A/N: You don't have to read this, it's a simple little drabble about how this story came about in my mind. It's pretty boring actually but it gives a little context behind my writing and my love for Supernatural.

I have been on a role with writing. I don't know what I'm gonna do when I actually finish watching Supernatural and catch up. I'll be in the same boat as all y'all fuckers. It's 4:27 am when I start writing this (I'll give you the time when I stop at the bottom!) and I have officially been awake for over 12 hours. My mind is racing. I can't fall asleep. So I took a couple smoke breaks and wrote this lovely little chapter of my first REAL Supernatural story.

Welcome, my friends, to the Less-Than-Super AU. Everything here is pretty normal, like it is in "real life" (Jesus Christ it's hot in my house, someone turn down the heat!) and I've planned something very special for this story. You, good citizens, will just have to wait and see what I have in store for you.

Chapter One: Grimaces

Dean Winchester slouched in his chair, eyelids drooping tiredly over his bright green eyes. He'd spent another long night working in his Uncle Bobby's garage, fixing up the Impala his drunk of a father had left to him when he'd finally succumbed to liver cancer. He watched his little brother, Sam, sitting up straight in his desk, paying close attention to their government teacher, right at the front of the classroom. 'Little brat,' thought Dean affectionately, smiling fondly to himself. Dean shifted his leather jacket more comfortably on his shoulders, glancing around. Sammy had moved in with him a few weeks ago, Bobby taking him in while their father lay sick and dying in a hospital room they couldn't begin to afford. It wasn't a big school, Sioux Falls: it had about 600 students to its name. Dean's last school had over 2,000. He'd blended into the background, inconspicuously fading away from all the cliques he so hated. During lunch, he'd sat in the Impala, listening to his father's collection of old cassette tapes and smoking too much. He didn't hit up the girls here like he did in Chicago – they were all too prim and proper for his liking.

In fact, the last girl he'd fucked had proved something to him: Dean was gay. He wasn't proud of it; in face, when he told his father, he'd practically beaten Dean into next week. Dean shook his head, chuckling silently to himself. Why he ever thought his dad would take fondly to the idea of his son being a 'cock-sucking fudge packer' was beyond him. The desperation in his voice as he'd begged John to stop, to just listen for a second made him feel weak. But on top of all that, Sam hadn't been able to look at his father the same way when he came home to Dean crying silently, wrapped in his bloody sheets.

"Dean?" said the tiny twelve year old. He pulled back the sheet – it was stained horribly with blood, and Sam suspected the worst. He would've been right; John was a drunk and Sam hated him so… but Dean always expected the best out of him: look where it got him this time. Dean's bloody features were the first thing he saw under the sheets, then the cuts running deep up his toned and muscular arms. Dean's face was streaked with tears, cutting through the blood and outlining bruises that bloomed across his face. Sam shook his head silently, walking from the bedroom and returning a moment later with the hefty first aid kit he'd invested two months allowance in the first time John had laid a drunken hand on his brother. He smiled softly at him now, wrapping his arms thickly with gauze, not pausing to speak or ask questions: there was no reason to. This wasn't the first time it had happened. He dabbed at Dean's face with more gauze, He put a bit of isopropyl alcohol on a clean washcloth.

"This is going to sting," he whispered, glancing at the door. He dabbed the bloody cuts on Dean's face, holding his breath as Dean gasped in pain. He held the cloth there, checking every so often until the bleeding lessened. "What did he do this time?" whispered Sam. Dean shook his head. "I'm guessing the cuts weren't him though." Dean shook his head again, shame filling his eyes. Sam smiled again, squeezing his brother's hand.

