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It’s only Castiel’s first day as a teacher at All City Elementary in Sioux Falls, and he’s already been warned by four teachers, the guidance counselor, the principal, and the librarian to watch out for Ben Braeden’s father.
Dean Winchester is the thorn in the side of the school board, the bane of the PTO, and, “the spitting image of the meddling parent your professors warned you about,” in the words of the art teacher. Of course, Castiel is a bit loathe to listen to Balthazar; he’s not certain he trusts any instructor with the audacity of going by their first name alone.
“He’s a nice guy!” Mx. Bradbury insists as he helps her pick up the box of recorders she’s dropped on her way into the music room. “A real forward-thinker, you know? Totally would have helped knit socks for the house elves.”
Castiel nods carefully as his brain turns circles trying to remember the reference.
“He’s just really…” She searches for a word, waving a recorder around as she thinks. “Enthusiastic, I guess? Expect him to show up the day before class and make sure you aren’t gendering your activities. Which, I mean, that should be a no brainer, really, but either way, expect insistence.”
“Don’t listen to what anyone else tells you,” Dr. Crowley says, pulling him aside in the hallway outside his office. “Dean Winchester is a denim-clad nightmare.”
“Mr. Winchester really isn’t as bad as everyone says,” the principal, Dr. Moseley, assures him. “Don’t get me wrong—he’s going to bug you incessantly, so you’ll have to nip that in the bud right away. But his heart’s in the right place.”
“I had Emma in my kindergarten class,” Mrs. Campbell tells him over lunch. “He was in my room at least three times a week looking for ways to ‘volunteer’, and I don’t mean his time, though he did offer that, too. I mean his opinion.” Castiel wonders why no one else has mentioned Ben’s older sister, and does his best not to assume that a child was equally as despised as her father.
“Just smile,” Ms. Masters tells him while she’s shelving books. “Just smile, and thank him, and get him the hell out of your classroom.”
Ms. Rosen agrees whole-heartedly if her full-body shudder is to be believed. “He’s a great asset for Singer Auto, I’m sure. But there’s not a lot going on in the brain department, you know what I mean? His brother got all the smarts.”
But when Mr. Winchester walks into his classroom the day before school starts to request that Mr. Milton not separate his students into groups of boys and girls for projects or teams, Castiel wonders why no one warned him that Ben Braeden’s father was going to be the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen. Unluckily for Castiel, Dean also turns out to be just as “helpful” as everyone’s warned him about.
Ben is a model student, kind and courteous, thoughtful and intelligent. He presents himself as a cool loner, one of those kids bound to go through a Vonnegut phase in sophomore English, though he brings Lovecraftian graphic novels for free reading time. He’s polite—every yes and no ends with sir—and he has a strong sense of justice and fairness, a natural born mediator. Ben’s a pleasure to have in the classroom, and Castiel knows he’s on track to become one of his favorite students.
His father, on the other hand, is a brute force to be reckoned with. He’s much the same as Ben, but it comes off more like harassment than manners. It’s as if he spends every free moment of his time just hunting for something Mr. Milton is doing wrong. He shows up at the most inopportune times—usually fresh from work in his grease-stained coveralls, occasionally in plaid overshirts over a Led Zeppelin tee—and always with a stack of articles or books that Castiel has no time to read.
So Mr. Milton does just as Ms. Masters advised with ease—he smiles, he thanks him, and then he directs Dean Winchester to the door in the most polite way possible.
* * *
Everything changes when Ben brings in his Patriot Day essay assignment.
Mr. Milton asked his students to write about the person they found most heroic, as he has with every class for the past ten years. The only limitation he put on their selections was that it not be a relative; those are difficult to grade, though not nearly as hard as those written about religious figures. Inevitably, he winds up with an essay about Muhammad and two about Jesus, but they’re well-written, at least.
Ben is the last student he expects not to follow the set parameters of the assignment. Castiel almost fails it on principle alone, but something stops him, perhaps a morbid sense of curiosity. There must be some reason, some quality about Dean Winchester that would prompt a good student to disregard the rules.
So Mr. Milton adjusts his glasses and begins to read.
I know you told us not to write about a family member, Mr. Milton, but I looked as hard as I could and couldn’t find anyone more heroic than my dad.
Dad has had a very hard life. When he was sixteen, my grandparents died in a house fire. He quit school to help my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen raise his little brother Sam. They didn’t want him to, because Dad wanted to go to college for math, but he did it anyway because he said Uncle Sam was his responsibility. Uncle Sam went to Stanford and learned how to be a lawyer.
