SUP YOU GUYS. So this is chapter one, yeah. I really wanted to write a high school Destiel fic so here it is. Please please please review and let me know if you like it, otherwise I won't continue. Please and thank you. I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading. It's an alternate universe, obviously. A few things remain the same but there are a lot of changes I made so that it would fit the story. If you have any suggestions or have any questions over anything message me or review and I will get back to you!

And so, it begins again.

Dean Winchester strode through the doors of the high school, making a beeline for the office that lay to the right. It was October 1st, and the Winchester brothers are starting their first day at a new school. This wasn't the first time that they had to transfer schools. It was a commonality for them; it was strange for them to not change schools after a few weeks. Today they were starting a new school for the umpteenth time, and the ritual hadn't changed. Registering was the same. Walking into the classroom, sending a sly grin in the direction of the stares was the same. Introductions from the teacher…The same. Of course, that one almost always ended with some sort of sarcastic comment (or inappropriate euphemism if the teacher was young and attractive) from Dean.

After retrieving his schedule and map of the school, Dean made his way for the first class of the day. School had already started; fifteen minutes into first period. This was Dean's favorite way of joining a class. Crashing into the middle of it and making a scene. This school had eight classes a day, so for Dean that meant eight opportunities to make an interesting first impression.

He finally reached his designated classroom. There were paper leaves and pumpkins plastered all over the rectangular window that reached up the door, blocking the view from the outside. Dean allowed his hand to rest on the handle, his thoughts drifting to Sam. Sammy had no problem doing well in his classes, even though he had the curriculum changed on him so often. It was the people he had issues with. After a few seconds of reassuring himself that nothing bad was going to happen to him, he twisted the knob and walked into the class room. The teacher stopped talking, looking at Dean over the top of his glasses.

"Uh, hi. Dean Winchester. I just transferred here," Dean spoke, sweeping his gaze across the classroom. There were about 20 students crammed together in pairs. The teacher – Mr. Shurley the board said – made a noise of recognition and stood up.

"Ah, yes! I remember them telling me I had a transfer. Come in, please. Shut the door. I'm Mr. Shurley, but you can just call me Chuck. Mr. is far too formal. Class, say hello to Dean…" He trailed off.

"Winchester."

"Winchester! Say hello to Dean Winchester." There was a collective "Hi Dean" from the majority of the students.

"Hi." Dean smiled, locking eyes with a pretty brunette at the front of the classroom. The girl smiled back and glanced down at the paper on her desk.

"Dean, welcome. There is a seat available right beside Castiel," Chuck pointed to the back of the classroom where a hunched over boy sat alone. He went and sat, catching the eyes of a few other girls on the way back. Setting his bag down, Dean sat and held a hand out to Castiel.

"Castiel, is it?" He nodded, shaking Dean's hand after a slight hesitation. "Dean."

"Hello, Dean." Castiel's voice was rough and quiet. The sheet in front of him had Castiel Novak written in hasty letters. As Chuck picked the lesson back up again Dean zoned out, making profiles of everyone around him. Castiel was wearing a suit. The tie was dark blue, the opposite of his eyes, which almost looked like ice. His dark hair was tousled and his lips were pursed. The whole look was topped off with a tan trench coat.

Strange… But who am I to judge. Dean thought. His entire wardrobe consisted of his Dad's old brown leather jacket and an array of plaid button ups thrown over a t-shirt. Fashion didn't really matter when there was a large chance of getting blood all over your clothes, but Dean wasn't about to go around looking like the homeless person that he was. The address on his school records was forged; his dad's Impala was his true home. Always has been, and always will be. The countless motel rooms meant nothing. The one they were staying at now wasn't that bad, 2 full beds and a pull out couch. The shower wasn't bad either, the water pressure was actually good for once.

The rest of the day carried on very routine. Castiel was in 3 more of his classes. The pretty brunette – Lisa, he learned – was in 4 others. He had to admit, the eye candy at this school satisfied him.

There were a few… Interesting characters, too. Some of them pushing down right bizarre, which was surprising. Usually Dean doesn't find such characters at a school, but he figured it was about time to find a few exciting people in a school setting.

At the end of the day, Dean waited by the curb for his father. Sam sat beside him, moping at a text book that lay in his lap.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked, looking at Sam expectantly.

