Author's note: It happened, Guys! One year and 100,000 words have went in to creating this fanfic, and it isn't even over yet! The popularity of this story is just incredible and your feedback is even better! As promised, I have given you the next chapter on this fic's anniversary (It's kind of late at night, and I'm not the happiest about it, but my goal was reached!) and anxiously hope you still find my writing just as amazing (if not better) than exactly one year ago.

As Charlie lounged around in her seat waiting for the last few remaining minutes of second period to end her misery, the word Leviathan refused to vacate her thoughts. So with one careful glance up at Dr. Gaines to confirm he's projecting his beady eyes at someone else, she slipped her phone out of her pocket and quickly pulled up its Wikipedia page:

"Leviathan is a sea monster referenced in the Tanakh, or the Old Testament—"

"Phone out while Gaines is looking for easy prey?" A strong, confident female's voice sounded behind her, causing Charlie to jump and almost lose her grip on her device, "Well, well, Red. Aren't you a daredevil?"

Charlie arched an eyebrow as she stuffed her phone back into her pocket and turned around only to find a beautiful girl looking at her almost challengingly, her deep chestnut brown hair done up in a tight bun and soft pink lips curled into a smirk.

"I like to live on the wild side on occasion," Charlie answered once her mind stopped short-circuiting, "You know, rip forbidden tags off of mattresses, drizzle chili on my mac 'n cheese, break a pointless rule in front of an intimidating individual who might turn out to be an aquatic mutant...that sort of thing."

The girl let out a dry chuckle, the whimsical sound making a sheepish smile rise to Charlie's lips, "And I thought refusing to wear red shoes was rebellious." She must have saw the confusion cross Charlie's face because she added, "Name's Dorothy, if that clears up anything."

Charlie's eyes lit up, her shy smile switching to her more flirtatious one, usually only reserved for Jo or one of those tech nerds when she wanted to use their computer in the lab to change the school's lunch menu for the week, "Your last name doesn't happen to be Gale, does it? Because if it is, I'd have to ask a small favor of borrowing a few flying monkeys for the afternoon."

Dorothy sadly shook her head, "Alas, it's Baum. Though now that you have my curiosity peaked, what exactly were you going to do with those monkeys?"

"Dude, they're flying monkeys," Charlie exclaimed in argument, "What wouldn't you do with them if you had the chance?"

Dorothy sighed and shrugged half-heartedly, "You got me there, Red."

"Charlie Bradbury," She introduced, "Otherwise known as the high-esteemed ruler of Moondor."

"Moondor?" She repeated, but instead of any mockery in her charming brown eyes like Charlie expected, there was actually interest in her gaze, "Anything like Oz?"

Charlie shrugged, "Depends. How's Oz?"

"In the middle of a revolution," Dorothy answered without missing a beat before continuing with a cheeky grin, "Led by me, of course."

"See, there's the difference," Charlie replied, "Moondor is ruled with an iron fist. The citizens love their queen."

Dorothy snorted, "And does their queen love them?"

"The girls particularly." She blurted out before she could think about the possibility of homophobia. But Dorothy didn't seem that way...right?

She got her answer when she saw Dorothy's smirk finally widening into a full-blown grin that lit up her whole face, "Same team, eh? Well, welcome the club." It wasn't the crooked, mischievous grin she was used to—the one only a certain blonde possessed that made Charlie's soul ignite with passion—but it was a grin that made the redhead's heart skip a beat all the same.

For the remainder of the time before lunch, Dean practically jumped out of his skin every time someone accidentally brushed up against him. He tried to play off every wince and startle that his body betrayed him by committing, but he could tell by the growing number of concerned gazes he was receiving that he was failing epically.

No matter how tough and macho Dean liked to believe he was, he couldn't deny that he was a little jumpy after Benny told him about Alastair apparently wanting his head on a silver platter. Sure, he knew he could hold his own with the guy, but he wasn't quite positive of how long he would hold up before Alastair splattered his blood on the ground. He'd seen his former friend beat the living shit out of plenty of people before (back when he pretended he didn't care as he hid clenched fists of rage in his pockets and tried to not meet the victim's pleading gaze like a freaking pussy in order to "fit in"), and while he could easily beat him in basketball, he wasn't so certain about actual combat.

