Chapter 4

A couple of days passed, and Dean slowly made his way back to normal.

He visited Biology, Geography, English and the other classes regularly, which made him feel a little better about himself and Lisa was pretty impressed. It was only math class Dean avoided like hell. But no big deal, though. He was one step ahead of his classmates anyway. And he totally didn't fasten his walk whenever he passed Cas' house or anything. No, absolutely no big deal there, everything was perfectly normal again.

It was Thursday morning and time for math class—Gabe, Meg, Lisa and his other classmates were probably bored as hell learning all about the binomial formulas—when Dean decided to pay Bobby a visit.

Moving down the stone stairs leading to the school's dusty, crammed heating room, Dean noticed the school's principal Mr. Fergus Crowley watching him closely from upstairs. Crowley was a serious bully. And within living memory he'd had it in for Dean.

Sonofabitch.

A second later Dean forgot about the unpleasant encounter again. Bobby's favorite song La Cucaracha was hammering through the heavy cellar door. The booming bass was shaking the concrete floor to the beat.

"Hey! Buddy!" Dean shouted above the noise.

But he received no reaction from the sombrero-wearing janitor. Rocking back and forth to the deafening sounds, Bobby was working on some wires again—What's his job exactly, Dean sometimes wondered, having seen Bobby perform only a very limited amount of different tasks—when Dean pulled the plug of the out-of-date transistor radio.

"Ay!"

Bobby turned around.

His face immediately lit up.

Dean grinned. "You sure that's even allowed? Throwing your private siesta down here?"

"I don't give a rat's shit what or what not Fergus Crowley says, mi hijo."

"Well said", Dean replied, suspecting a mutual dislike there, though.

"Boy, that puto vago is up my ass lately. I'm telling you. Says I'm selling drugs to the kids here and wants to catch me in the act. Get rid of me. Like I'm some parasite."

"But you do sell drugs to them, man."

"Touché."

Bobby paused to carry some heavy wires around and pick up new ones. "Well, mi pequeño, I still got some of the stuff I bought in Mexico last weekend. Saved some of the good junk just for you. That was a trip, I'm telling you. Didn't think I'd make it back."

He looked at Dean, checking if he was listening. He certainly was.

Bobby continued with sparkling eyes. "I was driving through the burning hot desert, Tijuana long behind me, the border a few miles ahead. Then I passed this crazy fella, ha, wearing nothing but whitish underpants and holding a small-calibre shotgun, protecting his broken RV or somethin'. Wouldn't want to mess with that fellow." Bobby shook his head. "Jesucristo. That's Mexico, Dean."

A good forty minutes later—just in time for the ending of math class—Dean made his way upstairs again. A totally inconspicuous plastic bag packed with White Widow weed hidden in his hoodie's pocket. The finest dope in the world. Loco weed, according to Bobby.

"Hello, darling."

Dean winced in surprise. He looked up and found Crowley standing on the exact same spot he'd stood at before, hands in the pockets of his black coat.

"Dean Winchester. Please. Would you be so kind as to empty your pockets for me?"

Dean stuffed the plastic bag inside his sleeve. "Yeah—uh, sure."

And he emptied his leather jacket's pocket. Nothing earth-shattering to be found.

Crowley smiled, smugly. "Fascinating. Now, tell me, Dean Winchester. Are you El Cantante's drug peddler or are you not?"

He screamed the last few words, face turning an angry red, but Dean remained unimpressed.

"No, 'f course not, sir." Dean showed his most innocent smile, the one he saved up for exactly these occasions. Crowley squinted at him, suspiciously. "I'm just a regular student like any other. Except that I'm friends with the janitor. Big deal. We have history."

"Wow. Tell me more."

For a moment they just stared at each other. Eventually Dean made a hesitant move to leave.

"Not so fast, young man", Crowley immediately called out. "Don't you dare think I am not well aware of your oh-so clever math skipping technique. I see you, Dean Winchester." Crowley clicked his tongue. "Using the cluelessness of a new teacher like that. Not a nice way. I thought you were better than that. Now. I'm afraid Mr. Novak and me, we're going to have a nice little chat soon."