"Dean, it's okay. But… what's wrong?" asked Sam again. Dean shook his head more vigorously, crying harder. He pulled the blankets up, sliding down in his bed, rolling away from Sam. He sighed softly, placing a hand on Dean's worn back. He winced and hissed in pain, moving slightly away from Sam's hand. "I'll be back in a little bit to check on you." Sam stood, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He opened the door quietly, careful not to squeak the floorboards as he stepped into the hall. He could see from this position his dad sitting in the living room. Peaking his head in, he peered into the living room, comforted by the sight of his father sleeping: a bottle of Jack Daniels perched in his lap, baseball game on the TV. He continued down the hall to his bedroom, dropping his overnight sac onto the bed – it was late, round ten o'clock in the evening, and Sam was tired. But he couldn't sleep with Dean so scared. Sam knew what happened. He was neither stupid nor ignorant; Dean had either gotten caught or had told John. Neither were smart moves, but Sam had to hand it to his brother: if he came out to his father straight up, like he said he wanted to, kudos to him. Sam pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket; face screwing up in the bright light and dialed Bobby's number.

"Hey Bobby," said Sam into the answering machine. "Dean told Dad 0 at least, I'm assuming he did. I need you to come get him for a few weeks tomorrow. I'll write a not from dad saying he'd had his appendix removed, or something." Sam heard the sound of his fathers chair creaking and hurriedly whispered: "call you back in the morning."

Dean looked down at his notebook, scribbling notes from the projector. He'd at least try his hardest with this for Sam; after all he did for Dean. Bobby saved his life, retrieving Dean around noon the next day; he must've driven through the wee hours of the morning to get Dean before John woke up from his drunken stupor. But that was nothing compared to the beating Sam faced that evening when he'd gotten home from school.

'My son can't be a fucking faggot, Samuel! My son,' smack! 'cannot' smack! 'be gay! It's unnatural. It's not right! Bring him home, Sam, and we can help him. Bring him home…" Dean had heard the whole conversation on the phone at Bobby's house. He'd sobbed for hours alone in the room Bobby gave him. Dean shuddered in his seat, glancing once more around the classroom. There were many beautiful girls, sitting upright, watching their teacher with diligence. In the front of the room, sat next to Sam, was a boy in a dark blue, fleecy sweater. He turned at the break, laughing with Sam for a moment before glancing back at Dean. He giggled, looking back towards his brother. Dean looked down at his desk, smiling softly.

An hour later the bell rang for lunch, and Dean threw his notebook in his bag. Sam stood by his desk, waiting patiently for his brother. The dark haired kid stood next to Sam too, smiling brightly.

"Hello, Dean," said the boy – man, Dean corrected himself. This man looked like he could be the teacher himself. "I am Castiel. I heard you boys were new here." Dean nodded, returning the smile. He realized suddenly that Castiel's hand was extended in greeting. Dean took it; Castiel's grip was firm and warm. Dean looked at him, eyes scanning his face. Castiel had wide eyes, deep blue like Eerie Lake, framed by thick lashes. He had a long nose, straight and narrow. He looked like he'd forgotten to shave that morning. He scratched his face, pulling his hand gently out of Dean's grip, turning red. Dean realized he'd been staring and laughed, turning to his brother.

"What's for eatin' lil' kid?" he said lightly, scratching his head. Sam shrugged.

"Castiel is a senior here, I figured he could show us around a bit. We've visited Bobby before but this is our first day. New school. You know Dean," explained Sam to Dean and Castiel. Castiel shrugged, nodding. Dean chuckled to himself. Castiel looked at him, frowning.

"What's funny?" asked Castiel, walking with them out of the building.

"Oh, nothing," Dean elbowed Sam in the shoulder, eyebrows waggling. Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes gently at his brother. "So what do you kids do for fun around these parts?" Castiel shrugged again. He seemed very non-committal.

"I personally prefer to go out on Friday nights with my girlfriend, Meg, and imbibe copious amounts of alcohol. He muttered, skirting he way between two security guards and stepping into the grassy park across from the school. He strode deeper into the grass, looking up at the clear blue sky. He was smirking, though Dean couldn't tell why. Castiel looked back at Dean, chuckling. "Meg isn't actually my girlfriend, Dean. Stop looking looking so disappointed, you might hurt yourself." He winked at Dean, turning back towards the sky.