But he sure as hell wasn't about to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness either. His friendships with Alastair and Bela and Ruby and all those other douchebags were over. Honestly, he should've broken it off with them a long time ago. It didn't matter what they thought of him nor what anyone else did; all that mattered was what Dean thought of himself. He was just now starting to realize that.

So when he sauntered towards the lunchroom with Jo ranting about how Garth left a dead tulip on her windowsill last night and Castiel doing way more listening to her than Dean was, he didn't care about the looks that were casted towards the strange trio (he'd tried to wait for Charlie outside of class but he couldn't find her).

"...it's freaking creepy, Guys!" Jo exclaimed, running a hand through her blonde hair, "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Have you tried telling him that you don't recuperate his feelings?" Cas suggested with a tilt of his head.

"Yes!" Jo crowed.

He raised an eyebrow, "Nicely?"

"Well..." She chewed on her bottom lip guilty, "Define nicely?"

Dean snorted, "If he has to define it for you, then the answer is no." Jo maturely retaliated by sticking her tongue out at him, which Dean eloquently returned.

Cas glanced between the two acting like three year olds and shook his head, not being able to suppress the smile on his face. He really did have a beautiful smile, Dean thought to himself, looking away from Jo to stare wondrously at Castiel with more adoration in his green eyes than he meant to reveal. Luckily, Cas nor Jo noticed the gleam in his gaze...but someone else did.

"What are you staring at?" Tom said, snapping his fingers in front of Alastair's zoned out face.

"Do that again, and I'll cut your tongue out and shove it up your ass." Alastair said in a flat voice, not taking his eyes off of Dean Winchester and his new fuck-buddy.

"A suicidal fag," He chuckled darkly, shaking his head, "Winchester, I thought you had better standards than that."

Tom followed his gaze, his posture turning rigid with anticipation, "So...when do you wanna jump Dean?"

"Jump Dean?" Alastair repeated mockingly, a cackle bubbling in his throat as his eyes narrowed on Castiel, "Oh no...I have something better in mind." It was about time that Dean Winchester learned his fucking place, and it seemed his new besty would be the most effective way.

Oh, this was going to be way too much fun.

"If I killed a guy, would you back up my alibi?" Ash asked plainly right as he flopped into his regular seat at the lunch table.

Dean, whose mouth was already open as he brought his fork of food to his mouth, looked over at him and arched an eyebrow, "Yea, probably. Unless he's, like...Morgan Freeman or something."

Sam snorted, "Why Morgan Freeman?"

Dean shrugged, shoveling the bite into his mouth and swallowing it before answering, "Because he's Morgan Freeman, Dude. Only some psychotic maniac would want him dead."

"Okay, what if it was Morgan Freeman, but he's about to take over the world in a dark, sinister plot and the only way to prevent world domination is killing him?" Ash pressed.

"No way," Dean responded with a shake to his head, "I think he'd make a badass overlord. I mean, if someone had to take over the world, why not the guy who's already played God in a movie?"

"What if one of his first laws is that no one can listen to music unless it's Britney Spears and Ke$ha?"

Dean's eyes turned murderous, "Then fuck, I'd cut the bastard's head off myself."

Ash grinned, "Awesome."

"By asking this 'hypothetical' question, are you inferencing that you have plans to commit homicide?" Castiel asked with a tilt of his head, "Because if so, that makes us all accomplices now."

"Well, you know the saying," Ash began with a shit-eating grin, "Whatever friends party together, commit a string of seemingly random homicides together." Dean chuckled and glanced over at the ever silent Jo, who was the only one at the table not grinning and instead gazing at the lunchroom entrance closely with actual worry in her pinched brow.

Ash must have noticed as well because he asked, "Hey, Sis, you haven't insulted me since I sat down. What gives?"

