Calling Dean a Friend

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Castiel sat there for a moment, his mind whirling, trying to build up courage for what he wanted to do next. He initially believed Dean was going to beat him up, yet they'd somehow struck up an unlikely friendship. He thought he'd given up on ever finding someone to confide in a long time ago, but he wasn't about to let this chance get away from him now — despite the way his heart was pounding nervously in his chest.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this may sound strange, or even stupid, and I realize this is only the second time we've conversed at any length — "

"What the heck are you talkin' about?"

"You can certainly say no if you'd like to, but — " Castiel looked down at his hands, which were twitching nervously.

"But what?"

"Would you mind if I called you my friend?" Castiel asked.

Dean made a face, and then laughed. "That's an awful lot of words for somethin' so simple."

"I don't understand."

"You think too much, man. I thought we already were friends."

"You thought...oh. Oh, well, that's great, then." Castiel smiled at him, excited and relieved at the same time. "I wasn't sure. I didn't want to jump to any presumptuous conclusions."

Dean grinned at him from across the car. "I don't know exactly what that means, but I think you're pretty cool, Cas."

"Really?"

"Sure, the way you're all smart and artistic and creative and talk to the teachers like equals. Well, to Ms. Milton about Hamlet, anyway." Dean got out of the car and motioned for Castiel to do the same. "C'mon. I'm starvin'. I need to make myself some dinner."

Castiel was so flustered by Dean's compliments that he barely noticed he was still sitting in the car.

"Thanks for the ride, Dean," he said, getting out of the Impala. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem. See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, see you tomorrow."

Dean walked away and onto the sidewalk that led to his apartment. Castiel was still standing there awkwardly next to the car when it occurred to him that Dean had mentioned him being artistic and creative, which to Castiel were some of the greatest compliments he had ever received. His teachers often commented on his creativity of course, but never a fellow student. It gave him a renewed sense of pride.

He smelled of grease and his clothes and backpack were ruined, but he greeted his mother with a cheery hello when he walked through the door.

"You're in a good mood, despite not calling again, Castiel." She sniffed. "What is that smell?"

"Grease."

His mother frowned. "Grease. I see. Care to explain yourself?"

"It's okay, I have it under control."

"You have it under..." She spun him around. "Castiel, it's all over your hair! And your shirt and school bag, they're coated with it!"

"Mama — "

"Young man, you will tell me what's going on this instant, and do not attempt to fabricate some elaborate story, do you understand?"

Castiel looked down. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now. Why are you covered in grease?"

"Alastair."

She waited for further explanation, but when it wasn't forthcoming, Castiel knew that she knew. "I assume this is the boy who has been bullying you, despite your statements to the contrary."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And is this the real reason you skipped school the other day?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm calling that damned school."

"No, please, don't!" He reached out for her arm. "It's just — "

"Castiel, we've been through this. I will not have my son put in harm's way simply because some other child can't control his violent impulses. It's unconscionable behavior."

"But — "

"Do not argue with me." She sighed, and then softened. "Sweetheart, you are the most important thing in my life. I would do anything to protect you. If someone were ever to hurt you, it would honestly break me inside."

"It's merely teasing."

"Teasing has a way of escalating," she stated simply.

"I know," Castiel said, his aching ribs reminding him of how right she was.

She brushed the hair out of his eyes and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "How did you get home?"

Castiel momentarily brightened. "I couldn't take the bus."

"You should have called me at work," she said.

"I began to walk, but my friend Dean stopped and offered to give me a ride."

"Your friend Dean? Who's this?"

"He plays third base for the baseball team but he doesn't get to be a starter player — which is unfortunate because he's not Wade Boggs — and we have homeroom together, and he sits next to me in English, and he knew it was a kestrel simply by looking at my sketch!" Castiel's enthusiasm spilled over into his speech and everything came rushing out at once. "He drives a classic 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and he wears a leather jacket with his collar up — that's how I know it's him coming across the baseball field — and we ate lunch together, and he's been to three different high schools this year because his father is a civilian contractor with the Marines and he moves around frequently, and I've noticed he always has work boots on, never sneakers — "

She smiled at him knowingly. "I see this young man has made quite an impression on you."

"Oh, yes, he even apologized to me for not saying anything when Alastair called me a faggot, and I — "

"What?"

"Dean apologized."

"I heard that part. Alastair used that word?"

"It's just a word."

"No, Castiel, it's hurtful and cruel, and he has no right to say that to you."

"He's merely doing it to goad me into reacting." He looked up at her, confused. "I don't quite understand why you're so upset."

"Not right now you don't." She kissed his forehead. "Why don't you go shower, and then we can sit down to eat and you can tell me more about your friend."

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Right, Dean. Go wash and you can tell me more about him."

"He's actually our new neighbor as well. He and his father moved into apartment 162."

"Mm-hmm. Now put everything you're wearing into a garbage bag. We'll run down to Wal-Mart after dinner and get you a new backpack."

"Can I get a new CD as well?"

"We'll see."

"Thanks, Mama."

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