My mom died when I was a baby, so Dad has always been an only parent. He does a really good job, I guess because he had so much practice with Uncle Sam. Dad helps me with my homework and comes to all of my soccer games and makes me practice my trombone an hour every day because he says it’s important to. It’s kind of boring, but I learned how to play “Traveling Riverside Blues” for his birthday, and he said it was the best present he ever got. He recorded it with his phone and shows it off to everyone which is embarrassing, but he has the biggest smile every time so I don’t mind too much.
Dad smiles a lot, and I don’t understand how anybody could smile when so much has gone wrong. I asked him when I started writing this (I didn’t tell him why because he would have told me to pick, “an actual hero,” and I didn’t want to). He said that he has a lot to be thankful for because he has the best family and a job he enjoys and a son any dad would be proud of.
That’s the other thing about my dad. When I came home in first grade and told him I didn’t think I was an Emma, that being Emma felt wrong, he didn’t get mad, at all. He said that was okay and then he did a lot of reading. Dad helped me pick out my name. He came to school and made sure I could use the right bathroom. I don’t think there are a lot of parents who would be like that.
He comes to school a lot, and I know that makes my teachers angry. Dad just wants to make sure that I’m getting the best education and that I’m treated good. He’s willing to fight for me and not back down. When Ms. Rosen gave me a bad grade on my report last year about Thomas Edison (I said he stole most of his inventions because he did, and I like Nikola Tesla better, anyway), he came in with a big stack of papers and books and put them on her desk so that she could learn that I was right.
I know people don’t think much about him because he doesn’t have a real diploma, but he’s so smart, Mr. Milton. He stays up too late to learn about what I’m learning. Most people are scared to ask questions when they don't know something, but my dad isn't afraid to. Dad never has to look up anything about math though.
I think my dad is very brave. He’s the bravest person I know, really. I wish other people could see that. But I don’t care what they think or say. Dad’s my hero, and he always will be, no matter what.
Castiel isn’t a crying man, but his eyes are more than misty. He hasn’t prayed since he left home for college, but he quickly thanks God that Ben Braeden wound up with a father like Mr. Winchester.
Ben is told that he’s received a B due to not following the instructions, but that Mr. Milton has somehow misplaced his essay, so it won’t be going home in his Friday Folder for his father to look over. Castiel gives him a conspiratorial thumbs up, and Ben smirks and gives him two back.
Now all Mr. Milton has to do is wait for Mr. Winchester to darken his door again.
* * *
Dean’s next visit, as Castiel expected, happens the day after the permission forms for sex ed go home with the students. As also expected, he times his visit to coincide with recess. Again, as expected, Dean walks through the door with an armload of reading material which is promptly deposited on Castiel’s desk one book at a time along with a brief explanation of each and why they are crucial.
“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel eventually interrupts, “could you pause for a moment, please?”
“I know I’m bugging you, Mr. Milton, but I think it’s important that kids learn about pronouns and what it means to be transgender and that being gay isn’t a bad thing and—”
“And I agree.”
Dean wrinkles his brow. “Really?”
“Really,” says Castiel with a smile. “Would you have a seat?”
“Yeah, uh. Sure.” Dean briefly looks around for a chair his size, finds nothing suitable, and ends up sitting on one of the pods of student desks. He hugs his three remaining books to his chest. “Am I about to get lectured?”
“Hardly. I wanted to apologize.”
If Dean was confused before, he’s completely baffled now. “You what?”
“I want to apologize for being so dismissive of you in our conversations before,” Castiel explains. “You’re obviously a parent who is very involved in your child’s life and his education. You care deeply about not only Ben’s welfare and growth, but of every one of my students. I didn’t see that before because I was too busy being insulted by what I thought was your belief that I was incapable of doing my job.
“So I apologize, Mr. Winchester. I teach my students that it is important to listen to each other and treat everyone fairly and kindly. Treating you any differently was hypocritical, and I shall endeavor to set a better example in the future.”
Dean’s stunned expression remains plastered to his face. He blinks a few times before repeating, “Really?”
Castiel nods. “Really.”
“You’re serious,” says Dean.
“Very much so. I don’t know that any of this information will be used in the curriculum of the sexual education course as that will be conducted by our guidance counselor—”
“Dr. Crowley, yeah,” Dean huffs. “I doubt it.” He suddenly bites his lip and looks contrite. “My turn to be sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. This is just...unusual, y’know. Being heard.”
