Last of the American Angels

Dean clung to his dad's arm, face pressed against the cold metal fence that blocked him from the brand new world of School. 

The other kids played and kicked in the playground, and Dean, to be honest, was jealous. He wanted to go to school. All there was to it was playing and fun, right? He wanted to be 5, not 4. The young boy gave pleading eyes to his dad,

who simply shook his head with a warm smile, and carried on homeward. 

* * *

Dean Winchester bounced at his dad's side as they neared the school doors, and was eager to drop hands and rush the building, missing the semi-apprehensive wave from the older Winchester. 

When he scanned the interior of the cold structure, it'd be an understatement to say that he was a little disappointed. A kindly old woman led him to a room that lived up to no expectation, full of people, mostly as old as him, conformed to a boring, old circle, legs crossed neatly in front of them. Things already were far from planned. 

The head of the circle--Ms. Masters--Smiled with sweet venom, and instructed him to sit wherever he pleased. Dean sighed and trudged his way to the far side of the group, positioning himself as a slump, next to a dark-haired boy with a round face and deep blue eyes. 

"Hi." Dean attempted a conversation. If there was anything Dean was still excited about, it was the people; mainly talking to them about things he liked. 

The pretty boy simply turned wide, confused eyes to Dean, then back to the floor. 

Dean shrugged as Ms. Masters began the class, instructing everyone to go around the circle, saying their names. 

"Jo Harvelle!" A pretty blonde piped up. Dean could tell he already liked her very much. 

"Ash Harvelle." This boy seemed a little grumpy, rather similar to Dean. He had brown hair and the beginnings of an awful hairdo. 

"Lilith Dante." she seemed dainty and altogether quite rude, holding her back straight, twisting her finger through golden hair, cold eyes held over a dull smile. 

There were a few more names before Dean, who promptly smiled like his dad would, and spoke with a cool voice. "Dean Winchester."

Next was the blue-eyed boy. He looked at his black Velcro shoes as he spoke. "Castiel Novak." 

Castiel Novak. Good name, as far as Dean was concerned. A little girly, but good. 

The rest of the day went as uniform; lame, repetitive, and flat-out not fun. Dean, though new friends with Jo and Ash, was expecting so much more, and after the last bell went, he had already decided that he hated school, and was going to drop out. he would let his father and mother know over supper that night of his scholastic decision, and they would simply laugh at him with soft eyes. 

* * * 

The next few weeks were just as awful, and often Dean would find himself in the Time Out Corner, or on the Clean Up Crew. That's not to say Ms. Masters didn't like him; she adored him, thought he was clever and funny, though at times utterly energetic. 

Eventually, they got into the alphabet, and Dean was, well, as excited as you'd expect him to be. The class was given a seating plan, and Dean was set next to Casteil, who promptly shied from anyone who would attempt conversation with him. 

Both boys were copying down letter after letter in relative silence when Dean looked over. "Why are you so quiet?"

"I don't know." Castiel responded lightly. 

"Oh." Dean paused. "Well, I think you should be louder. I like your voice." It was true, Castiel had a gravelly voice for someone so young, and Dean liked it. That was the first time the darker-haired boy smiled at Dean, and he liked that, too.