Dean stared down the corridor for a second, wondering what to do. Even though he knew he had to talk to Castiel, he didn't quite know why or what exactly it was that he wanted to explain to the guy; that he and Lisa hadn't actually done anything in the closet? Dean reconsidered for a moment as he began to question why this information would be any of Cas' business in the first place. Perhaps he should just apologise for being so abrasive the other night and leave it at that? Whatever the answer was, Dean no longer had time to ponder upon it as the bell suddenly rang; forcing him out of his stupor and into the reality of double Geography. He shuddered at the thought.

Soon enough, however, lunch time rolled around and Dean was thankful to be able to have some time to himself to just sit in his car and blast out some of his favourite tapes. Furthermore, this way he was able to successfully avoid Jason after their awkward altercation on Saturday night, and the ensuing rumours he had started around school about Dean and Lisa. To celebrate, Dean decided to crack open the windows and light a cigarette. Half-heartedly hoping no teachers would wander into the parking lot and catch him, Dean laid back in his seat, closed his eyes and subjected himself to the head rush the cigarette was causing. In fact, Dean was so relaxed that he almost didn't hear the loud knock on the passenger side of the car which occurred several minutes later.

"DEAN!" came a loud, assertive voice; causing Dean to stir suddenly as he snapped his eyes open in surprise. Expecting to see a teacher, he was a little shocked to see none other than Castiel Novak standing by the passenger window.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed, immediately turning down the dial on his stereo.

"Hello, Dean. Can you let me in please?"

Dean was slightly taken aback at this request, but proceeded to comply as he reached over and opened the door, "Uh… sure." Cas then got into the car and shut the door, choking slightly on the smell of cigarettes. "So, how are you doing?" Dean asked, trying his best to be polite.

"I'm not here to make small talk, Dean," Cas replied assertively. Dean felt himself blush.

"Oh. So-"

"I just wanted you to know that what happened last week after the movie was a mistake, and I'm sorry. However, that does not give you the right to go around pretending like I don't exist, or treating me like a piece of dirt on the bottom of your shoe-"

"I know… and I'm sorry Cas, I've been tryna find you to tell you that… I feel terrible. Oh, and that thing about Lisa back there? It's just a rumour, I-"

"What makes you think I care about your teenage fumble with Lisa Braeden?"

Dean was lost for words, "Well, y'see, it wasn't actually a f-"

"Dean, did you really think I came here to talk to you about your love life?!" Cas retorted, tilting his head.

"Woah… alright, I just thought you oughtta know. Y'know, seeing as you tried it on with me last week. No need to be a dick about it…" Dean sulked.

"I already told you, that was a mistake."

"Alright, fine! I got it! You can leave now," Dean retaliated.

"No, I'm not done yet. I did not come here to start a fight, Dean. I just wanted to make sure you know that I'm not going to let my… emotions get the best of me anymore."

Dean frowned, unsure of what Cas meant. He nodded along with him anyway, "Fine. Whatever, can just we forget this all ever happened now?"

"That works for me."

"Good," Dean returned stubbornly before taking a long drag on his cigarette. Castiel began to leave the car, when suddenly Dean's stomach decided it would be an opportune moment to rumble loudly. Cas paused, his hand on the inner door handle as he looked over at an embarrassed Dean.

There was an awkward pause before Cas spoke, "Have you had your lunch yet?"

"Uh- uh, yeah, I had uh… a cheeseburger," Dean stuttered.

"They aren't serving cheeseburgers for lunch today," Cas replied, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I- I know, I just got it from the take out in town."

"Dean… lunch only started five minutes ago…" Cas trailed off.

Dean considered for a moment, before getting defensive, "Alright Sherlock, so you got me! I haven't eaten lunch, so what?"

"Sorry, Dean, I just want to make sure you're okay. I mean, how much money are you wasting on those cigarettes you smoke, when you could-"

"Oh, don't give me that. I'm seventeen, I don't need you parenting me!"

There was another long pause before Castiel replied, "…Is it your Dad?"

"What about him?"

"Well, is he away? I remember he used to go away a lot, back when we were in North Carolina."

"Well… yeah, but it's fine. I don't need him or his money. What do you care, anyway?!"

Cas looked slightly hurt, "we did used to be friends, remember? Or have you conveniently forgotten about the time you temporarily put me in a wheelchair?"

Dean felt both winded and thoroughly pissed off as Castiel got out of the car and walked back towards the school.

"Oh c'mon Cas! I didn't mean to upset you!" he barrelled across the parking lot, but to no avail. Castiel refused to turn around and continued walking determinedly towards the school.

"Damnit!" Dean exclaimed angrily, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping on it, before running his hands through his hair in frustration. He hadn't meant to cause yet another argument with Cas, but at the same time he couldn't stand him poking around in his business; asking about his money and whether he'd eaten lunch. Admittedly, John had neglected to leave any cash for his sons whilst he was away, but it wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. Dean had enough money to get food for Sammy and that was all that mattered. In the meantime, he'd find money somewhere; regardless of what he had to do to find it.

By the time afternoon lessons had begun, Dean was in a foul mood. Cas was angry with him, Jason probably wanted to kill him and everywhere he went, students were staring at him. The icing on the cake, however, came at the end of the school day when, just before the final bell rang, the familiar sound of the principal's voice came booming out of the PA system across the school.

