Supernatural High - Chapter 12

I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter 12

Dean looked for Cas for the rest of the day. He even ditched class to do it. After seeing the tears in the poor angel's eyes, Dean felt like the biggest asshole on the face of the earth – worse than all the angels, worse than Crowley, worse than anyone. By the time the school day came to an end, Dean was still empty-handed.

With a sigh of resignation, the hunter went to retrieve the Impala from the parking lot in the back of the school. By the time he pulled around to the front again, Sam was already standing there. And, to Dean's displeasure, a short angel with light brown hair stood beside him, sucking on a lollipop. As the Impala rolled to a halt, Dean rolled down the window and shouted, "Sammy! Let's go!"

Sam turned to the angel and said something Dean couldn't hear. The angel's lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. He said something back and Sam blushed. Dean couldn't believe his eyes. Did . . . Did Sammy just blush!? Sam then hurried toward the car, shifting his backpack.

As the younger Winchester clambered inside, Dean struggled to hide his annoyance. Sam's brief interaction with Gabriel had reminded Dean of the other problem. The Sammy problem. The an-archangel-might-be-in-love-with-Sammy-problem. Dean had more than enough on his plate with Cas, and now Sam was once again added to the mix. If this angel – Gabriel – was interested in Sam in a romantic way, Dean knew that he would have to put a stop to it. It wasn't because that Dean was against gays - hell he wasn't so sure about himself when he was around Cas - but because Dean cared about his little brother. He knew how angels were, and he didn't want Sam to get hurt, or worse.

"Have fun talking to the angel?" Dean said bitterly. For a moment, he regretted the sharpness in his tone, but then straightened up.

Sam stiffened for a split second before regaining his composure. "Gabriel was just asking me about Castiel."

Dean's eyes narrowed into a glare. Of course Sammy would bring that up. Dean didn't bother to ask another question - Sam would just find a way to change the subject or only half-answer it. He pulled away from the school and whipped out of the parking lot. "By the way, did you find Castiel?" Sam asked, looking at Dean with genuine curiosity.

The older Winchester pursed his lips together in a thin line. "No."

Sam mulled over that. "He probably went home, Dean. That's what I'd do if—" he broke off and looked at his shoes.

If what, Sam? Dean thought, irritated. If that angel-dick did that to you? Hell . . . I don't think even angels are that mean. Shit. Cas, I'm sorry.

For the rest of the ride home, neither of them spoke. Sam to be lost in his own thoughts, and Dean did is best to focus on driving. He knew that once they got home, their father would have a thousand questions to ask, and none of them were "how was your day, son?" Most of them were on monster behavior, angels, demons, etc. Everything creep-tacular, John Winchester was interested in. Everything involving his sons' emotional statuses and personal lives, he shied away from like a green horse.

As the pulled into the old, rundown house they were currently squatting in, Dean saw John's black Sierra Grande in the drive. He let out a small sigh as he pulled in and shut off the Impala's engine.

"Are you ready to play Twenty Questions?" Sam asked. Even though it was meant to be a joke, Dean could hear the dread in his little brother's voice. At least, even now, they found something to agree on.

Dean let himself smirk just a little. "Yeah, try fifty," he muttered before getting out of the car. Sam did the same, and they both headed into the house.

After John Winchester had questioned them thoroughly on the monsters they spent time with eight hours out of every day, Dean made dinner for him and Sam. John had said that he had a hunt he was planning to go on once the sun set. Dean had asked if he could tag along, but John just told him to stay at "home" and watch over Sam.

Any other older brother might be annoyed, or even angered by this. They might take it out on their younger brother, seeing them as the real problem in this situation. But not Dean. Dean didn't blame Sam for anything. In a way, Dean was more mature than most boys his age in that sense. He wasn't bratty or spoiled in any way; he knew that more often than not, he couldn't get what he wanted, and tried to make the best of what he did have.

So Dean didn't really mind staying at the house with Sammy. He'd be able to look after him then – make sure no monster, or no angel paid him a visit.

"Dean, can we have Mac and Cheese for dinner?" Sam asked. He sat at an old, dusty table in the house's small kitchen with an insanely large textbook in front of him. They had lucked out this time, but more often than not, the houses they stayed in were completely bereft of furniture. This house, however, had a few luxuries - a kitchen table, a stove built in to the wall, a few cabinets and cupboards lining the kitchen walls, a couch, a coffee table, a recliner, and a broken lamp. It wasn't much, and Dean wasn't quite sure why these were even still here. It was obvious that most of the other furniture had been removed and taken somewhere else; it didn't make sense that these things were left behind.

"Maybe," Dean murmured, rummaging through the plastic bags of meager groceries John had picked up earlier that day. "I'll have to see if we have it . . ."

"Dean, I have a question," Sam asked a few moments later.

Sighing, Dean motioned with one of his hands for Sam to proceed. "Um . . . do you think that I could . . . go to Homecoming this year?"

Dean stopped searching through the bags. He hadn't been expecting that question. "Wait, what?"

Sam looked down a little sheepishly. "I mean . . . I just thought that it would be fun. Adam was talking about it – he thinks he's going and I kinda wanna go too."

