"You did what?"

That one quiet hiss resonated through the entire room, bouncing around it in a quiet echo.

"It was a mistake, an accident," came the hushed, nervous reply. "He wasn't supposed to survive."

"Well he did!" The voice snapped, rising to an almost bellow before the speaker paused and relaxed himself, taking a deep breath. "There was a reason, you imbecile, that the blood was a necessity of the ritual. What did you think was going to happen when you just threw him in without following it? Now he's—he's an anomaly; he doesn't belong there, and it's going to tear everything we have worked for down!"

The empty, dark room was silent for a long minute; the only sound was of a very distant police siren blaring away.

"Do you realize what you have done? What will happen when he starts noticing? When he begins to question?"

There was a rustle of feet against a carpet, the sound an animal makes when it has been startled. A loud thud also filled the still dark blanketed room; it sounded as if something—someone—had been forced up against a wall.

"Can… can nothing be done?" the reply came, small and terrified.

"You find the Winchesters and you make them trust us. You put yourself in between them and that blasted excuse for a warrior of God and you end this. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a brief pause. "Your cowardly soldier has been dealt with, let his demise be a lesson—and warning—to you. Do not make any more 'mistakes'."

"I…" Before the voice could finish there was a rustle of feathers, like the sound of wings beating and lifting away.

"Yes, sir," the voice finally finished before there was another beating of feathers and the room was silent once more.

Dean Winchester liked to think himself a pretty decent guy. He did passable in school, he made friends (especially those of the female variety) very easily, and he didn't tend to get in to much trouble if he could, you know, help it. (Sometimes he really just couldn't help it.)

Still, despite some of his minor faults, Dean Winchester felt as though he'd been a good boy long enough to have earned a few minutes of extra sleep.

Apparently the big guy in the sky didn't feel the same way.

"Dean Winchester, if you don't get out of bed in the next thirty seconds, so help me," he heard his mother call from the bottom of the stairs, her stern voice was still laced with an air of affection to it.

"Mom," he whined, his voice smothered by his pillow. "I don't feel good, I'm gonna stay home."

"Not gonna work," she replied from in the kitchen, popping a few pieces of bread in to the toaster. "It's only the second day of school, Dean. Now get your behind down here and have some toast."

Dean groaned, dragging himself out of bed. He picked up a fairly clean smelling shirt from the ground and slipped on his jeans hanging over his computer chair. He made his way downstairs, stumbling from his sleepiness. "I don't think the first week of school is even all that important, Mom," he grumbled as he sat down at the kitchen table.

Mary Winchester might have spoiled her children a tad, but she was far from a pushover. "What kind of mother would I be if I let you skip your second day of school?" she asked as she put a glass of milk in front of him.

"The best kind," he replied, rubbing his face tiredly. He eyed the toast with disdain. "I hate toast."

"You do not."

"It's dry."

"It's supposed to be, it's toast."

"Can I have some leftover pie instead?"

"Absolutely not."

Dean sighed as he took a small bite. His mother was the only woman in the world who could make toast actually taste decent. "Where's Sam?" he asked as he dug in to the scrambled eggs his mother scooped out on to his plate next.

"He left early with your father, he wanted to get to school as soon as the library opened."

"Of course he did," Dean laughed to himself. "Geek."

Mary eyed her son. "You could do with going to the library yourself once in a millennia." She smiled warmly at him and patted his head, even as he rolled his eyes at her. She walked over to the bottom of the stairs, her hand on her hips once more.

"Adam Winchester," she called sternly to the top, "this is the last time I'm going to tell you to get down here before I come up there myself."

"Mom!" Dean heard his youngest brother cry out. There was a loud thud as the kid flew down the stairs and almost wiped out on the landing. His sandy blonde hair was still wet from his shower and he held a small plastic dish in his hand. "I was gathering the bacteria around the sink for Mrs. Templeton's class. We're going to test it!"

"Oh gross," Dean groaned, putting down his fork.

