"So what's the deal with Cas?" Dean asked at lunch.

There was a beat of silence, followed by a synchronized, "Who?" from the other three.

"Castiel," Dean said. "Does he not eat lunch?"

Anna looked down at her tray, red hair falling in front her face. Gabe found a very interest brick in the wall to the right of Dean's shoulder. Balthazar heaved a sigh. "Right then, I guess I get to explain the unexplainable situation." He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Cassy—Cas, is that what you called him?—when everyone divided, he tried to remain kind to all of them. Didn't work out to well, as they all hated each other so much they couldn't imagine someone not hating all but one group. He would've come with us, but by the time he'd realized the situation was hopeless, he'd managed to make nearly everyone into an enemy. We still wanted to take him in, but…"

"He said no," Gabriel interjected. "Several times, actually. Eventually we just…gave up. His invitation still stands, and I think he knows that."

"But he doesn't acknowledge it," Anna said. And then more quietly, "I worry about him."

"He's in my painting class—he acted weird when I tried to talk to him. He all but straight out told me to leave him the fuck alone."

Gabe said, "He didn't mean it that way. He's a broken little bastard. I don't how much and I don't know in what ways, but I know he's messed up. Not his fault either."

Dean remained thoughtful and stayed quiet until lunch was dismissed.

At his locker, he leaned his back against the cool steel and waited. One minute. Two minutes. Three, four. When there was barely sixty seconds left before the bell for next class rang, Dean finally saw Cas approaching.

"Hey."

Cas stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily, until he saw who it was. "I thought I told you not to talk to me."

"I thought I'd made it clear that I'm lousy at doing what I'm told."

"What do you want, Dean."

"I was just wondering where you eat lunch at," he asked casually. "I mean, I've only been here a couple days, but I've seen you in the halls and never at lunch. I just thought maybe you'd like to come sit Anna, Gabe, and Balthazar's table."

"You're friends with them?"

"I guess. Something like that."

"Good," Cas said. "They're…they have good hearts." Coming from anyone else the words would've sounded stupid and cheesy, but something about the way Cas said it…it didn't sound like that.

"So…?"

"So…what?"

"Where do you disappear to whenever lunch rolls around?"

"I don't eat lunch," Cas responded curtly.

"You probably should, you know. You're kind of in danger of getting lost inside your jacket."

Cas took a moment to glare at Dean. "Thank you for the advice, Dean. Now on top of insulting me, you've also made me late to class."

"Like you weren't already gonna be late."

Cas' blue eyes glared at him some more.

"Where are you headed anyway?"

"Economics, not that it's any of your business."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh really."

"No, I'm lying," Cas said in exasperation as the bell rang.

"Why weren't you there last class?"

For a fraction of a second, Cas froze. "You have that class, too," he guessed.

"As a matter of fact."

"I try to avoid it," Cas said.

"Why? I mean, sure, Mr. Roman plays the part of his name, but what's the big deal?"

"I like to stay out of the cross fires," Cas snapped. "Some people can't be liked by everyone."

"Hey, hold on—" Dean grabbed Cas' arm before he could leave and a hiss escaped the skinny's boy's lips. "What—"

Cas yanked away from Dean. "Don't touch me."

Castiel went to hide in the restrooms for the next an hour and a half. Great. Why did Dean have to be so annoyingly persistent? Why don't you talk people, Cas? Why don't you eat lunch, Cas? What's your next class, Cas? And when had he started calling him Cas? Thinking back, Castiel realized that he'd only called him that once.

Oh.

"Castiel."

He cringed as soon as he walked through the front door. So his dad was home. Awesome.

"Get in here. Now."

Castiel came into the kitchen, dropping his book bag by the table.

"Yes, Dad?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Skipping class again? Economics?"

"I—"

Castiel got a smack across the face. "Your ass better be in that class next time."

He wiped blood from his nose and his too-big sleeve slipped up his arm.

His Dad reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist. "Are you kidding me? More of that childish I-hate-my-life bullshit? Grow the fuck up, Castiel. You're pathetic." He shoved Castiel hard, almost sending him toppling over. Maintaining his composure, Castiel grabbed his book bag on his way out and went to his room, locking the door behind him—deadbolt, self-installed.

Castiel wished, for the hundred thousandth time, that he could trade places with one of them. Or both of them. It would be better that way. Everyone would be happier.

Castiel almost walked right back out of the classroom.

Dean was sitting in the seat next to where Castiel usually sat, a worried expression plastered on his face. Castiel gathered himself and walked over. He chose to simply ignore Dean, to try and dissuade any conversation whatsoever.

For a few minutes, he thought it was working.

"Listen, Cas—Castiel," he corrected himself. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I didn't mean to piss you off, I just…I don't know. I don't get this place, and if I were you, I'd be lonely."

"Apology accepted. Now, please, stop talking to me."

Castiel left his other painting in his cubby and grabbed a new canvas. Being burned at the stake was medieval—more so than angels.

