Poetry is Human

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Cas' PoV

I swing my locker door open and a piece of paper falls at my feet. I sigh. Nothing new. An oblivious girl and a desperately written number. Oh but it's not. In large, eloquent loopy cursive is a poem that reads:

'I wish to be the reason behind your smile,

because it surely would be fair,

seeing as you're the reason behind mine.'

I read through it with slightly hot cheeks before tucking it into my pocket, not throwing it in the garbage can like usual. As I'm leaving the hall there's a hushed whisper from the girl next to me. "He kept it! Who wrote that?!" I don't know either, hon.

~~~~~

And the next day another note, in the same handwriting sat in my locker. Again, I tucked it in my pocket, but today, everyone was staring having heard about yesterday. I even got the football team's attention. Even their quarterback's stunning eyes followed me. And again, no one knew who had written this poem.

~~~~~

This time the poem was more... sad. No, apologetic is the closest word i can use to describe it.

"I'm not supposed to love you,

I'm not supposed to care.

I'm not supposed to live my life wishing you were there.

I'm not supposed to wonder where you are or what you do.

I'm sorry, i can't help it, Cas, I'm in love with you."

My face twitches and a frown etches its way into my features. All the eyes are on me today again and I feel uneasy. They don't know what's on this paper, they don't know this person's problems. They don't know who they are. And I was slightly wrong. Not all eyes are on me. The quarterback is walking past with his head down and littered in bruises. He looks... sad.

I tuck the note into my jacket and walk out, just behind him. I'm about to walk to my car when I catch a glimpse of his wide frame slide down his car and hunch over his knees. I sigh and walk over to where he sits. I crouch in front of him and move to tap his shoulder. My hand freezes when he flinches. "Get it over with." I furrow my brows. "Wha-" "I said: get it over with. Add a new bruise. Sign it if you want. I don't give a shit anymore."

I plant my knees on either side of his feet. "Dean." His eyes snapped up to me and he tried to snarl but it came out tired. "Don't fucking draw it out!" "I'm not gonna hurt you, Dean." He offered a humorless chuckle. "You should, I deserve it. Ask my teammates." I furrow my eyebrows, not knowing what he meant. "Fuck your teammates. Not literally, they're assholes."

He's about to reply when there's a shout behind him. "Careful, Novak! You might catch his disease!" My eyes widen and I look at him. "I-it's not... It's not contagious." A deep worry line sets in my forehead. "What is it, Dean? Why did they do this?" He looks teary-eyed for a moment before letting his head fall forward. His reply is barely a whisper. "I-I'm gay." And his shoulder drop, shaking silently.

I look down at him sadly before wrapping him in my arms, making small 'shh' noises. "It's okay. There's nothing wrong with that.Shh" He gives in and let's his head fall onto my shoulder. Another shout resounds closer this time. "He's gonna turn you into a fag, Novak." Dean's shoulders shake harder and a gasp resounds through the lot. "Get in your car, Dean. I'll take care of them." He stands and sits in his car, head on the steering wheel.