
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8278648.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Anna_Milton, Jo_Harvelle,
      Charlie_Bradbury, Kevin_Tran, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Dean/Cas_Big_Bang_2016, Dean/Cas_Big_Bang_Challenge, Alternate_Universe_-
      High_School, Musicals, Singer_Castiel, Coming_Out, Crossdressing,
      Halloween_Costumes, Rent_References, Rocky_Horror_Picture_Show
      References, Non-Penetrative_Sex, Oral_Sex, Hand_Jobs, Minor_Charlie
      Bradbury/Jo_Harvelle
  Collections:
      Dean/Castiel_Big_Bang_2016, DCBB_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-14 Words: 25631
****** Stage Fright ******
by ratherbehere
Summary
     Sir Francis High is putting on a production of Rent and Castiel wants
     a part. Or not. Whatever. He’ll take what he can get cause there’s no
     way a newbie to the drama club would really get much of anything,
     right? And because he has crippling stage fright, that’s okay with
     him.
     When, thanks to his vocal training, he’s cast as Mark, one of the
     leads and the play’s narrator, he has a panic attack.
     Enter Dean Winchester, Castiel’s long-time crush. Dean talks Cas out
     of his panic attack and into taking the role. Castiel agrees in no
     small part because he knows Dean will be there- building the sets and
     working stage crew. But Dean only joined because he’d have to take
     his brother Sam to practice anyway, or at least that’s what he says.
     When Dean offers to help Castiel with his fear, a new friendship
     blooms. As they get closer, Castiel begins to realize that he’s not
     the only one with a fear of putting himself out there. Dean’s as much
     in the closet as his poster from Rocky Horror, and coming out of it
     is not going to be easy.
     **Knowledge of Rent is not required, but such familiarity (and
     familiarity with musicals in general) would probably enhance the
     experience of the fic.**
Notes
     Head over to lennyways for the art_masterpost! She's been an amazing
     artist and new friend to work with and deserves a like or a reblog.
     If you're on tumblr, you can find the fic masterpost here.
     Other notes:
     The ages of Dean and Cas are left ambiguous. As they are still in
     high school, I have labeled this underage just in case.
     Contains minor Charlie/Jo, and a Kevin that channels Osric Chau's
     complete lack of concern regarding gendered clothing.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
Prologue
Castiel stared at the signup sheet and the rest of the world disappeared.
Well. That’s not strictly true.
He could hear shuffling feet behind him, someone coughing. A light with bad
wiring flickered about 10 feet away. The smell of overly fried chicken wafted
at him from the cafeteria.
But all of these things registered on the dim edges of his consciousness.
The musical this year… He couldn’t believe what the letters displayed.
Rent.
Only his favorite musical of all time. He’d been practicing the vocals since he
was five years old, locked in the basement, praying his older sister Hester
wouldn’t hear him and come tell him to stop. He loved his family, but they
never understood him.
What a way to be a walking stereotype of a teenager.
Castiel bit his lip. He’d give anything to be in this production. Literally,
anything. But he’d never sung onstage before. He’d never sung in front of
anyone beyond a coach and maybe Anna, his cool sister. Most importantly though,
he’d never acted. At all. The thought was terrifying.
He was, to put it bluntly, the least qualified person in the history of Sir
Francis High, to ever even consider putting his name on the audition list.
He was probably also the most awkward.
It would be madness to put his name down.
To his left, at the other side of the auditorium doors, a boy laughed. It
pierced the fog of consciousness Castiel had erected around himself. There was
no particular reason this laugh should cut through the fog, other than,
perhaps, the fact that the owner of the voice was none other than Dean
Winchester.
“Theater again? Really, Sammy?” Dean said with another chuckle, ruffling his
younger brother’s hair. Castiel had seen him do that a few times. It never went
over well.
“Knock it off, Dean,” Sam responded, pushing his hand away. “It’s Sam, and I
happen to like lighting and sound. And you know, something tells me you’d love
building sets and working stage crew if you gave it half a shot, instead of
throwing up some macho wall that you’re far too manly for theater.” Sam crossed
his arms. “Everyone knows you’re overcompensating by the way.”
Through Castiel’s side-glance, for he dare not move to stare directly (that
would be rude), he could just see Dean fish-lip his way into a response.
“You’re saying I’m gay for not wanting to do this stage crap?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Fine,” Dean said with a puff. He reached past Sam, grabbed the pen from the
technical theater signup sheet, and signed his name, right over Sam’s head. Sam
was seriously due for a growth spurt any day now. “I’m in.”
Sam stared in shock. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Yeah, well. I’d be taking you to practice anyway.”
They walked away, the conversation slipping from Castiel’s ears.
He shook his head, trying to knock sense into it, but sense was not his friend
today.
Cause if Dean Winchester was doing stage crew, Castiel was damn well at least
trying out for the cast. Maybe he wouldn’t be too horrible and they’d give him
a part with one line or something. And he could hyperventilate 18 times a day
for the next two months.
That was normal, right?
 
Chapter 1
Castiel’s dad was passed out at his keyboard when Castiel came home. That was
more than normal, really. Chuck had exactly two states: writing frantically,
and passed out. It worked now that Cas and his siblings were older. It did not
work so well when they were younger and needed to be fed occasionally.
“Anna,” Castiel said, stopping by her bedroom door. Anna was older than Castiel
by three years and still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.
Unlike their older siblings, Uriel and Hester, who were away at college being
stupidly successful.
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, nodding along to some music pumping
through her earphones. Castiel thought she didn’t hear him, but then she looked
up, smiled, and pulled her headphones off.
“Hey, Cas,” she said. “How was school?”
“I did something incredibly stupid today.” He liked getting straight to the
point. Anna quirked an eyebrow. “I signed up to try out for the musical.”
Anna’s chin hit the floor. Or, it would have, but as she was sitting on a bed,
it hit the mattress instead.
“You hate being in front of people.”
“But I love singing. And Rent.”
“You’ve loved every musical they’ve ever done and nothing compelled you to try
out before,” Anna pointed out. Her eyes narrowed in a way that was entirely too
familiar. “Who is he?”
“Anna.”
“Ooooh, yes, it’s definitely a boy. Come on, who?”
Castiel sighed. Anna was relentless. She would find out eventually anyway.
“Dean Winchester.”
When Anna’s first instinct was to bite her lip, he knew he was so, so screwed.
“What?” Castiel asked, crossing his arms defensively.
“It was a couple of years ago,” Anna stated. “It doesn’t matter.”
Castiel uncrossed his arms, stepping into the room. Now he was curious, damn
her. “What is it, Anna?”
“When you were freshmen and I was a senior, he hit on me.”
That was certainly not what Castiel had been expecting. “Did you say yes?”
“Cas!”
“It’s a valid question.”
Anna sighed. Like her, he also didn’t stop asking when the question mattered.
“I thought about it,” Anna admitted, picking at her leggings. “Maybe in a
different life, I would have said yes. Let’s just say I see the appeal, and
that was three years ago. But Cas-“
“I swear to God, if you’re going to remind me he’s straight—“  
Anna blinked several times her hand frozen on her leggings. “I wasn’t going to
say that at all. Who the hell knows what he is. He could be straight. He could
also be bisexual. He might not know yet. Not everyone is as lucky as you.” She
blew out a breath of frustrated air. “But that’s just it, Cas. He’s a riddle,
he doesn’t let anyone know who he is, and that spells trouble.”
“Maybe he’ll let me know who he is,” Castiel said, cringing at himself. He
sounded ridiculous. Anna’s look told him he was right.
“Just be careful.”
Castiel thought of all the classes he’d spent every waking moment staring at
Dean’s handsome profile, waiting, hoping Dean at least knew his name, and
decided ‘careful’ was probably out of his control.
~
Castiel had had a week to work on his audition for Rent and he’d spent every
moment he could sequestered away either pouring over the script the drama
instructor had provided, or working on his vocal chords and diction.
He’d taken singing lessons since he was eight, so fortunately, that part was
easy. The lessons had started as a way to cure him of his crippling stage
fright, and when that utterly failed, Castiel had begged to continue them
anyway. Even if he was the only one to hear himself besides his coach, he
enjoyed singing and wanted to make the most of his talent.
Well. For the first time in 9 years, he was going to put those lessons to the
test in front of a real audience.
He stood in the wings of the stage, a couple classmates and dusty curtains
serving for company, waiting for his turn to come. He could hear other
auditions going on. Almost everyone was good. Really good.
And why wouldn’t they be? He was a junior in high school, everyone that had any
inclination to act had already tried out before. Leads were usually handed out
to seniors who had been around for the previous three years. No one ever jumped
in this late. If they tried, they certainly never got a main part.
Which would be just fine, really, if that’s what happened to him.
The current audition wrapped up with a whoop from the audience. “Yeah, go Jo!
You rocked that!”
Castiel’s head whipped up. He knew that voice. He may have made a few
soliloquies to that voice in his time. Why was Dean Winchester in the audience
for this?
So on top of auditioning for the directors, and the other students auditioning,
apparently family and friends were sitting in. Including Dean Winchester.
Dear god, how many people were out there?
He barely had a moment to ponder that when a feminine voice called his name.
“Castiel Milton, you’re up!”
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
Um, did I say shit?
He internally cursed the entire 20 feet from the wing to the center of the
stage.
