After homeroom the next morning, Dean and Castiel stopped at their lockers before continuing on to English.

"Hey."

Castiel grabbed his books and shut the locker behind him. "Are you ready?"

"I have somethin' to take care of before class. Will you be okay headed up to English on your own?"

"Yes. Shall I tell Ms. Milton you're going to be late? You're supposed to recite your poem as part of your English final this morning."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I know, don't remind me. I'm already sweatin'."

"You'll do fine," Castiel said.

"I'll be on time. This won't take long."

Castiel frowned at him. "You're okay, right, Dean?"

"Oh yeah, don't worry about anything. I'll be up to class in a minute. You go on ahead and I'll meet you at the top of the stairs."

"All right."

He stared at Dean's retreating back, wondering what was so urgent that it couldn't wait until after class. He shrugged his backpack over his shoulder and took off up the stairs, glad to see that Alastair was nowhere in sight.

Castiel stood in the hallway at the top of the stairs to wait. A few minutes later Dean came walking up, and although he was obviously trying to hide it, Castiel could see that he was limping.

"What's going on?" Castiel asked, pulling him aside and away from the open classroom door.

"I wasn't gonna mention it."

"Dean, what happened?"

"Alastair 'accidentally' hit me with a bat during practice yesterday," he sighed.

"He what?"

"This has been buildin' for a long time," Dean said. "I mean, the guy hates me. It had to happen sooner or later. That's where I was. I told Coach Zazel I quit the team."

"But you love baseball."

He smiled. "Yeah, well, I do love baseball. The team, not so much. Besides, I dunno if you've heard, but the captain's a dick."

The relationship they shared was one of the most important of Castiel's life, but Dean was suffering for it. First there was the altercation in auto shop and the resulting injuries and suspension, then the veiled threats, the attack on the Impala, and now the outright violence against him on the field.

The fact that Dean had to endure being hit with a bat because of him made Castiel sick with guilt, but knowing Alastair was getting away with it made him seethe with anger.

"He's going to be sorry he ever touched you," Castiel said forcefully.

Dean's smile dropped away. "Whoa, easy there, man. I don't want you confronting him or somethin'."

"I could protect myself," he asserted, "if I had to."

"I'm sure you could. I do remember you bein' the one holdin' the giant tree branch over my head the day I first talked to you — "

"I'm so sick of this, Dean," he whispered harshly. "I can't stand it anymore. Years and years of being bullied and picked on and now I have you in my life, and...and it's happening to you, too. It won't stop! He keeps getting away with it!"

Dean glanced up and down the hallway and then pressed closer to Castiel. "Cas, we're in this together. I know you're angry. I am, too. But I don't want you to think that you have to prove yourself to me by gettin' hurt."

"What about you?"

"I won't let him mess with either of us. And although I'd like nothin' better than to wipe that smirk off his ugly fucking face, I'm not lookin' for trouble, and neither should you."

Castiel exhaled deeply and shook his head.

"We'll get through this, okay?"

When he didn't answer, Dean tugged at Castiel's hand. "Okay?"

He didn't tell Dean what he was already planning to do. He wasn't going to confront Alastair, but he was going to prove to Dean he could stand up for himself — using his brains instead of fists.

"Yes."

"Good. Now can we get back to our bigger problem?"

Castiel made a face. "Which is?"

"This damn poem I have to remember. Shit, I'm nervous."

"You've prepared for this, haven't you, Dean?

"I'm prepared, yeah, but that won't help me if I puke all over the kid in the front row."

"Relax. I'm right here."

"I see that, Cas."

"No," he smiled, "I mean look at me as you recite the poem. It will help calm you and you'll be able to focus."

"All right," Dean said. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Don't look away."

"You know I won't."

Castiel followed closely behind him as they entered the classroom and found their seats. Ms. Milton's voice brought the class to attention. "Good morning, everyone. Okay, Mr. Winchester, today's your day. Are you ready?"

"No, but I'll recite the poem," he answered.

"Very funny. Come up here and let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Please state the poem you'll be reciting and the work from which it's taken," Ms. Milton instructed.

"I don't think it actually has a name," Dean said, looking straight at Castiel, "but it's from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, uh, post 1860 edition."

Castiel inhaled sharply.

"Very well, please continue."

"Recorders ages hence! Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior — I will tell you what to say of me;

 Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,

 The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest — "

Castiel smiled, and Dean quirked a small grin before continuing.

"Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love within him — and freely poured it forth,

 Who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his dear friends, his lovers,

 Who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night,

 Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he loved might secretly be indifferent to him,

Whose happiest days were far away, through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another,

Wandering hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men,

Who oft as he sauntered the streets, curved with his arm the shoulder of his friend — while the arm of his friend rested upon him also."

The few members of the class who were paying attention offered up half-hearted claps, and Dean returned to his seat, grinning from ear to ear.

"That was...uh, very nice, Dean," Ms. Milton said, smiling at the both of them.

"Think that'll cause problems?" he said to Castiel with a smirk.

"Dean...I can't believe...that was amazing. But why didn't you ever tell me what poem you chose to recite for the exam? I could have helped you."

"I know, Cas, but there's some things a guy has to do for himself. I wanted to show you I could."

He nodded in understanding. Dean had put into words exactly how he had been feeling about Alastair.

He was now more certain of his revenge plan than ever.