Castiel didn't even have to explain himself to Ms. Milton when he arrived late for class that morning. She merely raised an eyebrow at him when he went to take his seat.

He had hoped to talk to Dean some more during class, but Ms. Milton had started things off with a quiz on the romantic poets. The rest of the time Castiel studiously took notes, and then when class was over, Castiel only got a chance to wave goodbye.

He impatiently sat through trig, and only relaxed when it was time for art.

He was using pastels and layering colors on his paper when Mr. Darrow drew the class to attention.

"Let's see what you've been working on this week, everyone. Have your sketchbooks open and available to me as I walk by."

Mr. Darrow meandered through the row of art tables, commenting here and there on students' work.

"Your shading has improved on this piece," Mr. Darrow said, pointing to the pine cone Castiel was sketching the afternoon he first encountered Dean in the woods. "Good eye."

"Thank you."

Mr. Darrow flipped through the latest sketches in the book. "I see you've begun experimenting with figure drawing."

Turning to a page, Mr. Darrow pointed first to the sketch Castiel had made of the back of Dean's head the day he had shown up in homeroom. He passed over a few more pages and came to the image of Dean sprawled across the bleachers, his head back and arms outstretched.

"These are particularly good, Castiel. They may even be better than your still-life sketches."

Mr. Darrow's praise came as a surprise to Castiel, especially because he hadn't taken formal figure drawing classes yet.

"Thank you, Mr. Darrow."

"Your class work is progressing nicely as well," he said, eyeing up the pastel drawing in front of Castiel. "Expressionism suits you."

Castiel stared down at the dark blue and black swirls. "I'm not sure it's good enough for the art show, though. I haven't managed to identify a style on which to focus yet."

Mr. Darrow patted him on the shoulder. "Don't dwell on it too much. Art has to come from the heart, not the head, Castiel. You should feel what you're putting down on the page. If you think about it too much, you're going to fail before you even get started."

"But what if I don't think of something?"

"I'm not worried. You're my most talented student. It'll come."

Castiel sighed. He felt even more pressure after Mr. Darrow's acknowledgment, and he still wasn't any closer to figuring out what he was going to draw. He was being held to a higher standard, so it really needed to stand out. Castiel was lost in thought despite Mr. Darrow's fascinating lesson on Jackson Pollock.

He was glad when class was over and he could head back to his locker for his lunch bag. Dean's company would provide a welcome distraction. The weather was warmer today, so he went with a lighter jacket instead of his coat.

Dean was already waiting for him when he arrived at his lunch spot. He was killing time by rolling a baseball back and forth over his knuckles.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, sitting down next to him.

"You were late to English this mornin'. That's new."

Castiel debated over whether or not to tell Dean what he had done, but decided if he could trust anyone, it would be him.

"I was waylaid by some impromptu artwork."

Dean frowned. "One more time."

"I was late because I decided to write something rude on Alastair's locker."

"That was you?"

Castiel nodded, pleased with himself. "Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course not. Holy shit, Cas, what made you do that?"

"I don't really know," Castiel answered, spreading out paper towels on the ground between him and Dean. "I suppose it's my way of fighting back. Are people talking about it?"

"Hell yeah, they are. Alastair freaked out, and Coach Zazel saw it, too. I'm sure Principal Murphy's heard about it by now."

"Oh."

Dean dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure no one saw you. Was that for the grease gun?"

"Perhaps."

"Good for you, man," Dean said. "Serves him right. I still can't believe he did that to you. I haven't talked to him since."

What Castiel didn't say was that it was completely out of character for him to take revenge like that. He tried to play it down, but he was terrified of the consequences of his actions, especially when he heard Principal Murphy was involved. He felt torn, because although he knew it was wrong to vandalize school property, a part of him felt proud for his small act of rebellion. It made him feel even better, in fact, having Dean acknowledge it.

"I hope you like ham and cheese," Castiel said, digging through his lunch bag. "There's lettuce and tomato, and chips, and pickles as well. And I have Coke, and cookies for dessert."

"Damn, Cas," Dean said appreciatively, "this is great."

"I can't take all the credit. My mother helped with most of it."

"You're lucky. My old man isn't even around for dinner. I always have to scrape up somethin' to eat."

"My mother originally entertained the idea of inviting you over for dinner," Castiel said, handing Dean a sandwich, "but I felt it was too soon in our acquaintance to broach that subject."

"What you're really sayin' — I think — is that you were afraid to ask me."

"That might indeed be the case," Castiel admitted. "I'm new to all this."

"If it helps, I would have said yes."

"Then I'm assured I won't feel awkward when the time comes for an official invitation. Mama would love to have someone else besides me to cook for."