A black woman Castiel recognized as Mrs. Moseley lifted an eyebrow at him as he
stopped at the mic.
“Name?” she asked. It struck Castiel as unfriendly, but that was probably more
his own perception affected by his utter terror than anything else.
“Castiel Milton.”
For the love of God, Cas, do not look at Dean Winchester, you will pass out.
She looked at a clipboard in her hands and scanned down the list. She checked
him off with a sharp movement of her pen.
“Did you pick up the selected scene from my office?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel said.
The look she gave him could have melted him on the spot, but she motioned to
her assistant. “From the top then, Pamela.”
Pamela (or Ms. Barnes, as she allowed absolutely none of her students to call
her) and Mrs. Moseley couldn’t have been more different. Mrs. Moseley looked
like she belonged in a quaint little tea parlor, whereas Pamela seemed more
suited to a biker bar. But they shared something in common—they were tough as
nails and wouldn’t take shit from anyone.
“From the top, Castiel, whenever you’re ready,” she said.
Okay, so the acting part wasn’t going to be his strong suit, and he knew that
going in. But he did passably well, he thought. He didn’t pass out and no one
booed or frowned or told him to get lost, so he would count it as a win.
Next, Mrs. Moseley asked for his vocal audition.  He’d chosen One Song Glory.
His reasons were twofold. One, it gave him a chance to highlight his vocal
range and depth, from low notes to high notes, soft to loud. Two, it was just a
really great song.
And though he was still quite nervous, when the pianist started his beats, it
was like he was someone else.
He wasRoger, using music to convey his passions, his dreams and desires.  The
desperate need to mark his time on Earth with an accomplishment before the HIV
in his veins takes his life, one glorious song to leave something of himself
behind. Something that surpasses the human weakness of mortality.
By the time he reached, “time flies, time dies” and the huge note of “glory”
immediately following, he’d forgotten there was an audience. He focused on
pouring his heart into his vocal chords and diaphragm and gave it all of
himself.
Somehow the microphone ended up in his hand and he moved across the stage. By
the time he got to the last, trailing, “time dies…” he was on his knees.
For a moment, time had died. Or at least, it wasn’t moving.
Then it lurched forward with a clap like thunder.
Only it wasn’t thunder.
It was the entire room erupting into applause.
Castiel cracked open his eyes and looked out into the audience. The room had
maybe two dozen people in it, but every single person was on their feet.
Including Dean Winchester. Who was looking at him like he’d just seen Castiel
for the first time. No, not just that. That he was worthyof being seen.
He blushed and scrambled quickly to his feet, rushing to put the microphone
back in the stand.
“Thank you,” he said into it before fleeing the stage.
~
He should not have driven home. Dear god, what was he thinking? He could barely
hear his thoughts over the pounding of his heart and he thought operating heavy
machinery at unnatural speeds was a good idea?
Anna, of course, had wanted to know how it went. He’d mumbled a, “Good,” and
then locked himself in his bedroom, flopping face first on his bed and fully
planning on never moving again.
A bing from his cellphone made his brow furrow. Though he had a few friends’
numbers saved, he had a cellphone primarily for emergencies. Alfie, from the
chess club, was as much of a loner as he was, Hannah was busy with yearbook
duties, and Gabriel was just… weird.
‘Dude,’ Gabriel’s text said. ‘you can sing?’
Ah, autocorrect. What a thing of beauty. Gabriel’s texts used to require a
translator to understand.
‘Yeah. So? Not a big deal,’ Castiel texted back, aiming for casual, even though
his heart was pounding. What had Gabriel heard? How had Gabriel heard?
‘You’re going to be a star,’ Gabriel answered. ‘I’ll be your manager.’
Castiel snorted. Right. Gabriel as his manager. That would be the day.
‘I’m not that good. My acting was terrible. Probably didn’t make it. Find
yourself another star.’
’20 bucks says you get one of the leads.’
Castiel frowned. The lead. To a newbie at the drama department? He wasn’t even
in choir. Not that such a thing was impossible, but it was very, very unlikely.
He would have had to blow the directors out of their freaking chairs. He only
wanted a minor role, anyway, and he probably wouldn’t get that much. Maybe when
he didn’t make the casting cut, he could still sign up for crew and work with
Dean.
Hey. That wasn’t a bad idea.
But lead? No. Not possible.
‘Deal.’
~
Castiel must have lost his god damn mind because the first thing he thought
when he saw the casting sheet on Monday morning was that he didn’t even have
$20 to give to Gabriel.
Then the panic set in.
He read the words again. “Castiel Milton” in one column, and “Mark Cohen” in
the corresponding slot in the second column.
Suddenly the people around him were a blur of color and noise, a cacophony of
chaos that circulated around him. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. If
not now, then certainly on stage.
Mark? The ‘narrator’ who films the life of his friends, who has singing moments
in almost every song? One of his favorite characters of all time, he was going
to play him? In front of hundreds of people?
Castiel turned, dizzy, uncertain, ready to head to a bathroom to throw up. Or
pass out. Or die.
But a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey man, you okay?”
Because life can be very, very cruel, the voice was immediately recognizable as
Dean Winchester’s.
Castiel turned slowly, momentarily stunned as his eyes settled on Dean’s
perfectly, beautiful green ones, not three feet from his own.
Awesome. So they’ve never even spoken before and their first conversation is
going to involve Cas puking on his shoes.
“Whoa,” Dean said, putting a second hand on his other shoulder. Evidently
Castiel’s face had warned him of the imminent puking. Or death. He still hadn’t
ruled that out yet. “Not okay then. C’mon.”
Dean pushed him gently and guided him about ten feet away to a side hallway,
one that was blissfully empty. Once he was away from the crowd, Castiel doubled
over and took a huge, rattling breath, sucking air back into his oxygen
deprived lungs.
“Just breathe,” Dean said, putting a hand on his back. The warmth of his palm
bled through the fabric of his t-shirt like a salve. Slowly, the world began to
right itself. It wasn’t quite so dark, and yet stupidly bright at the same
time. The voices from the nearby lobby area were no longer loud and screechy.
When the walls were once again solid and not wobbling like Jell-O, he thought
maybe he could stand properly again.
“So what was that about?” Dean ask, casually letting his hand slip away as
Castiel stood up.
“The casting sheet,” Castiel said, gesturing vaguely back in the direction
they’d come from.
Dean frowned. “You didn’t get the lead? That’s insane, you were the best—“
He broke off as Castiel doubled over yet again, moving sharply to catch him. A
gesture Castiel appreciated, but one that was thoroughly unnecessary. He had
shifted from panic attack to utterly insane. Instead of puking, mad laughter
echoed up from his lungs.
“I got the lead,” Castiel explained, straightening once more. Dean’s hand
pulled away hesitantly this time, like he wasn’t quite sure he could trust Cas
to stand on his own accord. Like he was dealing with a crazy person.
Which he was. Clearly.
“You’re going to have to catch me up here,” Dean said.
Castiel blew out a puff of air. It was going to be obvious anyway, right? “I
have horrible, penetrating stage fright.”
“Ah,” Dean said, though he still looked more than a little confused.
“I thought I’d get a small part in the background. I can’t have the lead. I
won’t survive. I have to… I have to go find Ms. Moseley and tell her that I
decline the part,” Castiel said, turning to go, intent to do that immediately,
to get it over with, so that maybe next time he runs into the most beautiful
man in the universe, he can seem just a bit less like a batshit crazy.
“Whoa,” Dean said, and suddenly his hands were on Castiel’s shoulders again.
Jesus, if he didn’t stop that, Castiel’s heart was going to pound through his
ribcage. “I can’t let you do that. You had the most amazing audition I’ve ever
seen. Cas,” Dean said. Paused. “It is Cas, right? Castiel Milton?” His thumb
caressed Castiel’s shoulder in some sort of subconscious gesture of
consideration. It made his pulse flutter. Dean was handsy and he certainly
wasn’t going to complain. “You would be doing the entire school—hell, thespians
everywhere—a disservice by turning down this role. I don’t think you understand
how incredible your audition was.”
Castiel’s face was fully flushed. He was humbled, embarrassed, and increasingly
those feelings were mixing with arousal, just to confuse his poor little
teenager brain.
“But—“
“You at least have to calm down before you make that decision, Cas. Promise me
that.”
Dean had a point. Maybe he shouldn’t be making huge decisions while
hyperventilating. All he could manage was a nod though.
“Good.”
Dean’s hands finally pulled off his shoulders and Cas wasn’t sure if he was
relieved or disappointed. Probably both.
“Good,” Dean repeated, nodding to himself. “Okay, well. Um. I should… Sam…”
Castiel made a dismissive gesture. “Yeah.” As Dean started to walk away,
Castiel found a few more words in his vocabulary. “Dean?” Dean paused and
turned to look back. “Thank you.”
If Castiel thought Dean’s eyes were amazing, they were nothing compared to his
smile. “No problem, Cas. Take the part. You were made for it.”
Castiel watched him leave, standing in disbelief that Dean Winchester had just
pulled him back from a panic attack. And had touched him. A lot.
He had to get home, tell Anna. She’d be as amazed as he was.
The drive home gave him enough peace and quiet for his mind to start
overthinking everything and by the time he walked in the door, he was convinced
Dean was in love with him, that Dean would never speak to him again, that he
would make the greatest Mark Cohen the world had ever seen, and that he was
quitting the play tomorrow.