"That's great honey," Mary replied as she handed Adam a brown bag. "Please don't let the whole class know how bacteria-ridden our sink really is. Now here's your lunch and I signed your permission slip, it's laying on the counter. We're leaving in one minute. You don't want to be late for your second day of fifth grade, do you?"

Adam shook his head, and Mary watched as he flew in to the downstairs bathroom to collect samples from there as well. She sighed.

"You boys, I swear, you'll be the death of me." She winked at Dean and bent over to kiss his temple. "Have a good day at school, honey. I'll make your favorite spaghetti when I get home, alright?"

"Thanks mom," Dean grinned back at her.

Mary grabbed her purse from the counter, as well as the permission slip she knew Adam would eventually forget. "Adam, let's go!" She called to him.

He came barreling out of the bathroom and grabbed the piece of toast Dean had in his hand. Dean made a grab for it but Adam was much too quick, and he disappeared out the door right behind his mother.

Dean washed his dishes in the sink and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He briefly wondered if he'd had any homework, but he hadn't done it anyway so what did it matter?

He opened the door to the garage, seeing his beautiful, perfect 1967 Chevrolet Impala waiting there for him. After his father had handed her down to him on his sixteenth birthday, he worked on her nearly every day. He would spend hours and hours out in the garage just listening to her engine purr; the sound was the most soothing thing he knew. She could make a bad day good again.

The Impala was different from any girl Dean had ever had. The Impala wouldn't cheat on him, wouldn't yell at him for forgetting a date, wouldn't chide him for not taking a shower. Most of all, the Impala was always there when they packed up to move across the country again. Dean Winchester only had enough room in his heart for one love of his life, and this was her.

"G'morning sweetheart," he cooed as he opened the door and threw his bag in to the passenger seat. He patted the dashboard affectionately and nearly melted as he turned the car on and heard the engine come alive.

He popped in his favorite mix cassette tape and lost himself in the familiar drum beats and guitar riffs of Metallica filling up the car.

Really, you couldn't ask for a more perfect morning.

So, of course it couldn't last.

Dean was maybe a half a mile away from the school when he spotted him—a kid with clothes that were a bit too big for him and a mop of messy dark hair that made it look like the guy had either just rolled out of bed or just rolled out someone else's bed and really Dean didn't need to think about that. Dean recognized him instantly as he watched the teenager trudge along the side of the road, a new backpack slung around his shoulder.

He didn't want to slow down, he didn't want to pull over, and he most certainly did not want to stop and ask Castiel if he needed a lift the rest of the way to the school. In fact, Dean would be pretty content to not ever have to see Castiel again, especially after he dropped the kid off yesterday. He'd gotten a weird feeling about Castiel all throughout the day and had done his best to avoid him, but then Sammy had to go and use his epic bitchface to guilt him in to giving the junior a ride home. He was doing fine and was almost out of the woods when he had to go and give him one last look—and then it happened.

He looked at Castiel—really looked at him, more than just a small glance or while he had his back turned, and he felt that overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut, like a mix of guilt and anger and frustration and elation all rolled in to one. A sporadic flash of barely there and too fuzzy scenes pelted through his brain. He vaguely pictured a hand grabbing for him and the rustle of heavy fabric, but after that everything was too jumbled. He didn't know what to make of it, but he sure as hell didn't like it. Dean Winchester liked being in control of all aspects of his life, and yesterday made him feel strangely vulnerable.

So no, he wasn't going to have a repeat of that. He was not going to slow down, so… why what his foot easing off of the gas pedal? Stop that. Stop that, you goddamn foot!

He was still going fairly fast when he passed Castiel; the younger teen heard the car coming up from behind him and turned around to watch it pass by. Against his better judgment, Dean didn't keep his eyes on the road like he should have, like he wanted to. Instead, he turned his eyes towards the passenger side window and just as he peered out he saw Castiel tip his head towards him.