"I . . . guess it's okay. I mean, you have to ask Dad, but . . . it's cool with me. You got a date, or somethin'?" Dean asked. In a way, he hoped that his little brother did, but at the same time, he wanted the answer to be a no. He hoped that Sam had a girlfriend, or someone he was looking to take, but he didn't want Sam to be thinking about asking that freakin' angel to go with him.

Sam shook his head. "No, I wasn't thinking of . . . really going with anyone."

"Oh," Dean said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "Well, goin' stag is fine – hell, you have more fun that way."

"Yeah . . . uh, Dean?"

"What, Sammy?" The older Winchester returned to looking through the bags, wondering if John had gotten the Mac and Cheese Sam had wanted.

"Do you . . . I mean . . . Are you . . . worried that I like Gabriel?"

Dean froze again and slowly turned to look at his brother. "Why? Do you?"

Sam faltered for a moment before sighing. "I mean . . ."

"Aw hell, Sam!"

"Dean, it's just . . . He's not a bad guy – he's my friend."

"Friend?"

"Yeah, a friend, Dean," Sam said again, being sure to emphasize the word. "We aren't . . . boyfriends or anything."

"Cas said—"

Sam cut him off before he could finish. "If Gabriel does like me like that he . . . he hasn't said anything. We're just friends, okay? Nothing is gonna happen between us, Dean. I'm not gay, and neither is he. You don't have to worry about me, and you certainly don't have to worry about that."

Dean thought about that for a second. Maybe Cas had just gotten it wrong. Maybe Sam was telling the truth. I mean, Dean never saw Sammy as being attracted to other boys. He never saw his little brother as being interested in that sort of thing. Dean felt a small glimmer of hope; maybe he really didn't have to worry about Sam. Maybe he could let his guard down for a while and not worry about some stupid angel trying to seduce him.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. He figured that he might as well let Sam think that he was going to forget all about it. Just because he gave the impression that he had, didn't mean he had to. I can at least keep an eye on him, Dean thought. Make sure he's not pulling my leg or anything.

Sam nodded, and then went back to his homework. It was then that Dean spied the box of Mac and Cheese hiding at the bottom of one of the bags. "There it is! Sammy, your Mac and Cheese is on the way!"

Later that night, after Sam had gone to bed, Dean sat up in the living room, waiting for John to return. He had a shotgun in his lap, and was staring silently at the wall opposite of the recliner he currently rested in. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, Dean couldn't help but think about Castiel, and how crushed the angel had looked. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the image out of his head.

I wish I could just tell him I'm sorry, Dean thought in defeat. I just wish I could talk to him. Then Dean remembered what Sam's dorky friend Adam had said. He had prayed to Michael and then Michael had suddenly appeared and saved him from the demons. Maybe if Dean tried praying to Cas . . .

The hunter set his shotgun on the floor beside the recliner and closed his eyes. He brought his hands together and interlocked his fingers. I pray to the angel Castiel that he may hear me and . . . know that I am sorry. Cas, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings it's just . . . you kind of freaked me out there. I wasn't expecting it and . . . and I just kind of . . . overreacted. Hell, I'm sorry Cas. I'm really, really sorry.

Dean put his head in his hands then, his stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot. He let out a tired sigh and began to rub his eyes.

Just then, Dean heard a soft sound, almost like a flutter of wings.

And then a deep voice murmured behind him, "Hello Dean."

Dean jumped to his feet and whirled around to see a red-eyed, tired-looking Castiel. The nerdy angel still wore his trench coat, white shirt, and blue tie. Without thinking, Dean rushed forward and threw his arms around the angel. "Man, is it good to see you, Cas," Dean said, his voice betraying his happiness.

Cas just stood there for a few seconds, rigid and a bit confused. And then, slowly, Cas hugged him back, wrapping his tiny arms around Dean's torso. "It's good to see you too, Dean. But I have to be honest, I was not expecting such a reception."

Dean pulled back, and looked at the angel's bewildered face. "I'm just . . . I didn't think you'd actually come, that's all."

Cas looked down. "Why would I not come to you, Dean? You are my best friend . . . even if you are not a very nice one."

"Shit, Cas . . . I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I just . . . I didn't know how to react to that," Dean tried to amend. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

Cas shook his head. "You don't need to make it up to me, Dean. It's unnecessary."

"The hell it ain't," Dean said, shaking his head. "I wanna do something for you."

"Dean . . . really . . . it's okay. I understand. Really, I do. Things are so complex with humans – there are so many standards, so many traditions, so many expectations. With us angels, things are so simple and straightforward. We just had a clash of cultures, that's all," Cas tried to explain.

Dean stared at the angel with tight eyes. "Your eyes say different."

Cas didn't have an answer for that.

"Cas," Dean said, feeling rather brave. He knew that there was only one way to fix this situation; one way to get back in Cas's good graces. "Would you like to go to Homecoming with me?"

The angel stared at Dean with wide eyes. "You . . . you mean as friends, or . . ."

Dean took a deep breath. He could hardly take the look of awe and look of pleased disbelief on Cas's face. He looked . . . kinda cute. "As my date, Cas."

Cas stared at him, his bright, blue eyes sparkling with joy. It was clear that he was trying to contain his excitement. "I . . . I'd be delighted to, Dean."

A/N: Review?