“Anna!” Castiel called, shutting the door behind him just a tad too loudly.
“Anna, you’ll never believe—“
“You got the lead, didn’t you?” she said, turning the corner with a huge smile
on her face. She took his stunned look as a confirmation. “Congrats. What are
you going to do about the stage fright?”
“I don’t even know if I’m accepting the part. But Anna, you’ll never belie—“
“What do you mean you might not accept the part? Cas, you tried out, you got
the part because you were the best at it.”
Castiel sighed. “I know, but it’s not what I was expecting. Jesus, I put
desired role as “extra”. But no, listen, you’ll never—“
“Take the part, Cas! You should!”
“Dean Winchester talked me out of a panic attack,” Castiel blurted out a little
too loudly and a little too fast. Anna’s chin dropped. “He caught me freaking
out, pulled me into the hallway on the backside of the gym, and put his hand on
my shoulders. A lot. And made everything better.”
Anna fish lipped for something to say. Castiel got the distinct impression she
still didn’t fully approve of Dean, but even Castiel could hear how dopey he
sounded. She didn’t want to hurt him by being unnecessarily negative.
“What did he say about the part?”
“He told me I was amazing and would be doing a disservice to everyone if I
didn’t take it.”
“Shit,” Anna breathed, running a hand through her hair. Castiel had no idea
what she was cursing about. She didn’t seem inclined to explain. “Well then,
you wouldn’t want to disappoint Dean Winchester, would you?”
“That’s so manipulative, Anna,” Castiel said exasperatedly. “But no, I
wouldn’t.”
Her smile was tight.
“You know, I think there’s more to him than meets the eye,” he said. Anna
quirked an eyebrow. “He used the word ‘thespian.’ Correctly.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, so deep. Break out the champagne, Dean
Winchester knows a word.”
“Shut up.” Castiel punched her lightly in the shoulder. “He also talked like
he’s seen more than one audition. Said mine was the best,” he added with a
blush.
Anna studied him closely for a moment before sighing.
“Just don’t get hurt, Cas,” she said, tone turning serious. “I’ll rip his nuts
off.”
Castiel snorted. “Noted.”
He spent a lot of time that night thinking about what to do about the part. He
spent an equal amount of time thinking about Dean’s hands on his shoulders, the
little caress he probably wasn’t even aware of making. Castiel was deep in a
fantasy where those hands slid a little lower than his shoulders when his phone
buzzed and startled him.
It was from Gabe.
‘You owe me $20.’
Cas groaned.
 
Chapter 2
Dean sat on the fly bar in the stage left area of The Victorian, watching as
Bobby rigged a new stage light to a batten.
The theatre was old, falling apart. The velvet upholstery on the seating was
stained, faded, and running thin in spots. The gold trimmings and filigrees
along the proscenium that framed the stage were peeling and needed to be
resurfaced. The aisles were sticky with who knows what, as pop and alcohol was
not allowed in the theatre, but somehow the grime from the outside had seeped
in anyway. The stage was scuffed and little pieces of marking tape clung
stubbornly to it. The audio system was to tell the actors to speak louder. The
electrical system for the lights was old, finicky, and took a little extra love
and patience to get set right.
It was an old theater and Dean, quite secretly, loved the shit out of it.
Bobby had been bringing them here in their free time since he was 6 and Sammy
was 2. Sam had been manning the light board before he could speak in full
sentences. Really, it was no wonder that the shrimp loved theater so much.
Dean did too. He could feel the stories and the soul, the creativity and
humanity in the bones of the stage. He’d watched Bobby build sets and string up
lights since as long as he could remember. There were few things as magical as
watching a show come together.
Of course it had taken him years to admit his love of theatre to himself. And
when he finally did, he threw himself into it completely. He pulled up Youtube
videos when the house was quiet and dark and watched show after show.  Looked
up Wiki articles to learn about the actors. Researched stage terms.
Livestreamed the Tonys with glee under a blanket in his room.
Dad could never, ever know. He’d begrudgingly accepted Sam’s Thespian side. He
would never accept both of them being theatre nuts.
Sam on the other hand… Sam would be more understanding, but after years of Dean
giving him crap, he’d be sure to sling that back in his face at every chance he
got. Like hell Dean was giving him that ammo.
No, it was better if absolutely no one ever knew.
But Sam’s taunt when he signed up for tech at school had given him a chance to
sign up without giving anything away. So while he will grumble as he drives Sam
to tech rehearsals, he’ll be geeking out the whole way.
“Dean!” Bobby yelled from across the stage. “If you’re going to sit by the
lines, make yourself useful, and fly this bar up. It’ll need another 25-pound
weight.”
Dean turned to where the levers that controlled the fly system were labeled
with sequential numbers to mark them.
“What number?” Dean hollered back.
“Twelve.”
Dean spotted number twelve and then headed to the weights piled in the back
corner. He hauled it over to line twelve and pushed the weight into place. Then
he popped the safety clip off, grasped the rope, and lowered the locking lever
to release its grip on the rope. He hollered clear and pulled up on the rope,
watching the batten raise up. He stopped when it was level with the rest of the
flies in the loft. Bobby could tweak it from there.
Bobby was watching him with a knowing stare from the stage.
“What?” Dean hollered. “If you want it done better, next time ask somebody who
gives a shit about all of this stuff.”
“Idjit,” Bobby mumbled, taking his eyes from Dean to walk around the stage,
evaluating the lighting on the current set for South Pacific.
Dean sighed. He needed to remember to grumble more.
That was going to be hard to do at school, especially if Castiel was there.
Hearing him sing made him feel like he was in the presence of divinity. His
heart felt light, his insides warm. He’d only vaguely known who Castiel was
before, from sharing classes and such, but after his audition, Dean wondered
how he ever could have missed him.
He’d meant everything he’d said to the guy, too. Castiel was going to be a
star.
“Dean!” Sam hollered in his ear. From his slightly annoyed, slightly worried
expression, Dean gathered that he had called his name more than once. “It’s
eight thirty.”
“Alright, jeez,” Dean groused, picking up his backpack from the corner.
Sam had a show he had to watch every Monday at 9:00 pm. He was pretty vigilant
about making it home in time, no matter what was going on at The Victorian.
“So who is she?”
“What?”
“You were deep in thought over there, making a dopey-faced, love-struck look.”
Had he? That was… not good. Castiel was not a girl. He didn’t feel that way
about him. How many little things had he been making dopey-faced looks about?
Was he a dopey-faced slut?
“I was not,” Dean protested.
Sam shot him a side glare as they opened the door to the back parking lot, but
he didn’t press further.
Small miracles.
~
Cas had only one class with Dean, which was utterly unfair, but hey, that’s
life.
The point was, he had only one chance to let Dean know that he’d taken the
part. Not that Dean needed to know, but he had played a significant part in his
acceptance of it, so he should tell him. Right?
That was the theory, anyway.
Maybe it was more of an excuse.
Whatever.
It was sort of moot when he got to class a second before the bell rung and had
no time to approach him. They sat on opposite sides of the room in assigned
seating that rotated quarterly, so whispering was out, even if he was willing
to risk it in Mrs. Beranger’s class. Similarly, there was no way in hell he was
going to start passing notes. Mrs. B. was terrifying.
So he’d try to catch Dean after class.
Thus he spent the next 90 minutes utterly not listening to a word on the
discussion about Julius Caesar. That’s right, they couldn’t even be like a
normal school where the agony would end in 45 minutes. No. They had to be a
school with “block scheduling,” which meant that each class was 90 minutes
long, but only lasted a semester. Same number of classes, just less time spent
walking between them.
Fortunately, the next block was lunch for their class, so if he could catch
Dean, they wouldn’t be rushed.
89 and 5 billion minutes later, he managed to catch the assignment Mrs. B was
explaining, and then packed his stuff as fast as possible.
He looked up, and his heart sank. Dean was already gone.
Cas resigned himself to a mediocre lunch with Hannah and left the room. He’d
see Dean at practice sooner or later anyway.
He’d taken three steps into the hallway when a large hand landed harshly on his
shoulder from behind. He was spun around quickly and found himself staring into
two beautiful, unmistakable, green eyes.
Dean grinned. “Thought you’d never get out of there.”
“Um…” Cas stammered. He was about to say, ‘I was looking for you,’ but thought
better of it.
Luckily, Dean didn’t really expect a response. “Tell me you took the part.” The
hand he had left on Castiel’s shoulder squeezed ever so slightly as he spoke.
Cas smiled shyly and nodded.
“Yes!” Dean said, punching the air. Castiel’s blush deepened. He could NOT have
been great enough to be worthy of this response.
“Yes, well, when I puke on the entire front row and ruin their shoes, I’ll be
sure they know who to blame.”
Castiel said it in jest, but the way Dean’s smile wavered made him wonder if
he’d put more venom into it than he meant.
“You’ll be great,” Dean said. “Next Lin-Manuel Miranda.”
When Castiel tilted his head questioningly, Dean blushed.
“Uh. Yeah, um. Sam left the TV on one night and I heard a name…” he palmed the
back of his neck. That was really cute. “I should go. To lunch. I should. Yep.”
With that incredibly awkward goodbye, Dean turned and headed towards the
cafeteria, his ears so crimson that Castiel suspected they would be hot to the
touch.
So Dean could be a bit of a dork.
