There was no thought in Dean's mind that he must have misheard Castiel asking him to join him for lunch. It just didn't seem logical. Over the years Dean eased his way from the social circles that consumed school cafeterias. When he had entered high school, he was daunted by all of the kids that jammed the hallways. Their conversations all blurred together into an unintelligible language. Dean felt like all eyes were on him. That they were all staring in unison as a single, all-knowing entity. Three years later and he still felt like his classmates knew what went on behind closed doors. Dean learned quickly to keep his head low, and to get through his day one hour at a time.

"Hey, Winchester," a voice called out.

Dean tried hard to not look up from his notebook. He started to doodle silly little symbols; circles, stars and hearts. Yes, he found himself drawing little hearts along the left margin of his notebook.

"Winchester," he heard his name being called again. Dean turned to look at who was speaking to him. It was Crowley. The jerk who always got all the laughs for his ridiculous jokes which Dean didn't find to be funny in the least. "What happened to your eye? Daddy get pissed because you forgot to put his beer in the fridge?"

Dean tried to shrink away from the jibe about his father. It wasn't widely known about his Dad, though Dean wasn't surprised that Crowley knew. Their fathers both worked together at the dealership. Crowley's father was a salesman, while Dean's was a lowly mechanic. It didn't seem that hard for Dean to comprehend that they would have crossed paths at some point.

"Or did Daddy hit you just because he saw your face?" A few friends of Crowley's cackled at the remark. "'Cause I'd totally punch that face if you were my kid."

Dean tried hard to not waver, though the urge to run out into the hall over took him. The need was quickly dashed when his English teacher entered the classroom. Ms. Milton shut the door behind her. Crowley and his droogs took their seats.

"Class, calm down," Ms. Milton said. She picked up one of the dry erase markers. "This is the sentence that I want you all to jot down in your notebooks. Fix all of the grammatical mistakes that you can find. I want one of you to come up here and alter the sentence when you're all done." She finished writing and turned to face the class. "I have, of course, candy for those who get any part of it correct." Ms. Milton had a large glass container filled with candy on her desk. She only gave pieces out to those who answered questions right, got high grades on pop quizzes or did anything that garnered her approval. Dean couldn't remember a time that he had received a piece. And he had her last year for American literature.

Dean wrote down the sentence. He had no clue what to do to fix it. It looked okay to him. Luckily he didn't have to turn it in, deciding that he'd just wait for someone to write on the board. He slipped his copy of Catch-22 between the desk top and his lap. It didn't take long for him to dive right back into Pianosa.

Once English ended, it was time for lunch. It had been quite a while since the last time he stepped foot into the cafeteria. Dean entered and was quickly daunted by how many people were crammed into the room. Tables and benches were filled with teens of all ages and sizes. He barely made his way in, stopping after only a few steps past the doors. Dean scanned the room for Castiel. He laid eyes on him almost immediately. Castiel was sitting with a few other kids, laughing at something that someone had said. His eyes were shinning, his smile wide and he had his arm around some guy with dark brown hair. Something came over him, spreading throughout his entire body, and his stomach recoiled. His heart started to race. There was no way he could just walk over there, join Castiel and his friends for lunch, and pretend that it was normal. It wasn't normal. This wasn't normal.

He turned away from the crowd. The library was just down the hall to the right. Dean entered. His comfy leather chair was empty. Relief flooded his system. He sat down and opened his book. Dean Winchester truly was a cat.

.

Castiel gave up looking for Dean when the lunch period had ten minutes left. The boy he had ran into yesterday, and had talked to in the morning, was nowhere to be found. Clearly he wasn't in the cafeteria. He scanned the tables at least five times in the last twenty minutes.

"So, this kid you mauled yesterday, he's supposed to join us?" Ash asked. He had a straw tucked behind his right ear. Castiel didn't understand why he placed it there. Ash never used a straw to down his chocolate milk.

"I didn't maul him," Castiel said. "We just, kind of, I dunno, ran into each other."

"Nah," Ash said, removing the straw from its makeshift ledge before pointing it at his friend. "I think you did it on purpose to speak to this guy."

"I have to agree," a blonde girl piped in. She clearly had bleached her black hair. The dark roots were showing. "I bet you've seen him before, saw he wasn't looking, acted like you bumped into him, all just to get his name."

Castiel stared his friend down. "Shut up, Meg."

"What?" she asked. "It's only logical."

"And it's not the truth."

"Clarence, come on. You came out to us freshman year. I think we have the right to figure you set this all up because you've got some crush on this guy," Meg said.

"I've never seen him before, honest." Castiel held up his hands in defense.

"Okay, fine," Meg huffed. "But we're right, right?"

"About what?"

"That you think he's some Greek god or some shit," she said.

Castiel didn't reply. She was right. He had only talked to Dean twice; once in passing and the other on the few minutes' walk to school. Dean was definitely attractive. Once the bruise healed fully, Castiel knew he could easily make knees weak. Dean could make his knees weak.

Meg gasped. "You do!"

"Do what?"

"You have a crush on him," she exclaimed.

"Well, that figures," Ash said.

"Alright, fine," Castiel gave in. "He's quite good looking. Now, shut up about it. Okay?" The bell that signaled the end of lunch rang. Castiel and his two friends gathered up their garbage. He was relieved that this conversation came to a close. It was one thing to think of those beautiful green eyes as he jerked off. It was another to admit this as a crush to his friends.

But, how can he harbor this feeling when he couldn't even get this guy to join him for lunch? Did he say something to offend him? Or did Dean not have this lunch period after all? Castiel hoped that he had misheard Dean. That had to be it, he concluded.

The hall that led to Castiel's locker took him past the library. Out of curiosity, he looked through the glass doors. Castiel couldn't understand why people chose to sit in there during lunch. He wasn't apt to studying during the one time that he wasn't required to. Then he noticed him. Dean was sitting in one of the brown leather chairs. His book was open and he clearly wasn't following everyone else out into the hallway. "Shit, he blew me off," Castiel said.