Summary: Destiel High School AU. Dean is a student, Cas is his teacher. Dean spends all his time working and looking out for Sammy but has no real time for his school work. He begins to give up on himself and Cas tries to help him, like he would with any student. Problems arise when they begin to develop feelings for each other.

Rating: Currently T, will be M for mature themes in later chapters.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Spoilers: None. AU.

Notes: Sam is 15, Dean is 17 turning 18, and Castiel is his teacher and is 24. John left Dean and Sam a year and a half ago and they've been living on their own since.

"Come on Sammy, school today!" Dean calls, banging on his brother's white bedroom door. "It's time to get up!" He hears a muffled 'jerk' from behind the peeling painted door and he laughs a deep laugh. "Bitch" He calls back.

Sam emerges from his room, long shaggy brown hair ruffled and curled out at the ends from tossing and turning in his sleep.

"We need to get you a haircut" Dean smiles, reaching up to tug a thick lock of his younger brother's hair.

Sam frowns before knocking his hand away. "I like it long" He replies defensively.

Dean laughs and heads downstairs. "Don't shower for too long, we need the hot water, and we'll be late for school." He says over his shoulder.

The living room is a complete mess as he passes through it, his feet kicking over piles of dirty laundry, car magazines and various items thrown aside by the two teenage boys. The kitchen isn't much better, dishes piling up hazardously next to the sink. It's hard to find time to clean up when you're working two jobs and still going to school. Dean hurriedly starts on breakfast, humming along to AC/DC on the radio as he makes Sam toast and eggs, and tries unsuccessfully to find something healthy for Sam's school lunch in the mostly empty fridge.

Sam bounds down the stairs, his long legs taking three steps at a time. "Jesus Sammy! Keep it up and you'll be too tall for this house" Dean exclaims, handing him his breakfast. "How tall are you now?" He asks curiously.

"Last time I checked I was 6'2." Sam answers, wolfing down his breakfast.

Dean's mouth pops open in surprise. "Shit Sammy, I'm 6ft. How the hell did you get so big?" Dean punches his arm affectionately, masking his worry with a grin.

"I'll stop growing soon." Sam tries to assure him, seeing through his older brother but Dean just shakes his head, eyeing Sam's holey old jeans, sitting too high up on his ankle.

"You need new jeans again." He scrambles in his head trying to work out how much money he earned last week and how much of it is left. Not enough, he sighs.

Sam's face twists with guilt, almost willing himself to shrink. "Sorry Dean." He mutters.

"Don't worry 'bout it buddy. We'll manage. We always do." Dean ruffles Sam's still damp hair and claps him on the shoulder. "Come on, we better get going. It's PB&J sandwiches for lunch today."

Sam winces at the lunch bag his older brother passes to him. Dean merely offers an apologetic smile. "I'll get to the grocery store tonight, I promise."

The drive to school is silent, aside from the radio spilling Metallica into Dean's 1967 Chevrolet Impala. "I don't know why you like listening to this stuff." Sam finally says, his hand snaking out towards the radio before Dean slaps it away.

"House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole." He laughs to himself at the use of his common phrase. Sam's forehead burrows and he turns to look out the window. Dean shoots him a sideways glance.

"Sammy?" He asks. "What's up?"

"Dad called me." Sam replies stiffly.

Dean is quiet for a moment, processing, before his anger and hurt kicks in. "Dammit Sammy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't pick up. He left us, remember?" Dean hits the dashboard with his palm. "He can't come crying to you every time he's drunk and needs someone to listen to his bullshit." His knuckles turn white against the steering wheel as he grips it tightly.

"He said he missed us." Sam breathes, hope held high in his voice.

"I'm sorry Sammy, but I know John, okay? He just misses having people around to heave him up to his bed when he's passed out and someone to take it out on when there's no alcohol left." Dean pulls into the school parking lot, parking the car in one of the few remaining spots. The bell has already rung.

Sam turns to look at Dean. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't pick up, but I do. Just in case, he might really need us."

"Well we really needed him Sammy. And he bailed. It's just me and you."

Sam's face is crumples in hurt and Dean sighs, voice softening.

"I know you keep hope that he'll get himself together and come home, and everything will be fine, but we have to be realistic. He's a deadbeat, Sammy. And he doesn't deserve to be in your life after what he put you through."

Sam frowns. "He put us both through it Dean."

"I know, but I'm older, and tougher than you, and I have more experience in the 'Disappointment' that is John Winchester. You were just a kid."

"I'm fifteen now, I can handle this." Sam argues.

"But somebody has to be your parent. And in the meantime, I guess you're stuck with me." Dean pushes Sam toward the door. "Come on Sammy, you're late! Get out of the car."

Sam sneaks a sideways hug at Dean before he tumbles out the door, throwing his backpack on. "See you later!" He yells, running towards his accelerate maths class. Dean smiles in affection as he watches Sam go.

He climbs out of the Impala slowly, slinging his bag over one shoulder, frowning slightly at the establishment before him. The only reason he's still in school instead of full time work was he'd promised Bobby he would graduate.

If Dean stayed in school and graduated, Bobby would let the two brothers live alone, only stopping in occasionally with groceries or to watch a sports game and have a beer or two with Dean. Bobby Singer was an old family friend, one who'd fallen out with John Winchester years ago, but still looked out for his boys. He was practically their surrogate father.

Dean must call in to see Bobby, he remembered. He needed more hours at Singer Auto Repair, Bobby's mechanics business, to buy Sam's new textbooks for his accelerate classes, and they hadn't caught up in a while, what with Dean juggling work and school simultaneously. Dean was free after school, deciding to drop by the shop to see his friend and father-figure.