Dean almost had a heart attack.

Fuck—no.

"That's right, boy."

Crowley slowly backed off, satisfied.

"Beware of the king."

Dean swallowed hard. He carried on with a hollow feeling in his stomach, his steps echoing in the empty halls. Lunch break was nearly over and Dean made a quick decision of where to go next. He knew that soon enough crowds of students and teachers would flood the hallways. And Dean wanted to avoid running into Mr. Novak at all costs.

Dean left the school building and—after crossing the parking lot—reached a small, remote area, where students usually hung out to smoke. People should have left by now, though, since the next class was about to start soon. He wasn't surprised to find Gabe still sticking around, joined by Sam and his girlfriend Jess.

As usual, Gabe and Sam were playing basketball and Dean noticed with amusement that Jess had apparently joined the game. Dean watched Jess dribbling as if she'd never done anything else in her life. Easily surpassing Gabe. Making her way around Sam. And finally coming to a halt just in front of the hoop.

She scored effortlessly.

"Oh, come on!" Gabe cried out.

"What did I tell ya, man? She's a pro!" Sam roared and swung his lanky legs over to his girlfriend.

Making his way towards the group, Dean couldn't wipe the smile off his face. What a dorky family we are.

Dean had known Gabe since primary school. They'd gotten along from the very first day, Dean instantly being drawn to that short boy who'd always seemed to be up to no good. Even though no one would ever come close to Sammy, in a way Dean did see Gabe as his brother.

Jess spotted Dean first. "Oh, Dean, hey! We've been looking for you!"

It was still a mystery to Dean how Sam and her had actually gotten together. Sam refused to spill the beans on how he'd managed to win her heart. You could tell that Sam and Jess were also each other's best friend, though, they're happiness radiating whenever they were with each other. Dean hated to admit it, but they were downright adorable together.

"You just missed some major ass-kicking, man", Sam laughed.

Gabe half-jokingly glared at him in response.

"I wouldn't let the girl lose, would I?"

"How very old-fashioned of you", Jess simply replied and turned to Sam, who had taken her hand. She rewarded him with one of her most beautiful smiles.

Gabe rolled his eyes, focusing on Dean instead. "So, anyway. I've missed you in math, buddy. Again. You know, if you're planning on quitting it altogether, then I think you should have a chat with our dear Mr. Crowley first."

"Yeah, shut up, Gabe."

Dean had been hoping that Gabe would eventually get that the whole math situation wasn't available for public teasing. But this was Gabe. Luckily, Dean remembered that he was carrying the perfect change of topic in his very own pocket. He pulled out the weed.

"Hey, guys. Wanna come over on Friday?"

Gabe eagerly grabbed the small package.

"Man, Bobberoz never fails to amaze me!"

Jess looked over Gabe's shoulder and joined Gabe's excitement. Even Sam was sort of excited. Probably just trying to please Jess, Dean guessed. Nerd.

Dean grinned.

A house party was just what he needed to get his mind off all things Castiel Novak.

"Dean. What are you doing?"

"What's it look like, huh? Gonna take a shower. You got a problem with that, Sam?"

"Well, yeah. We're already late and—ugh. Never mind, Dean. Just do whatever the hell you want."

"Y'know that's what I always do."

Friday morning the two of them got themselves ready for the last school day of the week at St. Tipper High and St. Tipper Middle School.

Dean, being like that, was just slipping into the shower and Sam in reaction decided to leave the house on his own once again. Completely done with his older brother. Sam already was doomed to start most of his days in a pissed-off mood because of Dean's reckless attitude—he definitely wasn't feeling like being late to class all the time because of him on top of it.

Sam was just tying his shoe-laces when the phone rang.

He picked it up.

"Sam Winchester?"

He spoke into the old-fashioned telephone. Static noise was the only response, automatically giving away the person on the other line. Hesitantly, Sam called into the static, not really expecting anything to get through to his father.

"Dad?"

For an eternity all Sammy heard was—well, nothing. Except for water running in the bathroom and deafening static noise. Then, fragments of words inaudibly washed through the line. His father sounded a million miles away, Sam thought, and he felt his stomach drop heavily. Sam covered his free ear with his hand for better understanding, to maybe catch a message from Dad. He listened intently to the scraps of sentences and screwed up his eyes.

