A/N Wow, I started this High School AU months ago, and I finally got around to posting it after a friend beta'd the first few chapters. Hope you enjoy!

-This story takes place in third person limited and switches between Dean and Cas' POV on occasion.

-Time Stamps are bolded.

Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:

"What's the nature of your relationship?"

A pause.

"Are you two friends?"

"Something along those lines," Castiel mutters at the same time Dean says, "Sort of."

The counselor looks between the two before marking something on his paper. "How much do you know about each other?" He asks.

"Too much." Castiel sighs and Dean glances at him.

"Yeah, what he said." He points to the blue-eyed boy next to him, who avoids his stare.

"Tell me a thing or two about you guys." The counselor continues.

"He used to run track." Castiel motions his hand towards Dean.

"Cas dances in his underwear."

"Dean."

"Why'd you stop?" The counselor asks Dean, disregarding the comment.

"I got pregnant." Dean replies sarcastically.

The counselor sighs and makes another mark on his paper. "How long have you known each other?" He takes his glasses off and sets them next to a coffee mug.

"Last September." The two boys say together. Castiel folds his hands in his lap.

The counselor, once again, makes a mark on his paper and looks up. "Do I need to know anything else important?"

"We were, um," Dean starts, "sort of together. If that counts."

"What he means to say is: we sleep together. Or slept." Castiel says bluntly, leaning forward in the soft chair.

"Cas," Dean warns. He rubs a callused hand through his short hair.

"What, it's not like he's going to be jealous, Dean."

The counselor makes a fourth mark on his paper.

"What are you marking about us?" Dean says harshly and leans over the desk, knocking the mug over. Dark brown liquid seeps into surrounding papers and the smell of coffee fills the room. The counselor sighs and dabs the spill with tissues.

"What are you marking?" Dean repeats. Castiel pulls a few tissues out of the box and attempts to clean up his friend's mess, but the counselor shoos his hand away.

"Dean, he's here to help us. Let him do his job." Castiel slumps in his chair and closes his eyes.

"Well if he was really doing his damn job, we'd be out of here by now. This isn't damn couple's counseling, Cas." Dean turns to face Castiel, who has his fingers massaging his temples.

"Well if you were doing your damn job of being a good partner, we wouldn't even be here. Please continue." Castiel sighs and gestures to the counselor.

"Wow, Cas. That was completely UNCALLED for." Both the counselor and Cas ignore him.

"Just a few more questions." The counselor says.

"You get one more question." Dean snarls, but sinks back into the chair, defeated.

"Alrighty then, how did you guys meet?"

Some Friday last September:

Dean ran around the track once more before stopping to take a break. He sat down on the grass, arms over his head, heavily breathing. He grabbed his water bottle, downing it in seconds, and shook the remaining drops over his face.

"Good job, today, sport." Dean looked up and saw his coach, whistle in mouth, standing above him. "You smell like a horse's ass," he continued. "Go shower." Dean nodded and waved briefly before getting up.

Sweat clung to Dean's thighs and made them stick as he walked through the overgrown grass back to the school. He pulled the door open with the last of his energy and headed towards the locker rooms. It smelled like someone took a shit fifty times and Dean let out a groan, holding his breath until he got to his locker. He yanked it open and grabbed his clothes, unintentionally slamming it shut and wincing at the loud sound.

The shower room was steamy from other runners, football players, basketball shooters, and soccer kickers, who Dean was sure used all the hot water. There was only one other person in the shower, and they occupied the one furthest left. Dean walked to the one on the very right, leaving his clothes out on the gum covered bench. He took his shorts off and left them in the stack before walking awkwardly to his chosen body washer. Dean turned the shower on and let out a yelp when the cold water touched his skin.

Once he got the temperature of the water to the highest it would go, Dean reached for the soap bar and dropped it when he saw pieces of short curly hair on it.

"Oh, fuck me. That's disgusting," he muttered and decided to just leave the soap on the tiled floor. Dean continued showering soapless, and did his best to cool his body in the not-so-warm water. He hummed a few songs by ACDC and stopped when he suddenly heard feet running across the floor from outside followed by laughter. Dean turned the water off, hoping that whoever was outside didn't do what he thought they did. He pulled the curtain back, using one hand to cover his crotch, and sucked in a breath when the bench in front of him was empty. The only clothing garment that was left was one sock on the floor. Even his shoes were gone.