"Has anyone seen Charlie?" She questioned, flickering her gaze around the table.

Ash shook his head, "Nope. Not since she rode with us to school this morning."

"I saw her in first period," Cas answered with a shrug, "But that is all."

"She's fine, Jo," Ash assured her with an eye roll, "Just because she's your best friend doesn't mean she has to stay by your side twenty-four/seven."

Jo rolled her eyes and scowled, "I know that, Ash. But usually she's—"

"Sup, Bitches," Charlie greeted as she strutted towards them, a pretty brunette sauntering behind her, "Miss me?"

"Charlie," Jo breathed out, a relieved grin highlighting her face, "I was worried sick. I haven't talked to you..." She trailed off when she noticed the brunette standing dangerously close to her best friend, "...uh, who's this?"

"Guys, this is Dorothy Baum," Charlie introduced as Dorothy took a sarcastic bow, "Dorothy, these are my awesome, if not slightly demented group of friends."

"Demented?" Ash repeated, appearing offended, "Well, that's a little hurtful."

"Ash, we were just talking about murdering Morgan Freeman," Sam reminded him, rolling his eyes as he plucked a piece of salad in his mouth, "That can easily be considered quite demented."

Charlie arched a curious eyebrow at Sam's claim, "Seems like I missed an important conversation at the Round Table."

"Yeah," Jo agreed, her eyes darting between the two before she settled her gaze on Charlie, a slight tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before, "Speaking of which, where have you been?"

"Excellent question, Joanna," Charlie began as she clasped Dorothy's shoulder, "As it so happens, I got caught up following this stunning individual down a rabbit hole."

Dorothy rolled her eyes, "It's technically a crawl space in the girls' locker room leading down to the school's basement, but whatever; 'rabbit hole' works too." Charlie smiled at her, and Jo visibly tightened her jaw, quickly looking down so no one would notice the fire in her eyes. But Castiel noticed, leaning back in his chair and watching the scene play out with mild interest.

"So," Dean said after a brief pause of silence, "Is Red Shoes gonna pop a squat with us or what?"

"Red Shoes," Dorothy repeated with a scoff, though she was smiling faintly, "Very clever, Sherlock."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, and Castiel decided to intervene and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, saying soothingly, "Don't become riled up, Dean. Being referred to as Sherlock is quite flattering." He paused before adding with a shrug, "True, she meant it sarcastically, but I advise you to take the compliment nonetheless."

Dean huffed at Castiel before he looked to Dorothy, "Take a seat." Jo seemed to smirk slightly when the only chair available other than Charlie's was halfway across the table, but her satisfaction was short-lived when Charlie made a shooing motion at Ash, "Scoot down a seat, Dr. Badass." With a mocking bow of submission, Ash complied, causing Jo to shoot him a dark look.

The two girls took their seats: Charlie beside Jo, and Dorothy beside Charlie (spoiler alert: Jo was only pleased about one of the seating arrangements).

"So Dorothy," Dean said, "You got a Wicked Witch of the West up your sleeve or something? Because I think I found her long lost sister masquerading as a bitchy principal." Cas sent him only a faintly disapproving look, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

"Nope," Dorothy answered with a long drawl, "But I got a stepmother. That count?"

Dean shrugged, "Works for me."

"How do you know Charlie?" Jo asked with enough innocence to make even Dean a little suspicious.

"We just met today in Gaines'," Charlie answered, an excited gleam in her eye as she continued, "We also went on an adventure together in the school's basement."

"There were a lot less torture devices and severed limbs and a lot of more mold and rats." Dorothy added.

"Jo, you okay?" Ash asked with a creased brow, addressing his sister, "You look like you just swallowed a smelly sock or something."

Charlie stopped talking quietly to Dorothy and turned to put her full attention to her best friend, "You sick?" Before Jo could reply, Charlie pressed the back of her hand to Jo's forehead, leaving it there for a moment before dropping her hand.

"You're hot, but not temperature wise." Charlie said with a smile, hoping a joke would lighten her friend's rainy mood.