"Shot… a… huge moose…"

Crack.

"…should've seen it… I'm… best hunter…"

Crack.

"… the world—"

Another loud cracking noise in the phone line cut his father off.

For a moment, Sam just continued listening to the sudden silence, hoping for John's voice to somehow come through again, even though the call was clearly over. Sam couldn't catch that that was it. That was it. Nearly a whole week without a single word from their Dad and now this. His chin began to tremble, and his vision became blurry.

When Dean jumped out of the bathroom a minute later, Sam quickly wiped his tears away and turned away from his older brother.

"What're you still doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked, surprised, while pulling a t-shirt over his head and pointing at the telephone in Sam's hand.

"Did someone call? Who was—"

Dean could save himself any more questions. One look at Sam, who was shaking all over, gave him all the information he needed.

"That sonofabitch."

Dean reached out to tear the phone away from Sam.

"Dean, stop it! The connection's dead! Just leave it!"

The trembling cry of his little brother pierced through Dean's anger like a knife. Dean Winchester could bear a lot of pain, but seeing his little brother cry? That was where he drew the line. Dean then continued talking rather quietly, trying to comfort the sobbing mess that was Sammy with an arm around his shoulder.

"What'd he say?"

"No—nothing, really", Sam sniffed. "He shot a… shot a… moose."

Again, Sammy burst out in tears, unable to say anything more, crying onto Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't need to ask anything else, because he knew his father was an inconsiderate bastard and for that, Dean didn't need no more prove.

So instead of talking, he just held Sammy.

The brothers spent the next two hours mostly in silence.

Neither one had made another move to go to school after John's phone call.

Since Dean—who was he kidding—didn't care about school all that much anyway, missing two lessons didn't bother him the slightest. Even though he had sort of planned to visit math today and finally face Cas again. Mostly because of what Crowley had said, but still. But, well, it had to wait then.

He knew Sam would secretly be upset about it, though. Sam had only missed school very few times, on the very rare occasions he'd been sick.

Sam had been sitting on the couch for almost an hour now, lost in thoughts, his face an unreadable mask.

Of course, the—mildly-put—difficult situation with their father had always been an issue for the brothers. But never before had they openly expressed how they felt about it, not to anyone and most of all not to each other. John Winchester's absence had—up until this morning— always remained unspoken. Dean had always been busy making a hundred excuses for their Dad's irresponsible behavior, swallowing whatever confusion, anger, hurt or sadness he had been feeling down.

And he'd made sure to look after Sam. Had made sure to make their home their home. And by that he'd hoped that his little brother's mind wouldn't dwell on thoughts about Dad. The blind rage Dean had felt when he'd seen Sammy cry, seeing Sammy cry in the first place, and the sickening knowledge their father had been the cause of it, had always been the cause of it—he couldn't deal with any of it.

Suddenly Sam got up, grabbed his bag and books and walked out the door.

"You coming?" He called over his shoulder when Dean made no obvious attempt to follow.

"I don't feel like missing third lesson as well."

Hesitantly, Dean got moving. "Sure you feel up for school today, Sammy? I thought we could go to the lake, have a swim and—"

Sam swirled around. "And what, Dean?"

In a fleeting second, Dean noticed that Sammy's eyes were still red from crying. The look on Sam's face, however, was one of wild determination.

"Talk about Dad? Try to make sense of what he's doing? I'm—I'm just done with it, Dean. I don't want him to affect me anymore."

Sam paused, and looked to the ground. "I know you worry about me, Dean. Just as much as I worry about you. And I've seen your reaction after Dad's phone call. I know you're angry, I know you feel the same way I do. So try and take what happened today as a wake-up call and stop making excuses for him. We have every right to be angry, Dean."

And without giving Dean a chance to reply, Sam walked on.

"Sam, I don't think we're going to make it", Dean said after a while of walking in silence.

