Hey guys! I want to start off by saying thank you to everyone who read and followed my story! It means so much to me! I would also like to thank Wonderful World Of Emma, Hanairoh, and Weridname234 for leaving such lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always, reviews as greatly appreciated Oh, and by the way, I don't have a beta-reader, so there may be some mistakes and I apologize for them.
Another thing, In this story, since it is Dean who is "broken", I wanted to make Castiel a bit more outgoing (not bubbly, just not a mumbling little kid) so he does take charge on occasion.
*WARNING! This chapter mentions suicidal thoughts and self harm, not it great detail, but they are talked about briefly, sorry if this offends anyone.*

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...

. . .
2. Agreements

A beat of tense silence passed as Dean and Castiel stared at each other, green meeting blue for just a second and understanding passing between them. It was a sort of silent agreement. Castiel didn't talk, or more specifically, didn't ask questions, and Dean wouldn't glare him in to retreat. Both boys ate their lunch, Dean barely sampling his. The table at the back, despite the din of the cafeteria, was in its own little pocket of silence and for once, the lack of conversation wasn't awkward.
Lunch came to an end without a single word passing between them, and Dean watched as Castiel gathered his trash and walked away. Sitting by himself once more, Dean blinked at the now vacant chair across from him. It certainly had been an odd experience the new student just inserting himself into Dean's carefully constructed bubble. He shrugged it off as a one time thing before picking up the remnants of his lunch and tossing them in the garbage. The rest of the day was as uneventful as it usually was, just teachers prattling on about topics that Dean couldn't care less about. It came as a relief to be dismissed for the day, and he made his way home to his apartment, eager to be away from all the chaos that was daily high school life.
As he sat on the couch eating a bowl of Macaroni and Cheese for dinner, the television flashing with the explosions of some b-list action movie, his mind strayed back to lunch. It hadn't been the first time someone had sat with him after his depression began to sink in, but everyone else who had attempted it had been a previous acquaintance Castiel was a brand new face, one that hadn't even seen an entire day of school at Lawrence High when he decided to sit down with Dean. He mentally shook himself; he was dwelling on it far too much, reading too deeply in to it. Castiel Novak was just a new student who didn't know anyone, so he sat at one of the less crowded tables. That was all.
Dean carefully steered his thoughts away from lunch as he headed for the bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes and took a quick shower, letting the hot water soothe some of the lesser knots that his muscles had a habit of twisting themselves in to. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded down the hallway to his room, a hand running through his cropped hair.
As he pulled out one of the drawers of his dresser, a glint of silver caught his eye. He withdrew the object and stared at it. It was is fathers misericord, the one that had been given to him by his father, Dean's grandfather, who had received the hunting dagger from his father. The hilt was ornately carved ivory, swirling patterns that Dean had never been able to figure out. He slowly drew the dagger from its sheath, the ringing metallic note of metal against metal seemed far louder in the silence of the empty apartment. The blade was made of thin silver; razor edges tapering to a deadly point. His fingers tightened around the hilt, the blade laying flat against his other palm. The cold metal seemed to leech away all of the warmth which the shower had given him, leaving him shivering.
There were no good memories associated with this weapon. It had been the first of his fathers belongings mentioned in his will. In it he told Dean to care for it like it was made of diamonds, because it was precious to him. The first month after his parents had died, Dean had come home from school every day and taken out the knife. He just stared at it, like there was some clue there to how he was going to make it through the rest of his life without his family. A few times a thought would pop into his head as he stared at the shining dagger. He would think how easy it would be to just slide the tip of the blade up his arms; how simple it would be to just let go. He had tested the theory once, just making a shallow cut across his palm. The stinging kiss of the blade sent fire up his arm, it hurt more than he was expecting. He had thought physical pain was supposed to lessen the mental anguish, but at that point his heart and his hand hurt. That had been the end of that experiment. Besides, his parents would have wanted him to keep going. Sam would have wanted that for him. To live the life he was no longer capable of living.
Dean swallowed thickly past the lump which had formed in his throat. He re-sheathed the misericord and tossed it back into drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers and tugging them on. He collapsed on to his bed, completely ignoring the homework which had been assigned that day. He doubted the teachers even expected him to turn it in anymore as he hadn't done so for the entire year. His grades had slipped dramatically, not that he had been the best student to start out with. That was why he was repeating his senior year; that was why his eighteenth birthday had come and gone and he was still in high school. In a way, being held back had been its own tiny blessing. Without school, Dean would most likely just sit at home all day, feeling miserable. At least with school he could go out in to the world and feel miserable.
