"Dean..." A voice called out to him from afar. It sounded familiar. It was a good voice... comforting, in a way...

"Dean, come on," the voice called out again, a bit less patiently. What did they want? He was so comfortable...

"Dean, wake up already!" Something prodded his chest and Dean slowly felt himself slowly gain consciousness. Oh, I'm in bed, sleeping. But he felt that he really didn't want to get up. This bed was so comfy, and he was so tired...

"Go away, Sammy," he mumbled, rolling over and pulling up the covers over his head. "Can't I just skip first class or something?"

"I thought you promised me you weren't skipping any more classes."

Dean's eyes flew open and he pulled the blankets off himself in surprise before the memories of where he was and why he was there leaked back into his mind. He relaxed and turned back over, finding himself face-to-face with Castiel's gorgeous blue eyes. "Well, good morning, beautiful," he said with a smile.

Castiel gave an exaggerated sigh and began to turn away, but Dean was able to detect a smile on his face before he had turned away completely. "Just hurry up and get dressed, breakfast is almost ready."

"What, no good morning kiss?" Dean joked, expecting Cas to walk out and slam the door, but instead Castiel turned back and pressed a gentle kiss to Dean's cheek before heading towards the door again. Dean absentmindedly touched where Castiel had kissed him, then asked, "Just on the cheek?"

Castiel made a face at him and stated, "You have morning breath," before leaving and closing the door behind him. Dean brought a hand to his mouth and smelled his breath. Fair enough, he thought with a shrug, turning to the bathroom to go brush his teeth with the toothbrush Castiel's mother had given him.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean had finished showering and dressing (jeans, red T-shirt, and brown leather jacket) and stepped into the kitchen, immediately greeted by the smell of waffles and sausage and the sound of bacon sizzling in a frying pan.

"Good morning, Dean!" Mrs. Novak greeted from across the room. She was grabbing plates out of a wooden cabinet, and Castiel (wearing a white T-shirt and his usual trenchcoat) was stirring scrambled eggs on the stove next to her. She set down the plates and ambled toward him with a wide smile.

"Morning, Mrs. Novak," he responded.

"Oh, just call me Jeanne," she reminded him. "Now, you can just sit in this chair right here; breakfast is just about done." She ushered him over to a dark brown wooden chair at a slightly beat-up but sturdy table, and Dean lingered a moment before sitting.

"You sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

"Oh, don't be silly, we have it under control. Now, do you want orange juice or milk?"

"Milk would be great, Jeanne," he replied with a smile, sitting down at last. It was the first full day since Dean had temporarily moved into Castiel's house, and so far, it had been one of the greatest times of his life. It was a bit strange to have so much attention directed at him; Mrs. Novak checked on him at least once every half-hour to make sure he was alright and wasn't hungry or thirsty and didn't need anything. He wasn't at all used to being cared for or looked after, and somehow, this place already felt like home just as much as his real house.

Within a minute, a plate was set down in front of him, stacked with two golden waffles with whipped cream and banana slices on top, a few pieces of fresh steaming bacon, and perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs, as well as a tall glass of milk. Dean immediately grabbed his fork and dug in. It was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted.

"Holy crap, this is the greatest breakfast I've ever eaten," he praised after a few bites. "Do you guys actually eat stuff like this, like, every day?"

"Well, not every day," Mrs. Novak replied, bunching up her long skirt as she sat down, "But Castiel and I always try to cook a balanced breakfast. After all, it's important to kick off the day in a healthy way." Castiel sent Dean an amused glance before sitting down next to him with his own plate. "Why, does your family not do the same?"

Dean resisted the urge to laugh. "No, not exactly. I usually just get myself up and grab whatever's in the fridge. I haven't had a full-on cooked family breakfast in years." Right after he said the words, he could practically sense Castiel and his mother exchanging concerned looks. "It's alright, though," he added. "It's just none of us can really spare the time." That, and the thought of his father getting up early to make breakfast for him and Sam was near laughable. But he decided that saying that probably wasn't the best idea.

"Well, that really is a shame," Mrs. Novak said at last. "You should come over here more, then; we always have something nice baking. In fact, I was thinking of baking an apple pie today while you two are off at school."

"Well, if this breakfast is any indication, I'm sure it'll be great." The thought of having fresh-baked pie after school enthralled Dean, and suddenly he couldn't wait for the end of the school-day.

After finishing off his plate and placing it in the sink, Dean returned to his temporary room (a small guest room that hadn't been used in months) and finished getting ready and packing up. Castiel was already at the door waiting for him (how did he move so fast?) holding out a paper bag. Dean must have given him a funny look, because he stated, "Your lunch."