It felt as though time had stopped and he was frozen there in that one instant, his gaze completely locked on blue eyes that seemed to burn in to him. He'd seen these eyes before; they weren't just the blue eyes on a pretty blonde flirting with you behind the bleachers. He had seen these before. He had seen these eyes lit up with anger and power, and softened with trust and affection, and clouded with guilt and shame. He knew these. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pulled in his chest. His head was spinning.

"Fuck!" he hissed to himself as he slammed his foot on the break. It felt like his heart was beating a million miles a minute and he leaned over his steering wheel, breathing heavily to try and ignore how his entire body was shaking. He felt the gurgle in his stomach warning him his eggs were about to come right back up.

What the hell?

He grabbed his rearview mirror and glanced through it, watching as Castiel very hesitantly approached the car. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and fought against the urge to suddenly drive away and off a cliff. He reached over and rolled down the passenger window just as Castiel reached the car.

Castiel bent over, peering in to the car.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean kept his eyes facing forward. He clenched his jaw. "Your parents didn't drop you off?"

"No."

Dean jerked his head to stare out of his window like he'd just spotted something super interesting. "Well then get in."

There was a long pause. "Dean?"

"I said get in, Castiel." And don't talk. Your voice pisses me off.

There was another, slightly shorter pause as Dean heard Castiel open the door. The seat next to him dipped slightly as the younger teen slid in to the seat.

The car was silent; Dean kept facing his window, his eyes darting left and right as he tried to gather his thoughts. Thoughts like, why did I offer him a ride? Why did I slow down? Why did I get out of bed this morning?

Dean must have been lost in his own thoughts for at least a few minutes, because he heard Castiel shift slightly and question, "Dean?"

Dean nodded, his attention snapping back to the road ahead. He immediately changed gears and started back down the road.

Castiel sat with his hands placed firmly in his lap as he stared out of the window, attempting to ignore the pressing silence around the two of them. He glanced sideways at Dean, who was still gripping the steering wheel like if he let go he might float away.

"You seem upset."

"Ain't none of your business, Castiel," Dean replied through gritted teeth.

Castiel huffed in annoyance and rested his elbow on the window, setting his face in his propped up hand.

Dean let out a very visible sigh of relief when they came up on the school and Dean turned on to the hill leading to the parking lot. He was so wound up that he'd almost run off the road—twice. He wanted out of this car; or better yet he wanted that kid out of this car.

He pulled in to a parking spot in the senior lot and switched the engine off. Without missing a beat Castiel reached for the handle of the door and grabbed his bag. He paused just as he was about to swing the door open.

"Thank you, Dean," he said quietly. "I hope your day gets better."

Dean nodded, still staring straight ahead, trying to put all of his focus on the squashed bug on his windshield, trying to look anywhere but at Castiel.

Castiel lingered for a few seconds, glancing at Dean with his mouth slightly open, like he was about to say something else before he shook his head and got out of the car. Dean only allowed himself to look at the teenager as he made his way in to the side entrance.

He relaxed substantially when he saw Castiel disappear through the doors and leaned back in his seat as he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Fuck this kid. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't even know his last name and now he was hung up on the thought of him like some giggling girl. No, not hung up on him—not like that. Hell, he didn't even know what he meant. Just that this was pissing him off. He knew what he need: he needed to get laid. The last time he'd slept with a girl was right before they moved, at that seemed like damn pity sex, so that was shitty. His nerves were getting the better of him; he needed to let out some steam. He'd find the bustiest, bleach blondest girl in that school and ask her out. Yeah. This was a good plan.

A knock on his window jerked him out of his thoughts and made him slam his fist down hard on the horn. He looked to see a pretty brunette standing right by his window, clearly taken aback at Dean's reaction. He turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, his bag in his hand.

"Hey, Dean, it's Anne. From biology?" she said nervously, tugging her books closer to her. "Are you alright?"

