Family Don't End With Blood /Destiel//Sabriel//Michifer

The Art of Being Wrong

Dean walked into his first class almost half an hour early, which was surprising in itself, but even more so was the fact that he wasn't the first person there. He found a seat at the back of the class, as far away as possible from the three other occupants of the room.

Nerds, Dean thought, taking another bite from the slice of pie he still had in hand.

The only reason he was inside was because it was raining outside. And the only reason he was early in the first place was because he had needed pie, which he finished within five minutes, and then proceeded to mourn.

It was at this moment that Castiel entered the room.

Dean lay back further in his chair and crossed his feet on the desk in front, trying to appear more relaxed as Cas, whose eyes were locked on his, seemed to be debating whether or not he should walk right back out of the room. 

He chose not to. 

Instead, he strode over towards the Winchester and then stopped, as if he hadn't considered his actions any further than the current point. 

"You gonna sit down?" Dean asked, motioning to the seat beside him.

Cas sat silently.

"It's Cas, right?" Dean knew he was right, he wouldn't have allowed himself to forget the name belonging to the blue-eyed boy.

"Castiel," Cas corrected, "But yes."

Dean was again shocked at just how deep the boy's voice was: gravelly and rasped, as if out of practice. 

"So, you got History class with me then?"

Cas looked around, as if to check that he was, in fact, in the History department. "Yes," he frowned, "Obviously."

Dean couldn't help but grin at Cas' confusion; he looked adorable.

More students began to file into the room as the beginning of the lesson loomed closer and the rain outside grew heavier. Before the class had completely filled, Cas silently took his bag and vacated his seat beside Dean in exchange for one near the front.

Dean tried not to feel offended by this.  He failed miserably.

He'd only met Cas yesterday, so why did he feel like the Novak already had some sort of growing grudge against him?

~~

Gabriel had managed to turn up to their first P.E. lesson late and skidded in to the gym hall after all the other students and yet, somehow, before the teacher.

Coach Lestrade had arrived ten minutes after the bell had sounded, doughnut in hand, and had seated himself on the nearest bench he could find. He'd then told the class they'd be playing dodgeball, and had let them get on with it whilst he pretended to watch.

Oddly, because of his apparent complete lack of enthusiasm or interest in the class, everyone seemed to claim that he was their favourite teacher.

This seemed to make little sense.

"Sam!" Gabriel warned, capturing the Winchester's attention as he yanked him out of the path of an oncoming dodgeball.