"Oh. Right." He grabbed the sack and stuffed it into his backpack. "We ready to go, then?" As Castiel nodded, his mother bustled out from the kitchen.

"Have a great day, you two!" she said, smiling, and embraced first her son, then without a moment of hesitation, drew Dean in for a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, Mrs- Jeanne. I really appreciate all you're doing."

"Oh, don't you worry about it. Now go on, you don't want to be late!"

Once the door had been shut behind them, Castiel gave Dean a weary smile and held out his hand. Dean intertwined their fingers (Cas's hand was surprisingly warm) and Castiel began to lead the way along the slightly wet roads to school. It must have rained the night before, Dean figured. They chatted about nothing in particular; the history teacher they both had and the upcoming test, a book Castiel had just finished reading, Castiel's old house, a dog Dean had a few years ago, something funny Castiel's mom had said... they just talked about whatever popped into their heads at the moment, sometimes laughing, other times walking in comfortable silence. They seemed to reach the school in no time at all.

A few heads turned upon their arrival, but neither of them really cared. The bell rang a few minutes later, and after a quick peck on the cheek (because, really, why the hell not) they parted ways and headed toward their individual classes. Dean had exams in both his math and history classes; he was near positive he had flunked the math test on polynomial graphs, as he hadn't even managed to finish it before the bell rang, and probably got a B- in his history test about the Great Depression. Needless to say, by the time it was lunch, his mind was overexerted and his movements were slow and drowsy. And so, as he made his way across the school to meet Castiel, he was completely unprepared for what happened next.

One moment, he was walking along a somewhat crowded corridor, still trying to figure out which president made the Great Society domestic reforms, and the next, a huge force slammed into his side and threw him against the wall. His mind snapped awake.

"Oh, look, it's the Winchester kid. Been awhile, hasn't it?" Dean straightened himself and looked at his assailants. Great. The large form of Dylan, as well as two other jocks whose names Dean had never bothered to learn, stood over Dean. The two others were about Dean's height, but they stood with their heads raised and faces looking down on him, clearly trying to appear more intimidating. And it was a bit intimidating, Dean had to admit, but he decided fear wasn't really the best option at the moment. The corridor seemed to immediately empty out. Clearly nobody wanted to stick around to watch. Dylan continued, "The way you just decided to disappear from everything, I was starting to think I'd never run into you again."

"Well, Dyl, I sure wish that were the case," Dean replied, forcing a smile. "But, well," he shrugged, "Here we are."

Dylan was smiling at him crookedly, with a cold, calculating look behind his eyes, as if weighing his next move. A shadow seemed to flit across his face after a moment, and Dean knew that he had made his decision. And it probably wasn't a good one.

"Well, now that I've got you here, and we have a minute to chat, why don't you just help me understand one little thing: what made you think you could just walk out of the picture and make the rest of us look like idiots?"

"The thing is, Dyl," Dean spoke up, gaining confidence in spite of the situation, "I realized that you all are dicks and I really don't need people like you in my life."

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, a blow landed right on the side of his nose, knocking a joint slightly out of place and filling Dean's face with pain. Not that he wasn't expecting it. But instead of grabbing his nose, covering the blood that was beginning to leak out of it, and running away like all Dean's senses were urging him to, Dean stood rock solid and didn't pull his gaze away.

Confusion swept across Dylan's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. "I don't think you quite understand the situation here, Dean, boy. You've made a laughing stock of our entire group. Now we're the guys who were always around the little queer masochist boy. I'm sure you understand what that's done to our... reputation."

"Yeah," Dean responded, quickly wiping off the blood that had settled over his lips, "Because you were oh-so-renowned by everyone to start with. Nobody gives a shit about you, you know. You think you're all that, but really are you are-"

Dylan shoved him against the wall. Hard. "You'd best shut that blabbering mouth of yours if you don't want to get hurt. In case you haven't noticed, you're just a bit outnumbered here. Three to one. Just think of all the things we could do." Then his eyebrows raised and his mouth formed a wide grin, and he turned to his jock friends, who were both glowering at Dean. "Oooh, I see it, now. That's what you want, isn't it, you little fag? I'm not deaf, you know. I've heard about all the things you and your "friend" do. About how much you love being hurt by him, the scars he leaves all across your body, those disgusting things you do every night. You're aching for it, aren't you? Well, who are we to deny you the pleasure?" And with that, he landed a solid punch into Dean's gut, forcing him to double over in pain. Damn, this guy can throw a goddamn punch. He refused to be a victim, though. He clenched his teeth together and did his best to steady his breath, and continued to glare daggers at Dylan.

