Friday rolled around all too fast. Dean made it through the week without any incidents. He held his head low during school, and his mouth shut at home. Crowley kept his snarky comments to a minimum as Dean's bruise started to diminish. And Dean tried harder to avoid his father when he came home from the bar.

Throughout the rest of the week Dean had stayed in the library during lunch. He hadn't run into Castiel since Tuesday. He felt okay. Okay enough as he coasted through his classes. After having had a decent conversation with Castiel on the walk to school Tuesday, Dean had felt good inside, knowing that someone was interested in talking with him. It was hard to comprehend that someone actually wanted to be his friend. He kept people at bay, and received the same treatment right back. It was less hassle than trying to keep a relationship.

He shoved it off. Castiel wasn't going to be his friend. Once he'd find out more about Dean, he'd definitely realize that Dean wasn't worth being friends with. It happened on more than one occasion during his school years. Why change now?

On Friday morning Dean was reminded that parent teacher conferences were in the evening. The note was stuck to the fridge by a local pizza delivery magnet. Dean cringed when his father brought it up on the drive to school.

"Stay at school and do your homework, Dean," he told him as the family drove to school that morning. "I'll be there around five when the conferences start." Dean agreed, knowing that his day was going to be a long one. The middle school's conferences weren't until next week, so Sam had to meet his brother at the high school. The walk home would be too far for Sam to go at it alone, and the bus was out of the question. John wasn't going to let his youngest be on his own. "Thirteen is not old enough to stay home alone," John had informed Sam on many occasions. Dean didn't understand as he had to babysit his brother well before his thirteenth birthday. He didn't dare speak of this.

Dean did his best to do some of his homework in the library after his last class. Sam had met him there after three in the afternoon. At times Dean had to aid his brother with math problems, proof read his English essay, and explain the process of photosynthesis to the best of his ability. Dean barely did any of his own pile of homework before five o'clock.

Sam and Dean had met their father in the parking lot. He sat in the parked Impala. Dean watched him as he pulled out a flask from the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. "Lovely," Dean said sarcastically. Sam hadn't been paying attention nor did he hear his brother's comment. He was watching a pretty dark haired girl and her blonde friend as they chatted together near the flag pole. John got out and greeted his sons.

"Sam, go wait in the library or cafeteria or something," John said when they entered the high school. Sam did as he was told and headed back towards the library that he had just left. Dean was alone with his father. At the main entrance the administration had set up a table. The principal, vice principal and school counselors were flipping through boxes of envelopes. Inside the envelopes were report cards. Great, Dean thought, his dad was going to see his grades before they even got to talk to his teachers.

John motioned for his son to lead the way. Dean reluctantly went up to the table to retrieve the envelope with his name typed on the front. He handed it to his father, watching him out of the corner of his eye as John slipped a finger under the flap. John pulled out the piece of paper. Dean cringed. "What the fuck is this?" John said rather loudly. Dean could feel those around him staring him down, watching to see what was happening. "Are you seriously failing every single class? Oh, wait, of course you're getting a fucking A in your photography class. That really makes me a proud father."

"Um, Sir," the principal found his way to the father and son. "Could you please refrain from swearing? We do have parents here with small children."

John turned to the man who had come between him and his son. "It's a free country, last time I checked. I didn't serve overseas as a goddamn Marine to get told to keep my mouth shut from a puny little faggot like yourself."

Dean tried hard to conceal his embarrassment. He attempted to fold in on himself. To make himself appear smaller. To hide inside his flannel shirt like a turtle in its shell. But, it was useless. John stood defiant beside the principal, his arms crossed against his chest. The principal then decided to back off. There was no way that he would continue talking to this father if he was going to attack him in this manner. John turned to his son. "Well?" Dean's body felt heavy. He had to tell his feet to move forward. Slowly he led the way towards his first class.