"Son of a bi—" Dean started as he stepped out, grabbing a towel. His foot slipped on the soap bar and he fell back, hitting his head on the faucet as he went down.

Dean woke sometime later. He sat up groggily and squinted his eyes into the bright light. His head ached and he rubbed it, feeling a slight bump in the back. He just had the worst dream about how someone stole his clothes while he was showering. Dean looked around and panicked when he saw that he was still in the shower room, lying on the bench, and someone had strung a towel loosely over his crotch. The sock on the floor was still there and realization struck Dean as he jumped up on his feet. The towel dropped to the floor and the boy picked it up quickly and ran out of the shower room, cursing under his breath.

Dean's still-wet feet made him lose his balance once or twice, and he almost fell when he pulled the shower room doors open. The locker rooms still smelled like shit and Dean held his breath as peered through the rows of the lockers, looking for his missing clothes. He heard the noise of someone's feet slapping on the floor from his left, and Dean turned the corner, running straight into that someone. Dean's slippery feet gave in and he fell, the other guy landing on top of him.

"What the fuck." Dean gasped as the wind was knocked out of him

"I should be saying the same thing!" He heard the voice say above him. Dean wheezed, and when he finally caught his breath, he glanced up into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The other boy stared back. Droplets from his wet hair fell on to Dean's face. There was a moment of silence until Dean noticed that sometime in the fall, their towels were strewn across the floor. Dean's eyes widened.

"Woah, woah." Dean bent his knees and tried to use his wet feet to slide from beneath the guy. The only thing Dean managed to accomplish was moving them both a few inches to the side. "Not gay. Not gay. Okay, maybe a little gay." He smirked and Blue Eyes cocked his head. "But so not the point." Dean continued.

Dean was very aware of the firm body on top of him and it was making him very self-conscious. He looked up and noticed that Blue Eyes' eyes were just as wide from shock.

"Could you, um," Dean whispered.

"What?"

"You know, get the hell of me?"

"Oh."

The boy scrambled to get off Dean, but with all the water and heat, his body plopped right back onto Dean's. They avoided eye contact as they struggled like slugs to separate, noses bumping against one another's occasionally.

"Oh, Jesus." Dean stiffened when the boy placed warm hands on the runner's chest and heaved himself off.

Dean sat up and spun around on his butt, grabbing one of the towels and covering himself.

"Wha-what the hell are you doing? Give me my fucking clothes back." Dean demanded and backed up against the cold lockers, trying to keep his gaze from Blue Eyes' body.

"Calm down. I didn't take your clothes. As you can probably tell, I'm not wearing any either." The boy said, grabbing the other towel from the floor and wrapping it awkwardly around his waist. Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"Well, no shit. It's not like it's fucking hard to notice either."

"Could you go one sentence without having the need to speak obscene language? It's making me very uncomfortable." Blue Eyes sighed and stood up. The towel was a little small and the boy accidentally flashed Dean, who looked away immediately.

"You're making me uncomfortable!" Dean yelled.

"There we go. Wasn't so hard was it?" Blue Eyes gave him a grim smile. "And that's a nice apology for someone who probably saved you from getting you a concussion."

"What?"

"You slipped, you fell." The boy shrugged and started walking away. "The feeling is mutual by the way." He called, and Dean heard the locker room door open then shut.

Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:

"So you fell on him. Naked." The counselor is choking back a laugh and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Actually, Dean ran into me." Castiel clarifies with him, but the counselor is too busy wiping tears from his eyes.

"You used to call me Blue Eyes?" Castiel asks Dean, who smiles bashfully and looks away, nodding his head.

"Did you ever find out who took your clothes?" The counselor asks when he's able to breathe again.

"No, but we did find Cas's boxers hanging from the flagpole." Dean says and smirks to his friend.

"Yes, and he won't let me live that one down. How pathetic." Castiel gives him a light punch on the arm.

