A note landed on Dean's desk. Dean glanced away from his copy of Romeo and Juliet, wondering who would pass a note in this day and age. He opened the note.

HELLO DEAN.

Dean looked to the window of the classroom and saw you-know-who staring back, hands flat against the window as if maybe he could phase through. Dean doubted Castiel had the ability of quantum tunneling. Probably. Making sure Mr. Rufus wasn't looking, Dean flipped his phone underneath his desk and sent Castiel a text.

Dude Im in class. Why dont you just text me? Who did you even get to pass that note? How did it get in here? What? Why don't you just text me?

Castiel looked down at his breast pocket, pulled out his phone, and slowly texted Dean in return:

I'LL JUST WAIT HERE, THEN.

Dean was about to face palm at this nonresponse of a text when a crumpled paper ball hit him on the head.

"Put away your phone, tell your boyfriend to get away from the window, and get to readin!'" his English teacher shouted from across the room.

"He's not my boyfriend," Dean muttered to himself, putting away his phone. He glanced back to the window; his not boyfriend was pressing his forehead against the glass, still staring at him.

Mr. Rufus was crumpling up another piece of paper into a ball. "I'm going to throw the next one at you," he said, looking straight at Castiel. He reached for his stapler.

When Dean left the classroom 20 minutes later, he grabbed Castiel from the bushes, and they began the inevitable walk to Cas Locker HQ.

"Dude, you can't just lean against windows and stare at people," he tried to explain to his strange friend. Fuck. He was actually friends with this robot.

"I can. I just did." Castiel cocked his head at Dean. "Have you thought about what songs we should sing in the competition against Greybull high?" Castiel had managed to convince the Garrison to let Dean pick the next song to make up for the Eye of the Tiger fiasco. Guilt came easily to Dean Winchester; he rode its harsh wings like a gracious marmoset of responsibility into the desolate ocean of regret.

But let's not think about the depressing alleyway that is Dean's self esteem. Dean, at this point in the narrative, was handing Castiel a list. Castiel frowned at every idea he read.

"I Believe in a Thing Called Love?" He lowered the list and looked Dean full in the freckly Dean face. "Really?"

Dean shrugged embarrassedly. "I thought it was catchy."

Castiel continued to read. "I... I had no idea you listened to so much Twisted Sister."

Dean shrugged harder. "I... shut up."

"Who is this Teenage Dirtbag? Please tell me he sings music that doesn't make small cute animals cry."

"Your face makes stuff cry and whatever. That's a song name. Really dude?"

"The Garrison shouldn't have to suffer because your mother dropped you on your head repeatedly as an infant."

"Uh huh." Dean frowned at Cas, a dark storm settling on his face like many flies on a rutabaga. Castiel didn't notice Dean's facial weather.

"It's funny because I am saying that your preferred music is bad." Castiel then saw the last song on the list. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Dean had to smile, knowing which song gave him that eyebrow. "Well?"

Castiel took out his cell phone. "I will text Zachariah." Beep. pause. Poke. Pause. Poke poke. Dean walked away, knowing that with Castiel, this would be a long process.