"All right, people, all right. Shut up already. Raise your hand when I call your name."

Castiel's homeroom teacher, who he'd known since freshman year, had a naturally gruff way about him. Mr. Zachariah taught metal shop and was probably in the wrong profession because he couldn't stand teenagers.

"Okay, so, announcements. Right. Let's see, the weight room was supposed to be open, but now it's closed because of extra football practice. Quit parking your cars in the designated visitors' spots or get ticketed. The school store has the new hooded Hornets sweatshirts if you're interested. Um...oh, new student. New student, people. People? Are you listening?"

Thirty heads finally turned in his direction.

"Thank you. We've got someone new joining our little homeroom party." He looked down at his clipboard. "Dean Winchester."

Everyone shifted in their seats to stare toward the back of the room at the tall, serious-looking boy with close-cropped hair who was wearing a brown, weathered leather jacket. He stood there silently as the class appraised his appearance, taking in everything from his scuffed work boots to his green eyes. He was handsome and well built, exuding an air of confidence Castiel wished he himself had.

Predictably there was tittering from a few of the girls in the class; Dean had obviously met their approval. Not that he had to try very hard, as far as Castiel could see. He was the type of guy who would be instantly accepted at Flour Bluff.

"Where you from, Winchester?"

Dean shrugged. "Somewhere else."

The class laughed and Mr. Zachariah rolled his eyes. "Another sixteen-year-old too cool for me, huh? You're not taking metal shop by any chance, are you?"

Dean shook his head.

"Thank God. Now where are you from, Winchester? Enlighten your classmates."

"Kansas."

"There you go, Kansas. Now that didn't hurt, did it? Dean from Kansas, people. Okay, Dean from Kansas, take a seat. Welcome to Texas."

Dean sat down toward the front of the class, two seats in front of Castiel.

"Play any sports?"

"Some baseball, I guess."

"Talk to Coach Zazel. He lost four of his starting lineup when they graduated. I'm sure he'll be looking for people."

"Uh-huh," Dean said.

Castiel inwardly cringed over possibly having a member of the baseball team in homeroom with him.

"Or you might run into the team captain Alastair in the halls. He's easy to spot. Wears that stupid varsity jacket everywhere."

Castiel smiled a little at that.

"All right, people. You have fifteen minutes before the bell. Make yourselves useful and shut up while you do it."

Most students used homeroom as a last-minute reprieve to catch up on homework they neglected from the night before. Castiel liked to use the time to draw in his sketchbook, which he carried around with him everywhere. It was a large, hardcover black book that contained a mishmash of drawings and clippings and pieces of ads or articles that inspired him. He used pencils most often, but the book was also covered in pen and ink illustrations that popped into his head while he was killing time. This morning he decided to sketch the back of Dean's head and neck where it disappeared into the upturned collar of his leather jacket.

The bell rang for first period and Mr. Zachariah held up a hand. "Have a good day everyone. Good luck, Winchester. Don't get lost."

The class filed out of homeroom and they all dispersed in different directions.

Castiel watched the new kid grab his schedule from Mr. Zachariah and bolt from the room. He really hoped he was bad at baseball.