"Mary, I've got to go," the voice floated down from his inner ear.

"John, please, the boys are sleeping upstairs!"

But they weren't. They were crouched by the banister, ears pressed against the white iron rods, listening in on the heated debate that had broken out in the kitchen. It was past midnight and Mary thought had tucked them in long ago.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam whispered, pushing his thick brown hair from his eyes. Dean shushed him, laying a hand on his back, concentrating on the voices in the night.

"If I don't go, we're all in deep shit, do you understand?"

"Why does it have to be you?" Mary cried.

"Just keep the boys safe, alright? I need you to be strong."

There was a long silence as the shadows swayed on the walls. The John's voice, the way he'd always remembered it, gruff and assured, said: "It's better this way. Just keep them safe. Don't... don't tell them about this."

Mary then made a vow to her husband she would soon break before her tear-stained boys in the weeks that followed.

"John, come home."

"I can't promise you."

The sharp sound of chalk scraping the blackboard woke him. He blinked rapidly as the afternoon light filtered into the back of the classroom. His face felt like it had been slammed hard against concrete and his tongue was parched. Dean was in the middle of his Government Studies class. He found his bearings and sat up a little straighter. It was as boring as it had been when it began. He soon found an occupation besides scribbling absently into his used and abused notepad. While he reclined, two desks from the back and a row from the door, he found his eyes drifting over to the portrait of the new student, seated diagonally in front of him.

Castiel had come into class Monday, exchanged a few hushed words with the English teacher and enveloped himself in silence until lunch break, fixing each teacher with an intense gaze, so intense that Mrs Willows cleared her throat and fumbled with her hands all through her reading of Coleridge. Dean ground the lead end of his pencil into his desk, unable to remove his eyes from the stiff black hair, crisp white collar and intent look upon the face of the new boy. There was something magnetic about him. He wanted to punch him in the mug.

When class was dismissed, Dean watched the others gathering their bags and drifting out the door, Sam's head bobbing out into the corridor, diligently making his way to Chem. He was closely followed by Castiel, who appeared more than preoccupied with his own thoughts than to engage in the banter that surrounded him. Dean had a fleeting impression that this self contained android of a transfer would've gotten along famously with his little brother; he just wasn't too keen watch the hypothesis test itself out. Moving silently past the English teacher, he made his way to the next class, wanting nothing more than to head on out to the abandoned Impala and see Jo again. She hadn't made an appearance anywhere around school all week. As Dean took a breather at his locker, he heard an unpleasant exchange down the corridor:

"Check this out, check this out."

"Looks like we got a new one, boys!"

"Nice tie, fag."

"You're mistaken, I don't look like a bundle of twigs from any angle."

As he peered around his locker door, he saw Big Ricky had accosted Castiel, who was clutching at his binder and notes with a silent look of belligerence.

"Where'd you get it from?" Ricky was saying, rolling the end of Castiel's tie around his finger.

"Benson's," came the quick, toneless reply, followed by, "excuse me, I don't see where this is going, I have cl-"

"I'll tell you where this is going," Ricky tugged hard on his tie.

Castiel gasped a little and staggered backwards.

"HEY," Dean slammed his locked shut.

Big Ricky glanced up at him as he strode down the emptying corridor, still holding tightly onto Castiel's tie.

"Whaddya want, Winchester?"

"Let him go," Dean barked.

"Or what, you'll rat on us?" One of Big Ricky's cronies jeered.

Dean's jaw tightened. He wasn't a rat.

"So this is your ward, huh, Winchester?" Ricky said grimly, jerking his thumb at Castiel. "Word on the street is Hannigan's got you babysitting."

"You wanna make something of it?" Dean asked.

Big Ricky's face soured considerably. He may have towered over Dean by a whole foot, but he knew the damn kid could pack a hard punch and he wasn't about to show up in trig with a split lip. It didn't even matter how many times it landed him in trouble, if Dean wanted to break bones, he would break bones. Ricky thrust Castiel aside, who immediately began smoothing his clothes.

"Whatever man, we were just welcoming newbie over here," he said with a sly grin, tucking his balled up fists into his pocket. The warning bell rang and carried away the last of the late runners, leaving Dean and Castiel in a stifling silence.