Lucky he had a shift at the Roadhouse the next night though, they were running thin on most essential items. Dean was still thinking about all the things they needed to buy when he arrived in his literature class, fifteen minutes late. "Sorry Mr Novak." Dean mumbled as he passed the front of the room, keeping his head down like always. Mr Novak looked up from his desk, watching the teen walk by with his back slightly hunched, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Dean flops into a vacant seat at the back of the room, managing to pull out his textbook just as Mr Novak arrives at the side of his desk. He kneels, explaining the assignment to Dean while the other students chat among themselves and pretend to do their work. Dean nods, although he has no idea what the quiet teacher is saying to him, mind still elsewhere.

"Dean?" Mr Novak asks with concern in his voice.

"Yeah?" Dean looks up in surprise.

"I asked if you will need an extension for this task. You are quite behind in the book work." Mr Novak repeats himself, blue eyes piercing Dean's, waiting for him to respond.

Dean shrugs and opens his fraying second-hand textbook, pretending to be reading the page he flipped it to.

"Dean?" Mr Novak says again.

Dean's fist balls up in frustration. Why can't he just leave him alone? "What?" Dean replies flatly, not looking up from the page.

"We're in chapter 12, for Shakespeare. We haven't started on film yet." The young teacher laughs quietly to himself before seeing to another student with their hand raised.

Dean glances at the title and swears at himself. When the bell goes, he is first out the door, not wanting to give Mr Novak a chance to ask him about the last assignment he never handed in.

The rest of his classes pass without incident. He sits in the back, shoulders slumped, as non-descript as possible. He does enough work to not draw the teacher's attention; fearing they might remember who he used to be and wonder to themselves what happened. He doesn't need teachers sticking their nose into his life, he can handle looking after himself and Sammy just fine. Besides, Dean thought to himself. I'm almost eighteen. Almost a legal adult. Why should it matter if I'm one month out? I can still look after my baby brother. No one else was going to. John Winchester wasn't looking after his kids, that's for sure.

Dean thought back to eighteen months ago, how normal his life was. Dean Winchester; the best quarter-back Milton High had seen in two decades, the king of the playground, the most popular guy in school, now he's just another face in the crowd, with a handful of acquaintances and an abundance of D's on his report card.

Dean used to have it all. The title, the girl's fawning over him, the popularity, the cliché 'Jock' high school experience, and then John upped and left, throwing all that Dean had prided himself on, into the gutter. Dean had to quit football to work, losing his fame and prestige in the process. Dean knew the people he had called friends really weren't just that if they ditched him as soon as he wasn't a sports star, but it still burned him being left completely alone. Only Jo stuck by him, forcing herself back into his life, even when he tried to shut those last few people out.

"Heya Deano." Jo kisses his cheek as she slots herself onto the bench next to him.

"Ugh" Dean wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, pulling a face at her.

"Relax there's no one around." She grins, sweeping her blond hair off her shoulders. "Why are you sitting outside by the way? It's like thirty degrees." Jo pulls her crème coat tighter around herself, shivering slightly at the chill in the air.

"Just like you said, there's no one around." Dean answers, pulling apart his PB&J sandwich with his fingers.

The table and bench they're sitting at is one of many scattered around the outside of the lunchroom, popular in the spring when the weather's warmer but deserted in the colder months and only visible from the lunch room if you're tall enough to reach the high windows, which nobody is, Sam probably being the only exception. The spot is just how Dean likes it.

Jo offers him a cigarette and Dean takes it, lighting it between his lips and exhaling. "Jeez Jo, does Ellen know you're smoking again?" He asks.

Ellen is Jo's mom and the owner of the Roadhouse, the local bar where Dean works. He's technically underage and can't work in the bar but Ellen's good to him and he needs the money, plus people in this town know to stay out of other people's business. Jo shrugs and tries to light her cigarette, leaning toward him to shield the flame.

"Here." Dean moves closer, his hands cupping her cigarette, his own still in his mouth. The flame catches and they stay like that for a moment, before Dean pulls back and extracts his cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Nearby footsteps has Dean turning toward the sound, hoping it's not another jock goon trying to show him up. He blinks in surprise, seeing Mr Novak strolling across the teacher's parking lot, briefcase in hand, deep blue tie and crisp white shirt slightly askew, dark hair pushed up in every direction. He doesn't notice them as he unlocks his expensive-looking silver car and slides into the front seat, door still open, one leg dangling outside. Dean watches as he opens his glove box and retrieves a small carton, shaking out a cigarette.

Jo continues talking about her mom, and Dean is only half listening.

Mr Novak puts the cigarette in his mouth and raises his shiny zippo lighter to the tip, relaxing as he inhales, falling back into the seat. He opens his eyes and catches Dean's stare. They maintain eye-contact for a few more seconds until Mr Novak glances at his cigarette, seemingly undecided on whether he should put it out or not. Dean takes a long drag on his and turns back to Jo.

"Oh god, is that Mr Novak?" Jo suddenly whispers, hand bearing her smoke dipping under the table.

"Yeah but he's smoking too. No need to hide it." Dean assures her.

"What makes you think he won't report us?" Jo looks at their cigarettes nervously.

"He won't, he's good like that." Dean glances over his shoulder, the quiet and slightly weird literature teacher still where he was ten seconds ago, still leaning back in his seat, enjoying his vice, massive blue eyes still on Dean.

A/N This is my first fic, so if you'd like to review, constructive criticism would be great. Just so you know, I am a New Zealander, so sorry if there are terms you don't understand, or any spelling different to American/the rest of the world's spelling of English words. Thanks!