"They were pink." Dean tells the counselor, who has his hand over his mouth in shock.

"They were salmon." Castiel corrects. Dean and the counselor continue to laugh silently.

"Can we move on please?" Castiel asks, ignoring them.

"Yes, yes, course." The counselor waves him off.

The same Friday last September:

"One more." Dean slammed his shot glass on the counter and slid it over to Jo, who sighed and refilled it.

I think I'm goin' to Katmandu

That's really really where I'm goin' to

"Dean, this is your fifth one. In less than twenty minutes." The blonde sighed as she slid the glass back over. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know."

"Try me."

"K-K-K-K-K-Katmandu." Dean sang and downed his shot, feeling the alcohol burn in the back of his throat. He shook his head to the music.

"Why? What happened?" Jo pushed.

"Can we drop it?"

"Alright." She held her hands up in defense. "No need to PMS about it."

The bar door jingled as someone walked in, making Dean's head ring.

"Damn it, Jo. You ever gonna take that fucking bell down?" He yelled.

"Wow, I guess I'll call Bobby and tell him to put tampons on the grocery list." Jo raised her eyebrows in a smirk, looking over his shoulder to see who it was.

I got no kick against the west coast

Warner brothers are such good hosts

"I am not—never mind." Dean tucked his head beneath his arms and slouched onto the counter.

He should hear Jo shuffling over to another customer on Dean's right, and they ordered water. Dean felt around for the shot glass and held it between his fingers as he heard Jo's feet make their way back to him.

"One more, Jo. Please." Dean said sweetly, lifting his head up. Jo was filling a plastic cup with water. She set it down looked at Dean, who gave her his best puppy dog face.

"Last one, Winchester." She took his shot glass and filled it before bringing the other guy his water.

"I won't tell your mother you're serving under aged people drinks." Dean swirled the glass in his hand.

But now I'm leavin' and I can't be late

And to myself be true

"It's not me I'm worried about." Jo retorted.

"Long day?" Dean heard from beside him but didn't look to check who asked the question.

"Long year." Dean answered and chugged his sixth shot, holding the bitter liquid in his mouth.

"I know the feeling." The guy said before taking a sip of his water through a bendy straw.

Dean brought the shot glass up to his eye and peered through it like a telescope.

That's why I'm going to Katmandu, up to the mountains where I'm goin' to

And if I ever get out of here, that's what I'm gonna do

He looked towards the guy next to him and choked on the alcohol. It was Blue Eyes.

K-K-K-K-K-Katmandu

Sometime in May in a dirty school counselor's office:

"Wait, Joanna Harvelle? She's your age!" The counselor throws his hands up. "And she's serving you alcohol? Kids these days," he mutters.

"In my defense, I ordered a water." Castiel points out.

"Right. And who the fuck orders water, Cas? In a bar." Dean places his hands on the side of his chair and swivels to face Castiel.

"How did you even get in anyway?" Dean continues. "I mean, I'm only allowed because I've known Jo for more than half my life." His voice is teasing.

"Um, Gabriel snagged me a fake ID." Castiel answers.

"And the first thing you do is go to a bar, and you order water? And, Cas, baby, no offense, but you don't look a day over 18. Let alone 21. Did you somehow bride your way in with a blow—"

"Hey, hey! Woah. Let's keep it PG-13, shall we? Continue please." The counselor interrupts.

"Alright." Dean leans back in his chair and rests his head in his hands.

Still the same Friday last September:

"Woah." Ellen thumped on his back. Alcohol dribbled out of his mouth and onto the floor. "Jesus Christ, Dean. See, this is exactly the reason why you shouldn't drink. I'm gonna need a talk with Bobby."

"Mom, he's fine." Dean heard Jo say, and then Ellen sighed.

"Ellen, I would've choked on water." Dean slurred, bent over. A pair of sneakers came into vision.

"Is he okay?" A familiar voice asked and Dean coughed.

"He's fine." Jo repeated.

"Where's his car?" Ellen pulled her hand away from Dean's back peered through the bar's window into the dark lot.

"At his place. I drove him here." Jo told her. Dean saw her fidget her hands nervously. Ellen was sure to ban him from the bar now.