Why was that so attractive?
Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts of Dean, (it didn’t work), Castiel
headed off to his own lunch.
~
Rehearsals started the next day. For him and the other lead characters, anyway.
The schedule was pretty intense. They were going to be spending nearly every
day either in the choir room or the theatre, practicing the music or working on
lines and staging.
He sat awkwardly in the choir room with six other people, all of whom
apparently knew each other much better than he knew any of them. He recognized
Kevin, a smart kid he’d met at a chess club meeting once or twice, but they’d
never hung out before. Still, Kevin was the only one who’d given him a head nod
of acknowledgement when he’d walked in.
There were three girls, and Cas recognized Charlie from auditions. A petite
blonde girl Cas was pretty sure went by Jo was sitting with her, and the third
girl, with curly brown hair and a stern heart shaped face that scared the shit
out of him, was sitting to the side. He had no idea what her name was and
suspected she had transferred to the school recently.
When Castiel scanned over the remaining male faces in the room, he realized he
really should have looked closer at the casting list. Then maybe he wouldn’t
feel quite so much like an idiot.
“Alright,” came Pamela’s voice from the back hallway where her office was. Her
heels echoed on the floor. “Let’s get this show off the floor.” She stopped in
front of the group and put her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “I’m
Pamela, the choir director and orchestral director for Rent. You’re almost all
in choir with me, and I wouldn’t even have had to introduce myself if it wasn’t
this young man over here.”
Castiel startled when Pamela nodded in his direction. She winked at him, and it
only made him blush more. At least he knew she was teasing and not angry, but
he was mortified at being called out like that in front of everyone.
And he was going to act on stage? What the fuck was he doing here?
“Care to introduce yourself, Mr. Mysterious who is Too-Good-for-Choir?”
“Um. Hi. I’m Castiel.”
The small group stared. Pamela actually rolled her eyes at him. “Very
informative. Look kiddo, let me give you some advice. This group is going to be
your family for the next month. We all know each other. Now I don’t know why I
haven’t seen you before or where you’ve been hiding, but your next month will
be a lot more fun if we knew more than your name.”
“I…” Castiel said, looking away. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Why did you try out?”
Castiel still couldn’t bring himself to look at the group. “Because RENT is my
favorite musical of all time. I didn’t even think I’d get a role.”
He heard a snort and looked up. Kevin was shaking his head. “With chops like
that? Where the hell, erm—“ he shot Pamela a look but she didn’t say anything
“—heck, did you learn to sing like that?”
Castiel rolled a shoulder. “I’ve had private lessons since I was a kid.”
“So why haven’t you tried out before?” asked the girl Castiel thought was Jo.
“Or joined choir?”
Those were good questions that Castiel didn’t have good answers for. The answer
to the first was a little easier, because obviously the stage fright had been
the main factor. But choir? How did he tell these people that he just… didn’t
think it was for him? The stage fright wasn’t as much an issue because he’d be
just a pip in a large sea. But that was just it. He was a loner. He didn’t need
large groups.
“Stage fright?” Castiel said, unconvincingly, and less explanatory than they
were probably hoping for.
“And now you’re playing Mark,” Pamela said, taking control of the conversation
again.
“Yeah,” Castiel said. “Yeah, this was a bad idea, I should quit now—“ He was
standing up, he was going to leave, he was so stupid to think he could do this.
“Sit down,” Pamela said. Her voice was stern, but almost sounded bored. “You’re
a part of this family now, kiddo, we’re all going to get you through this.
Because you deserve this part.” She looked over the other people in the room,
and several of them nodded in agreement.
Castiel felt a little piece of himself, a piece that he didn’t even know he
had, come loose and lodge itself in his throat. He had no words, so he gave a
curt jerk of his head to indicate that he understood.
He sat back down, was instructed to stand back up seconds later, (you have more
access to your diaphragm when standing), and learned what it was to warm up his
voice with a group instead of by himself.
Turned out that blending his voice with others came as second nature, and that
finding a note to make a harmony was a new type of challenge he hadn’t faced
before. The hour of vocal training was, if he was honest with himself, probably
the most fun he’d had singing in the last year. Maybe ever. He loved singing,
but it wasn’t necessarily fun or rewarding in the way it was that day.
That had to bode well for the next few weeks, right?
The next challenge was facing the stage.
~
Dean was supposed to be building a set in the workroom behind the stage.
Specifically, he was supposed to be working on the flat for Mark and Roger. But
he couldn’t stop looking over at Castiel.
Only the main cast was present for the Saturday rehearsal, and they were
blocking a scene in the specific set he was supposed to be building. That is to
say, they were running lines while figuring out who would be standing where
while saying it. Mrs. Moseley was giving some direction, but also letting the
actor’s natural decisions guide them.
Castiel was obviously uncomfortable. His body language was stiff and his
movements were stilted. He kept shooting glances at the empty theater, and if
he was given too long to stare into the nothingness, he’d forget his lines.
Charlie and Jo caught Dean staring once, because of course they did. Jo and him
had been friends since they were kids, so it was easy to play it off like he’d
been watching them. He waved, and they both looked at him like he was nuts.
“Cas,” Kevin called. “That’s your line.”
“Oh,” he said, turning back to him. He lifted his script. “Right. Um.”
Dean didn’t hear the line, as that was when Rufus, the set designer, hit the
band saw. But he did hear, after Castiel delivered the line, Kevin say, “Don’t
look out there, man, it’s messing with you.”
“We have an understudy for this guy, right?”
Dean recognized her bored, condescending tone. That was Meg Masters. She hadn’t
been at their school long, but he’d already figured out that she was completely
evil. Ambitious and out for herself, and Dean had no idea how she made the
cast, let alone got one of the leads.
A black kid with a strict manner about him smacked her upside the head. “Be
nice,” he said after she yelped and rubbed her head. She looked for Mrs.
Moseley, but she was consulting a notebook and hadn’t seen anything. She was
smirking though.
Kevin eyed the black kid and said, “Thanks, Victor.”
“Anything for my angel,” he responded with a wink.
Ah, so that was Angel and Tom Collins. They looked like an odd pairing that
strangely made sense. Just like Angel and Tom Collins.
Castiel shuffled awkwardly, and nodded his head toward Victor in his own sort
of thanks.
“Dean!”
He looked up with a startled jerk to find Rufus staring at him with a frown.
“Um.”
“Pick up that hammer boy, I didn’t give it to you to drool over.”
“Right,” Dean said, finding the wayward hammer on the ground, picking up and
waving it towards Rufus to show he had it. Rufus rolled his eyes and mumbled
something under his breath that Dean was glad he didn’t fully hear.
He tried to stare less at Castiel after that, but he only somewhat succeeded.
He saw enough to know that Castiel’s practice didn’t really improve much by the
time they all called it a day at 5:00.
They had started clean up in the work room before the cast called it quits, so
when he saw the group picking up their bags and getting ready to leave, he knew
he had a chance to catch Cas.
Castiel was slower than everyone else, seemed a little lost in his thoughts,
and thus was alone in the stage left wing when Dean approached.
“Hey, Cas!” he called, jogging over.
“Dean,” Castiel said, a slight note of surprise in his voice. He blinked a few
times. “Hi.”
“Hey um, I just—“ He just what? He had not thought this through. What did he
want? “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you took the part.”
Castiel smiled sardonically. “Yes, well, I’m not sure any of my fellow cast
members are equally as glad. I’m not very good at this.”
“Yes you are,” Dean said automatically.
“At singing? Yes. Remembering lines? Paying attention instead of freaking out,
not so much.”
“Ah, well. That’s…” Dean palmed the back of his neck. “You can work at that,
you’ll get better.”
“We can only hope,” he said with a sad little laugh.
Somehow, Dean felt responsible. Which was ridiculous. Castiel had auditioned of
his own volition, and he took the part. Of his own volition. Sure, Dean had
nudged him, but it’s not like he’d twisted the guy’s arm.
He had, maybe, come off as a bit of a crazy fanboy though.
“I could, um, help?” Dean said, cringing at himself. Did he really just say
that.
Castiel’s jaw dropped. Well then. That confirms that he did indeed say it.
“Really?” Castiel asked. His voice was tinged gently with hope and his eyes
were wide.
“Yeah, I could, ya know, run lines with you and stuff. Maybe if you’re more
comfortable with that, you’ll be more confident on stage.”
Oh sweet Hendrix. How would he explain that one to his dad?
Castiel nodded slowly, his mouth working, finally saying, “I… I think I’d like
that.”
“Cool,” Dean said, grinning. “When do you want to start?”
“Now?” Castiel suggested. “We could go to my house, Anna’s making meatballs.”
That, that was perfect. Sam hadn’t even had practice or tech work today,
something about not needing to get started yet as lights take less time to
setup, so he wouldn’t have to drop Sasquatch off. He’d just call Dad and let
him know he was hanging out with a friend tonight and would be home by 11:00,
and they could run lines for the evening.
Not exactly the side of theater he’d ever pictured himself on, but that was
okay. Castiel seemed cool, this could be fun.
“Meatballs sound perfect.”
They grabbed their bags and Dean followed Cas out of the theater and to the
student parking lot. His jaw dropped when Castiel walked over to an old, gold
Lincoln Continental. It looked like a freaking pimpmobile. Not that his was
much better, nothing like his dad’s badass ’67 Impala, but at least he wasn’t
going to attract any prostitutes with it.
