Dean knows he's not stupid. He knows that he's good with cars, machinery, and anything involving grease or oil. He knows he'll get a job somehow, somewhere. He knows he has the potential to go to college.
The problem with Dean, is that he doesn't want to.
He doesn't see himself as a family man. He doesn't see how any nice, self-respecting girl would want to marry him.
His dad always told him, "Get yourself a good job, a nice girl, a nice house and you're set for life, son."
Dean could pull it all off, but he didn't want to.
He didn't know why, exactly, he just had a feeling that he wouldn't like it. That settling for the white-picket fence life would amount to nothing.
Dean thinks about this every morning as he walks to school. He could of taken the bus, only he woke up late. He could have driven his dad's Impala, only he couldn't find the keys.
Dean's life is full of 'would have's', 'could have's' and 'should have's'. But he's come to a point in his life, where he doesn't care. Everything is meaningless.
He gets up for school in the morning because he has to. He picks Sammy up from Soccer training because he has to. He goes to Hooters to hang out with his friends because he has to.
He does none of this, because he wants to.
If Dean had it his way, he'd lay in bed and sleep for the rest of his life. He'd create his future, drag the strangest ideas from the deepest pits of his mind and turn them into something. He'd do anything, everything he ever wanted to do. It's easy to do that when you're asleep.
Not so much, when you're awake.
He takes the long route to school, as he's still pondering whether or not to bother attending classes. He's thinking, maybe, he'll wait until his parents leave for work, and go back home to sleep. Or maybe he'll-
"Crap!"
Dean looks down dazedly, to see he'd just walked into someone, causing them to spill their papers all over the dusty sidewalk. It took him a moment to respond. It seemed easier to just stand and look at the boy, scrambling to catch his papers before the breeze coaxed it onto the street.
"Sorry, man," Dean mutters, reluctantly crouching down to help.
It's not like I'm in a rush or anything.
The boy says nothing, only continues to collect his papers.
"Just tryin' to help, dude," Dean says bluntly, handing the papers back to the dark haired teen in front of him. He remains crouched for a moment, observing the boy in front of him.
I've seen him before.
"Do I know you?"
"Obviously not," the boy replies bluntly, attempting to grab the papers from Dean's hand.
"No," Dean says, holding the papers behind his back. "No, I do, I know I do."
The boy sighs, bowing his head, "I'm Castiel Lorenzo, I'm in homeroom, and like, five other classes with you."
Dean's eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he observes Castiel's face closely.
"How come I've never seen you?"
"You weren't looking, I guess," Castiel held out his hand. "Can I have my homework?"
"Oh, sure. " He'd forgotten he was even holding it. "I'm Dean Winchester, by the way."
"I know."
Castiel has very big, and very blue eyes. Dean thinks he looks kind of like a dear in headlights.
"School is that way, just so you know," Castiel says, as they both stand at full height. "You're going the wrong way."
Dean looks in the direction Castiel is pointing, but makes no move to turn around. He shrugs, "Yeah. I wasn't plannin' on going today."
Castiel stares at him intently for a moment, and Dean thinks it should creep him out. But it doesn't.
"Whatever," Castiel mutters, moving around Dean, "I won't tell."
Dean watches Castiel leave, and thinks he might just make an effort today.
"Hey!" He calls, probably a little too loud. "Castiel!"
Castiel turns around, an eyebrow raised.
Dean smirks.
"I might just join you."