I introduce to you: the one and only...CASTIEL! Eat your hearts out.

"...and Viscount Avery declared his ..."

Dean ignored the monotone drone of his ancient English teacher, whose name he'd forgotten already, and began sketching out a circle on his notebook. By the time the bell rang at the end of the lesson, 15 bright red devil's traps were scattered across the lined paper.

"What the hell, man?" Dean suddenly became aware of a sunburned nose peering over his shoulder. "You some kind of devil worshiper?"

Dean hastily shut his notebook. Crap. He turned to face the unwelcome observer, coming face to face with a rather red-faced boy looking at him distrustingly. "This isn't devil worship, this is...this is..." He racked his brain for an explanation. "I just saw this in a textbook." He lied. "I like art and symbols and stuff."

The boy looked at him skeptically, crossing his arms. Dean attempted to appear nonchalant, leaning his head against his propped up elbow. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the boy shrugged. "Whatever. Cool, man. I'm Mason."

He stuck out a hand, and Dean shook it, mentally sighing with relief for having averted a potentially awkward future at Wagner.

"Dean. "

"New kid, huh?"

Dean nodded with a sigh as they exited the classroom, glancing down at his schedule. Mason peered over his shoulder once again and exclaimed, "Hey, I've got Health with Brown next too!"

With Mason's guidance, they made their way to a classroom on the second floor, where a male teacher much younger than Dean's previous instructor was scrawling illegibly across the chalkboard.

"Hey, Mr. Brown," Mason greeted the teacher. Mr. Brown looked up, revealing himself to be a rather stiff looking man.

"Good Morning, Mr. Thickory," he began, and then noticed Dean. His expression quickly took on a look of disapproval. "And you must be Mr. Winchester."

Dean grinned cockily, the game of challenging authority all too enthralling. "I take it you've heard of me?"

The teacher's slightly put out expression immediately sunk into a scowl. "I suggest you drop that attitude of yours if you have any intentions of passing this course."

Dean snorted, not about to be put down by what he had immediately deemed an arrogant prick. "Well, shit, then it looks like me and my attitude are gonna be sticking around for a little while longer."

He had to admit that he took a lot of satisfaction in watching both his teacher's reddening face and the shocked but impressed expression frozen across Mason's.

"So," He said, looking around the classroom. "Do we have assigned seats in this joint?"

Mr. Brown stood in disbelief for a few moments until Mason mustered up the guts to intervene. He cleared his throat, his eyes still a little wide with surprise, and nodded towards the back of the room. "No, uh, we don't, but let's just sit over here."

"Nice and far away," he muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. They took seats in the very last row of the classroom, where Mason continued to eye Mr. Brown, seemingly waiting for an eruption. The teacher had returned to writing on the board, however, Dean noticed smugly that his grip on the chalk had become much more strained and the patches of skin that showed above his collar were quite red.

"What the hell, man?" Mason whispered to Dean, looking both worried and impressed. "You do get that you're done for in this class, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, I honestly don't give a shit about my grades, so why the hell would I pretend to care about that dick?"

Mason stared at him incredulously, before shaking his head with a snort. "Okay, man, whatever you say."

During Dean's exchange with Mr. Brown, other students had sauntered into class, most giving the new student a once over and then turning their attention to their friends. Now, Dean surveyed the mix of kids that occupied the desks in front of him. As for the girls, speaking in terms of prospective hookups, he found the selection fairly average, nothing special, though there were definitely a few he wouldn't mind getting to know better. He eyed up a blonde sitting in the middle of the room, who he recognized from his 1st period class. A perfect study-group opportunity. Dean was pretty good at putting together partner study groups, which, given Dean's track record, surprisingly never seemed to actually result in studying.

"Who's that?" He subtly pointed out the blonde to Mason, who craned his neck to get a better look. "Oh, that's Louise Binx," he explained. "I dunno, man, she's pretty picky about who she gets with."

Dean smirked. "I think I'll take my chances."

His attention was suddenly pulled to a redhead who had previously had her nose buried in her laptop as she leapt out of her seat and fist pumped the air. "Take that, bitches!" She shouted at the screen, oblivious to the scrutiny she was under from the rest of the class.

"Miss Bradbury," Mr. Brown sighed, pulling a bright yellow slip from his desk, "This is the third time this year that I have had to reprimand you for unsuitable classroom behavior. That means detention."

