Castiel had tried to ignore the confrontation in the hallway earlier that day, but he couldn't get the sound of Alastair's voice out of his head. He had been distracted in all of his classes, and constantly looking over his shoulder. Alastair's warning sounded particularly ominous.

Even lunch time didn't do much to take his mind off Alastair. He and Dean sat and chatted amicably, but it was probably obvious his thoughts were elsewhere. When Dean finished the two Twinkies Castiel's mother had indeed packed him with lunch, he pointed out the garage bay door was open again and that they should head through the parking lot to shave time off getting to class.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Dean asked as they passed the baseball dugout.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I needed to stop at the Impala on the way to auto shop."

"Of course."

"I just remembered I have a socket set I brought in that Mr. Singer wants to borrow. I wanna grab it."

"Sure."

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"You're a million miles away. What's wrong?"

"I've been preoccupied with what Alastair said all day."

"Aw, he's just blowin' smoke. There's like three important away games next week," Dean said as they weaved their way through the cars of the student parking lot. "He's not gonna do anything else in case he gets suspended again."

"I don't know, Dean. He seemed rather adamant about wanting revenge."

Dean stopped in the middle of the parking lot and put his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "Cas, I'm not gonna let him hurt you, okay?"

Castiel shook his head, wanting to explain to Dean that he didn't expect that. "I know, but — "

"Trust me," Dean said, guiding him back through the cars. "Now, c'mon, how's the art goin'?"

"Mr. Darrow complimented me on some of my classroom work," Castiel sighed, glad for the change of subject, "but I don't believe any of it is worthy of the art show yet."

"He's gonna pick from whatever you do in class that he thinks is best and submit that for the show, right?"

"Yes. But because of that I've been focusing exclusively on my work for class, and I've begun to neglect my sketchbook. I have to hand that in at the end of the semester for a grade," Castiel explained.

"Then maybe you better quit drawin' me all the time and stick some other stuff in there."

Castiel smiled. "I like drawing you."

"Your sketchbook is nothin' but me, Cas. Put a bowl of fruit or, like, I dunno, a vase of flowers in there or somethin' to break up all the freckles."

"And the eyelashes?"

Dean turned to look at him. "What about my eyelashes?"

"Nothing," Castiel grinned.

"Was that flirting just then? Castiel Agnus, are you flirting with me? Because if you are, you're gonna be — "

Dean broke off from what he was saying when they came upon the Impala.

"Oh my God."

"What?" Castiel asked, walking over to where Dean was standing at the driver's side door. "Is there something — "

Dean slammed his hand against the Impala's roof. "Son of a bitch!"

There on the door, in giant key-scratched letters, read the word FAG.

Castiel automatically looked around, but there was no one else in the parking lot. He felt a surge of anger go through him as he watched Dean lean his head against the Impala's door frame and close his eyes.

"Dean, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"No, Cas, it's the assholes at this school," he yelled, pounding again on the car's roof.

"But if it weren't for me this wouldn't be happening to you."

Castiel's resentment still burned white hot over everything he had dealt with throughout the semester. The taunting and name-calling and pain he had been subjected to were enough. Now Dean was suffering because of him.

"Look," Dean said, unlocking the door, "you mean more to me than anything, all right? If I have to deal with bein' called a fag or whatever because I'm with you, then so be it. Everyone else can fuck off."

Dean grabbed the socket set from the front seat and ran his fingers over the deep scratched grooves in the Impala's door. "Let's just get to class," he sighed.

They cut through the garage bay and came through the classroom and found their seats. Castiel had officially moved himself — and by extension, Dean — to the farthest part of the room so they wouldn't be close to Alastair or his crew.

Dean handed him the plastic case containing the socket set and tossed his bag on the benchtop.

"Be right back."

Dean was across the room in a moment, hovering over where Alastair was sitting. Both Tom and Brady got up from their stools, but Alastair seemed unconcerned and merely looked up at where Dean was standing.

"Can I help you, Winchester?"

"I know you did that to the Impala," Dean growled, his voice low but loud enough that Castiel could hear.

"What's an Impala?" Alastair asked mockingly, and Tom and Brady laughed.

"Fuck you, Alastair. You're gonna be sorry for that."

"Watch me tremble," he scoffed. "Go back to your girlfriend, fucking queer."

Castiel could see Dean clench his fists, but at that moment Mr. Singer entered the classroom from the hallway, and Dean stepped back.

Alastair grinned snidely at Dean's retreating back while Tom and Brady mumbled comments under their breath.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, seeing how the muscle in Dean's jaw was twitching. "Are you — "

"I'm fine," he stated angrily. "They're just gonna get away with doin' that to the Impala. Do you know how hard it's gonna be to match that '67 paint? Shit, he should've beat me up instead of messin' with my baby like that."

Dean sighed dejectedly, and pulled his backpack over and got out his notebook.

Castiel wanted revenge, but he was still in the same position he'd always been in; he was hindered by the knowledge that Alastair's attacks were escalating and getting more violent. He was tired of getting beat on and bloodied, but he couldn't let Alastair get away with doing this to Dean.

Castiel was still holding the socket set, and he turned the plastic case over in his hands. He began thinking about the Impala and what Alastair had done, and then auto shop and Mr. Singer and all the notes he had taken during the semester. Suddenly he had an idea for a very personal form of revenge.

Smiling to himself, he got out his auto shop notebook and flipped through its pages.