avoiding black as much as possible, trying to appear okay though everyone knew he wasn't He didn't look in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He never liked what he saw there. Green eyes devoid of their old light, dark shadows beneath them like someone had smudged grey chalk there. The less time he spent outside, the paler his skin became, causing the faint freckles to stand out more than they had against his skin when it had been tanned. He ran a hand through his short, sandy blonde hair in lieu of an actual comb.
He arrived in school and slid, unnoticed, into the seat in his first period History class, the room buzzing with animated chatter. From what he gathered, they were getting a new student, not that he cared. They would come in, fall in with one of the many organized cliques, and that would be that. Dean was not in a clique. He used to be part of the clockwork which moved one through the high school system, used to be popular, and well liked. A football star and overachiever. It was what a lot of boys aspired to be, but Dean had let it all slip away. Gradually, at first, just keeping to himself when he sat with his friends at lunch. As time passed, he sank deeper within himself, not talking, slowly drifting to an empty table at the back of the cafeteria.
Occasionally one of his old friends would try to sit with him and make polite conversation, but it always ended the same way. Blank stares and awkward pauses. The next day, he would sit alone again, like none of the other chairs around him had ever held any chance of a normal friend. Being friendless didn't bother him as much as it should. He didn't feel lost without them, or abandoned. All of those feelings started before his departure from the social scene. There was a small part of him that ached, just slightly, for the feeling which friends brought. Like there were other people who would care if something happened to him, who acted like he did. But that small part of Dean which craved friends was overshadowed by his need for social isolation. Friends asked too many questions regarding his well-being. Every time they barraged him with their inquiries he would have to put on yet another fake smile and say, "I'm fine, thank you," but he never meant it. Not at all.
"Alright!" Mr. Crowley called the class to order with a single word. "As I'm sure you've all heard by now, we are indeed adding a new student to our ranks." Crowley made a beckoning gesture at the door.
It opened slowly and a foot clad in a dark brown dress shoe appeared over the threshold, followed by a leg and the rest of a boy. The first thing that Dean noticed about the new comer was the way he dressed. Even though he couldn't have been older than seventeen, he dressed like an adult. To go with the dress shoes, he wore black dress pants and a black jacket. His white button up was wrinkled around the bottom like it had been tucked in and un-tucked many times. He wore a dark blue tie knotted loosely around his neck. Over top of it all was a long tan coat, which may have been a size to big, or maybe it was supposed to hang off of him and hang down over his hands. Apparently everyone noted the unusual clothing choice because a low mumble rippled through the students.
"This is Castiel Novak and he will be joining us for the rest of the year" Mr. Crowley said no more in regards to the new arrival, just pointed to a vacant seat diagonal from Dean.
Castiel took his seat wordlessly, hunching his shoulders forward when he sat, his eyes firmly on his hands which rested in his lap. Dean stared at the back of the boy's head for a moment, the incandescent lights overhead making his dark brown hair look nearly black. Castiel hardly moved for the remainder of the class, just shifting his legs, crossing and then uncrossing his ankles. But when the bell rang to announce the end of first period, Castiel shot out of the room like a bullet from a gun. Dean was just the opposite, in no hurry to get up and go. He waited until the class room was all but empty, save for who was shuffling papers around his desk, to gather his belongings and make his way to Biology. It was uneventful, as were his next two classes, English and Health, with the exclusion that Dean noticed that Castiel was also in his English class.
Fifth period was lunch, and much like the previous two years, Dean headed directly to the back table with his packed lunch. He wasn't really hungry, he hadn't been in a while, but he forced himself to unpack the food and lay it out before him, if only for the illusion of normalcy. He nibbled on a potato chip, the salt stinging chapped lips. He stared at the green apple before him, not really seeing the fruit, just the spot where it sat. That was when, for the first time in a while, a tray slid on to the table and a body dropped into the seat across from him. He raised his eyes, prepared to begin the awkward stare that would drive whoever it was away; he was startled to see that the face across from him was not that of an old friend trying to put themselves back in his life. Instead, he was looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Castiel...