In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn't Dare Elsewhere

Invitation to Lunch

"Mornin'."

Castiel was surprised when Dean sat next to him in homeroom. "Hello, Dean."

"I guess you were able to wash the grease out, okay, huh?"

"It took me three washes to get clean, and I had to throw out my clothes."

Dean grinned. "At least you don't smell like the garage. That's a plus."

"I really appreciate you taking me home yesterday."

"It's cool; no big deal."

When he and his mother were talking the night before, Castiel expressed his wish that he could do something to repay Dean for his kindness without seeming too forthright. His mother suggested he ask him to dinner, but Castiel wasn't ready for awkward conversation over pork chops and Brussels sprouts. She then said that she could pack him an extra sandwich, and perhaps Dean would like to have lunch with him. Castiel agreed that this was a good idea; he only had to try to force his mouth to form the words.

"Uh, Dean, I was wondering. As a sort of 'thank you,' if you, perhaps — " He hesitated, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic.

"Remember us talkin' about you thinkin' too much?"

"Yes."

"Then just say it, Cas."

"I packed two sandwiches today, and I thought if you weren't particularly in the mood for cafeteria food, you might like to join me for lunch. If you wanted to, of course."

Dean thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. "Sure, why not? The food here's not exactly restaurant quality."

Castiel did his best to hide his excitement. "Of course you know where to meet me."

Mr. Zachariah's morning announcements started, and Dean lowered his voice. "I'll make sure not to be seen. I know you don't want anyone else to know you're out there."

"I can't bear the thought of dealing with the cafeteria every day," Castiel admitted.

"You're tellin' me you've never been in the cafeteria?"

"Not since I found a way to get out to the woods without anyone noticing. I'm socially inept. No one ever wants to talk to me. It makes finding a place to sit in the cafeteria impossible."

"I dunno, you seem to talk to me just fine."

"You're different."

"Why is that?" Dean asked.

Castiel thought about it.

"I have no idea," he answered honestly. "It's rather perplexing to me."

"Maybe you're not as weird as you think."

Castiel cocked his head, and Dean laughed.

"Or," Castiel said, his hand on his chin, "you're not the typical brain-dead popular jock who thinks of nothing but sports, cars, and girls. Perhaps I'm not the only weird one here."

The bell rang signaling the end of homeroom.

"You could be right," Dean said, winking at him. "See you in English."

Castiel wished other guys could have given him a chance the way Dean had. If that were the case, he'd get along with everyone.

Dean and the other students left after the bell rang, but Castiel purposefully left homeroom late, not wanting a run-in with Alastair to ruin his exceptionally good morning. He was certain Ms. Milton would understand.

The halls were deserted by the time he was ready to head up to the second floor for class, and he paused in front of Alastair's locker opposite the stairs. Emboldened by his conversation with Dean and still angry over the grease gun incident, Castiel reached into his backpack for his art markers. He carefully looked back and forth down the hallway, and after reassuring himself there was no one around, wrote Alastair Sucks in large, red letters across Alastair's locker. He pocketed the marker and bounded up the steps, pausing on the landing to admire his handiwork. He felt better already.