“Follow me?” Castiel asked. “I don’t live far.”
Dean nodded, trying to drag his eyes away from the vehicle, and biting his lips
to keep from making a wisecrack. Instead he spent the entire 6-minute drive
telling lewd and improper jokes to himself and was not ready to compose himself
when they pulled into Castiel’s driveway.
Castiel parked and, when Dean didn’t follow him to the door, cocked his head to
the side. Before he could approach, Dean scrambled for his cell phone, and
quickly called home. He held a finger up, indicating that Cas should wait. It
rang twice and a gruff voice answered.
“Dad,” Dean said, “I’m heading to a friend’s house for dinner. I’ll be home
later.”
“You just left that theater thing, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re with one of the theater weirdos?”
Dean clenched the fist not holding his phone and willed himself not to scream.
“We’re working on a history project.”
Not that John had ever cared that much what kind of grades he got, but it was
something he understood better than theater. Even if it was a blatant lie. Dean
didn’t feel bad about it, lying was about the only way to navigate his dad on
some topics.
“Home by eleven,” John groused.
“Eleven,” Dean agreed. The line went dead. “Well then,” Dean said, making a
face at his phone.
A light tap at the window of the car made Dean jump. It was Castiel, staring at
him with concern.
Dean opened the door and Castiel backed up, letting him out.
“Sorry, had to call my dad, let him know I was eating here.”
Castiel nodded. “Of course, he cares about you.”
“Uh,” Dean said, “Sure.”
It was, perhaps, the least convincing thing he’d ever said. His dad did care.
Especially when he was sober and neither Sam nor Dean were doing anything he
didn’t approve of.
Castiel led him into the house. The entry way was open and airy. Open to the
left was a sitting area with a couch, two green armchairs, and a TV mounted
above a fireplace. From there, Dean could see the dining room with an arch, and
another arch to the right of that and directly across from them showed a
kitchen. There was probably no wall between them, though Dean couldn’t see that
yet. There was a hallway leading away on the right, and immediately next to
them, also on the right, was a door, cracked open by a few inches, revealing a
small room. It was filled with a ginormous desk, books stacked everywhere, a
monitor’s cool glow lighting the room, and a curly haired man passed out in
front of it.
“Well whatever your dad is, at least he’s conscious.”
Dean snorted. “Depends on how many beers he’s had.”
Castiel frowned. “Does he drink that much?”
“Only ever since mom died.”
“Oh,” Castiel said, blinking rapidly. “I’m so sorry, Dean. How recent?”
“Thirteen years.”
“I see.” Castiel shuffled awkwardly for a moment. “I never knew my mom. Not
sure which is worse.”
Dean shrugged. “It’s not a competition.”
It would be a pretty stupid thing to have a competition about. So they both
didn’t have moms, and had dads with problems. That just meant that they both
had been dealt crappy hands in life.
“Cas?” a female voice rang out down the hallway.
“Anna,” Castiel called back. “We have company.”
A beautiful red head stopped dead when she reached the entry way.
“Dean,” she said softly. “Hi.”
Oh shit. Was he supposed to know her? Anna… Anna… Nope, he was drawing a blank.
Anna frowned. “Can’t place me, can you?”
Dean palmed the back of his neck. “Uh…” Crap. Had they made out? More? He
didn’t usually forget a girl he’d been intimate with. It wasn’t just that he
didn’t know her name. Her face was only passingly familiar.
He didn’t like the look Anna shot Castiel, but when she spoke again, she was
casual enough. “Meatballs are ready to go, just warming in the crockpot.
C’mon.”
Anna got out plates while Castiel set out glasses. They moved in the kitchen
like two people that frequently moved in the kitchen together. Within minutes,
Dean had a huge meatball sandwich, a glass of water, and a side of broccoli.
Which he really didn’t give two shits about, not with the tasty meatfest in
front of him, but he ate it anyway to be polite.
Castiel told Anna about practice while they ate, and she asked Dean some polite
questions about the set. It wasn’t the easiest conversation, but it wasn’t
exactly awkward either.
After the plates were cleared and loaded in the dishwasher, Castiel opened the
fridge and tossed Dean a can of Coke. He came out with one for himself and led
the way back to his bedroom at the end of the hallway.
“Dean,” Castiel said formally before turning around to face Dean head on. “I
want to thank you for helping me. But I wouldn’t blame you if you… you know…”
“Changed my mind?” Dean ventured. Castiel nodded. “Nope.”
Castiel smiled. A full smile with a little bit of nose crinkling and a little
bit of gums. It made Dean smile back automatically.
“Okay,” Castiel said, though it looked like he had swallowed down a different
reply, like he’d been prepared for Dean to say something else. He rubbed his
hands together. “I think the hardest scene I’m going to have is when Angel
dies, at the funeral.”
Dean blinked twice. “Why that?”
“Because it’s the most emotional. I can’t… I can’t even imagine being HIV
positive back then.”
The can of coke hissed as Dean slid his finger beneath the tab and popped it
open. He helped himself to a seat on Castiel’s bed and took a sip of the bubbly
beverage.
“I don’t know much about it. Angel’s character was always the least accessible
to me.”
Because he’s seen Rent more than once. Was Castiel going to catch on to that?
Damn, he was not being careful.
“Angel?” Castiel said, sitting down on the bed at the other end. “I mean, I
don’t have a lot in common with him either, but I admired his freedom, his
complete lack of concern about what others thought. He just… was who he was.
Even if sometimes that meant he presented as a girl.”
Dean was quiet for a long moment, staring at his pop can. He was thinking about
Angel and what it would be like to just be himself all the time, whatever that
may be. That would certainly be a change.
Cas cleared his throat. “Anyway. I made a second copy of the script earlier, in
case Anna wanted to help me.”
He turned behind and reached for an old wooden desk. A patch of skin above his
waistband was exposed as Castiel’s shirt rode up and Dean’s gaze was drawn to
it. Smooth skin, light from the longer winter and lack of sun. He could feel
himself staring, and couldn’t make himself stop.
He tried not to jump when Castiel thrusted a script at him.
There it was. A script. For a real show. Looking at all the words, he was
suddenly nervous. Why had he offered this? He didn’t know anything about
acting. He knew a lot about sets, and he knew what looked and sounded good on
stage, and he knew that what looked and sounded good on stage was not him.
“Dean?” Castiel asked. He placed a hand on Dean’s knee and Dean looked up. “The
offer still stands. If you want to… to leave. I won’t blame you. You don’t owe
me anything.”
“No,” Dean said, shuffling a script he didn’t really need. “No, let’s do this.
I’m not going to be, like, good at this or anything.”
“You don’t have to be,” Castiel said. “Just read the lines, I’ll work on mine.”
Dean shifted on the bed. “Okay. How do we start?”
Castiel gave him the page number, instructed him to read anything non-
highlighted and they were off.
 
Chapter 3
Castiel laughed as Kevin shook his ass in his newly approved costume skirt.
“You look like an idiot,” Meg groused, not even looking up from her magazine.
“I think it suits him,” Castiel said.
“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, smoothing the skirt down. “I might have to keep this when
the play is over. It’s so freeing.”
“Well they certainly did cast Angel well,” said their ‘Roger.’ His name was as
weird as Castiel’s own. Gadreel. Castiel felt sorry for the person having to
type up their programs and show shirts. They were probably constantly spell
checking the names.
Castiel nodded in agreement.
His vision of Kevin’s orange floral skirt was temporarily cut off as the lights
dimmed and came back up.
They were at practice, trying out some costume pieces for the first time. It
was still early but their costume department had already found some outfits and
they were trying them on. Lighting was also present and trying out some light
settings, which meant Sam was present. Which meant Dean…
Dean was sprawled in the seats, watching the cast make asses of themselves.
Castiel looked for Dean and was surprised to find him already looking back.
When he met Dean’s gaze, he blushed and looked away sharply.
That wasn’t the first time he’d caught Dean looking at him. Which was very,
very unfortunate, because Castiel wanted to spend more time looking at Dean,
and he was making that quite impossible.
It had only been one week since they started running lines together, and with
Castiel’s busy rehearsal schedule, that meant they’d only met up twice since
the first night. Dean was definitely loosening up about it, and Castiel was
starting to remember his lines more easily. And when he didn’t have to think as
hard about his lines, practice went smoother.
What wasn’t getting easier was being around Dean. Alone. In his bedroom.
Without spontaneously shoving his tongue down Dean’s throat.
Dean was beautiful, and he had no qualms with regards to casual touch. And if
there was any chance Dean’s gaze meant he was as into Cas as Cas was into Dean,
he’d… Well he’d probably still have a hard time making the first move, but the
point was moot. Dean looked at him, but it was with something akin to
curiosity. Dean was straight, and that was that.
Which Dean took to reminding him about the very next time they met up. They
were back in Castiel’s bedroom, sprawled on Castiel’s bed, and all Dean could
talk about was Lisa this, and Cassie that. He’d mentioned a cute girl before,
but he’d never been this incessant, like he was making a point.
What that point might be, Castiel had no idea.
“Yeah, okay Dean. I get it, girls are hot or something, whatever,” Castiel
finally snapped. He threw his script to the side and popped open the Coke he
had grabbed earlier.
Dean’s grin faltered. “’Whatever’?”
“Yeah. Whatever. I don’t really care.”
