AN: It's been a while. Sorry. Shit went down.

Chapter 8

Castiel walked into class nervously. He didn't know what to expect from Dean, but whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. However, when he got to his seat, Dean's was still empty. Cas dropped into his chair and waited, watching the door apprehensively.

Dean burst in just as the bell rang. Cas's heart plummeted in his chest. If Cas had thought he was bad, then Dean was a complete disaster. Dean's hair was flat against his head, rather than in its usual spiky style. His cheeks were covered in stubble and his clothes were rumpled. But the worst part was his eyes.

Dean's eyes, usually so green and vibrant, had turned empty and dull. They were bloodshot and puffy, as if he'd spent the night crying rather than sleeping. They flicked up, meeting Castiel's gaze for a mere millisecond before darting away again. In that instance of contact, though, they filled with pain and anger.

Dean trudged to his seat, fists stuffed into his pockets. He dropped his bag roughly at his desk before sitting down, making sure to glare forward, or down, or anywhere that wasn't Cas.

Cas dug through his bag for a paper and pen, but as he went to write, he stopped himself. What do you say to someone when you've taken everything from him?

The pen hovered above the page. Castiel didn't know where to start. Should he apologize? Or explain? Or check and see how he could make Dean feel better? After a few minutes of battling in his head, Cas settled for an apology. After all, it's what Cas himself would be waiting for.

Cas reached over hesitantly, dropping the note onto Dean's desk with trembling fingers. The instant the paper hit the desk top, Dean's hand shot out, flicking it to the floor. Castiel tried again. Again, Dean rejected him. Over and over, Castiel tried to apologize, and every time, Dean refused to even look at the note.

I'm sorry ended up on the floor.

Forgive me got torn into pieces.

Let me explain, Just listen to me, and I miss you all got turned into spitballs.

Give me a chance to make it up to you got crumpled and tossed into the trash.

You're right to hate me became a wrapper for Dean's chewed gum.

I think I hate myself more than you do got used for a doodle of a solitary figure with a knife and a demon-like grin, his free hand holding a pair of angels' wings.

Cas was adamant, though. He reached out to drop the next note onto Dean's desk, but this time, when Dean's hand moved to knock it off, Cas grabbed his wrist. Cas shoved the note into Dean's wrist, forcing him to at least hold it. Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously at Cas, and he released Dean's arm quickly.

Still staring menacingly at Castiel, Dean reached slowly into his pocket, pulling out a lighter. He flicked it open, holding the note over the flame. He dropped the smoldering remains of the apology onto Castiel's desk.

Suddenly, Ms. Tate screamed, causing Cas to jump in his seat.

"Castiel, what-" she stopped when her eyes caught the lighter in Dean's hand. She snapped her mouth shut and stormed forward. Holding Dean by the collar of his leather jacket, Ms. Tate dragged him from his chair. As she marched him out of the room, Dean glared back at Cas, a self-satisfied yet completely loathing smirk playing across his lips.

When Castiel got out of class minutes later, Meg was already waiting for him.

"That was fast," he commented dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"I skipped math," she shrugged. "How'd it go?"

Cas's face fell. "Not well. He refused to read a single thing, just as I had predicted."

"Alright then," Meg said, looping her arm through Cas's as they set down the hall. "I guess it's time to put our plan into action."

AN: I know it's a short chapter. Sorry.