"That not enough for you?" Dylan snickered, now towering over Dean. "Well, if you truly insist... Mason. Dirk. Why don't you see to the poor little fag's needs?"

But then just as Dirk, the larger of the two, menacingly stepped toward Dean and raised a fist, a gruff voice and fast footsteps sounded from an end of the corridor.

"Hey, assbutt!" Within two seconds, Castiel had sprinted to them and with an impossibly fast speed, then elbowed Dirk's chest and kicked his crotch with such force that he fell to the ground before he could even react. In spite of everything, Dean couldn't hold back a smile. Assbutt? Really, Cas? Castiel turned his blazing eyes toward Mason, who took a hesitant step back and ran away, leaving Dylan dumbfounded with a look of mixed shock, horror, and confusion. Castiel grabbed his throat and held him against the wall. He looked pretty damn scary, Dean had to admit, and he was infinitely glad that he wasn't in Dylan's place. Dylan struggled, but couldn't escape the hold. Castiel turned toward Dean for a moment, who gave him a slight nod to affirm that he was alright, then he faced back onto Dylan, who now seemed strangely small and weak, like a wolf suddenly turned into a stray dog.

"I take it you've heard about me?" Castiel snarled at him, eyes filled with rage. "About what I did at my old school that got me expelled? About that little rampage I went on when I got mad? Of course you have, I've seen the way everyone looks at me, little whispers in the hallway, the way people back away whenever I come near. You all fear me. Understandably." Dylan squirmed slightly, but Castiel only tightened his hold. "Now, I'm not really a person you want to piss off, am I? And, right now, it's not looking so great for you. Take my advice, now: don't give me another reason to be expelled. Neither of us really want that. Now, do you understand me?"

At first Dean thought Dylan must have been shaking so much he couldn't move or talk, but he nodded his head meekly, watching Castiel with fearful eyes.

"Good, then." Castiel released his grip, and Dylan fell to the floor. "But just allow me to make this perfectly clear to you so we don't reach any future misunderstandings: Don't. Touch. My. Boyfriend. Ever. Again."

Clearly Dylan didn't need further convincing, because he quickly scrambled to his feet and bolted. As soon as he was gone, Castiel turned to Dean and his expression softened from hatred and anger to affection and concern. He gently placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and scanned his face. "Dean, you're hurt..."

"Yeah," Dean spoke hoarsely, "I can tell."

"Come, we'd best get you to the nurse's office." Castiel supported Dean on his shoulders and began to walk, but Dean stopped him.

"Are you kidding? They're gonna ask questions. You think I can tell them what just happened? And risk getting you suspended or something?"

"They're bound to discover the truth eventually, Dean. I am prepared for detention or suspension if necessary."

"No, Cas, those three aren't going to say anything. You think they want the whole school to know they got beat up by you? And nobody else wants to get involved."

"Then what do you suggest? You can't just go to your next class like this," Castiel pointed out, looking down at the blood still coming out of Dean's nostril.

"You think we can make an exception to your no-skipping rule for today?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in consideration for a few seconds, then agreed, "Fair enough." Dean wiped off his nose again and stood up straight, doing his best to ignore the pain in his gut. Walking normally would draw a lot less attention, and more attention was about the last thing he wanted. Together he and Castiel exited the school and walked all the way back home, with Castiel continuously offering to support Dean and Dean continuously rejecting the offer.

Mrs. Novak was outside watering the bushes in front of the house when they approached. She dropped the hose as soon as she saw them and spotted the dried blood above Dean's lip and the bruise that was beginning to settle on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, Lord, what happened? Why are you home early? Dean, did you get hurt? Did somebody hurt you? Let me get an ice pack, I always keep one in the freezer..." Without waiting for an answer, she rushed into the kitchen. Castiel led Dean to sit on the large couch in their living room. It was old and the royal blue striped fabric was faded, but the material was extremely soft and comfortable, and Dean lay down on it and rested his head on the plush pillow at one end. They were home, now, and everything was going to be alright.

Castiel's mother returned moments later with an ice pack, which she insisted Dean put over his nose to reduce swelling and bruising. Meanwhile Castiel explained the basics of what had happened to his mother, who was visibly horrified, and by the end appeared close to tears.

"Oh, Dean, honey, I'm so sorry that happened, teenagers can be so mean and cruel sometimes... I'll call and tell the school you had a family obligation or something. Wouldn't want them to mark you truant. Ah, I forgot the hose is still on! I'll be outside watering and raking for the next half-hour or so, let me know if you need anything!" She dashed out the front door without another word.