“About girls?”
“About girls,” Castiel confirmed. “They make good friends. Charlie is, quite
frankly, one of the funniest women I’ve ever known. But I have no interest in
‘tapping that.’”
“Well,” Dean said. “Charlie is gay.”
“Yeah, but the reason I don’t want to fuck her is that I’m gay.”
Dean froze. Castiel froze. Suddenly he didn’t want to look at Dean at all.
Damn it, had he said that? He wasn’t exactly in the closet, but it was clear
Dean didn’t know that about him, and what if… What if he had an issue with
this? What if he was homophobic? What if being alone in Castiel’s bedroom was
suddenly uncomfortable and disturbing? Oh god.
“Cas,” Dean said, sitting forward and nudging his knee. “Breathe. I don’t
care.”
Castiel sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure? You kinda froze on me there.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I love Charlie, and I know she’s gay. Why would
it be different with you?”
“Um. Because Charlie couldn’t possibly be attracted to you? Aren’t you worried
I’m going to, like, perv out on you? Take advantage of you in my bedroom?”
Dean paused and licked his lips. It was absolutely mesmerizing, damn that
tongue. Dean did that a lot when he was thinking. Then he replied simply, “Of
course not, Cas. You’re not that kind of guy, and I’m not that type of girl.”
Castiel snorted. It was followed with a little laugh that Dean echoed. They
shared a glance and suddenly the complete irony of Dean’s statement had them
cackling with laughter.
“I’m glad I don’t have to hide around you, Dean,” Castiel said with sincerity
as the laughter died down. He had to wipe a tear away from his eye, he’d been
laughing so hard.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, softly.
Blessedly, Dean stopped raging on about his girl crushes after that, which
improved Castiel’s mood significantly.
“So,” Castiel said as he finished his coke. “I think I need help with Tango
Maureen. It’ll only be me and Jo on stage and that terrifies me.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, that would terrify me, too.”
Castiel snickered before slapping on a serious, horrified face. “Dean, she’s my
cast mate, I shouldn’t—“
“Be terrified of her? I don’t think loyalty is going to make much of a
difference, there.”
Castiel whacked Dean’s leg with a script. “You know what I mean. I shouldn’t
make fun of her.”
Dean’s grin dropped. “I was teasing, Cas. I’ve known Jo since I was two. She
can be terrifying, especially if you try to take her juice pack. But trust me,
Cas, she’ll have your back on that stage.”
“I know, but she shouldn’t have to. Just, run the lines with me? You don’t have
to sing the lines if you don’t want, but I’m going to sing mine.”
Dean glanced to his script and back up. “I don’t know, will that work?”
“It’ll help,” Castiel confessed. He handed Dean a copy of the vocal music.
“Please?”
Dean swallowed one more time before saying, “If it’ll help, sure. But that’s
the only reason, you know this isn’t my thing.”
Castiel smiled, pleased Dean had said yes. He still didn’t understand why Dean
was doing this, since it was obvious his feelings towards theatre were muddied,
but he was sure glad Dean was willing to help. He was doing much better at
practice, and the fact that he was getting to spend more time with Dean didn’t
hurt either.
“Alright, so let’s start here in the script and move into the song where it
indicates.”
Castiel pointed Dean to the appropriate page and they were off.
The thing about Tango Maureen is that it’s, well, a tango. It’s filled with
energy and chemistry and it just freaking sizzles. It’s impossible to not get
into the number. At least, that was always true for Castiel, but Dean seemed
incredibly reluctant to start.
‘Seemed’ and ‘start’ being the operative words.  Once they got past some of the
speaking parts, Dean shocked Castiel by singing Joanne’s lines. And either his
sight reading was incredibly good, or he’d heard the number a couple, or
dozens, of times.
Either way, it helped Castiel get into character, and pretty soon he and Dean
were gesturing at each other across the bed, singing loud, and Castiel was
praying they hadn’t interrupted his dad’s work. Or nap. Whichever.
Then they got to the part where Joanne and Mark were actually supposed to
tango. To Castiel’s amazement, Dean reached out a hand across the bed and
pulled Castiel up.
Conforming slightly more to Castiel’s expectations, Dean really had no idea how
to tango. But that didn’t stop him from trying, leading Castiel across the
small expanse that was his room with a serious look on his face that made
Castiel want to crack up.
When Dean tried to dip him, he finally lost it. He folded into himself,
cackling loud. Dean joined the mirth, falling backwards onto the bed and
holding his stomach as he laughed, his voice deep and beautiful.
A zip of arousal went up Castiel’s spine at the sight. He could crawl straight
onto Dean, in his bed, straddle him…
Castiel shook his head as the laughter died. Not that kind of guy.
~
“Ugh,” Kevin bemoaned, looking at his burger. “They forgot to take the onion
off.”
“I’ll take it!” Charlie chimed in, reaching across the group circle for the
onion. Kevin handed it to her between pinched fingers, his face scrunched up in
disgust.
Jo elbowed Charlie when she sat back down and whispered in her ear. Dean
couldn’t hear what was said, but Charlie looked sharply at the onion and then
tossed it into her paper to-go bag, crumbled the bag closed, and tossed it
towards the trashcan back in the middle of the work bay.
It was another Saturday practice and the cast and crew on site had decided to
break for lunch around 1:00. Dean, not being as vital to rehearsal, had offered
to take orders and make a food run to Wendy’s.
Castiel was chuckling next to Dean.
“Are our Maureen and Joanne experiencing some character bleed?” Cas asked with
a knowing smirk.
Jo and Charlie glanced at each other, blushed and giggled.
“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Wait, I missed something.”
“It’s not important, Dean,” Castiel said gently, shooting an apologetic look at
the ladies in question. “Forget I—“
“No, it’s okay, Cas,” Jo said. “We don’t mind. We’re together, Dean. Charlie
and I.”
Dean stared for a moment, his burger temporarily forgotten. “Seriously?” Pain
exploded in his arm as Castiel punched him. “Ow! Sorry. I didn’t mean it that
way. I just. I didn’t know you were gay, Jo.”
“I’m not,” Jo said.
“Um.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “The term is bisexual, Dean.”
“We do exist,” Jo confirmed, taking a huge bite out of her own burger.
“I know you exist, Jo,” Dean said with a smirk. “You left a scar on my leg to
remind me of it for the rest of my life.”
Cas looked at Dean questioningly, so Dean shrugged his shoulders and mouthed,
‘Later.’ Castiel nodded his understanding.
“I always wondered about that,” Victor said, chiming in. Everyone looked at
him. “I mean, with Maureen, in the play. She was with Mark, and then Joanne.
Wouldn’t that make her bisexual? Why did Mrs. Moseley call her a lesbian?”
“Because Mrs. Moseley is crazy,” Jo said sarcastically. Her eyes widened
comically, Dean assumed because she’d just remembered where they were, and
looked around for their teacher to make sure she hadn’t heard.
She was safe.
“It’s complicated,” Castiel said with a loose shrug. “Some people don’t realize
they’re bisexual until later in life, resisting the idea that they might not be
‘normal.’” He put literally finger air quotes around it and Dean could help but
find it adorable. Castiel met his gaze briefly before it flittered away and he
continued speaking. “And of course sexuality can be fluid, too. Maureen could
be a lesbian, or bisexual, we don’t really know.”
“Hey,” Charlie said, “I play her, I know.”
“So what is she?” Victor prompted.
“As queer as me and Jo and Cas!”
Dean choked on his burger. He’d literally just inhaled the hunk of meat when he
heard Charlie use the word queer. As he bent over and sputtered, Castiel patted
him on the back comfortingly.
“Breathe, Dean,” Castiel said, helpfully. “It’s just a word. And a tricky way
to get out of answering properly.” He shot Charlie an accusatory look, but she
just smirked and took another bite into her burger.
Castiel’s hand slid slowly off Dean’s back as he straightened, leaving a trail
of heat on Dean’s skin.
He quickly picked up his coke and chugged as much bubbly cola as he could, not
looking at his friend.
“You forgot a name,” came a voice from across the stage. Meg was sitting away
from the group, and had been staring mindlessly at her cell phone while she
ate. She was still staring mindlessly at her phone, but apparently had been
listening none the less.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“You forgot a name,” Meg repeated. “In your list of gay buds.” She crumbled up
her wrapper and stood. Everyone watched her walk to the trashcan and then out
of the room, never bothering to elaborate.
“Wonder what she meant by that,” Kevin mused.
Gadreel, who was also sitting slightly outside of the larger circle, spoke up.
“I wouldn’t put too much thought into it.”
“Why?” Kevin asked.
“Cause that’s what she wants you to do,” Gadreel responded. He didn’t
elaborate.
After a moment of silence, Jo shook herself and spoke. “So what are we doing
after break?”
“Tango Maureen and a few scenes after,” Castiel replied. “You ready?”
“Yeah, should be fun,” Jo said, brushing off her hands on her jeans and
standing up. “Are you though? Ready?”
“Of course,” Castiel replied, following her lead and uncrossing his legs to
stand up.
“Huh,” Charlie said, leaning back from her spot on the floor, looking up to
Castiel.
“What?” Castiel asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing, It’s just…”
“You seem so much more comfortable with everything lately,” Jo finished for her
girlfriend. “More outgoing and open to us. More confident. More happy.”
