Thump.

Fuck. I just walked into Dean fucking Winchester. I stand, stammering my apologies.

"Nah, it's fine, don't worry about it, okay? Now where did my… aha!" Dean triumphantly picks up his English binder from the other side of the hallway.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying any attention."

"Obviously you weren't paying any attention to what I just said either. It's fine. See? No harm done." Dean lifts his arms and spins in a circle, showing off his not injured body. Regardless of the pure intent, the opportunity to openly look at Dean Winchester has me weak at the knees.

See, Dean Winchester is a God. Of all, of sex, of men, doesn't really matter what of, I just know that he is. And I am just a mere peasant, awestruck by this honor.

I smile at Dean. "Okay, I believe you." He laughs and puts his arms down, shuffling his books to his left arm. "I don't believe I've ever actually talked to you."

Well, you did once, about a year ago, but I doubt you'd remember that, I think. Lowly peasant, indeed.

"I'm Dean Winchester." Dean holds out his hand. I try to control my inner squealing as I reach out to shake it.

"I know. I'm Castiel Novak."

"Oh, I have heard of you. You're in my grade, right?"

I nod. At least he recognizes the name. Though, with Luci and Michael's reputation, that probably doesn't help my case much.

"Yes, I am. Junior year is quite pleasant, don't you think?" I ask. Dean laughs at the clear sarcasm in my sentence.

"You know, you're kind of funny, Cas."

Cas. Cas, cas cas. Cas. Oh my God he called me a nickname. Cas. I love it. Oh no, oh no, stay calm. I realized I had been staring without speaking for longer than is socially acceptable.

"Uh, sorry, but I should go to class."

"Right, yeah, of course. See you around, Cas."

"And you, Dean."

I watch Dean walk away, a bounce in his step. I haven't noticed that before. Is that because of our interaction? Or did he just pick it up recently? I hear a bell ring. Oh, right, class. I turn around and rush back the way I was heading before I collided with Dean.

Class is just hard to focus on after that morning. I make it through calculus without learning a single integral of a trig function. Whoops. I'll have to review those later.

In the doorway to the English room, I pass Dean. He smiles at me. My stomach melts. I'm also pretty sure my face burst into flames. I hope no one noticed. Probably not. No one seems to notice me much. I tend to keep to myself.

But Dean… I could socialize with him all day, just to keep that warm feeling from leaving my stomach.

English passes about the same as calculus did, with the added bonus of another encounter with Dean.

Mrs. Lancaster asks me a question halfway through about The Great Gatsby. Now, of course, I read the book, but I have absolutely no clue what we are talking about at the moment. Mrs. Lancaster purses her lips at my "huh?"

"I asked, Mr. Novak, what you think the importance is of marine imagery."

Oh, shoot. I should know this. I find it fascinating, quite honestly. So why can't I think? "Um..." Come on, Castiel, pull yourself together. Stop thinking of Dean, and his beautiful eyes, and beautiful body, and how nice he was even though you crashed into him, and his – goddamn it I said focus. Find an answer. "Well, I think it's interesting how in the beginning, the green light across the water that represents Daisy is kind of what he spends his whole life trying to reach, and when he finally does get her, it leads him to his death. In water, if that makes a difference." There, that should suffice.

"The pool scene makes all the difference, Mr. Novak. But, yes. I agree with you. Class, what do you think of his idea that…" Mrs. Lancaster walks away, her attention refocused on the rest of the class, leaving me to slump back in my seat, relieved. I really should pay more attention. But those eyes…

Within moments the bell rings, and I stand up and gather my things.

I have art next. We are sketching out and starting a painting. I already know what I want to paint, and so, after a quick sketch of my plan, I start gathering paints. At the end of class I look down and realize I spilled paint on my shorts. I am not utterly destroyed by the stain – acrylics just don't wash out – because it's green. The perfect green.

I put away my supplies and rush to Spanish. I apologize profusely to Señor Eterna and take my usual seat at the back.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, I have almost forgotten my encounters with Dean Winchester, my fantasies replaced by the desire for food.

I eat with Gabriel, the second youngest of my family. Luci and Michael are twins; they graduated last year. Then there's Gabriel, who's a senior. Then me.

Gabriel is really good to me. I can't ever express to him how much I appreciate it. Life at home isn't easy, but he makes it bearable.

After lunch I have three more classes. They all go smooth enough. And then the last bell rings, and I head to my locker. On my way I pass Dean Winchester – we pass almost every day, but he never seemed to notice. Now, though, he smiles and waves at me. He doesn't say anything, but the gesture is enough to send my heart into the clouds.

I wave back, and then we go our separate ways.