Dean finally turned his attention to his 'ward' and asked gruffly, "You plan on dressing like a bellhop everyday?"

Castiel gave him an injured look, still adjusting his tie, "I appreciate the help, Dean. But I could've managed on my own just fine."

"Didn't look like it to me, man."

"Well clearly a lot of things escape your notice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When Castiel made no reply, Dean heaved his lungs and shook his head, "Look man, I don't like this any more than you do, but for your own sake would you quit the empowered princess act and just let me handle things from here on?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"This isn't your precious convent school, alright? The kids here are not the bible-toting cookie-baking kind you're so used to, they will rip you apart no matter what you say to them and I'm just trying to save your ass."

"I think you're just trying to save your own."

Dean frowned, "Well maybe I am, but I see two people benefiting from it. And if you ask me, I don't think you're the type of-"

"Well nobody did ask you," Castiel cut in. "And you don't know me, or the type of person I am."

Dean watched as a fire burned through his blue eyes for the briefest moment and then dissolved. He looked away, reassuring himself that he had his binder and notes.

"Again, I appreciate the gesture, but I'd appreciate it a little more if you left me alone."

Dean watched him walking away one more time and waited until he had turned a corner before letting loose a stream of profanities. He nearly brought his fist into a locker when he heard the clicking of heels coming down the corridor. Just my luck, he thought, smelling the familiar perfume of Mrs Hannigan, even before she had made herself visible. As she materialized in the corridor, a wry smile came onto her lips.

"Well what do we have here. An altercation in the hallway followed by Dean Winchester. If I had a dollar for everytime that happened, that would be something."

"Mrs Hannigan," he acknowledged her by quickly dropping his gaze.

"I expect you've been keeping up with your new arrangements."

Dean considered begging her to be let off. He had even attended all his classes for the day (except the one he was currently missing) and hadn't mouthed off anyone (except Ricky, but he'd deserved it). He resigned himself to glaring at his show.

"Tomorrow's not going to be any different, Dean," the principal said, walking past him. "Not a bad job, but you'll need to hold up your end of the bargain for at least a few more weeks."

"Have you even been listening to a word I've said?" Sam asked. The vacant expression in his brother's eyes compelled him to wave his hand in front of them.

"What?"

"Dean, I've been asking you about Friday."

"What about Friday?"

"Jess' birthday? She's invited practically the whole class. She asked me if you'd be there?"

This was one of the golden couple's ploys to involve him in social intercourse. Dean nearly smiled in derision. As much as he had no interest in hanging out at his little brother's girlfriend's party, he couldn't deny that Sam had been trying really hard. And he couldn't pass up free beer either. So he nodded his head and looked away.

Sam followed his line of sight.

Castiel was a few tables away, seated at the quieter corner of the cafeteria. He had his lunch laid out neatly in front of him on two paper towels - a square box of meat casserole, a tin of peaches and syrups, a flask of steaming something and a shiny red apple.

"Who is that guy?" Sam asked, frowning.

Dean realized he hadn't actually mentioned his deal with the devil (by which of course we mean Hannigan) and told Sam about it as briefly as possible, "I'm babysitting."

Hey, if word was going to get out, better it came from him than that panty-sniffer Ricky Hollis.

"No way," Sam's eyes widened. "For real?"

Dean shrugged, "I'm his district sponsored body-guard." That sounded a lot more impressive, he thought.

"Yeah, I can see why," Sam studied Castiel a moment. "Guy's gonna get creamed the day you take off sick, you know."

"And I don't even get paid," Dean said bitterly.

"Shouldn't you be over there, right now, though?"

"What?"

"Shouldn't you be body guarding, over there?"

Dean rolled his shoulders, "Nah, we have an understanding."

Sam scrutinized him and then tossed his drink into the bin by the table, "Okay, I gotta go prep for a test. So definitely yes on Jess' thing this Friday?"

Dean was fixated on something else and wouldn't answer. Sam had to leave him finally when the bell went, wondering why he had been so spaced out in the past few months. Dean looked out the cafeteria window, which opened up to the front yard where the fountain was. Tiptoeing her way around the marble brim was Jo, like a dew drop in the sun. She looked up once at him with a friendly wave and then resumed her circumferential navigation. He watched her a long while after the cafeteria had emptied.