Sam hadn't seemed to expect some kind of statement from Dean after his little speech in front of the house, so Dean had just kept his mouth shut for the time being. By now, he had managed to push what happened in a distant corner of his mind, hoping he would soon more or less forget about it. He decided to try and lighten the mood between them, which usually worked best with some decent mocking.

With a fake-quivering voice he went on. "You're gonna miss English class. No Romeo and Juliet for you today, Sammy. I know it's hard to take in at first, man, but trust me, the pain will go away, eventually. Do you need a hug?"

Sam glared at him in response. "Jerk."

Dean's pretty much predictable come-back was drowned out by the sudden roar of an engine.

A brown Chevrolet pickup was pulling up right next to brothers. Dean instantly recognized the car, would always recognize it, everywhere, even between a thousand other Chevys, and it made his stomach curl in embarrassment and nervous anticipation.

"Hello, Dean. Sam."

Cas slightly leaned out of the window, eyes flickering from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean.

He was wearing a neat white shirt and a black tie, which somehow made the blue of his eyes stand out even more. And he had obviously made an attempt in taming his unruly hair, but it still looked as if he'd jumped right out of bed. Mr. Novak, Dean thought, looking at his friend that he currently wasn't on speaking terms with. Right now he's dressed up as Mr. Novak.

Sam had only met Cas a few times over the summer. He knew about the sort of friendship that had formed between Dean and Cas. But he certainly didn't know about the thing that had happened between them. Or had not happened between them. Dean couldn't know. This week Sam—just like Dean—had also learned that Cas worked as a teacher at their school, but to him it was just a funny coincidence. And what else would it be to him, Dean added in his mind. Not everyone was as fucked up as he was.

"Would you like a lift to school?" Cas asked, giving Dean a polite smile.

Dean found himself holding his breath for a second, half-expecting Cas to add something like if that's where you're heading of course, you naughty, naughty boy, Dean Winchester, skipping my classes, and all that—

But in reality Cas' face was completely earnest, showing no trace of any hard feelings towards Dean.

Before Dean could reply, Sam had already passed him, and with a relieved "That would be great, thanks, Mr. Novak", had climbed into the car's backseat.

Well, okay, then.

And as Cas smiled and asked Sammy something school related that Dean didn't give two flying fucks about, he, too, climbed into the Chevy, automatically choosing the front seat. Call it immature, but he never passed on a chance of riding shot-gun. Trouble was that he'd forgotten that he actually was avoiding Cas.

And now he'd have to sit so fucking close to him.

Seemingly unaffected, Cas released the handbrake, and the three of them slowly wheeled down the rolling country lane. A few minutes later, they hit St. Tipper main road, which led directly to the local school buildings within a few minutes. Still, the ride seemed too long to Dean. A lot could go wrong within a few minutes. A whole fucking lot.

Dean was tensely following the casual back-and-forth dialogue between Sammy and Cas, happily opting himself out of the conversation.

Dean checked on Sam in the side-view mirror.

Sammy's cooled down a bit.

Sam was currently discussing his class' upcoming math test with Cas, who was clearly enjoying the math gibble gabble. He was talking about the three binomial formulas as if they were his children or something, eyes glowing warmly and a little smile playing around his lips. Dean watched Cas from the corner of his eyes, because it was impossible not to watch. A sight that could easily save his day.

Inwardly, Dean thanked him. For, well, just being the way he was. He felt a strange wave of affection towards Cas, thinking about the way he'd touched Dean's arm—until the conversation suddenly took an unpleasant turn.

"Well, possibly Dean can help you with that", Cas stated, conversationally. "I do recognize his logical talents."

Dean's little smile died. Cas' side-glanced at him.

Dean thinned his lips, intently staring out of the front window as if the three of them were driving right through some action-scene out of a Tarantino movie.

"Sam, your brother is very talented", Cas went on, eyes back on the road. "Dean has truly internalized the mysteries of fraction arithmetic in the course of the last weeks. It was astonishing. But I didn't need to perform any wonders." Cas considered his words for a moment. "Dean's potential has been blatant to me."

Dean could feel his face getting hotter each second.

Why did it feel like Cas was talking to him, not to Sam?