Jo didn't smile back and instead scorned, "Sure you should be flirting with me when your girlfriend's sitting right there?" Charlie looked startled at her 'joke' (that sounded way too bitter to be taken in a comedic context) while Dorothy just seemed...suspicious. Her eyes flickered between a now sputtering Charlie and Jo, sensing a sort of tension in the air that couldn't be between two friends.

"She's not my girlfriend," Charlie told her quietly, but her burning eyes spoke loudly of her agitation, "And I think I can do whatever I want. You don't own me, Jo."

Jo flinched at her best friend's cold, hard tone, "Charles, I didn't mean it like that." Charlie only frowned and glanced away from her in response.

Dorothy decided to clear the air with a clear of throat as she looked to Charlie and asked, "Wanna go play Call of Duty in the tech lab?"

Charlie smiled unconvincingly and nodded, standing up and addressing the whole table theatrically, "Peasants, I leave you to finish your grub in awkward silence. Dorothy and I are going to proclaim war against an army of thirteen year old boys and fifty year old men."

"Hey, I'm not a peasant," Dean corrected her with forced ease, hiding his concern over the turn of events with humor, "I'm your knight, remember?"

"Actually," Charlie said apologetically, "I sort of promoted Cas to that position this morning. Sorry, Dean-o, but you've been demoted to Fair Maiden."

Dean turned to Castiel and waved a soggy french fry at him, declaring with fake scorn, "You treacherous bastard!"

"My apologies, Dean," Cas said, "My battle strategies were considered superior to your 'just stab anything that moves and hope for the best.'"

Charlie chuckled and ruffled Dean and Castiel's hair, "Bye Boys," Her gaze flickered to her best friend and she added with strain, "Later, Jo." Dorothy said her goodbye, and the two girls exited the cafeteria.

It was silent for a moment before Ash—ever the sensitive one—turned to Jo and said, "Well, way to fuck that up, JoJo."

"Shut up." Jo scoffed with a dark look, gazing down at her half eaten burger with unreadable emotions playing on her guarded expression.

Everyone at the table exchanged a worried look before Dean took another bite of his burger and prompted, "So let's get back to this Morgan Freeman fiasco. How would you do kill him? Literally everyone with a mental capacity higher than a goldfish would lay down their life for the man at the drop of a hat."

"That's definitely a disadvantage," Ash agreed, "I was thinking about poison."

"C'mon, that's the pussy way out." Dean said disapprovingly.

"You could cripple him mentally and emotionally," Castiel suggested with an indifferent shrug, "It's actually easier than it sounds."

Sam stared at Cas for a moment before declaring, "I seriously don't even want to know how you know that."

Dean laughed and slung an arm around Castiel, mockingly scolding Sam, "Hey, don't question the angel and his sadistic hobbies."

Halfway across the lunchroom, Alastair watched them with a menacing grin.

Castiel loved Dean's laugh. It was addicting and infectious, a low melodic sound that sent a shiver down his spine and a swell to his heart. Dean's voice—especially his dry chuckle and heartfelt laughter—was quite possibly the most wonderful sound in the universe. It was better than the sound of asteroids colliding, planets imploding, stars combusting...Dean's laughter was an exotic treat that Castiel knew he couldn't have but dared to steal anyway, even when he knew his theft could only end in his capture and execution.

But Cas knew it'd be worth it.

"You're a strange boy, you know that?" Dean said on their way to Latin, shaking Cas from his thoughts.

Cas smiled wryly, "Yes, I've been told on occasion of my 'weirdness.'"

"Yea, but I mean it in a positive way," Dean told him, "Being weird is awesome. It's being normal that sucks ass."

Castiel scoffed, "I'm sure the majority would tend to disagree."

"Well, the majority is full of assholes." Dean argued pointedly, which made Castiel shrug in silent agreement.

As they walked together through the hall, Cas could feel eyes on him, so when he was certain Dean wasn't paying much attention to him, he glanced around. He connected with the eyes of Fergus Crowley almost immediately.