Castiel glanced to Dean, who said nothing. Inside, he was screaming, don’t tell
them.
“I’ve been practicing,” Castiel said. He added a shrug for good measure, and
that was that.
As the cast got back into rehearsal and Dean returned to the set construction
group, pondering what had just happened. He’d never asked for Cas to keep it
between them, so that he did meant either Cas hadn’t wanted them to know
either, or that he picked up on Dean’s wishes. Maybe his telepathy was working
after all.
If he didn’t want people to know his secret—about liking theatre of course—he
was going to have to be more careful. He’d sat with the cast while the rest of
the crew had spread out in the shop. That had probably looked odd.
But he was already friends with Jo and Charlie, and Kevin and Victor were
pretty cool too, so maybe it was okay?
He thought about it while he worked, wondered if he was cracking up to be
thinking about it this much, and inevitably his attention turned to what Meg
had said about Charlie forgetting a name on her list. Because it was impossible
she meant him, right? Surely she meant Kevin. Or, or Victor? Cause Dean wasn’t
gay. He wasn’t into guys.
No offense to Cas or anything. Being into guys was fine. He just wasn’t. He
couldn’t be. Let Castiel go out and hit on guys, and touch guys, and stare into
their deep blue eyes. Let him kiss their plush lips, grip their round, perfect
asses. Let Cas become enamored with their masculine voices, which sounded god-
like when they sang.
Dean glanced at the stage, watched Castiel’s ass move as he danced with Jo.
He resolutely picked up a hammer and drove it as hard as he could into the nail
in front of him, leaving the imprint of the hammer’s head on the innocent wood.
Being into guys was Castiel’s thing. Dean was straight.
He just needed to think about something else. Meg was in his damn head.
So he sang show tunes to himself while he worked. Which was perhaps not the
manliest way to prove he was straight, but at least trying to remember all of
the “favorite things” in Sound of Musickept his mind busy.
It worked too. He was feeling much more like himself, had managed to drown out
everything else.
“I don’t think you heard the set designer say, but when you’re done, you need
to put the tools away and pull the door shut behind you.”
Dean looked up with a start. Castiel was perched on an overturned plaster
bucket not five feet away.
“What?”
“Everyone left 20 minutes ago, Dean,” Castiel explained. “I figured you were
wrapping up, so I was talking with Jo and Charlie out in the parking lot.
They’re quite entertaining, you know.”
“I know,” Dean said dazedly. He looked around the stage and the work area, and
they were, indeed, alone. “Sorry,” he finally said, palming the back of his
neck. “Guess I lost track of time.”
“You were definitely thinking about somethingawfully hard.”
Dean let out a bark of awkward laughter. “I was singing… Never mind. Let me
clean up and we can go. I assume you want to run more lines?” He picked up the
hammer and his bucket of nails and took them over to the tool cabinet.
“I was thinking we could go to your place this time,” Castiel suggested. “If
that’s okay. I’d like to see your house, meet your dad.”
Dean froze with his back to Castiel. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he
said stiffly.
“Oh,” Castiel said. “Okay.”
Dean put the hammer away and turned around to see that Castiel had shrunken
into himself defensively, looking to the side instead of meeting Dean’s eye.
He’d hurt his feelings. He wasn’t sure how, but he had.
“It’s not…” Dean started. He sighed. Cas deserved an explanation. He grabbed
another bucket and pulled it up to Cas, taking a seat. “It’s not anything
personal, Cas. My dad hates musicals, that’s all. Thinks only girls and weak
men do musicals. He’d flip if we came home and were singing La Vie Bohème
together.” He’d assume we were fucking and I’d be beaten blue before being
tossed on the street.
Okay, maybe that’s not fair. But it probably wasn’t exactly a non-possibility
either. Probably.
Castiel was quiet for a long moment. Dean forced himself to not shuffle
nervously.
“Is that why you pretend to hate the theatre?”
Dean had several reactions, all following each other almost immediately. The
first was panic, because that was his secret, damn it.
But before the panic could take hold, the second reaction kicked in. Which was
something akin to relief. Castiel knew. He didn’t even have to tell him, he’d
just figured it out.
Which was troubling, so there was the third reaction. Because if Cas had
figured it out, how many other people knew? Or would know soon? God he was so
stupid to think that he could do theatre under the guise of being forced to
because of Sam. Of course people were going to see through that. Considering
Sam still didn’t even have to be at practice or construction yet, it was a
pretty flimsy excuse.
“Dean?” Castiel prompted.
“How did you know?”
Castiel snorted. “Dean, you know every word to Tango Maureen, you didn’t even
have to look at the script.”
“Oh.”
“But I suspected before that. You knew the word ‘thespian’ and didn’t make it a
crude joke. And you cared so much about me taking the role, about the show
itself,” Castiel explained. “And the set. Dean, you know how to build a set.
You know your way around a stage. When someone asks you to grab something from
downstage stage right, you don’t bat an eye.”
“Heh,” Dean said, palming his thighs nervously. “Too smart for my own good
then.”
“I don’t think anyone else has noticed, but Dean, you have to know, no one
would care. Not here.”
Dean didn’t respond. That was, probably, technically true. He knew it was true.
That didn’t mean it was easy to suddenly admit to everybody that you are
something other than what you said you were. Maybe he could ease into it, but
the idea made his stomach turn.
He stood up and grabbed the only other tool that he was responsible for, a
small drill, and turned to put it away. He paused.
“I’ll talk to my dad about you coming over next week,” Dean said. “Give me a
week to figure out how I’m going to ask.”
“We don’t have to sing,” Castiel said. “We could just run lines. Or hang out,
or whatever.”
“Why do you care anyway?”
“I just want to know more about you, I guess. See where you live, hear Sam’s
stories about you.”
“In that case, I take it all back. Never talk to Sam.”
Castiel grinned. “I’m sure they’re all good stories.”
Dean blushed and turned around, quickly putting the drill away and shutting the
doors.
That Castiel wanted to know more about him made him feel warm inside in a way
he’d never experienced before. He’d had friends in some capacity his whole
life, and some came over every once in a while, but this was different. Castiel
was reaching out, he wasn’t just coming over because Dean’s house was closer to
the Whippy Dip and thus the convenient house to play at.
“Next weekend,” Dean restated. “I promise.”
 
Chapter 4
“No freaking way,” Sam said for the millionth time as they walked out to Dean’s
car Friday after school. “Seriously? Cas is coming to our house.”
“Jesus, Sam, how many times do I have to say that?
“You’re really getting close, aren’t you?” Sam asked. Before Dean could tell
him to cool it, he continued. “I wonder how Dad’s going to like him. He seems
like a good guy.”
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. He was worried about that. Castiel wasn’t
exactly flaming, but he wasn’t Dad’s ideal image of masculine either. But so
what? Cas was great and Dad could go to hell if he didn’t like him. “I don’t
really care.”
They reached the car and Dean unlocked the doors. Sam tossed his backpack into
the back.
“Dean!” a voice called out across the parking lot. It was Castiel. He jogged
over. “Hey,” he said with a big grin. Then his eyes glanced over to Sam and his
grin turned softer. “Sam, right?”
“Yep. Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Sam replied. His lips turned up and he
glanced from Dean to Castiel and back again. “How’s my brother doing at
practice?”
“Sam—“ Dean started.
“Well he’s not exactly practicing, but he does seem to know how to handle
wood.”
Dean’s jaw dropped, brain both scrambling and stuck on that phrase. Handle
wood.
But apparently he didn’t need to worry about the double entendre, as Sam just
nodded and said, “Yeah, he’s always been good with building things. I’m not
surprised. Just glad he’s using his skills for the theatre and not building a
pumpkin catapult.”
Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean cut him off.
“If you’re done gossiping like girls, I’d like to get moving.”
“I’ll follow you,” Castiel said, pulling back. Dean had given him the address
in English class earlier, just in case, but that was more of a backup than
anything.
“See you there,” Dean said to his retreating back. Castiel waved in
acknowledgement.
“I like him,” Sam said as he sat down in the car and buckled in.
“Just don’t tell him the Lake Geneva story, okay?”
Sam’s grin told him trouble was coming.
He just prayed his dad would be decent. John stood up to greet Castiel when
they walked through the door. Or, more likely, he stood up to size up Dean’s
new friend and decide if he was a problem or not.
“You Castiel?” were John’s first words out of his mouth.
“Yes sir, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said, offering his
hand.
John grunted and took his hand after a beat. He looked Castiel up and down but
made no comment on whatever he saw or judged. “Dinner is mac and burgers. I’ll
holler when it’s ready. Don’t destroy anything doing… whatever you’re doing.”
“Yes sir,” Dean replied quickly, placing a hand on Castiel’s back and shuffling
him towards the hallway. He practically pushed Cas into his room. Inside he
took a deep breath.
“So uh, yeah. This is my room. Make yourself at home, I’m going to get us some
Pepsi. That okay?”
“Sure,” Castiel said, looking at the posters on Dean’s wall. They weren’t the
posters he wanted on his wall, but baseball was more acceptable than South
Pacific.
When he turned around to go back down the hallway, Sam was standing inside the
door to his room, leaning against the frame.
“I don’t know what you were worried about,” Sam said. “Dad’s…. Dad. But he
wasn’t going to beat Cas up and take his lunch money.”
“We could hope,” Dean groused.
