Although Castiel was never forced into a ‘formal’ academic system, he still felt obligated to send his only child off into the world of public education.
As a Nephilim, God and his angelic children had once labeled you as an abomination, a disgrace; and though your father, Castiel, had never allowed anyone, human or supernatural, to harm you (mentally or physically), he was still very aware of the emotional abrasions that could come from his own brothers and sisters if given the chance. Having confided within your ‘Uncle’ Sam and ‘Uncle’ Dean, it was decided that enrolling you within public school could be beneficial for the development of strong values… and more importantly, thick-skin.
Thus, here you were, standing in the front office, waiting for your father to bring your forgotten schoolwork from home.
Watching as your dad strolled through the main entrance with a dorky look of wonder, excitement, and joy glued to his face, you smiled. Holding out your forgotten notebook in one of his calloused hands, he returned the gesture, before acknowledging a woman eying him cautiously from behind the front desk.
I suppose a worn-out trench coat wasn’t the best choice in apparel.
Nevertheless, with a quick “thanks” you darted out of the office and into the hall, hoping you might still be able to beat the final bell.
“I’ll see you after school, angel. I love you!” your father exclaimed perkily, waving his hand in the goofiest way possible. “Oh… and, [Y/N]?! Uncle Dean wants to know if you’ll get your Spanish teacher’s number for him?!”
AN: I’m not sure how it is at other schools, but the parents were always allowed to come inside the building without being buzzed in. I’m sure that’s probably changed… but I graduated high school in 2012. :) hopefully the rules aren’t all too different for you guys.
Fearful that he might turn into a man similar to that of his own father, Sam Winchester has never once denied his only child assistance when needed; especially if said assistance consists of something educational. I mean… let’s be honest, your father, Sam, would have become a ‘professional student’ if granted the opportunity.
In regards to your future, your father wanted to be sure that many options were on the table… even if you had been adamantly voicing your desire to continue running the ‘family business.’
Hey… there’s nothing wrong with that. College isn’t for everyone.
Regardless, you made the promise to your father (and Uncle Dean) that you would complete high school… and the boatload of work that apparently tags along for the ride.
On a nightly basis, your father sits beside you, ready to answer any questions that may arise while you make an attempt at finishing your homework. He is extremely patient, taking the time to explain each step thoroughly and precisely; though, you’d much rather he just do the work for you.
As the night drags on, and your pent-up frustration reduces you to tears, your dad never fails to calm you down.
“Don’t cry, [Y/N].” he would say gently, placing a hand on your shoulder when you moved to rest your head in your palms. “I know it’s confusing… but you’ll get the hang of it.” Taking a nearby pencil into his free hand, your father would wait for you to regain your composure. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s try this again.”
Even if Dean Winchester had never really given a second thought to his own education, you can be damn near sure that his only child was going to excel academically.
It is a commonly known fact that your father, Dean, personally lives by the motto: “one should not attend even the end of the world without a good breakfast.” Each and every morning, he arises early, determined to get your day started off in the right direction.
…though, you have the tendency to feel as if he tries a little too hard.
Nevertheless, he makes you a breakfast that could be found on the cover of just about any ‘Food and Wine’ magazine: perfectly fried bacon, fluffy pancakes, eggs cooked just right, and a tall glass of tangy orange juice. I suppose having a father who has a deeply rooted love for all things food isn’t such a bad thing…
“How’d you sleep?” he’d question, as you trudged into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to wake your dreamy mind. Grunting in response, you would sit beside your green-eyed father, eating the meal he had prepared for you, before sliding onto your feet, and slinging the straps of your backpack over your shoulders. Placing a kiss to the top of your head, your father would walk you to the door, watching as you ran down the street to catch the bus.
As the day progressed, you would find yourself in the cafeteria, sitting amongst your closest friends at one of the long tables. Reaching into your backpack, you never fail to find the lunch that your dad had carefully packed earlier that same morning. With a smile, you’d dig around for the napkin, excited to see his apparent handwriting scrawled across the textured paper.
‘I am so proud of the person you are becoming, [Y/N],’ it would read, the dark letters appearing to be smudged in some places. ‘Have a good day at school, stay out of trouble, and make sure to keep an eye out for your cousins…. ♡ Dad.’
…maybe this school year wouldn’t turn out to be so bad after all.