Crowley was leaning against the wall of lockers with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, its existence only serving to rile up the school's faculty. Crowley's eyes beckoned him to come over, but Castiel stayed staple-gunned to Dean's side, shaking his head slightly in silent refusal. He didn't want to deal with him now. He just wanted to hang out with Dean.

Instead of actual agitation at his refusal, Crowley smirked and rolled his eyes exasperatedly, giving Castiel a wink before he pushed himself up and disappeared in the crowd.

"...Cas, are you even listening to me?"

"No," He admitted because he could never lie to Dean (unless he had to, of course, but that was beside the point), "My apologies, I became lost in thought. What were you saying, Dean?"

Dean grinned, "Well, I was trying to goad you into saying something so I wouldn't be forced to participate in a one-sided conversation."

"That sounds unpleasantly dull." Cas told him a smile, making Dean chuckle.

"Nothing's dull when you're around, Man." Dean said, clasping Cas' back as they walked into the Pamela's classroom.

"Thank you." Cas said politely, grinning ear to ear at the compliment, "I return the same sentiment."

Dean smiled at him, and Castiel felt his heart ache not in loss but at the agonizing anticipation of one to come.

"Dean, you just said you'd like to bathe in pie." Castiel informed him, and Dean just wished this language just stayed dead.

"I just don't get this, Cas," Dean said in frustration, flipping through his textbook fiercely, "How did a whole race of Neanderthals learn this entire language when I can't even say one damn sentence?!"

Castiel rolled his eyes, "There are many flaws in your statement, but I will choose to ignore it since you are already under stress."

Dean scoffed, "Then you talk Latin to me, Hotshot."

"Salve, quomodo vales?" Cas said without so much as batting an eye.

Dean arched an eyebrow, "Did you just cuss me out or something?"

"I said 'hello, how are you?'" Cas said, smiling superiorly.

Dean snorted, "Show off."

"Dean, you shouldn't feel inferior," Cas said, "I've been studying Latin as well as five other languages ever since I was nine."

"Yes, because that makes me feel less inferior." Dean said with an eye roll.

"Dean, you are superior to me in many subjects," Cas assured him, "Latin just isn't one of them." Before Dean could reply, the bell rang, bringing their study session (not a study date, a study session; there's a difference) to an end.

"Hey, I'll see you in English, okay?" Dean said, picking up his stuff and heading towards the door.

But just as he was about to step out of earshot, Dean heard Castiel mutter almost inaudibly, "Te amo..."

Stopping mid-step, he casted a questioning glance over at Castiel, "What does that mean?" Castiel startled and turned as white as a sheet once he discovered Dean heard him, making him automatically assume it was either an insult or curse word directed at him.

"I, uh..." Cas sputtered, flushing pink as he glued his gaze to the floor, "I-I don't remember."

Dean was unconvinced, but just as he was about to grill the boy for the real answer (because honestly, if he had anything bad to say about him, say it to his freaking face), he remembered the woodshop teacher warned him that if he was ever late to his class, he'd tell his father. And since Dean wasn't interested in being whipped like a dog anytime soon, he should probably get his ass in gear.

Dean raised a finger at Cas, "We're talking about this later." Then he hurried out of the classroom, wondering what bad thing Castiel said and why he said it to him, of all people.

By the time Castiel's legs stopped shaking enough for him to walk to class, he was already a few minutes late. Stupid, stupid, he cursed himself silently with clenched teeth, wanting so badly to fling himself down the nearest flight of stairs, how could you say that to him? You blew it. He's going to hate you once he finds out, Castiel. Just like everyone else does.

The empty, silent hallway only made the voices seem louder, their screams of anger and wails of anguish thrashing around in his throbbing skull. He could barely hear anything else, which was why he hadn't noticed anyone following him until he felt someone grab him from behind. Castiel gasped out in surprise, but before he could scream, a beefy, smelly hand covered his quivering lips, silencing him.