“I know,” says Castiel quietly. “And I’m very sorry for that.”
They stare at each other longer than necessary. It makes Castiel wonder how many times before Dean hasn’t been heard, beyond the teachers and administration at All City Elementary.
“Anyway,” Castiel continues, “I plan on talking about these issues with my class. I’d be very happy to let Ben speak about his experience, too, if he would like.”
Dean smiles broadly, a grin that can only be the same one Ben described in his essay. “I’ll ask him. I think he’d get a kick outta that.”
“Also, um.” He hesitates, and isn’t sure why. Castiel suddenly feels like he’s overstepping, that he’s too close to showing favoritism and partiality, but he knows this is important and presses on. “If you would like, I would also be happy to set aside time after school on Wednesdays for you to come in and talk with me about Ben and how he’s doing in class.”
“Alright, Mr. Milton,” agrees Dean. “It’s a date,” he adds, and then outright winks at him, and Castiel is absolutely sure that he’s in over his head.
* * *
They meet every Wednesday for the rest of the school year. Castiel dreads it sometimes when he looks on the calendar or the syllabus and immediately knows what Dean will want to talk about during their meeting.
At the beginning of October, Dean reminds him that it’s Domestic Violence Awareness month. Columbus Day approaches, and Dean arrives with a pile of literature about Indigenous People’s Day and why Columbus shouldn’t be celebrated. The next week, Dean comes in with an idea for a class voting activity for election day in November.
Dean shows up two weeks before Thanksgiving to make sure Castiel knows that November is observed as the month for Native American Indian Heritage. He has to assure him that no, Mr. Milton’s class will not be lied to about the nature of the relationship between the pilgrims and the ancestors of the Wampanoag Nation and yes, Dean is more than welcome to send in a few pumpkin pies because no, none of Castiel’s students are diabetic, vegan, have allergies, or are otherwise prohibited from eating sweets.
By December, Castiel has learned to keep aspirin in his car to fend off the inevitable headache that conversations with Mr. Winchester often bring. His foresight pays off when Dean starts emailing him every day with questions about the Christmas party, which soon becomes the all-day Hannukah-Christmas-Kwanzaa-Solstice Celebration. Dean shows up with his guitar and at least three songs for every holiday. Mx. Bradbury pops in with her classes every single period; so does Balthazar with his. Dr. Moseley peeks in the open door every time she walks by, and always has a smile on her face.
The room is full to bursting the whole day, and it’s hands down the best classroom party Castiel has ever given in his entire decade of teaching.
Still, in spite of the frequent headaches, Dean’s enthusiasm is not only infectious, but always seems to pay off. They would have never gotten help for Kevin Tran and his mother if Dean hadn’t suggested a frank discussion about abuse. Several parents emailed Castiel to thank him for teaching about native peoples. In fact, where Castiel had expected parental resistance, he’s received very little negative feedback. Aaron Bass’ grandfather even showed up after winter break to give him a hug, because Aaron had never gotten to celebrate his own holiday at school before and was actually showing interest in learning about his faith and family heritage.
Every time someone thanks him, Castiel makes sure to mention Dean Winchester.
Castiel is in the same boat as Ben, really. He doesn’t understand how anyone who’s been through everything Dean has, who has been treated the way he consistently has could still be such a good person, could still be so full of life and joy and...well, love. Dean smiles and jokes, even when his eyes are tired from staying up all night looking for new ways to make Castiel’s syllabus planning difficult.
By the end of February, while Dean’s finishing reading Show Way to the class, the fourth book he and Castiel picked out to read weekly in celebration of Black History Month, Castiel realizes he’s fallen completely, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with this brash, ridiculous man and his passion for social justice that everyone else refused to see.
It gets worse as the next two months roll by. He looks forward to each and every Wednesday, and to checking his email twice a night for whatever new knowledge Dean has stumbled upon, and discussing the next class special topic lesson over text. Castiel’s sure it’s inappropriate, or would be frowned upon at the very least, but he simply can’t bring himself to care. Dean has brought a strange grace to Castiel’s life; a benediction he never knew he was missing; a belief in and appreciation for humanity that he hasn’t possessed in years.
Castiel set out to save Mr. Winchester from a reputation he didn’t deserve, and wound up being saved himself.