The girl's cheeks had gone the same shade as her hair as she looked around and realized she held the attention of the entire class. She opened her mouth feebly, presumably to protest, but she was interrupted by a low, gravelly voice coming from the doorway. "To be fair, Mr. Brown, I do not believe the bell has rung yet, therefore, Charlie has not interrupted your class."

Dean swiveled around in his seat to face the newcomer, and was met with the most startling pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. Perhaps it was the shock of dark hair that set off the color, or maybe the blue of the loose tie he wore under his tan trench-coat, but even from the farthest seat from the door Dean could tell how vibrant the boy's eyes were. His outfit was an odd look for a high school student; his coat gave him an aura of professionalism that one wouldn't typically associate with a teenager, yet it suited the boy perfectly. Dean would have immediately pegged the guy for a kiss-up if he hadn't just publicly humiliated the teacher.

Apparently, three strikes from his students was too much for Mr. Brown, and the boy's interjection proved to be the breaking point.

"Mr. Novak, I have had it up to here with this blatant disregard of respect for authority." The now red-faced teacher gestured wildly above his head, his beady eyes fixed on the the formally-dressed boy still stopped in the doorway. "Last time I checked, I was the teacher here. And I'm still handing out a detention, so you and Ms. Bradbury can put your heads together and decide which one of you is going to be clapping erasers after school."

Without hesitation, the boy reached for the yellow slip in the teacher's hand. "I'll take the detention." He shot the surprised redhead a small smile, apparently unaffected by such an irrational reaction, but Dean was not on board with this situation.

"Well, he was right, wasn't he?" Dean almost smirked as he saw a muscle pop in the teacher's jaw. As if to prove his point, the bell chimed, signaling the start of class and causing everyone still standing to scurry to their seats, save the trench-coat boy, whose stride was subtly defiant. Dean was almost disappointed when Mr. Brown decidedly looked away from his challenging glare and simply tore another yellow slip from the pad. Dean had been anticipating a confrontation, but he settled for a more subtle rebellion as he sauntered up to the desk and plucked the detention slip from his teacher's grip. Dean Winchester was scrawled at the top in blue ink, followed by 3 circled dates on which he was now scheduled to attend detention. He almost snorted on the way back to his seat. Dean had no intention of actually showing up. He'd been given countless detentions over the years and had attended a grand total of zero. He didn't see a point, considering he'd be gone by the next week anyway.

Dean sighed as the lesson began. He let his thoughts drift as Mr. Brown shifted through slides on the projector, ignoring the immature titters of the other kids. It was irrelevant, all of it. Who cared about the precise anatomy of the reproductive system when what he really needed to be learning was how to stitch up a bullet wound? He suddenly remembered the family they'd saved from a poltergeist a few weeks before, and how all three children had made it out of the basement, thanks to Dean. Wasn't that more important than all this crap? Wasn't Dean more useful out hunting than stuck in school after school? Maybe if he hadn't gone and screwed up the last hunt he could have been out of this place, doing some real good.

Dean was jolted from his bitter thoughts by a deep voice that was such a dramatic contrast of the slightly nasal tone of his teacher. The blue-eyed boy was speaking: calmly answering a question that had obviously been directed at him with malicious intent, judging by Mr. Brown's leering expression. Dean had to give the guy credit for maintaining the defiant glint in his azure eyes as he stared the teacher down and unabashedly described the purpose of the male reproductive system. Damn, he thought. Does this kid ever blink?

"...to discharge sperm within the female reproductive tract during sex, an—"

He was suddenly cut off by an obnoxious guffaw near the front of the room. "But it's not like Novak would know from experience!"

It was then Dean noticed the group of guys slouching in their seats, all sniggering at the sad attempt of a witty comment. He knew these kinds of guys. Every school he'd ever had the misfortune to attend had them, and it was the same story each time, from the constant insecure need to put other people down, to the subtly self-conscious way they all dressed alike. And by the way the Novak kid reacted to the comment by simply tightening the muscle of his jaw and keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, it was clear that he was pretty familiar with these kinds of guys as well. Dickheads.

Dean wasn't one for feelings, and he certainly didn't claim to be some sort of peace advocate; in fact, he'd certainly been the root cause of a fist fight more times than he could count, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was bullying. He'd had too many awful experiences patching his brother up to think any differently.

One more word, he thought darkly, glaring at the ringleader of the group. I dare you. He wouldn't be laughing so much when Dean's fist was connecting with the side of his face.