"I'm gonna call Bobby and tell him to pick his poor kid up." Ellen sighed and thumped Dean's back again, who wheezed.

"No, I can take him home." Blue Eyes insisted. "We're both on the track team so we carpool sometimes," he lied.

"You're not—oomph!" Dean started, but Blue Eyes gave a light punch to his side to shut him up.

"I had a water if it makes you feel any better." The boy told Ellen quickly.

"Alright. If you say so." Ellen hung the receiver up and walked away.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean." Jo gave him a worried look and turned back to the counter.

"But it's Saturday." He said and Jo waved him off.

Blue Eyes practically dragged Dean outside. He opened the passenger side of his car and forced Dean's heavily muscled legs in. When he was about to close the door, Dean grabbed his arm, preventing him from shutting it.

"Thanks." Dean grumbled and dropped his arm. Blue Eyes closed the door slowly and walked to the other side of the car, crawling in the front seat.

"Just give me the directions to your house and I'll drop you off." He murmured and started the engine.

The first ten minutes of the ride was silent except for the occasional "turn right/left" Dean gave the boy. Dean couldn't help glancing at Blue Eyes every few seconds, watching his blue eyes flicker around the road and his mouth curl. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked, sober enough to know that the atmosphere was tense.

"Oh. No." Blue Eyes responded and Dean watched his face soften and the grip on the steering wheel loosen.

"Then turn that frown upside-down." Dean used two fingers to pull his own mouth into a smile. Castiel gave him a fake smile, but Dean was too drunk to know the difference. There was a pause.

"Hey, I'm real sorry for causing you all this trouble." Dean looked at him and shifted in his seat until his knees were up to his chin.

"It's fine, Dean." Blue Eyes gave him a genuine smile and Dean gave a drunken one back.

"You know," Dean started, his smile broadening, but that may have just been the alcohol, "it's funny how you know my name, but I don't know yours," he babbled.

"Yes, and we attend the same school." Blue Eyes added.

"Yeah! And apparently you know I'm on the track team! I don't even know what you—"

"Castiel." The boy cut his rambles off.

"Excuse me?"

"Castiel." He repeated.

"Oh, I'm Dean." Dean stuck out a hand.

"Yes, I know that much." Castiel lifted and eyebrow and shook Dean's hand, keeping the other on the wheel.

"So why'd you lie to Ellen about being on the track team? Unless you are and I'm just too drunk to know right now." Dean asked as he hung on to Castiel's hand.

"You can tell people anything these days and they'll believe it."

"Oh. Makes sense. Take a left here. Or was it a right?" Dean let go of Castiel's hand and pointed at random directions. "No, I'm pretty sure it was left." He let out another drunken smile as Castiel turned the car to the left. Another silence followed.

"Hey, about this afternoon, you know, in the locker room." Dean started. Castiel took a moment to look off the road and glanced at Dean.

"Did I really make you uncomfortable?" Dean asked at the same time Castiel said, "I had Coke spilled on me."

"Oh. Okay, yeah, I see now why you were in the athlete showers." Dean sputtered awkwardly. Castiel made a sound that sounded like "Mhm" before returning his eyes to the road. A third silence followed.

"I'm not usually like this." Dean shifted in his seat again and turned to face Castiel. "And I don't think I ever ask this when I'm sober, but how do you get your body so fit like that?"

"What?"

"When you fell on me," Dean continued, amused, "I noticed your body was really fit. And apparently you don't do sports?"

"Dean," Castiel said quietly. "You're very drunk."

"No, man. I'm serious. Like you gotta give me some tips or something."

"Shut up, Dean." Castiel groaned, but Dean could hear a slight hint of pride in his voice.

"Like, you must be swarming with the ladies." Dean laughed, ignoring Castiel and enjoying the blush creeping up his face.

"Right. Of course. But, um, you're not so bad yourself." He gestured to Dean.

"Are you flirting with me?" Dean asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Wha-what? No. Are you flirting with me?" Castiel gaped his mouth open in surprise.

"Hmm. I don't know. But I do know that you are definitely flirting with me." Dean poked his ribs, making Castiel squirm.