* * *
The remainder of the school year flashes by, and it suddenly occurs to Castiel that Ben Braeden will no longer be his student, which means Dean Winchester will no longer be on his team. He manages to stay upbeat and focused in the classroom, but each day becomes more dreaded, and each gift that his students bring him, each letter and thank you card that their parents send to him only serves as a reminder that his time with Dean is almost over.
Soon enough, it’s their last Wednesday meeting.
Dean walks in and simply stands in the doorway for a minute while they stare at each other. He rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel fiddles with his tie, and it’s even more awkward than their first meeting was.
“I…” Dean begins, breaking the silence first. “I wanted to thank you. The past year has been—”
“Remarkable,” Castiel blurts out.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees with a nod. “Yeah, that’s a good word for it.”
“No,” says Castiel. “I mean, yes, it has been, but I meant you. You’re remarkable.”
Dean looks incredulous, and a bit suspicious, and it’s more endearing than it has any right to be.
“It’s difficult,” Castiel continues, “very difficult to keep a positive attitude when education has become such an industry, when we have to teach the test instead of inspire learning. I was worn out and disillusioned within three years of being a teacher. I lost count of how many times I went home and thought of quitting, but you…
“Dean, you brought life back to my classroom. You reminded me of what was important. That, ultimately, I’m here because I want to make a difference. You’re an infuriating, exhausting, brilliant, beautiful man, and I…” Castiel averts his eyes and swallows hard. “I’m going to miss you, Mr. Winchester.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
Castiel snaps his head back up, caught in the headlights like a moose on the highway. Dean’s got a cocky smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eyes, leaning back against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Is that really all you heard?”
Dean shrugs and says, “I tried not to listen to the rest. Might go to my head.”
“You know Ben feels the same way, don’t you?”
“What, Ben thinks I’m beautiful?”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, he thinks you’re an exemplar of humanity. I—” He hesitates, then sighs, then walks over to his file cabinet. “Ben wrote an essay about you back at the start of the school year.”
Dean’s arms drop to his sides as he finally steps into the classroom and toward Castiel. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” says Castiel. “It made me rethink your character. I probably should have brought it up before now; hiding the fact that I am aware of your past is nothing less than a lie by omission and—”
“Oh no,” Dean says with a groan. “What did he say? He wrote about that time I forgot where I parked my car and had a panic attack, didn’t he? Or, wait, no, I bet it was about when we went to see The Nutcracker. Shit—dammit—crap, Mr. Milton, I swear to G—I swear,” and Dean grabs Castiel’s arm with one hand and gesticulates with the other, “I do not make a habit out of crying at ballet, okay? Whatever he said, not true.”
The tension melts out of Castiel’s frame as he doubles over laughing.
“Look, it was really moving and I didn’t expect it to be!”
“Ben didn’t write about any of that,” Castiel tells him. “But it’s nice to know.”
Dean licks his bottom lip nervously. “Then what did he write about?”
So Castiel hands him the essay.
Dean takes it from him slowly and begins to read. “‘I know you told us not to write about a family member, Mr. Milton, but I looked as hard as I could and couldn’t find anyone more heroic than—’” His eyes flash up from the paper. “Me?”
Castiel nods and smiles softly.
He looks shaken, but Dean keeps reading, although now silently and to himself. His lips move, forming each word as he reads it, jaw clenching when he stops to swallow. Dean flips over to the next page, and his eyes just keep getting wider, like he’s never thought well of himself in his entire life and never expected anyone else to have done so, either.
When Dean’s finished, he runs the fingers of his free hand underneath his eyes and shakes it off.
Neither of them speak for several minutes. Castiel has been leaning back on the file cabinet watching Dean, and now Dean simply stands and watches him.
Finally, Dean digs into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a folded-up piece of looseleaf paper.
“I was just gonna leave it in your mailbox in the office,” he says shyly, “but Ben said he’d record the greatest hits of the Spice Girls over every cassette tape I own if I didn’t give it to you in person.”
Dean holds it out to Castiel between two fingers. He accepts it, never taking his eyes off of Dean until he’s finished unfolding it and begins to read the same neat, practiced handwriting that’s been jotted in the margins of every book and article Dean’s ever handed him.
I’d ask you for your number, but you’ve already got that, so instead I’ll just ask you to keep it in your phone, and I’ll do the same.
I’d ask you out for coffee, but I know we’re both pretty busy, so instead I’ll just ask you to keep Wednesday afternoons open, and I’ll do that, too.
Castiel looks up and grins. “Alright, Mr. Winchester,” he says with a wink. “It’s a date.”