"Good afternoon Truman High, this is your principal speaking. Now, I'm sure many of you are aware of this already, but it's Homecoming season! So get on your gladrags and ask that special person if they'll accompany you on October 5th for the annual Homecoming Dance! I hope to see as many of you there as possible."

Dean groaned. He supposed he should have seen it coming, however, this didn't prevent the inhuman squealing of his classmates from being any less annoying. Irritatingly, they were still all squealing as Dean packed up his stuff, ready to leave the classroom, before being stopped in his tracks by a pretty blonde girl he didn't know the name of.

"Hey Dean! I was wondering if perhaps you'd like-"

"No."

And with that, Dean shoved his way out of the classroom; ready to go home and pretend this day had never happened.

"Hey Dean, when are we having dinner?" came Sam's voice a few hours later from behind the armchair Dean was sitting on.

"Why, you hungry yet?"

Sam could sense the fatigue in Dean's voice, "Uh yeah, but it's fine, I can cook if you want."

Dean sighed, getting up from his seat, "No, it's alright. What are you feeling?"

"Erm, pasta, I guess."

"Alright," Dean nodded, heading into the kitchen, "Pasta it is". Sam remained in the living room whilst Dean set about heating some water in a rusty old pot. However, as he went to grab some pasta from the cupboard, his heart sank slightly. It was almost empty; there was barely enough in the bag for Sam alone. 'Oh well', Dean thought to himself cynically, 'it's not like this hasn't happened before'.

"No sauce?" Sam sulked as Dean handed him his finished pasta.

"Sorry Sammy, ran out this morning," Dena mumbled guiltily.

Sam frowned, considering Dean for a moment before speaking again, "Where's yours?"

"Oh, I uh, I ate earlier," Dean responded, pretending to fidget with a non-existent stain on his jacket cuff.

Sam was unconvinced, "No you didn't. You picked me up from school and you haven't had anything since then!"

"Alright, fine, you got me! Look, I'm just not hungry, okay?" Dean replied, laughing awkwardly.

Suddenly, Sam's look of interrogation was replaced with one of pity, "Oh."

There was a strange silence in the room as Sam looked at Dean, and Dean stared defiantly at the floor. Finally, Sam spoke again, "Hey, Dean, we can share my pasta if you want."

"What? No Sam, don't be stupid, there's barely enough there for one person, let alone two."

"Let me guess, Dad forgot to leave us money, again."

"It's not like that, Sammy. Besides, he'll be back soon and I'll find money. You know I always do."

"No, Dean. It's not fair! Dad always does this- leaves us in the lurch, and- and you always have to pick up the pieces! Don't you realise how ridiculous that is?"

"Sam, stop. You're getting worked up over nothing. It's fine, kids my age work all the time-"

"Yeah, but the difference is that they're working so that they can afford to go to the arcade with their friends, not buy food and pay bills because their stupid father can't stop drinking and leaving town for long enough to be a parent!"

"Hey! Don't you talk about Dad like that!" Dean barked angrily.

"Why? What're you gonna do, send me to jail? Oh wait, I'm already going there!" Sam shouted, his voice cracking slightly.

"No, no, no! Sam, listen to me-you're not going to jail, okay? You've not done anything wrong, you're not going anywhere," Dean asserted, trying to reassure himself as well as Sammy.

"Dean, I'm not a little kid anymore, okay? You don't have to pretend everything's gonna be okay when it's not! Besides, you know nothing about what happened that night! You don't know anything!" Sam whimpered loudly, his wide, puppy eyes beginning to water.

And with that, Dean's anger melted away as he saw his little brother for who he really was; a naïve young boy who was dealing with far too much emotional baggage for a thirteen-year-old. "Look, Sammy… I know you don't want to tell me what happened that night, but you're still my brother, and no matter what happens at your hearing, I'm not gonna let you go to jail, okay?"

Sam blubbered slightly, but still managed to give Dean a small, watery smile.

"And I'm not gonna let you starve either, okay? So eat up your pasta and don't worry about me."

"But-"

"I said don't worry, okay? Everything's gonna be absolutely fine."

Dean flashed Sam a confident smile and grabbed his shoulder reassuringly, before leaving the room and making his way upstairs, towards the darkened landing and into his bedroom. For a while, he just stood still in the middle of his bedroom; his brain numb from everything that had happened throughout the day, until eventually he climbed into his bed, still fully clothed, and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

Except there were none. He had finally run out, and with no money remaining to buy another packet, he was left to his own, uninterrupted thoughts. On the one hand, his day hadn't been as bad as it could have been; after all, Lisa had forgiven him for what happened at her party and had even kissed him on the cheek. Yet, on the other hand, his undeniable hunger reminded him sorely of the mess he was in both with his family life and with Cas. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried to make things right, things only seemed to get worse, and he was sick of it. Although he hated himself for thinking it, he knew deep down that Sam was right; he didn't deserve what his father put on him. And furthermore, he knew that Cas didn't deserve to be treated by Dean the way he had; he was just looking out for his friend, yet Dean had returned his mature gesture with unnecessary hostility. And so there he lay, staring at the ceiling; knowing he should have been directing his frustration towards his father, but still choosing to direct it towards himself.