Castiel did not want to go to economics class. He didn't want to sit between Lucifer and Uriel, and he didn't want to be in the room with Mr. Roman, and he did not want Dean hanging over his shoulder. Except he kind of did.

He stopped outside the door and took a moment to breathe.

You're pathetic.

Ninety minutes. That was it. That wasn't even long at all. What was his problem?

"You okay?"

Cas spun around. "I thought I told you not to talk to me." But he was already relieved it was just Dean.

"You look like you saw a ghost."

"Something like that," he muttered under his breath.

"Come on. We're getting new seats today."

Fighting against Dean was harder than just letting himself be pulled around by the boy, so when Dean ushered him into the room, Cas went willingly enough.

Mr. Roman's eyes flicked up from his computer screen and Castiel took an involuntary step back, bumping into Dean. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Grow up.

Dean didn't say anything and Castiel walked to the back of the room where all the other students were, waiting for the new seating chart to be announced. The room felt ten degrees lower than the rest of the school.

Mr. Roman waited until just after the bell rang to begin. "Our first order of business," he said, "is musical chairs." He smiled and a good number of students laughed. Cas noted that Dean didn't. "We'll go across the rows, starting in the front." He paused. "Castiel Novak."

By some miracle of God, Castiel managed to make his legs work and he made his way to the front of the room and took his seat.

"Dean Winchester."

Castiel almost let out a sigh of relief. That was one less desk around him that Lucifer or Uriel could wind up at. And maybe the smile Dean shot his way made him feel a little bit better. Just a little.

Cas found himself adjusting to Dean's presence in the two classes they shared. But Tuesday as he was walking home from school, it came back to bite him in the ass.

"Castiel, I never would've thought." This time, it was just Uriel, which Castiel supposed he should be thankful for. "I took you for a lot of things, but a faggot was not one of them. I have to ask—does your father know? And if your mother was alive—I can only guess what she would say, being such a strong Christian. "

Something inside Cas stirred. He wasn't sure what and it was an extremely unfamiliar feeling, but something definitely changed. "Shut up."

Uriel's posture went rigid and immediately Castiel knew his mistake.

"Excuse me?"

Castiel's mouth went dry.

"You little punk."

Uriel took a swing at him, knocking him squarely in the jaw. Cas stumbled back, book bag slipping off his shoulder. The next blow split open his lip, and the following made a solid impact with his gut and knocked the wind out of him. Uriel shoved him and he stumbled and fell, trying to catch his breath. Uriel's foot slammed into Castiel's chest.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again. I'm so high above you, Castiel. I could bring whatever your pathetic little world consists of crashing down on your head." Another kick. "I can bury you alive." Another kick. "Just remember that."

Castiel stayed curled up on the ground, even after he was sure Uriel had gone. His chest hurt and he could feel blood trickling along his skin from his split lip. Getting up was too much effort. He couldn't say how long he laid there—ten minutes, twenty, thirty. But eventually, he heard a car come to a stop and the slamming of a door. He didn't have the energy to care at the moment.

"Cas?"

Of course. Just. His. Fucking Luck.

"Cas?"

"Go away," he groaned.

"What happened?"

"Lea'me alone, Dean."

"Son of a bitch—here, I'll drive you home. Sam!"

"What's going on?" came an unfamiliar voice.

"Grab his bag."

Castiel half-heartedly shoved Dean away. "I'm not an invalid, I can walk myself."

"Shut up, Cas. You got the crap beat outta you."

Dean slid his hands under Cas' arms and managed to get him on his feet without any help whatsoever from Cas. Castiel finally bothered to open his eyes and was greeted by a set of intense green irises.

Dean slung Cas' arm over his shoulder and Cas caught a glimpse of a small boy, maybe middle school aged, carrying his book bag and getting into a classic black car of some sort.

"Dean, stop," thought by this point Castiel was pretty sure he didn't have a say in the matter.

He allowed himself to be pushed firmly into the passenger seat and the door be shut after him.

"Who did this to you?" Dean asked as he restarted the car.

Castiel didn't respond.

"Dean, who's this?"

"Sam, this is Cas, Cas this is my little brother, Sam."

"Your reputation's at stake, you know," Cas said. "You should let me out of the car."

"Dude, to hell with my reputation. This town is so messed up. Where do you live?"

After an enormous sigh, Castiel gave Dean directions to his house.

Once they were close, he said it's right up—don't slow down."

"What?"

"Keep driving," Cas hissed.

Dean did as he was told for once and continued on past the house and the two cars in the driveway. His dad had a girl over.

"What was that about?" Dean asked.

"My dad has company," Cas quickly supplied.

"Yeah, he also has a bruised and bleeding kid—"

"Just drop me off around the block or something. It'll be fine."

"No way, man. How long's your dad gonna be busy for?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you can come stay at our place for a while." He looked in the rearview mirror. "Right, Sammy?"

"Sure!"

"My dad's not home, but we've got some first aid stuff."

"I think I'll live," Castiel said sarcastically. He didn't mention how much worse shape he'd been in before.

The Winchesters lived a mile or two out of town in an old but well-built house. Sam grabbed Cas' bag, Dean's, and his own, and ran ahead to open the door for his brother and Cas.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said as he led Cas inside.