He fought uselessly to get away, but it did nothing but make his attacker chuckle darkly. Or, as he should say, attackers. He heard many different voices behind him, cackling in their varying pitches. But one—only one—stood out from the crowd so vividly that Cas immediately knew who was behind this.

"Hey Faggot," Alastair hissed into his ear, his acidic breath sending chills down his spine, "Suck any Winchester cock lately?" He laughed, the sound thunderous in Cas' still sensitive ears, "Of course you have. I can practically smell it on your breath." Escape is fruitless, a voice—one of the kinder ones, one that Cas didn't hear very often—whispered to him, and struggle will only make it worse. It's better to just let it happen and then deal with the aftermath later. He immediately allowed his body to go slack, the motion all too familiar to him.

"Listen Fairy," Alastair said, walking around until he faced Castiel, "I don't want to beat you until you cough out your lungs. But Dean..." He sighed sadly and shrugged, "Well, based on his latest actions towards me, it seems like that's what he wants me to do. But you'll forgive me, won't you? After all, it's just business."

Castiel silently responded with hard, steel blue eyes, neither an ounce of fear in his gaze nor flowing through his limp body. He wasn't scared of Alastair and his flying monkeys. Hell, their beatings felt like a friendly embrace compared to Michael's expert combat skills and bone-breaking punches.

Though it was evident that these filthy pigs were amateurs, it didn't necessarily mean their kicks and punches wouldn't earn him a few cracked ribs or so. And sure, it'd hurt, but Castiel was accustomed to pain. In all honesty, he felt weird and antsy without any bruises or welts decorating his body for more than a couple weeks or so.

As Alastair wound his fist up to sail it at Castiel's skull, he buried himself deep inside his subconscious, sending his mind elsewhere to hide away from the painful damage being done. Just go to your happy place, Castiel advised himself soothingly, it'll be over eventually.

Just as he felt the neck-snapping blow to his jaw, an image of Dean appeared in his mind and Castiel barely felt the pain at all.

It was already halfway into Woodshop when Dean finally received a clue to what was happening outside in the hall.

He was in the middle of sawing a piece of wood for his shitty-ass birdhouse project the teacher forced upon them (so original, right?) when Andy Gallagher—a stoner sophomore that was friends with Sam and on good terms with Dean (he had a kickass van and awesome porn collection, so Dean decided he was alright)—nudged his shoulder and motioned for him to turn off the saw. Rolling his eyes and feeling the slightest of irritation bubble in his stomach, Dean switched off the machine and was about to tell him to wait his fucking turn when Andy blurted out suddenly, "Hey, you're friends with that Castle kid, right?"

"Castiel," He corrected and added, "And yea, what about him?" It was almost comical how fiercely Dean was protective of him despite only knowing him a short time. He almost smiled at the thought, but Andy's next words flushed any sense of positive emotion right out of his body.

"Then you probably want to see this." Andy said, thrusting his phone to him and pointing at the screen. Dean glanced down at it, and all coherent thought was violently ripped out of him.

It was a grainy video of two boys fighting as a crowd of laughing figures huddled around them. No, he corrected himself, not fighting. Only one boy was throwing the punches and kicks while the other just simply took it, not even attempting to shield his body from the blows. Their faces were obscured due to the sucky angle and shitty video quality, but Dean could faintly make out a ruffled tan article of clothi—

NO.

Dean's brain shut down as the air in his lungs suddenly felt heavy and suffocating.

"It's a live feed," Andy told him, but his words were fuzzy and distant as if he were miles away, "Tom posted it online on the school website for everyone to see. I think it's still going on—" Dean didn't wait for him to finish; he bolted out of the classroom in one second flat, disregarding the teacher that furiously called after him.

Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, his mind screamed as Dean urged himself to go faster and stop the attack before Castiel gets killed. The image of Cas stumbling and bloody was enough to make Dean run faster than he ever had in his life.

He must have went down every other hallway in the school before he finally found them. The crowd was easily recognizable—all Alastair's friends that would automatically kill a man if the sick son of a bitch told them to—and sent a wave of cold rage through his body. But just as he ran towards them, Dean's ankle twisted and he sailed to the ground.