Mr. Wesson was sitting alone in his classroom. Dean sat in a chair that was placed in front of the teacher's desk, and prayed to any god out there to, "Please, please, please, let this go fast." John sat down next to his son.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester," Mr. Wesson said. His hand was held out towards the parent. John didn't reciprocate the hand shake. The teacher put down his arm, turning his gaze to the papers before him. "Well, I'd actually like to talk to you both today about Dean's attentiveness in class."

"What about it?" John gruffly said.

Mr. Wesson recovered, bringing his gaze to the parent. "He's not paying attention in class, opting to read novels during lectures and when he should be doing in class assignments. Frequently he forgets his textbook. I've let him utilize the ones that I keep on the bookshelf," he pointed over towards the window, "but, I feel that he needs to bring his own to class each day. I believe that he's an intelligent student who just needs some guidance towards his priorities."

John listened to the teacher, his arms still crossed. "Okay, then. What do you suggest to whip this boy into shape?" Dean closed his eyes. He hadn't looked anywhere else but at his boots. He really didn't want to hear his father bringing up whipping him into shape.

"Well," Mr. Wesson said, "I think he'd benefit from a tutor." Dean jolted his head towards his teacher at the word. He didn't need a tutor. There was no way he would agree to this.

"And you expect me to find one, and pay out of my own pocket, for my son to do better in school?" John retorted.

Mr. Wesson was quick with his answer. "We have a student based tutoring program. A fellow student will be assigned to him, to aid him in completing his assignments. And it won't just be for history. If he needs help in his other courses, that tutor will be there for him. I feel that this would benefit him greatly to have a scheduled block in his week to focus on his homework. And it would greatly aid in the assurance that he graduates in the spring."

"Good. Is that all?" John said.

"I believe so," Mr. Wesson said.

"Okay, then we're going." John got up from the chair. Dean followed. When they got into the hall, John stopped and faced his son. "Look at me, Dean." Dean looked up, but didn't fully look his father in the eye. "I said, look at me." John took his son's chin in his hand, forcing him to see eye to eye. "You're getting that tutor and you're graduating on time. No questions asked. You hear me?"

"Yes," Dean quietly said.

"I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, Sir," Dean said louder.

"Good," John said. He made his way back towards the library. "We're getting your brother and heading home."

.

Castiel had stayed home Friday night. He didn't feel that he needed to accompany his father to parent teacher night. There was no reason for him to hear his teachers tell his father how intelligent and studious he was, all while comparing him to his older brothers. So, Castiel decided to lie in bed. His door was slightly ajar. Gabe's face peered in between the crack.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure, I guess," Castiel said, setting down his copy of Animal Farm.

Gabriel came into the room, and sat on his brother's bed. "What are you doing in here? It's too quiet. With Dad gone, I thought you'd be blasting some rap music or some shit."

"I don't really feel like it right now." Castiel sat up and leaned his back against the headboard. "What do you want?"
"I need your help," Gabriel said. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a piece of hard candy. "Want one?" he offered his brother. Castiel shook his head. Gabe popped the candy into his mouth. "It's about school. You know, Dad'll be talking to both our teachers. I just thought maybe you could help me."
"With what exactly?"

"Well, I'm not doing so hot in my classes. Mostly C's and a few spattering of B's. Here," Gabriel adjusted himself on the bed and pulled out a brochure from his back pocket. He handed it over to Castiel. "It's a culinary school. I've already applied and all that for next year. Just cross your fingers that I get in."

"Dad'll just tell you to keep praying on it," Castiel said.

"Eh," Gabriel said, waving it off. "Just back me up, alright?"

"Yeah, no problem," Castiel said. "Is dad coming back home before work?"

"I doubt it," Gabriel said. "He got there around five, and work starts at what? Seven?"

"Yeah, seven."

Gabriel stood up. "I'll go start dinner. Breakfast?"

"Pancakes and bacon?"

"You got it," Gabriel said with a smirk.

...