"I—y-yeah, sorry," he muttered, rubbing his face with one hand. "Anne? Yeah, I remember you." He glanced over her appreciatively. Right, the cute brunette that sat next to him with her low cut shirt and entirely too tight jeans. Dean had spent most of the class staring at her. "Sorry, didn't mean to flip out there."

"No it's alright, I startled you," she said. "I was going to ask you if you finished the homework assignment for today."

"Ah crap—You know, I completely forgot about it," Dean replied. He started walking with her towards the entrance to the school.

Anne blushed slightly as she started to walk closer to his side. "That's alright, you can…you can copy off of mine if you want?"

Dean turned to face her, flashing his best Dean Winchester smolder smile. A very cute girl blushing at him while offering to let him copy her homework?

Perhaps this day wasn't doomed to suck after all.

Dean cursed himself for ever allowing himself to think that.

"A group project in math? What the hell for?"

Mr. Schwartz gave Dean a murderous look.

"I'm sorry, Winchester, did you want to teach my class instead?"

Dean closed his mouth.

"You're going to be researching a famous historical mathematician and writing a report on how they have influenced the world of mathematics today," Mr. Schwartz continued, handing out a paper packet to everyone. "It's an easy damn A and not as scary as it sounds. Administration requires that I make you all do at least two group projects a year to make you 'sociable'. Don't make it harder than it needs to be. Now pair up, brats."

A mad rush erupted in the room. People rushed to their friends' sides, claiming dibs on who they wanted to work with. Dean would have been impressed at the chaotic order of it all if he hadn't been so pissed that no one immediately rushed to him, not even that cute girl he hit on after school yesterday. She went straight to her friend and giggled nonstop.

After two minutes the entire class was divided, save for Dean it seemed. He sat grumpily in his seat, arms crossed and a scowl crossing his features.

"Is there anyone who doesn't have a partner yet?" Mr. Schwartz asked, setting his hands on his desk.

Dean sat horrified as he saw Castiel, still sitting at the front and completely ignored by all of his classmates, silently raise his hand.

Shit.

Dean clenched his jaw and barely raised his hand as well, hoping against all hope that someone else might raise theirs and save him. No one did.

Mr. Schwartz looked between the both of them and nodded. "Alright, you two work together. There, everyone have a partner now?"

Double shit.

Dean made a protesting sound, but Mr. Schwartz's glare cut him off. "What's wrong, Winchester?"

"I—it's just—can I work by myself? Is that an option?"

Castiel turned to give Dean a look that made the older teen's stomach drop.

"What part of 'sociable' do you fail to comprehend, Winchester? You two have a lover's spat going on or something?"

That class laughed. Dean balled his hand in to a fist.

"No," he hissed.

"So then what's the problem?"

Dean stared at Mr. Schwartz, trying to give him the best scathing stink eye he could possibly muster. He only lasted about five seconds before muttering under his breath, "Nothing."

"Good, then I expect all of you to know who you are doing your report on by tomorrow, and have ready a rough draft by Monday. Now get to, uh, socializing. Or somehing." Mr. Schwartz gave a wave of his hand to indicate he was done and sat down behind his desk, pulling out a book.

Neither Dean nor Castiel moved. They both sat there, staring each other down, daring the other to move first. Dean tapped his foot impatiently.

Is this fucker seriously going to make me get up?

Castiel gave him one last long stare before turning his gaze to the window next to him, his chin resting in his hand.

He is going to make me go to him. Fucker.

Dean grumbled to himself as he stood up and grabbed his chair with more force than necessary. The girl he'd hoped to partner up with was startled and stood back a bit as he dragged his chair up to the front of the room. He plopped down in to his seat and crossed his arms just as Castiel turned to look at him, feigning surprise.

"Alright, let's get this over with, yeah?"

Castiel shook his head. "Have I upset you in some way, Dean?"

Dean scowled. "No. I just don't do well on group projects is all," he said as he shifted around uncomfortably. The junior nodded at him, though it still looked like he didn't believe him one bit. "So who are we picking?"

