Chapter One
They had made it an entire month into the new school year. The weather had started to cool and clubs were just starting up again. The football team would be having their fourth game on Friday where they would hopefully continue on their undefeated streak. Their talented linebacker, Castiel Jimmy Novac-or Cas for short, sat in his first block English class, listing to the chatter of his peers quite as the bell rung, starting class.
“Good morning students,” The booming and fimular voice of the teacher hushed the lingering of conversations between his students. “As you can see, we have a new student. This is Mr.Dean Winchester,” He paused and seemed to motion to the tall, dark haired boy wrapped in a brown leather jacket. His hands shoved in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, he gave an annoyed smile that rose an eyebrow which widened his shockingly green eyes. Before the teacher could ask him to take a seat, Dean took it into his own hands and slipped into the only open desk.
“When we left on Friday, Class, we…” The teacher, Mr.Hunt, attempted to pull his classes attention away from the new kid, who was currently defacing school property by scribbling on the desk in front of him, and back to the board. But Hunt didn’t care what the boy was doing any more than Mr.Novak, who sat in the desk beside Dean, could care to listen to the lesson.
“Mr.Novak,” An annoyed voice breaks the student away from his train of thought. The blue eyed senior looks up in a silent answer of ‘what?’ to which his teacher demands to see if he had done his weekend homework.
“I have it done,” He answers, a bit of attitude towards the teacher who was now crossing his arms and tilting his head in disbelief. The sass in his tone, however, didn’t seem to fit with his innocent face.
“Well in that case, I don’t suppose you’d have a problem with catching Mr. Winchester up to speed.” It was not a question, but an order to which the teenager almost nodded in agreement. He seemed to catch himself, though, and change the action to a roll of his blue eyes before he turned his attention towards Deans green ones.
“We’re reading this,” Castiel states in a deadpan tone as he lifts up his copy of Moby Dick. “There’s a test on Friday, you have to be halfway through the book.” Dean had hardly lifted his head, but gave a little nod of understanding to the boy in the Sports Jacket. Castiel gave another roll of his blue eyes and turned back to the front of the classroom where he zoned out and paid no attention to the lesson which had already continued. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the stuff already.
An hour later, the shrilling bell rung again, this time to dismiss the students to their second block. Castiel, grateful to finally be free, bolted from the room to the bathroom. While most would have simply mistaken the way the jock couldn’t sit still through his first block as a major need to pee, Castiel knew it was something else. If only he could figure out what. Or why he couldn’t stop thinking of the perfect green of Deans eyes.
Dean Winchester, already tired of this school, didn’t bother rushing to his next class-which he wasn’t completely sure it was. He wouldn’t bother to memorize the path through the halls that he would be taking every day for only the next week or so. After his father finished up work, he’d be on the road again, so what’s the point. He took his time moving through the crowded halls where he stood straighter to hold his ground. It felt good to move again, see as he couldn’t find a way to stop his leg from bouncing in first block. He felt as though he could work for hours and still have energy. The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t seem to get that Novak kid’s voice out of his head. What the hell was going on with him?
Dean had just hardly made it through his middle two classes, both of which he found useless, without exploding. The history schools taught was useless for a hunter like himself, and he, at 17, already knew more Latin then his teacher did. At least at lunch, which had been nothing short of a pain in the ass, he realized that the jitters from first block had stopped sometime through the day. Overally, Dean found the day to be an utter waste of time he could be spending on guns. He made his way towards his fourth block shop class. Hopefully this could at least be entertaining. He braced himself, upon walking into the classroom, for yet another interdiction to his whole class who will stare at him with less intelligence then a monkey. But, to his relief, the shop teacher only nodded and pointed out a seat for Dean to take. Silently thankful, he slid into the spot assigned and wordlessly took out his notebook where he had scribbled ideas for the first project he had to make up. He had already met up with Mr.Cobain along with every other teacher Dean would be taking classes of for the semester, except for his English teacher who hadn’t been there that afternoon the Winchesters came into town. And like ever other teacher, Cobain had told Dean what he would need to do to catch up with the class and by what date. But this was the only class Dean intended to do that for.
The green-eyed new boy was focused intently on his notebook when Castiel walked in and, with hesitation, took his normal seat beside what use to be an empty chair. He didn’t speak a word because he couldn’t find the ones to use. As the room gained people, however, the talk between their classmates-about their weekend, or their day, or whatever else they could possibly find to chatter about-filled the room with useless white noise that wasted air. Castiel, whos hearing was more advanced than most, felt as if his head would soon explode as he caught spare words or sentences exchanged between his peers. It only proved it to him that these people spoke only to hear themselves talk. Thankfully, the tarty bell run and shushed the class enough to allow his teacher to silence them, thus relieving Cas of his future headache for now. The kid next to him, Dean, glanced up from his notebook every so often and almost showed some form of interest in what the teacher was talking about.