Castiel and Dean both sighed in relief, then glanced at each other and smiled. Dean set the ice pack back down on the table (it wasn't really helping all that much, and most of the pain was gone already) and Castiel reached for the television remote and pressed the button that turned the TV on. He then handed it to Dean. "You can choose the channel," he dictated. Dean took the remote in his left hand and began to flip through the channels, most of which were either on commercial break or had some stupid romcom show on. Eventually he settled on a cops show. Seemed they were tracking down these two guys who had hacked into a company's database and stolen a large sum of cash.

Castiel settled himself down as well, laying partially on top of Dean, partially on the couch in front of him, and resting his head back on Dean's shoulders. Dean put an arm around him, and Cas tilted his head back and smiled lazily before directing his attention back to the television.

"I wonder how they were able to get past those security cameras," Castiel commented after a minute. "They must have had them hooked up to a different source of their own so that they could manipulate its footage to that extent."

"You do know that these shows are probably fake, right?"

"They are?" He sounded disappointed, and Dean felt bad for pointing it out.

"Pretty sure, yeah. Most of these sorts of things are, at least."

"I'm not sure they could easily replicate something like this, Dean. The details are very realistic and intricate."

"Mhmm. Whatever you say." He hadn't been paying much attention to the show, anyway, so it's not like he could tell. He was still a bit unfocused by the lingering dull pain, and it was especially hard to focus on anything else when Castiel was so close to him. "Hey, Cas."

Castiel ignored him, already back absorbed in the show.

"Caaassss," Dean persisted.

"Shh, I'm watching."

"Come onnn," Dean leaned over and lightly nibbled on Castiel's ear, trying to gain his attention. Castiel's face went slightly pink, but he still didn't respond. So, this was how it was going to be.

Dean moved downward from his ear, and brushed his lips along Castiel's slightly prickly jawline. "I'm wounded, Cas. I'm hurt. You're supposed to take care of me and do what I say, aren't you?"

"Just wait, this part is really interesting and-" Castiel let out a small gasp as Dean bit softly at the base of his neck. The sound sent a tingle down Dean's spine, and he intensely desired to hear it again. He bit just slightly harder at Castiel's collarbone, thankful that the T-shirt he was wearing was fairly low-cut. Castiel squirmed slightly, but clearly he was being stubborn, and refused to let himself be taken by surprise again.

"I'm not stopping until you listen to what I want to say, you know," Dean mumbled against Castiel's skin. He flicked his tongue over the area he had just bitten, then proceeded to take the skin between his teeth and suck on it slightly. Castiel let out another short gasp at this, and craned his neck to allow Dean better access. Dean took the opportunity and pressed kisses all over his neck, sucking and lightly biting the skin at random. He then proceeded upward and gently nibbled on Castiel's lower lip for a moment before fully pressing their lips together and cupping his hands around Castiel's face. Suddenly Dean felt himself being flipped around so that Castiel was on top of him, hands entangled in Dean's hair, and pressing his wet tongue between Dean's parted lips. Dean was a bit surprised at the sudden display of dominance, but opened up and allowed their tongues to meet, and placed his hands on Castiel's back, drawing them closer. The kiss was long and passionate, and Dean found himself absorbed in its warm, sweet taste. Castiel was finally the one to break it off, and his lips were glistening and his blue eyes were slightly clouded over as he whispered, "Dean..."

Dean's heart skipped a beat and he felt a sudden urge to rip Castiel's clothes off then and there. But that probably wouldn't be the greatest idea, so he contented himself with intertwining their fingers and pressing one final lingering kiss to Castiel's soft lips. Glancing over at the television, he noticed that the credits were beginning to roll. "Looks like you missed the ending to your show, Cas."

Castiel looked over and pouted, drawing away from Dean. "Great, now I'll never know how they did it..." He sighed and sat up. Dean did the same, and scooted over to Cas, hugging his arm.

"Hey, Cas."

"Fine, Dean, what is it?"

"Today, when you were telling off Dylan..."

"Mhmm?"

"You called me your boyfriend."

Castiel blushed slightly. "Well, that's what we are, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean smirked. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Just then a loud beeping came from the kitchen, and Castiel's mother rushed in from the yard. "Boys, pie's ready!" she called over her shoulder as she went to take out her apple pie from the oven. All annoyance Dean had at the interruption disappeared, and all he could think of was getting a taste of what he knew would be an absolutely delicious pie.

"Well then," he stood up, pulling Castiel up off the couch. "Shall we?"