In This Secluded Spot I Respond As I Wouldn't Dare Elsewhere

The Romantic Poets

When Dean didn't show up in homeroom the next morning, Castiel grew somewhat concerned. He hoped his trust hasn't been misplaced and that Dean's attempt at an apology wasn't a ruse. Trying not to assume the worst was a habit he found hard to break.

Mr. Zachariah was droning on through the morning's announcements, but Castiel was preoccupied with Dean's whereabouts. Castiel wanted to talk with Dean further. Their lunch in the woods was a start, of course; Castiel did his best, but they hadn't spoken more than they already had. Lunch was over sooner than he realized or wanted it to be, and Dean left. Castiel did what he had planned, which was to hide out in the woods until he could see the buses pull up for the day's dismissal.

He was expecting to find Dean in homeroom, so Castiel had been practicing hopefully non-awkward conversation starters. He wished he had more confidence to simply say, Hey, how's it going this morning? or words to that effect, instead of what he really wanted to tell him, which was, Thank you for being the first person to show me some compassion. Castiel reasoned the latter probably sounded too weird.

The bell rang and Castiel gathered his things, and then followed the rest of the students out on their way to first period.

He paused near the bathrooms to check the hallway, and to his relief Alastair, Tom, and Brady had already left for their first period classes. Either that or they were already in their baseball meeting, but regardless, he was able to make it to English that morning unscathed. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and ascended to the second floor.

Just as the bell rang, Dean walked in.

"Mornin'."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel answered.

"Did I miss anything in homeroom?"

"Just attendance."

Dean chuckled at him. "I stopped in the office before I came up. We had a team meeting that started earlier than usual."

Ms. Milton then called the class to attention.

"You'll be glad to know that your hard work over the past two weeks means that we're done with Hamlet and Shakespeare."

The class let out a celebratory whoop.

"That leads us into the next section we'll be covering for the remainder of this semester: the romantic poets. I bet everyone can't wait for that."

The class then groaned again.

"William Blake, William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Keats, Lord Byron...these British poets were active in the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries. For the first time these poets wrote in a free-form style, abandoning rhyming verse and focusing on love and nature. They changed the way poetry was written and influenced many writers to come, including American poets Ralph Waldo Emerson and Walt Whitman — "

Castiel tried to listen as Ms. Milton went on to talk about famous poems like Ode on a Grecian Urn and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but his mind wasn't focused on romantic poetry this morning. It was with Dean.

He stole a glance in Dean's direction, wishing his anxiety wasn't like a lead weight in his stomach. He was annoyed at himself for feeling that way; he shouldn't be reduced to a quivering mess of nerves just to start a conversation.

"We're going to go over some of the most famous romantic poetry over the next couple of weeks. By the time the semester is over, I want each of you to have memorized one romantic poem — the author is your choice — which will then be presented orally here in class as a part of your final exam."

The class groaned even louder that time, a clear indication that the consensus on public speaking was definitely negative. It never bothered Castiel, as long as he had to give the speech in a class he enjoyed. If this assignment were given out in auto shop for example, it would have been like a death sentence.

Despite his best efforts, the class was almost over by the time Castiel thought to ask Dean about how his baseball meeting went in order to strike up a conversation. It wasn't long afterward that the bell rang, and Dean was off to his next class with a wave goodbye before Castiel had a chance to say anything.

He sighed. There he was, secretly hoping that the pleasantries he exchanged with Dean yesterday would result in a true friendship, but unsure of how to proceed without seeming needy.

"Castiel?"

"Yes, Ms. Milton?"

"A word."

He knew this had to be about skipping class, so he steeled himself for the inevitable.

"I heard about what happened with Alastair yesterday."

That he didn't expect. "Oh."

"Did you get hurt?"

"My ribs and self-esteem are slightly bruised."

"You need to report it," she said, concerned.

"It would make things worse," he answered truthfully.

"Castiel — "

"I speak from previous experience, Ms. Milton. I suspect my tormentor from freshman year pushed me down the stairs, and when my mother intervened on my behalf I was subjected to even more frequent assaults. This year Alastair's attacks are almost constant, but I do not wish them escalated. I must try to deal with him in my own way."

She sighed. "If you need someone to talk to, about anything, I'm always here."

"Thank you."

As he left the room, he wondered why both his mother and Ms. Milton kept stressing he open up to them about these mysterious things other than bullying. It confused him, as if they knew something he didn't.