"The exact same as every other time we've moved, Dean." Sam snapped, the tone of his voice ending the conversation. As their father pulled up to the curb, Dean rolled his eyes. Sam got like this every time they moved. Dean had gotten used to it fairly quickly; it was about time that Sam did, too.

Later that night, Dean sat on the pull out that he had claimed for himself, shoving a sandwich down his throat. Sam was working on something for school (he had homework already? What the hell) and their father was out working on the hunt. He would usually take Dean with him, not trusting Sam just yet to hunt with them. Today was only research, however. Plus, during the school year, they always tried to play it safe so that Dean didn't have any unexplained bruises or broken arms.

It was hard at first, moving around all the time, being worried that this night, this was the night that their father wasn't going to come home. Over time Dean developed nervous ticks when waiting for him to return. Looking out the window every five minutes. Jumping up every time the rev of an engine passed by. Reaching for the knife in the waistband of his jeans whenever there was a random scream. Dean was a nervous wreck inside, but you could never tell. He made a vow to himself years ago to be strong for Sammy, and showing weakness wasn't the way to do that. Dean was seventeen, pretty soon it would be time to him to be hunting on his own and showing Sam the ropes.

"How long do you think we'll be here?" Sam said, his voice quiet. Dean glanced up from his sandwich and swallowed.

"I don't know. Dad said we won't be here for long." They had no way of knowing. John Winchester never told his sons what he was hunting, why he was hunting it. It could be a vampire, demon, wendigo… Ever since their mother was killed by Yellow-Eyes, he went into a frenzy of hunting any supernatural being that he could find. Yellow-Eyes was dead, but that didn't stop him.

"He's said that before."

"Well, I don't know. You know how dad gets. He said it would only take a couple of weeks, that it was hardly even worth registering for school."

"The last time he said that, we were stuck at that school with those god-awful uniforms for three months."

"That's… You make a point." Blue slacks were not Dean's cup of tea. Sighing, he got up and plopped down beside Sam. "Listen, I know it's hard on you sometimes. I get that, I've been doing this transferring thing longer than you have. But… You just gotta man up. Bite the bullet, and in a few more years you won't have to do it anymore. All three of us can hunt together. It'll be fun!"

"Assuming dad survives that long."

"Sam!"

"What?"

"Don't say crap like that. Dad will be fine. We will be fine."

"You're a junior, Dean. I'm only thirteen. I still have forever until school is over." He slammed the book in front of him shut and got up. "And besides, what if I don't want to hunt when I grow up?"

"What are you talking about? Why wouldn't you want to hunt?" Sam just looked at him. Dean threw his hands up in exasperation.

"I'm done talking about it."

"Fine."

A few days laer, Sam and Dean had woken up to see their father face down on the bed. There were three brown bottles sitting empty on the bedside table. His shoes were splattered with mud and the snores that were coming from him were unearthly.

"God, he sounds like a freaking freight train." Dean mumbled around his toothbrush. Sam didn't reply. He must still be mad at me from last night. Whatever. He's just a little kid, he'll understand one day. "Well, I guess we're walking to school." With no driver's license of his own, both of the boys had to rely on their father to take them places, including school. Usually they tried renting a motel close to the school as this happened often, but they were out of luck this time. Two and a half miles wasn't far, but at this rate, they were going miss classes.

"Barely here for a week and we're already late. Awesome." Sam muttered as they began parting ways once they reached the school.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Have a good day!" He ran off, leaving Dean scowling at his retreating figure. Chuck just raised an eyebrow when Dean walked in and took his seat next to Castiel.

Dean liked Castiel. They got along, and it was nice having what felt like an actual friend for once. They had only known each other for a few days, but with all the classes they had together and the fact that Castiel was always sitting by himself gave Dean a good opportunity to get to know him. It was a shame they weren't going to be living here for long. Castiel was always so deadpan, Dean had made it his goal to make him laugh at least once before they moved.

"You are late." Castiel said softly, peering at him. Dean smirked. "Why is that?"

"Good observation, Sherlock. My, uh, my dad couldn't find his car keys this morning." He shrugged. Castiel thought about it for a moment before nodding and turning back to the lesson. Dean chuckled, earning a strangle look.

"What?"

"Nothing, Castiel, nothing. Listen, do you have a nick name or something I can call you? Castiel is a mouthful."

"I don't…"

"Cas! How about Cas? Cas is good, right?" Dean lightly clapped him on the shoulder.

"Cas is… Fine."

"Awesome."