Throbbing pain burst through his body as he violently collapsed to the tiled floor, the impact knocking the breath out of him. His senses dulled to almost nonexistence, and Dean was vaguely aware of the smell of blood and a hot liquid spilling from his nose.

His ankle screamed out in agony in its twisted, unnatural position, and Dean's lungs burned like they'd just swallowed a gallon of salty ocean water. Cas, Cas, Cas, his brain still chanted, shaking Dean from his daze and reminding him of what he was supposed to stop. His vision finally cleared enough for him to see what was happening nearly fifteen yards away from him, but his groggy arms refused to push his body up. He was forced to only watch as Alastair kicked Castiel in the chest and sent the boy crashing to the ground. Tears of sorrow and failure burned Dean's green eyes and he tore his gaze from the scene, choosing to focus his eyes on farther down the hall where a figure emerged.

It only took a couple more seconds to realize it was Crowley stomping down the hall with his murderous gaze locked on the tangled bodies of Alastair and Cas. Halfway to the crowd, Crowley reached for something in his jacket pocket. Dean's heart seized when he discovered it was a knife.

Those fucking bastards, Dean thought viciously as he forced himself to a standing position despite his broken ankle and foggy mind, they hired Crowley to finish the job. Dean limped as fast as he could, but Crowley still beat him to the scene. The crowd divided as Crowley advanced towards the two boys. When he finally reached them, Dean let out a pathetic warning cry before Crowley swung his knife and—

"Shit!" Alastair shouted in surprised pain, stumbling away from Cas and glancing at his now sliced wrist, "You fucking—" He cut off when he realized it was Crowley that held the bleeding knife.

"C-Crowley," He choked out, he and the rest of his friends scurrying back, "What are you—"

"Come any closer and I'll cut your bloody heart out," Crowley roared with enough fury that everyone around him winced like they'd been hit, "Now bugger off before I decide to play target practice with your heads."

Alastair sputtered out an apology before they took off down the hall. They only halted to a stop when they saw a wobbling Dean in their path. All fear drained from Alastair's expression as a sick joy highlighted his features, "Winchester, you—"

"Leave the asshole alone, too." Crowley called out harshly, his words stopping Alastair's bleeding arm as he reached for Dean, "You can have him at another time, but not today." Alastair's arm twitched as if to disregard Crowley's request before he eventually dropped it, snarling at Dean one last time before they took off again, this time vanishing out of sight.

Dean had to lean against the wall to steady himself as he watched Crowley wipe the blood off the knife with his jeans and stick it back in his pocket. He reached for a bruised and bloody Castiel and pulled him up. He wrapped Castiel's shoulder around his neck and supported the disoriented boy's weight as he gently walked him down the hall, carefully avoiding to cause any unnecessary pain to Cas. The gesture seemed almost...caring, if Crowley was even capable of that emotion.

"Cas." Dean said hoarsely when the two neared him, reaching out to caress Castiel's bruised cheek, but Crowley jerked his body away from Dean's touch like it was fire.

The English teen scowled at Dean and scorned, "Haven't you done enough, Winchester?" Dean dropped his hand and watched with bleary eyes as Crowley led Cas to the nurse's office, murmuring reassurances in his ear and holding Castiel up by his torso with careful, delicate hands.

Dean could only think to follow them, wincing as his ankle throbbed with every step he took. As he limped after the two, only one question echoed in his mind: If he couldn't even save Castiel from others, how could he save him from himself?

Author's Note: Wow, Crowley does have feelings (and they're pretty damn strong when it comes to Cas)! Yea so, this chapter was really angsty, but I promise that next chapter is all fluff. You'll get to see Dean and Crowley not be too much of dicks to each other.

Your reviews for this fic are heartwarming and inspiring, and I'm hoping that you'll keep leaving them as plentiful and vivid as always. It's been a fun year, and I have you readers to thank for that.

(By the way: Te amo means "I love you" in Latin. Happy anniversary ;)!