"Hey there, Clarence," Dean turned, and a voluptuous young woman sauntered towards them. "Who in the world are these lovely things?"

"Megan Thomas, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. They just moved here," said Castiel. "This is my step-sister, Meg." Dean shook her hand, looking her up and down.

"So," she said, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. "You're bobby singers boys, eh?" Her voice was like molasses; she had a slight lisp that made her strangely more attractive. Dean and Sam both nodded.

"I better get to my car," said Dean quietly, "see you after school, Sammy, buddy." Castiel looked confused.

"Where are you going?" he said to Dean's back.

"Cigarette and AC-DC, my man." Dean glanced back and winked. "What else is there to do in a shit little town like this?" He walked away, praying not to be followed: no luck. A hand gripped his arm, and Dean turned violently, snatching it away. Castiel was slightly taken aback by Dean's sudden shift in mood. His eyes flickered over Dean's face – his crooked nose, scarred lips, but continued to walk with him. They were silent for a few yards, making their way to Dean's very shiny black Impala.

"This is yours?" asked Cas, surprised.

"Well, first it was my piece-of-shit fathers –" Dean cut himself off, pulling open the door. "You comin'? I'm fuckin' starving to death over here." Castiel shrugged, opening the passenger side door and sliding in. He looked around; there was a small green army man shoved in the backseat ashtray, and as Dean started the car, he heard something rattle in the AC. Dean pulled off his jacket, throwing it behind him. Castiel appraised him – his arms were deeply scarred, the word 'FAGGOT' carved into the soft inside flesh of his left arm.

"Didn't your mamma teach you it's rude to stare?" asked Dean softly. He gunned the engine, pulling sharply out of the parking lot. "My cigarettes," started Dean. Castiel nodded vaguely, pulling his eyes away from Dean reluctantly. "They're, uh, in the inside pocket of my bag." Castiel retrieved them, throwing them into his lap gently. He lit on with a Zippo he procured from his pocket. "So," Dean started, smiling softly. "What's your story, Cas?"

"I don't know." he said softly, rolling down his window. He trailed his hand out the window, feeling the breeze between his fingers. "My mom died giving birth to me, and my dad went kinda crazy. He blamed me; I think, even though I know it wasn't my fault. But then he met Mary… and Jesus was she perfect for him. Crazy as shit. They started dating a few years ago, and then got married. Meg was her daughter… Meg and I…" he trailed off, looking out the window. "My dad caught me a couple years ago with… this guy… Balthazar. Real piece of work. And after that, she was all I really had in this world. We moved out here right after that, just her and I. She's actually just my friend – I never really accepted the whole 'dad got remarried to someone who's crazier than he is' thing. But to keep it simple, she is my step-sister."

"What do you mean, caught?" asked Dean. He knew, of course, but kept the subject off him for now. Castiel shrugged, looking at Dean. They had parked at a small diner. He shook his head, watching Dean drag his cigarette in silence. "Hungry?" asked Dean, voice shaking slightly. Castiel nodded, and then pause.

"Damn." he muttered, checking his pockets. "I let Meg my wallet." there was a quiet moment while Dean searched his pockets.

"And Sammy has all my money." Dean admitted. "C'mon, let's go. Looks like you'll be showing me around after all." Castiel grinned, putting a hand on Dean's wrist to prevent him from starting the Car. Dean looked at it, shaking slightly under the light pressure. "I really…" he paused. "Cas, I really don't like being touched." he murmured. The hand didn't move.

"Get used to it, kiddo," replied Castiel softly. "I'm a hands on kind of guy." Dean grinned for the first time all that day, leaning into the touch of Cas' hand. He nodded, shaking less.

"Okay." he said. Castiel's eyebrows raised, looking at him in kindness. "Okay."

A/N: It is now 6:03 am. I am still tired. But, I'm also more awake. I'm looking forward to writing this story. Please leave a review, a follow, or a favorite if you want to. It would mean a lot to me.