Saturday morning wasn't how Castiel wished his weekend would start. His father came home from work, crashed for a few hours, and then had the whole house up at ten in the morning. Castiel dreaded having to accompany his family to church. His father insisted that his sons would grow up in faith. Castiel pushed against it the best that he could.

Charles Novak fell further into Christianity when he was at his low. After his wife had passed, when Castiel was just a toddler, he found himself in a dark place. Alcohol wasn't the cure. Food wasn't either. Then, he stumbled upon his wife's bible. Within the next month, Charles had quickly read his way through the Old Testament. He then decided to raise his sons to become stronger in their faith.

Michael and Lucifer went along with their father's emersion into Christianity, finding that it aided in their grief over their mother's death at such a young age. Gabriel, on the other hand, wasn't opposed to religion or a higher power, but found it tiresome as they had to participate in their church's activities every weekend. Castiel hated every bit of it. He found himself rebelling against his father a little more every time he had to enter the church.

Castiel didn't read Acts. Apparently, Gabriel hadn't either. In the car, Gabe flipped through his copy, speed reading the chapters to get an idea of what it was about. "You better have read it, Gabriel," his father said. He could hear and see in his peripheral vision the thin pages being rapidly turned.

"Just recapping it, Dad," Gabriel said. It wasn't hard for him to lie with a candy stuck between his teeth and cheek.

"Castiel?" Charles asked his youngest. Castiel was sitting in the middle of the truck's cab.

"Yes," Castiel answered. He left it at that, hoping his dad didn't decide to have a pop quiz on the text on the car ride to the church. Each Saturday the bible study group looked over a chapter of the current book that they were reading. Charles always pushed for his sons to read every chapter beforehand. Castiel rarely ever opened his bible at home. Finishing his school assignments was enough to worry about.

"I had a nice chat with both of your teachers last night," Charles said. "Gabriel, we'll talk when we get home." Gabriel shared a look with his brother. Castiel could just read what Gabriel was thinking, pleading with him to help him out of the mess he created. "And Castiel," Charles continued, "I had a nice talk with your history teacher, Mr. Wesson. He said that he has a student who is in need of tutoring, though I didn't ask for the name. I guess he knew that you were involved with the program."

"Yeah," Castiel said. "I used his classroom last year."

"Mr. Wesson offered the use of his classroom again," Charles said. He drove down the main road. The family sat quietly, the only sounds coming from Gabriel's bible and the turn signal blinking on the dash. "You guys have it good, I hope you know that," Charles said, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Castiel was curious as to what brought this up out of the blue.

"Well," Charles sighed. "There was this young boy with his father. They made quite the commotion by the report card table. The principal tried to calm the situation, but backed off easily, from what I could tell. I'm pretty sure the father was drunk."

"Really? At five in the evening?" Gabriel asked, looking up from his bible.

"There are some people out there who are so addicted to alcohol, that they need to keep drinking to function," Charles answered. "Though that function isn't the normal functioning of a sober person, mind you." He turned on his right blinker, turning the wheel to guide the truck down another street. "What really got to me though, that made me think that you both should be grateful for the father that you have, is when I was making my way to Mr. Wesson's classroom. I was just down the hall when I witnessed the same father and son. The father had his son's face in his hands, scolding him rather loudly."

"Do you know who it was?" Castiel asked. He was racking his brains trying to figure out who this guy could be. Perhaps he shared a class with him. Maybe it was someone who he'd never met. He made a mental note to look for this kid on Monday.

"I don't know, Cassie," Charles said. "Even if I knew, I don't think it's wise to give out names. Putting a name to them is gossip. So, we'll just leave it at that." Charles turned left into the church's parking lot. He turned off the engine. "I do want to make a prayer request, that you keep this boy in your hearts, and that the father will see the error of his ways. You don't have to pray that he'd find the Lord as his Savior. I just would like for you to ask God to watch over this boy. Okay?"

"Okay," Gabriel and Castiel said together. They stepped out of the cab of the truck. Luke had followed his father in his black Ford Taurus. Together the four men walked to the entrance of the church.