“This next project,” Mr.Cobain says, finally reaching his point, “will be a group project. You can have up to four but no less than two. The person you’re sitting beside will have to be in your group. Choose wisely; you have one minuet.”
Each of them groaning internally, the two boys turned towards each other while the class scrambled around them to make groups. Having no interest in interacting with more people than necessary, they didn’t even bother to glance around the class. Instead, the two high school teens used the next minuet to look over each other, trying to figure the other out. As if squinting their blue and green eyes could unlock the other person and they would fall open like books, revealing the secrets held within their hardened cover.
Castiel noticed things about the boy he had looked over in the first block. His brown hair which was styled to stick up seemed slightly greasy, as if he didn’t have the chance to wash it often. His face which read to be closed off and hardened, was decorated in freckles. Cas didn’t even try to glance towards the boys eyes, unsure how his body would react and not wanting to risk it. Deans clothes were all well-worn, if not overused. The jacket, which seemed a little big on teenage frame, had places where holes were forming which could only come from years and years of rough usage. The last thing Castiel noticed in his minuet of looking the teen over was a thick leather cord around his neck that tucked into his shirt.
Dean looked over the jock in the way he had been taught, cold, quick, and emotionless. The first thing he noticed was a stain of blood on the boys jacket. He found finger shaped bruises on the wrist that was left exposed by his jacket slipping up. His shirt was a well pressed polo that had to be laid out by an overbearing mother. His hair was well done and his skin was clear but he wore bags under his eyes that came close to matching Deans. Somehow, he hid them well from his peers. He seemed to wear no jewelry except for a mass-produced leather braded bracelet that read Anna. Dean could only guess it was a girlfriend.
The teacher called them all to attention again with the loud clap of his hands. While he explained how the project would work, Cas found himself zoning out in thought. Every so often, his blue oceans of eyes would drift their way in the direction of Deans stubbled chin and messily spiked brown hair. What was he doing? He had a date with Anny this weekend. Pretty Anny with the red hair and pink lips. With her olive green eyes that showed pain and the scars on her arms she tried hard to cover in makeup. She was so caring and kind and, as his friend said, “had nice tits and a sweet ass,” which Castiel guessed was things boys should care about. Why would he even spare a glance at this boy he didn’t know? Why would he-
“So this should be a blast,” the same boy Castiel had been questioning mutters under his breath, breaking Cas away from his train of thought. He’s looking expectedly at his new shop partner, no doubt for input on the instructions he hadn’t been listing to. So, at a lost, he returned Deans expectant look with one of lostness and confusion.
“If you meatheads can’t even listen, why bother taking the damn class?” Dean growls lowly, his annoyance at the jock, who showed no sign of listing to Dean either, dripping from his voice. Dean turned to a fresh page of his book and started scribbling something in a tiny scrawl that no one would be able to read but himself. “We’re spose to be making a working robot.” He mutters to the football player beside him. “One person does the bot, the other makes the motor.” Dean pulls his eyes from the blue and red lined paper back up to Castiel. “So which do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Helpful,” Dean rolled his eyes, his voice soaking in sarcasm. “I’ll do the motor, but first I need ideas for how this thing’ll work. Do you-“
“Does this work?” Castiel asks, pushing a notebook with a detailed drawing of a miniature robot. Certain parts on the bot were pointed out with a scrawled script beside it, explaining what the use of each part was and notes on how it would be made. Dean looked over the picture, stunned. “It’s a hobby of mine.” Cas speaks up, answering the silently asked question. “but do you think it’ll work.”
“Um.. yeah, sure. It’ll work great. Just it can’t be taller than two feet and wider than one and a half, “ Dean explains, pulling the drawing closer to him. “What kind of oil does this take?”
The two boys lean over the paper, fixing, adjusting, and improving the plan for their bot. They each say minimal amount of words to each other but work together well for the rest of the period. Walking out of the class, Dean felt relieved he was paired with someone that knew what they were doing and was excited about their plan. Sadly, the jittery feeling was back, he noticed.
Castiel walked out of the classroom, feeling okay for once. He wasn’t stressed or annoyed for once as he made his way through the mass of students towards football practice. He had too much energy again, his hands jittery and shaky as they had been at the end of first block. Maybe it was just stress about Fridays game, he tried to reason with himself but knew that wasn’t it.