Castiel opened a notebook and began writing something down. "I was thinking Euclid."

"You who?"

"Euclid, Dean. He was a Greek mathematician who might have been a student of Aristotle, and he did a lot of work with prime numbers."

Dean nodded as if he knew who the hell this kid was talking about. "Alright, alright. Just pick whoever you want, it doesn't matter to me."

Castiel nodded, continuing to write down notes. Dean watched him wordlessly for a few minutes, watching Castiel's fingers grip his pencil somewhat awkwardly and the way his lips parted slightly as he wrote. He noticed Castiel's hair had calmed itself somewhat since this morning, not looking quite as rustled, and the stern look of concentration Castiel was giving his paper made Dean avert his eyes nervously.

He gave a loud cough; Castiel broke away from his writing and looked up at him questioningly.

"So, uh," he began, eyeing the words Castiel had written down. "We gonna have to meet up outside of school or something?"

"It's likely," Castiel answered gruffly.

Dean nodded. "So, when do you wanna…?"

"Friday is fine for me," the junior said without hesitation. "After school. I'll try and be quick, wouldn't want to use up much of your time."

Dean winced at the harshness of his tone. "Where?"

"We can go to the library; it's open for an hour after class lets out."

"Ugh, no man, I hate that place," Dean groaned. He'd passed through it this morning to give Sammy a book he'd left in the car the day before and the way nasty look the librarian gave him made his skin crawl.

Castiel sighed, exasperated. "So what do you suggest then?"

"Well I still have to take Sammy home." Dean cringed at what he was about to suggest. "So uh, how about my place? I can drop you off at your place after, it's not that far."

He immediately wanted to kick himself for even thinking it, much less making the offer.

Castiel was silent, obviously mulling the suggestion over in his head before he nodded and replied quietly, "Alright."

"Un—unless you want to go to your place?"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't think anyone will be home." He looked away, signaling he didn't want to continue on the subject. Dean obliged.

The two were quiet again; Castiel went back to his writing and Dean tapped his pencil on his knee. The awkward vibe between them made Dean jittery. He attempted to make small talk.

"So," he began, "do you walk to and from school every day?"

Castiel didn't look up. "Typically."

"That's a pretty far walk, isn't it?"

The junior shrugged. "It's not terrible."

Dean nodded. The gears in his head set in motion, and before he knew it, words he didn't want to say were rising up in his throat.

Don't you do it, Winchester.

"Well, your place isn't that far from mine, you know."

Don't you fucking do it.

Castiel finally looked up and met his gaze, his eyes narrowed slightly. Dean's heart skipped a beat.

Fuck, Winchester, you piece of—

"I could give you a ride, you know," Dean blurt out, his mind screaming at him to shut up, shut up, shut up! He shuts his mouth, his lips forming a thin line as he tried to hold back the sudden urge to withdraw the offer. "If you need it."

Castiel stared at him for a long time, his eyebrows knit together in a very serious expression. He was trying to look right in to Dean, past his facade, to see if this was a trick or a malicious way of luring him in to some kind of trap. Dean couldn't blame him—even he didn't know why he was saying it. A person like him and a person like Castiel just didn't…mix. They didn't hang out and they weren't friends and they just didn't work. Castiel had every reason to be suspicious.

Whatever mal content Castiel had tried to find in his words must not have shown up, because before Dean knew it, the junior was shutting his binder and turning to face him completely.

"Alright. I would appreciate that."

The bell rang, making Dean jump. Before he could stop himself, he'd grabbed his bag and bolted out of the room, only giving Castiel a nod in reply.

Dean spent most of gym absentmindedly following Coach Sims' orders as he stretched and ran laps and cooled off on the bleachers next to the field. On one of his rests, Connor Wachowski saddled up right next to him and handed him a bottle of water.

"Winchester," he grunted in greeting. Dean nodded to him, still lost in his thoughts. He didn't even look up as the group of cute senior girls running past him in their inappropriately short uniforms.