Dean fell asleep quickly, but as usual, he was plagued by nightmares. Some of them weren't outright terrifying, but the memories they invoked hurt worse than any normal nightmare ever would. Just flashes of recollection that tore open old wounds, giving their pain renewed vigor.
Dean awoke the next morning still tired. Months upon months of restless sleep tended to drain one's energy. He got ready quickly that morning in hopes that he would arrive at school before the massive gathering of students began. He grabbed a cup of coffee on his way to school, gulping down the hot liquid before he made to History. The first four classes passed in a blur of boredom, and Dean gratefully fell in to the chair at his lunch table.
He had only just begun to munch on a baby carrot when Castiel slid on to the seat across from him. Dean stared at him in surprise. It hadn't been some first day fluke, Castiel had chosen to sit with him two days in a row. Though, to be fair, the boy had no idea who he was sitting with. No clue just how messed up Dean was. Lunch was a wordless affair once again, and Dean found that he didn't mind all that much. He was positive that he wasn't good company, so Castiel would probably move to a more talkative table once he realized just how dull it would be at this one.
But Castiel didn't leave, and for two weeks, he and Dean sat together, quietly eating lunch. On the first day of the third week, something changed. Not a big change, but something that broke every unsaid rule that had been laid down. Mostly, just the one about not talking.
"I'm Castiel, by the way. Castiel Novak." Dean nearly dropped his can of coke when the boy opposite him spoke.
It was the first he'd ever heard of Castiel's voice. It was low and gravely, and surprisingly, the first thought through Dean's mind was, he has a porn star voice. It took him a moment to come back from his shock at actually hearing Castiel.
"Uh, Dean Winchester." His own voice was slightly rough due to under use.
"I know." Castiel replied and left it at that.
That was it, just an introduction two weeks after they met. It was a brief exchange and nothing more. Dean left the cafeteria after lunch, thoughts whirring about his head. Did Castiel think that Dean didn't know his name? Well, he hadn't really showed any clues to suggest otherwise. He only acknowledged his presence briefly before returning his attention to his lunch. Dean kept over thinking the tiny conversation during the rest of his classes and even kept thinking about it when he got home. He managed to shrug it off and sleep restlessly once more.
If he had expected the next days lunch to return to silence, he was mistaken. Castiel had only been sitting for ten minutes when he spoke.
"Can I ask you something?" A cold weight settled in Dean's stomach.
And there it is, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time before something happened to ruin whatever it was they had. Questions were dangerous, especially when addressed to Dean. Every answer Dean gave to prying questions pushed people farther away, not that he had been trying very hard to keep them close. But he found that he didn't want to push Castiel away like he did everyone else. They weren't friends; friends did things together and actually talked to each other, they did neither of those things. Even so, Dean realized that he had come to appreciate the silent minutes that Castiel offered. The short interim between rambling teachers and the deafening silence of his empty apartment. Despite his uneasiness, Dean nodded his head.
"Ms. Harvelle said we're doing a research project in English and I was wondering if you want to be partners?" Castiel's gaze was unwavering as he stared at Dean.
Okay, that was not the kind of question he had been expecting. Dean remembered his English teacher saying something about researching names, like where they came from and why people were named what they were. He was going to say no, he hadn't been planning on doing the assignment and he didn't want to drag Castiel down with him, but staring in to those honest, bright blue eyes, Dean found himself contradicting his initial decision.
"Yeah, okay." Dean said slowly.
"Great." Castiel pulled a pen and slip of paper from his back pack and scribbled something on it. He slid it over to Dean before continuing. "You can come over tonight, or tomorrow, what ever suits you, and we can work on it at my house. Call or text me whenever you decide you want to work."
Dean found that he had to clench his jaw slightly to keep his mouth from falling open. They had gone from not speaking at all, to arranging times to go to each others houses, well, to Castiel's house. It was like he was a different person when he wasn't sure of his place, but as Dean's partner, he knew where he fit in. The boy was collecting his belongings as Dean looked down at the piece of paper he had been given. In neat, straight hand writing was written Castiel Novak, followed by an address and a phone number. He picked up the paper and shoved it in to his pocket, following in Castiel's footsteps and gathering his trash to dispose of.
Dean sat through the rest of his classes, thinking back to the conversation he and Castiel had shared. He had agreed to work on the project, so he would, he was nothing if not a man of his word. As he drove home, his mind kicked in to academic mode for the first time in a while. If he was going to do this project, he wanted to do it right. He needed to find the old books his parents had kept detailing the Winchester/Campbell family trees. As he pulled up into the parking lot of his building, he found himself trying desperately to remember his grand father's middle name.