Unfortunately for Dean's twitching knuckles, the wave of raucous laughter died down as teacher reluctantly shushed them and moved on; the comment was quickly forgotten seemingly by everyone except Dean and the boy, who, though he hadn't finished answering, was silent and straight faced.

Dean hadn't realized he was staring until his eyes began to burn, and he quickly looked away from the boy. He couldn't shake his confusion. The Novak kid obviously had a rebellious streak; that much was clear from just the glint in his eyes. So why did he let the dickwad walk all over him when it bothered him so much? Not that Dean really believed that the "insult" held much truth, as a guy looking like that was undoubtedly capable of getting some action.

Dean suddenly shook his head. Why the hell did he care so much anyway? What made this kid any more noteworthy than the thousands of other kids he had met over the years? In a couple of weeks Dean would be gone, and the blue-eyed boy in the trench coat wouldn't cross his mind again.

God, he hated high school.

Dean was absolutely bored out of his mind by the time the bell rang to signal the end of class, and was relieved to finally stretch his legs and get out of the stuffy classroom. He grabbed his stuff and moved with the flow of students towards the door, snatching the opportunity to "accidentally" shove the guy who'd made the jab at the boy in the trench coat.

"My bad," he muttered rather unapologetically. The guy glared at Dean for a moment but after sizing him up and realizing the main portion of his own backup team had already exited, settled for a rough, "Watch it."

Dean smirked at his retreating pastel polo-clad back, then looked down at his schedule to figure out where the hell he was supposed to go next.

He had just determined that his next class was Physics when he heard a small cough behind him. He wheeled around and was met with a set of newly recognizable blue eyes.

"I wanted to thank you."

Though he'd heard it several times in the past hour, Dean was still surprised at the boy's voice. It was deep and gravelly, and definitely not what he would have expected from somebody with gentle features.

"For what?" His own voice, normally deep to his own ears, sounded strangely lighter in comparison.

"You didn't need to defend me at the beginning of class," His tone was formal, Dean noted, but sincere, and he maintained eye contact the entire time he spoke. "...but you did, and I appreciated it."

Dean snorted. "That teacher's a dick, man, and it's not like I'm showing up to that damn detention anyway."

The boy tilted his head, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. Dean noticed that he kept his hands down at his sides, giving an illusion of awkwardness. "You're not going?"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "I don't do detention."

"But..." The boy furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at Dean, confusion written all over his face.

"What?" Dean asked, grinning at his incredulous expression. "You never skip a detention before?"

The boy shook his head. "Never."

Dean was a little surprised. He couldn't figure this guy out. One minute he was a defiant detention-earner, the next he was a square. Maybe he just needed a little push. Dean tilted his head expectantly. "How 'bout we skip together, then?"

The boy blinked in surprise, taken aback at the suggestion of skipping himself. Dean immediately began to worry that maybe he'd assumed wrong about the boy, until he realized that the guy seemed less shocked and more conflicted; torn between the right thing to do and the more appealing option. After a moment, he gave a determined nod. "Okay."

"Really?" Dean couldn't keep the surprise out of his tone. "Awesome, man!" He suddenly realized he was way too enthusiastic about coercing a guy who had no idea who he was into skipping detention. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester."

The corners of the boy's mouth turned up into a pleased smile as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Dean shook his hand, still marveling at the fact that he'd seen the boy blink once in an entire hour. "Hey, uh," Dean looked down at his schedule. "You don't happen to have Physics next period, do you?"

The boy frowned, shaking his head. "No, unfortunately, I take Biology. Here, let me see the rest of your classes." He scanned the rest of the sheet, his face lighting up when his eyes reached the bottom of the page. "We have History together during 7th period!"

Dean nodded appreciatively. "Perfect."

The boy glanced up at the clock. "Speaking of class, we should probably begin heading towards our next period. Do you—" he looked questioningly at Dean, "Do you know where your Physics room is?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I've got it, but...thanks."

The boy gave a nod and one last smile and turned down the hall.

Something suddenly occurred to Dean as he watched him walk away, and he called out, "Hey, wait!"

The boy turned around, his blue eyes wide with question.

"You never told me your name!" Dean felt a little stupid for having waited so long to ask, but the boy just smiled.

"Castiel."

Dean Winchester felt the same way about the word friends as he did the word feelings. He wanted no part in any of it. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just broken his self-decided stigma and begun a friendship with the boy in the trench coat.

Only 2 periods later did Dean realize that he had forgotten to ask for Louise Binx's number.

Big plans for the future. Thanks for reading, and remember, reviews are my only form of sustenance.