Dean managed to get back just as algebra was winding up.

He peered in through the door, stealing a glance at the teacher. She was reading out roll call. He spotted Sam sitting by the window and signaled him. Sam shook his head furiously at first. Dean mouthed the words, "come on, man!" several times.

Mrs O'Leary adjusted her spectacles, running her finger down the list of names, "Dean Winchester?"

Sam turned around, covering his mouth with his hand, a poor attempt at throwing his voice, and answered, "Here."

Dean winked at him and hung back as the students filed out, shuffling away for seventh period. Sam brought up the rear, his expression grim and tired.

"Dean, I can't keep covering for your ass like this, would you at least make an effort and attend some classes?"

"What's the big deal? I turned in my paper, didn't I?"

Sam flipped open his binder and produced Dean's latest masterpiece. There was more red ink than blue. He swallowed as he accepted the document of shame in his hands.

"You didn't even manage to pass," Sam said. "Remember what Dad said? Keep your head in the game."

"Ah, don't talk about that old deserter," Dean snarled, turning away and marching down the corridor.

"I knew it was bothering you!" Sam cried, following him closely.

"Stop breathing down my neck, will you?"

"I'm just trying to find out why you've been acting this way."

"Oh, couldn't manage to figure it out yourself, huh, Mr Straight-A ladies man? Mr Hot shot? Top gun?"

Sam sighed. The name calling would only degenerate further if he didn't stop him. "Look man, we're brothers. And you may piss me off a lot, but I'm starting to get worried about the way you've been acting. You've been snapping at mom. You've been nothing but rude to Jess, every single time she's over."

"Maybe," Dean growled, "it hasn't occurred to you, but I can't deal with you and Jess right now, holding each other's hands and stuffing chocolates down each others throats all the time."

"We're just trying to include you-"

"Well you can stop, because it isn't making me feel better about-" Dean stood back. He had been yelling. He avoided eye contact with the people passing them by, who gave them a wide berth and wide eyed looks. "I think about Jo every day, Sammy."

Sam watched his older brother struggling with the words. He clutched his binder, the watch on his wrist ticking away the seconds to their next teacher's arrival in the chem lab.

"Sometimes I think I'm going crazy," Dean lowered his voice, "sometimes it's like she's still here."

He hadn't wanted to talk about it, especially not with Sam. He had started seeing Jo a few months after she had been killed. He had spent a week thinking it was just pent up grief coming back to haunt him, but he realized it was so much more. Dean hadn't been much of a church-goer. He wasn't a believer. But he was absolutely certain about Jo's ghost. She had sailed about silently for a long while, just out of his reach. And one day she broke her silence.

"Why are you still here?" He had asked.

"Unfinished business," she had answered and disappeared.

He began to see her more often and in more places than just the bone yard. Jo was still here. He had climbed out of his window one night, and walked up to the cemetery gates. Sure enough, Jo was there, sad and beautiful under the moon, soft and radiant near the headstones. He had clutched in his hands something she had possessed in life - an old silver ring that had been left in his house years ago. He had forgotten to return it and it had gathered dust in a corner until he found it that night. He freed her, watching her careful pale finger close around the solid ring. Jo walked abroad for weeks after that, sometimes following him to school, sitting across him in the cafeteria as he prodded his tray disinterestedly. They went to all the places they used to go to, but it would never be the same. How could he possibly explain it all to his little brother? Sam, who was so naive, so preoccupied with his homework and book club and archery lessons. Sam who would smile and nod even if he didn't understand, just to please his brother. Sam, who would come to his room every night to borrow a shirt or a book and try and make small talk with him. Sam, who had never lost anyone. Sam, whom Dad still addressed his postcards to.

"Dean, I just want you to be happy," Sam said, his brow furrowed. The sincerity of his voice surprised Dean a little. He didn't hold onto the feeling long.

"Yeah, well. We'll see," Dean said. "Look man, I've got class. I'll see you at home."

"Okay," Sam said forlornly, watching his brother go in the opposite direction of the chem lab.

"Ah, Winchester, if I had a dollar for every time I caught you loitering," the principal, Mrs Hannigan smirked.

Dean had not expected her to be using the stairwell in the late afternoon. He leaped off the bottom most steps, averting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Principal Hannigan, what a surprise."

"I can assure you it's not," she said, wiping her hands on a handkerchief and pushing it away into her purse, "I can't say I'm happy to see you, Dean, but I wouldn't count this meeting as a complete misfortune."

Dean waited for her to explain herself.

"As punishment, I'll need you to run a few errands for me," she said in a velvety voice. If it hadn't been for the sour look perpetually plastered to her face, Dean thought, Alice Hannigan would have been one hot-

"Come with me," she said and held open the door of the stairwell.

She led him down the empty corridors to her office. Dean groaned inwardly. He was going to have to sign a detention slip. Or worse, she would make him hand them out to his fellow detainees and then follow them into an empty classroom as both gaoler and prisoner.

"Your behavior has been markedly disappointing in the past few months, Winchester," she remarked. "I expect you to pull your socks up for your own sake. Perhaps your brother can help you. He does tutor some of the middle schoolers, I hear."

Dean glowered at the back of her head.

"We have an exchange student, Mr Winchester," she said. "He's having a little trouble blending in. Perhaps he could use a friend to guide him through his first month here. I mean you, of course. Think of it as a corrective measure."

She paused and rested her hand heavily on his shoulder, drawing him into the office.

Principal Hannigan cleared her throat and addressed the only other person in the room - a tall dark haired boy, who had been tinkering with a crystal globe on the desk.

"Ahem?"

The boy turned around, fixing them both with an intense but distant blue gaze.

"Do forgive me, son, I didn't quite catch your name."

"It's Castiel."