"He is—incredible", Cas went on. Dean felt his short glances burning his skin. "Very intelligent. And funny. A 'good catch', as people say. And he knows all about the human ways. Whenever I don't know how to approach a situation, I just ask Dean for his advice. I'd say: 'Dean, how do I order pizza on the phone?' And he would just tell me: 'Well, you call the pizza place. And then you order the pizza you want to eat. Boom. Genius.'" Cas giggled, shaking his head. "He is—he truly is one of a kind."

Cas then fell into silence, his face all dreamy.

Dean just sat on the passenger seat, beet-red, eyes closed.

What. The. Fuck.

Cas had just called him a good catch. Out loud. In front of Sam. Cas had just called him a good catch.

Cas didn't seem to expect any kind of reaction, though. Everything had been said, it seemed, and just like that, he disappeared into his own world. After a few seconds, and several inner nervous breakdowns later, Dean dared opening his eyes, and nervously checked on Sammy's reflection in the Chevy's side-mirror again. Now, Sam's brows were pretty much sky-high. He looked pretty much weirded-the-fuck-out. Dean couldn't blame him.

"Told you we've been—we've been hanging out", Dean reluctantly explained to Sam, glancing over his shoulder. "Once or twice."

Cas laughed at that.

Dean silenced him with a look that could've killed somebody.

After fleeing from the car—and accidentally making beyond awkward eye-contact with Cas— Dean, wearing a Led Zep t-shirt, was just slipping into the school's spacious entrance hall when an angry-sounding dialogue made him stop and cock his ears.

He quickly identified the two familiar voices as Crowley's and Bobby's. Curiously, Dean sneaked up to the corridor on the right, finding this word-battle way more interesting than some old frump raving about Shakespeare's Othello in English class.

Hearing his own name being shouted, Dean froze in his movement.

"Whatever you are doing with that Dean Winchester boy, it needs to come to an end! From now on, there will be no more students allowed at your workstation. No students at all. I put a ban on that, El Cantante!"

In response, Dean only caught an amused snort from Bobby.

"This is not a joke", Crowley continued more quietly, more intimidating, and Dean heard one of them take a quick step. "If you refuse to comply, El Cantante, I'll give you the sack like nobody's business. Do you understand? I am the king of this hell hole! And you're giving me the strong impression, honey bear, that you are highly underestimating what I'm able to do to you. I am your boss. I am everyone's boss. And you don't have any other choice but to—"

"Yeah, yeah, the world is at your feet, blah, blah", Bobby grumbled.

There was an offended gasp. Dean could have sworn there was a pushing sound.

"How dare you disrespecting me like that, El Cantante, how very dare you."

"Shut ya face, camarada. I'm the only idiota willin' to do this bitch of a job, anyway. You leave me in peace, mi amigo, and we'll have no problem. Dean and I, we're good friends. He's a good boy and he's got his very own bucket of crap to carry, he doesn't need your macho power play on top of it. Dean is family. Ain't nobody taking that away from me. At the very least you. That clear?"

For a moment, all Dean heard was heavy breathing and his own heart hammering loudly against his chest. Then, Bobby dangerously lowered his voice.

"I asked you, if I made myself clear."

"Yes", Crowley said through clenched teeth. "As clear as the glass of the dozens of half-empty Jack Daniel's bottles you're storing under your work bench. Interesting story, by the way. Touching. Don't forget to invite me to your and Dean Winchester's wedding."

"Just shut your cakehole, asshat", Bobby concluded.

Shortly afterwards Dean heard footsteps slowly departing towards the school yard.

"This is going to have serious consequences!" Crowley yelled as soon as he knew Bobby in safe distance.

"Kiss my wrinkled ass, sir!"

The corridor fell into silence.

Dean let out his breath. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. He took a few moments to recollect his thoughts and eventually headed for his halfway-over English class, knowing that grumpy old Bobby, who'd worked at St. Tipper High for about two years now, probably got himself into serious trouble, but man, if that hadn't been touching as fuck.

Whew.

Dean wiped his forehead.

A lot of praise for one day.

He would need serious amounts of booze tonight—at their little house party—to wash all of those feelings out of his system again.