"Castiel, pull over." Dean said suddenly.

"I'm on the left lane. I can't—"

"Pull over." Dean repeated. Castiel sighed and maneuvered the car into an empty lot, ignoring the honks other drivers gave him.

"What do you want?" He turned to Dean, but Dean was already stumbling out of the car and hurling whatever he had in his stomach onto the ground. Then he slumped on the pavement and Castiel gave another sigh.

The day after the Friday of last September:

Castiel drew back the curtains, exposing the sun through the window.

"Oh my god." He heard Dean moan from the floor, where he was curled up in fetal position.

"Wake up." He hit Dean with a pillow and the boy peeked an eye open.

"Get up. You have to go home." Castiel continued, and Dean shut his eye.

"This isn't my carpet." Dean's voice came muffled.

"You passed out." Castiel explained as Dean struggled to put two and two together.

"Dean, I know you're tired and hung over, but you really have to leave." Castiel hit him with the pillow again, and Dean stretched out his sore limbs, making cracking noises. He was vaguely aware of Castiel watching him.

"Dean. Get up." Castiel repeated when a knock came from downstairs.

"What time is it?" Dean sat straight up and rubbed his head.

Castiel looked at his watch. "It's almost noon," he answered.

"And you have guests over?"

"Something along those lines," Castiel told him before leaving the room. Dean heard his feet trample down the stairs and then the sound of a door being opened.

A low murmur filled the air as Dean got up in his feet. He noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt and was stripped down to his boxers. He grabbed his jeans from the back of a chair and neglected to find his shirt.

Dean was slipping on a pair of jeans as he made his way down the unfamiliar spiral staircase. They were a lot fancier than the ones at his place, with a chandelier hanging by a thing string from the ceiling. Dean only had one leg through when Castiel walked around the corner with a blonde guy on his arm he recognized from math class. Dean paused and cocked his head. He didn't think that Castiel seemed like the type of person who played for the other team. But then again, he thought Castiel didn't think Dean was either.

"Dean." Castiel acknowledged stiffly, as if he was seeing him for the first time that day.

"Dean?" The blonde repeated, rubbing a thumb over Castiel's arm. Dean didn't like the way the blonde said his name, like he rolling a needle over his tongue and spitting it out.

"Sorry. I'll be out of your way." Dean gave a quick smile and pulled his jeans on all the way, jumping up and down when they wouldn't go past his butt. He zipped them up and looked up to see Castiel staring at Dean's chest. Dean suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Oh. I couldn't find my shirt," he shrugged, glancing down. His stomach twisted into a knot.

"Clearly." The way the blonde guy hung onto Castiel reminded Dean of a leech.

"Balthazar." Castiel warned. The food in Dean's system threatened to make a reappearance.

"I'll be right back. I washed your shirt because it hard vomit on it." Castiel explained to Dean and, as if marking his territory, Balthazar kissed his ear before he left Dean and Balthazar alone in the hallway.

"So what's a fellow like you doing in Cassie's home on a nice Saturday morning?" Balthazar asked in a deep British accent. He looked at Dean like a bug that needed squashing. By an anvil.

"'Cassie'?" Dean repeated. "No, um, it's not what you think. I got a little wasted last night, and, uh, Castiel offered to drive me home, but I passed out before we got there."

"I see." Balthazar clicked his tongue and checked his watch as Dean's stomach violently lurched again. "I wonder why Cassie is taking so long. We have to be due at the restaurant in half an hour." He passed Dean and headed up the stairs just as Castiel emerged from his bedroom, Dean's shirt in hand.

"Here. It's not completely dry, but you'll manage I hope." Castiel moved swiftly down the stairs and Dean walked up two steps at a time and took the shirt from him, pulling it over his head.

"Thanks." He muttered and followed Balthazar and Castiel down the stairs.

"Pleasure meeting you." Balthazar said grimly when they got to the bottom steps and stuck a hand out to Dean, who hesitantly shook it.

"Nice to meet you t—" Dean started, right before feeling a burning sensation in his throat he knew he couldn't stop. He leaned over involuntarily, still clutching the British guy's hand, and promptly threw up over Balthazar's shiny white shoes.