Castiel mumbled thanks as well.

There were dishes in the sink and a pile of books on the table.

"Have a seat," Dean said, and, "I'll be right back," before disappearing.

"Do you want something to drink?" his younger brother asked.

He opened his mouth to say no, but something about Sam made him feel comfortable enough to say, "A drink would be nice."

He opened the fridge and Castiel noticed several tests with "A's" on them, decorating the fridge door. "We've got…coke, water, apple juice…"

"I'll have a coke."

Sam handed him the ice cold can and a straw and he kept got a glass of apple juice for himself. "So are you in my brother's grade?" he asked, taking a seat beside Cas.

"Yes, I'm a junior."

"That's cool. I'm in seventh grade this year."

"How are you liking it here?" Cas asked him.

"It's pretty nice. Dean told me about how it is at the high school—it's a lot different at the middle school."

Cas laughed humorlessly. "Let's just say our generation managed to get itself fairly messed up."

"Sam, you bothering him?"

Sam shook his head.

Dean came back into the room, carrying several things that Castiel didn't care to look too closely at. Dean set the stuff out on the table. "Are you gonna tell me what went down?" Dean pressed.

Castiel gave him a glare.

"He'll talk about it when he's ready, Dean."

This time it was Dean's turn to glare at Sam. If Cas didn't hurt so much, he might've even cracked a smile.

"Okay, let's see the damage," Dean said. "Sam, get some ice."

"This might sting a little." Dean wiped blood and dirt and whatever else from the blood on Castiel's lip, and the proximity almost made him freeze in his aware state. If Dean noticed, he didn't show it.

Cas stared at Dean's full eyelashes. They cast shadows below his eyes, fluttering slightly sometimes.

"Here." Sam offered Cas ice wrapped in a towel and he was glad for the distraction. He pressed it against his jaw where Uriel's fist had no doubt left a colorful mark.

Dean's fingertips accidentally brushed against Castiel's lips and he managed to keep from flinching.

"Shirt off," Dean said.

Castiel stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"You were all hunched over—let's see it."

"I'm fine—"

"Nope. At least let me make sure you don't have any broken ribs."

"I didn't come over here just so you could play doctor."

Dean laughed, which Castiel did not find that funny. After a moment, he said, "Seriously, Cas, it'll just take a minute. I wanna make sure you don't die on my watch."

Castiel couldn't take his shirt off and leave his sleeves on—that just wasn't possible. And he wasn't about to let Dean see his arms. That would not go well, he was certain.

"Can I…can I just take a nap? Not for long, I mean—"

"Yeah, I guess. Go ahead and lie down on the couch."

"Wake me up if I'm out for too long."

"Sure."

Dean stood in the threshold of the living room and watched the miniscule rise and fall of Cas' chest. His jaw sported an ugly bruise and even when it was clean the split on his lip looked anything but pretty. He didn't realize how long he'd been debating with himself until Sam said, "Hey, Edward."

Dean shoved his little brother's head. "Shut up, bitch. I just want to make sure he's okay—you saw the way he was walking."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Kind of like when Dad came home last year."

"Exactly. And he had three broken ribs."

"So, go check."

"I don't want him to wake up to a guy taking his clothes off."

Sam gave Dean one of his many looks. This was one of the ones that made him seem older than Dean, even though he was four years younger.

"Dean."

"What?"

"Grow up."

"Do your homework."

Sam laughed, but went upstairs.

Dean took a breath and walked quietly into the room. He knelt beside the couch and slowly began easing Cas' shirt up. When he saw the mess of purple and blue covering Cas' ivory chest and parts of his abdomen. Dean prodded, doing his best to be gentle, but Cas jerked awake nonetheless.

"What the hell are you doing!"

Dean held his hands up in an innocent gesture. "Just checking your ribs, man."

Cas was off the couch so fast Dean wondered if he'd hallucinated the bruising.

"I think I'd know if I had broken bones," Cas snapped.

"Look—I'm sorry. Everything seemed fine from what I could tell—"

"I'm going home."

"You can't just start walking—"

"I can do whatever I want."

"At least let me drive you."

"You can take your car and shove it up—"

"It's dark out—you can't just walk home in the dark."

"It's dark out?"

"Well…yeah…"

"I told you to wake me up."

"What's going on?" Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Somebody's having a hissy fit," Dean said pointedly.

Cas shook his head and marched towards the door.

"Hey—hold up," Dean immediately regretted opening his big fat mouth. He grabbed Cas' arm to stop him and Cas yanked away yet again.

"Don't," Cas warned, his pink lips forming perfectly around the word. Not that Dean noticed.

Dean hesitated, watching a range of emotions flick across Cas' face, like brief flashes of lightning, changing before he could really identify them.

"Dude," he said after what was probably minutes, "you can't walk to town." Especially not in your condition, he added to himself.

Cas huffed a sigh. "Fine."

He walked out the front door and Dean followed, leaving a very confused Sammy standing at the base of the stairs.