"You're right, I don't know you. And you don't know me, either. Why should I believe the guy who hangs around with Alastair cares about how I'm feeling after he watched him do that to me day after day?"

"I do, all right? I know I should've done somethin' before, and I'm sorry about that. But I was new and didn't know what to say." Dean made a pleading gesture with his hands. "I don't like seein' people get hurt for no reason."

Castiel was breathing hard, and leaned up against a tree.

"Shall I take that to mean you don't intend to beat me up, then?"

"I don't."

Castiel tossed the branch aside and sat down, hard, his legs finally giving out after the initial rush of adrenaline. He hissed at the pain in his side.

"That's a relief."

Dean sat down next to him. "Sorry I scared you. I tried talkin' to you my first day in English, and then in auto shop, but you seemed kind of — "

"Freaky?"

"Nervous, and now I can understand why. Have you been waitin' all this time for me to do somethin' to you?"

"Well," Castiel admitted, "yes. You do hang out with Alastair, after all."

"I don't, not really. We have short team meetings in the time between homeroom and first period. That's why I'm always rushin' from homeroom."

"So you're telling me you're not friends with him?"

"Not really, no. He's just a teammate."

Castiel wasn't sure whether or not to take him at his word, but since he hadn't tried to assault him yet, he figured Dean might be telling the truth.

"That makes sense. I never could understand why you simply stood there and didn't join in."

"I'm not like that, Castiel."

"No? If you're not like Alastair, then what are you like, Dean? Because despite your good intentions, you didn't intervene on my behalf."

"I know."

Castiel sighed. "I assume it was easier to be silent than stand up for what was right."

Dean shuffled some pine needles around with the toe of his boot.

Castiel knew Dean never would have gone through all this effort of tracking him down if he wasn't truly remorseful. After all, Dean didn't participate in or perpetrate any of the offenses against Castiel — he just wasn't sure what to do or say to Alastair and the rest of the team to make it stop. Castiel could understand that.

"I'm not blaming you," Castiel said. "I recognize your awkwardness in dealing with this situation. It must be particularly difficult being the new kid, even if he is as popular and handsome as you."

"You keep sayin' that. I'm not."

"Handsome?" Castiel scoffed. "Is your house without mirrors?"

Dean grinned at that, and then got serious again. "You're right, though. It was easier not sayin' anything when those guys were harassing you. I knew it was wrong, but I just...stood there. I'm really sorry."

In the few years he had been in school, Castiel had built up a natural distrust of his fellow classmates because of all the teasing he endured. When someone talked to him, he automatically assumed they were out to torment him. His mother tried to dissuade him of this mindset, but he never could work out the proper skills it took to make friends as easily as Michael did. Someone finally showing him compassion made him willing to try a new direction. Perhaps he could have a friend in Dean.

Castiel held out his hand. "I appreciate your honesty...and your kindness."

Dean took his hand and shook it, and smiled. "Good to meet you, Castiel."

"Likewise, Dean." He adjusted his glasses and brushed the hair from his forehead. "So, uh, I suppose I should apologize for assuming you were going to harm me. It seems I'm predisposed to being teased and taunted."

"Why?"

Castiel looked at him blankly. "You're being facetious, right?"

"Um. No? I guess?"

"People find me weird and won't talk to me. I wear glasses. I'm awkward in social situations. I'm shy and nerdy and — "

"And you scored a perfect 800 on the verbal section of the SATs?"

"No, only a 740, unfortunately."

Dean laughed.

"Why is that humorous?"

"It's nothin', man," Dean said, still smiling.

Castiel sighed. "I'm singled out because I'm different."

"If it helps you feel any better, I have a hard time with people and have trouble makin' friends, too."

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"It's true. This is the third school I've been to just for junior year. Whenever I tried to be friendly it was time to leave again. I sorta gave up after a while, y'know, figuring it was easier not to know people at all. I got fed up and pissed off and kept to myself. I stopped talkin' to everyone."

Castiel was astonished that Dean wasn't as self-assured and confident as he thought he was, and even more surprised that Dean actually admitted it.

"I've heard you're now a member of the baseball team. That alone should make your transition as a new student easier."

"I'm no Wade Boggs."

Castiel frowned. "I don't understand that reference."

"He's one of the greatest third basemen in baseball history," Dean said. "Someone I'm definitely not. I play third base, but I pretty much suck because every time I get the chance to practice with a real team we move again. Hell, I'm not even a starter."

"A starter?"

"It means I'll be in uniform, but chances are I'll be sittin' on the bench the entire game."

"Oh, I see. Sorry to hear that."

"I guess. My dad is the one who's always tryin' to get me to go out for the team. Most of the time the other team members are such dickheads I quit anyway," Dean said, turning his head over to where something had caught his attention. He got up and walked a short distance away, eventually returning with Castiel's sketchbook in his hands. He brushed the dirt and pine needles from it.

"You must've dropped this," Dean said, handing it to Castiel.

Castiel looked in his backpack, suddenly realizing he had been in the midst of a sketch when he encountered Dean.

"I didn't even know it was missing," Castiel said, gratefully taking it and smoothing his hand over the cover.

"What is that?" Dean asked, sitting back down.

"My sketchbook."

"Right, I remember. I saw you drawin' the kestrel in it during English."

"You knew what kind of bird that was?" Castiel asked, flipping to the page with his illustration on it and showing it to Dean.

"Of course."

"The shadowing is off," Castiel admitted.

"Well, I can't tell. It's cool as hell."

"Thanks," Castiel said, slightly embarrassed. "I believe you were watching me draw that while you should have been catching up on Hamlet. Although based on the line you quoted me in auto shop, I assume you've already read it."

"Yeah, like four schools ago. That's sorta why I laughed at you when the English teacher, what's-her-name — "

"Ms. Milton."

"Right, when Ms. Milton caught you readin' ahead. Same thing happened to me. I wanted to see how it ended, y'know?"

Castiel nodded, somewhat amazed he had this much in common with someone he was sure was going to be just another dumb, arrogant jock.

"Hey," Dean said, "I almost forgot."

Dean pulled his backpack around and unzipped it. He handed Castiel a brown paper bag.

"What's this?" Castiel asked.

"When I didn't see you in English, I had a feelin' you might be staying out here for the rest of the day."

Castiel removed a cheeseburger and a Coke from the paper bag.

"I brought you lunch. I hope you don't mind the cafeteria burgers," Dean said.

"That was very thoughtful of you," Castiel said, pleasantly surprised that he had misjudged Dean.

He popped the tab on the Coke, and Dean went to get up.

"Wait. You don't have to leave." Castiel tore the cheeseburger in half, doing a decent job of separating it into equal parts. "I would very much like to share lunch with you, Dean."

"Cool," Dean said, sitting back down again.

The burger was dry and the bun stale, but to Castiel it was the best he had tasted in years.