"Sorry again about your brother, didn't know it was him," Connor continued, his head following the group of girls appreciatively. "I tend to shoot first and ask questions later with the people who hand out with that freak."

Dean's ears perked up. "Castiel?"

"Yeah."

"What's uh—what's wrong with him exactly?"

"He's just weird, Winchester. Pretty sure he's a fag."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Half of him wanted to shove Wachowski off the bleachers and say So? Instead, he opened the water and took a long drink.

"Just don't want him coming on to your little bro, you know?"

"Gross, man."

Connor held his hands up in defense. "I'm just saying, dude. When it comes to Castiel you can't really be too sure. In middle school he tried to fucking molest me in a closet. I think he's in love with me or something."

Dean had a very hard time picturing Castiel doing something like that. "He doesn't seem all that bad." He did believe that—but even so he was now feeling a little nervous. He'd now regretted ever offering to drive Castiel. What if he really was that kind of kid? He'd be near him and his brother, and come Friday night his whole family. Dean wasn't sure if he was being unfair to the younger teen or if he had a right to be worried, but it still made him bristle a little with anger.

Connor just shrugged at him. "Hey," he said, elbowing Dean to get his attention again. "My friend is having a party this weekend. Sort of a back to school get together or something. You should come. Cute girls, good booze. You'll like it."

Dean looked down at his hands, thinking about it. What could it hurt? He'd meet some of the people who lived in this god forsaken town, and maybe it would make his stay here a bit less unbearable. Plus, girls. Girls were always a good bonus. They would get his mind off of things—specifically blue eyed juniors with messy black hair who made him feel uncomfortable.

"Sure, why not?"

At the end of the day, Dean found Sam and Castiel talking with each other by their lockers. Dean was mildly irked that they seemed to be striking up a friendship. Castiel had his bag over his shoulder and was nodding in agreement with something Sam had told him. Sam patted his shoulder when they saw Dean approaching them.

"See ya later, Castiel," he said.

"He's coming with us," Dean grunted as he shoved a book at Sam. "I found that in my bag, quit leaving your things everywhere."

"Christ, Dean, what's your problem?"

"He has to work on a project with me, and I wasn't his first choice of partner," Castiel deadpanned. Dean jerked his head to give Castiel a glare.

"Dean, quit being an ass," Sam chided as he zipped up his backpack.

"Shut up, Samantha. I offered to give Castiel a ride from now on. Now hurry up."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean turned and walked away from them, not checking to see if they were following.

When they reached the car, Dean wrenched his door open and settled in to his seat, watching as Castiel and Sam both placed their bags in the car before getting in themselves. Before anyone could strike up a conversation, he turned up the volume dial and blasted his mix tape where it had left off from this morning. Sam gave him an expected bitchface, but Castiel sat stoically listening to the music, like he was trying to decipher the lyrics. His head tilted slightly as the song reached the chorus.

"You look like you've never heard Metallica before, dude," he chuckled, despite his irritated mood, as he took a sharp turn on to the road.

"I haven't."

Dean almost ran up on to a curb.

"You haven't?"

"Dean—"

"No, Sammy, this is important. You can't sit in Dean Winchester's baby and then say you've never listened to fucking Metallica before." He eyed Castiel through the rearview mirror. "You've seriously never listened to them? At all?"

"No, Dean."

"Christ, well you are in for a treat," he said, turning the volume up even loader. His bad mood temporarily forgotten, he sang along to the lyrics at the top of his lungs, totally off key.

Sam groaned audibly and leaned back in his seat.

Castiel couldn't help the smile that crept to his lips. That unexplainable feeling of déjà vu snuck up on him once again.

Author's Note:

Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Sims were both teachers I actually had in high school. Mr. Schwartz was an interesting guy, and a year after school he quit teaching and moved to Russia to be in a circus. Sims ended up getting arrested for sleeping with students. Go figure. Anyways, thanks for reading! I hope you all are enjoying the story so far.