“We know,” Same corrected. “You’re worked up over this, and I think I know
why.”
“Sam.”
He held up his hands in a peace offering.
“I just wonder if you know why.”
Sam went into his room and shut the door gently.
God damn, it sure would be great if people could stop fucking with his head.
And of course Dad was in the kitchen when Dean came in for the drinks. He was
standing over the stove, getting a pot of water up to a boil. Two boxes of
knock off mac and cheese sat to the side. His dad. Such a chef.
“Dean,” John said in greeting as Dean opened the fridge. “How long have you
been friends with him?”
Dean pulled out the two Pepsis and shut the door. “Not long, a few weeks. Why?”
“Just wondering why this is the first I’ve met him.”
‘Because we’ve been singing froo-froo songs that will be make your panties
curl’ was probably not the answer John wanted to hear.
Dean shrugged. “Just haven’t known him that long. Hadn’t come up before.”
John nodded and then waved his hand dismissively. Dean didn’t hesitate to obey
the signal and went back down the hall with his sodas.
“My family is weird,” Dean said, walking in the door. He handed Castiel his
cold can of soda.
“I like them,” Castiel said. Dean snorted. “Dean, your dad is not that bad.”
Dean shrugged. “Maybe. So what are we working on tonight?”
It was a change of topic, but Castiel didn’t call him on it.
“I was hoping…”
“What?”
Castiel looked to the side while his finger picked at the pop tab nervously,
making it ping.
“That we could just hang out. Like friends.”
Dean was quiet for a moment, the sound of a pinging pop tab ringing through the
room. He reached over and covered Castiel’s pinging hand with his own.
“Considering we are friends, I suppose we could manage that.”
Castiel’s grin lit up his whole freaking bedroom.
Dean’s hand stayed on top of Castiel’s for longer than was necessary, them just
grinning at each other stupidly for a moment. When Dean finally realized his
hand was still there, he pulled it back sharply.
“So what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Play a game? We’ve got a Playstation
in the family room.”
“I’ve got Netflix on my laptop if you want to watch something here. Clue is
currently queued up, but we can watch whatever.”
Dean playfully shoved at Castiel’s shoulder. “Did you just ask me to Netflix
and chill?”
Castiel blinked slowly. Twice. “I… guess?”
“You have no idea what that means.”
“No,” Castiel admitted.
“It’s when you...” Dean coughed. “Um. You know what? It’s not important.”
They’d gotten the laptop up and running, plugged in and signed into their wifi,
when John called them for dinner. John had actually set the table with some
semblance of an effort—ceramic plates instead of paper, the pans on hot pads in
the middle, serving spoon in the mac and cheese, a fork for the burgers.
So instead of dining and dashing like a wild animal, Dean had a seat and they
ate like normal humans. John asked Castiel a few questions about himself, and
Castiel answered politely. Dean learned that Castiel loved English class the
most, but he didn’t elaborate on why. When John asked how he’d met Dean,
Castiel met Dean’s eyes across the table for a brief moment before he told John
that he’d seen Dean around school for years, but they hadn’t talked until Dean
had saved him from a really embarrassing fall.
John looked at Dean with a vague semblance of pride that made Dean squirm.
Of course, John had also taken the opportunity to ask about sports, trying to
feel out the prospects of using Castiel to get Dean to do baseball with him.
His efforts didn’t get very far, not with Castiel, who shut it down with the
words, “It’s not my thing.”
It was awkward, and Dean was ready for the movie. He rinsed both his and
Castiel’s plates quickly and stuffed them in the dishwasher before dashing back
to his room.
Dean shut the door, squiggled a finger on the keypad of the laptop to turn the
screen back on, and flipped the lights off. Castiel crawled into Dean’s bed and
laid on his belly so that his face was closest to the screen and his knees were
bent to avoid kicking the wall at the headboard.
Dean joined him.
Clue would not necessarily have been Dean’s first choice, but he’d always been
a fan of Tim Curry. Watching Frank-N-Furter and Rocky Horror Picture Show for
the first time when he was 13 had made him feel a little less strange for
liking theatre so much. Everyone was weird, right?
As he watched Curry’s butler, he couldn’t help but picture him in Rocky Horror,
dressed in fishnets, heels, and a corset. He’d always been amazed that anyone
could ever be that comfortable putting themselves out there like that. Of
course Frank-N-Furter wasn’t normal, and that was sort of the point.
Castiel laughed and the bed trembled gently.
“It’s going to be Mr. Green, right?” Cas asked, turning to Dean with a grin.
“You haven’t seen this before?”
Castiel shook his head.
“Huh. Well then I’m not going to spoil it for you, keep watching.”
Dean tried to pay more attention to the movie, but somehow he spent most of his
time watching Castiel laugh.
“So wait,” Castiel said, turning suddenly to Dean when the first solution to
the mystery had been revealed. He’d been staring at Castiel and their noses
almost hit. Castiel didn’t back up as he continued speaking, so Dean leaned
away. He tried to ignore the sensation of regret. “It was Scarlett? Really? I
thought for sure Tim Curry wasn’t really a butler.”
Dean chuckled. “Look.”
The title card with the second ending began, and when that one ended, Castiel
waited patiently for the third.
“Aha! I was right!”
Dean was smiling at Castiel and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Castiel was
captivating. And very, very close.
He coughed and stood. He stretched his arms high above his head, loosening the
muscles in his back. It was more to explain his sudden shift out of the bed
than actually needing a stretch, but whatever.
“So what do you want to watch next?” Dean asked. When looked down, Castiel’s
eyes were focused on his stomach. He put a hand on his pudgy tummy self-
consciously. “Dude. There are better things to watch than that.”
Castiel blinked and tore his eyes away from Dean’s stomach. Dean had never
really been sure what that phrase meant, tearing someone’s eyes away, until he
saw Castiel do it.
He watched Castiel take several deep breaths before saying, “I don’t know about
that,” softly. He stood suddenly. “I think that Pepsi went right through me.
Pick another movie while I go to the bathroom?” Castiel shuffled out the door.
Jesus, that was weird and tense. If they were going to watch another movie,
they’d need to put on something fun and light-hearted.
He laid back down on the bed and used the mouse pad to kick Netflix out of full
screen mode. Apparently Cas had already been in a comedy mood, cause the next
thing on his playlist was The Birdcage. He hadn’t seen it, but it was listed as
a comedy. And it evidently had Robin Williams, and that was enough for Dean.
Castiel froze when he reentered the bedroom and saw what was paused on the
screen.
“You sure you want to watch that?”
Dean frowned. “Yeah? Why?”
“It deals with cross dressing and drag queens and gay men.”
“Cas,” Dean said, sitting up, “Why on Earth would I have a problem with that?”
Castiel stood still for a long moment, the only part of him moving was his eyes
as they roamed over Dean’s face.
“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel said eventually. He walked around the bed and resumed
his place at Dean’s side. “Sometimes I forget that it’s okay to be me. Know
what I mean?”
The way he added on the last part sounded forced and pointed, and a part of
Dean knew what Cas was trying to say, but he didn’t really want to think about
it.
“Mmm,” Dean hummed in agreement. “So Nathan Lane and Robin Williams. I bet this
will be hilarious.”
“It is.”
“You’ve already seen it,” Dean said with disappointment.
“A dozen times, and I’m more than happy to watch it a dozen more.”
“Good.”
Dean hit play and the movie was off.
It didn’t take long for Dean to find himself rolling in laughter, the bed
rocking with him. Castiel was laughing too, joining in Dean’s mirth. They
bumped shoulders a few times, and more than once Castiel flung his hand out to
slap Dean’s arm when something really good was coming up.
And more than once, when the comedy was in a slow spot, Dean was positive he
could feel Castiel’s eyes on his profile. But he was too scared to turn and
confirm it.
When the movie ended, Dean was still laughing. He had to wipe tears away from
his eyes before he could speak.
“That was amazing,” Dean said. “I honestly thought Rocky Horror was the only
movie out there with a crossdresser.”
Castiel looked stunned. “You know Rocky Horror?” he asked.
Dean got off the bed and opened his closet door. On the back of the door was a
poster of Frank-N-Furter that he displayed proudly.
Castiel gaped and his eyes darted from Dean to the poster and back again. It
was such a long pause that Dean’s feeling of pride was shifting to a feeling of
self-consciousness.
“What?” he finally asked.
“You literally have Frank-N-Furter in your closet.”
Dean glanced at the poster.
“I mean. Literally,” Cas continued. “One of the most queer icons in the world.
In your closet. That’s the most ironic thing I’ve ever seen.”
Dean chuckled self-consciously and shut the door carefully. He turned back
around slowly cause he could feel his cheeks warming. “Yeah, I guess. But what
else was I going to do with it? Dad would flip.”
Castiel nodded. “So it’s just about your dad?”
“Yeah, Why?”
“You’d have no problem with anyone from school knowing it was there?”
Dean crossed his arms. “No,” he said with a little head shake and expression
that said exactly the opposite, and he knew it. Maybe Cas would buy it anyway.
“Hmm.”
Okay, maybe not.
“Whatever, I wanted the poster, and that was the only place I could put it.”
“Of course, my favorite was always Rocky Horror, but Tim Curry is captivating,
isn’t he? Horribly problematic of course, but captivating.”
“I—“ Dean began, and then froze. Warning bells were going off in his head. Not
safe, not safe. “So do you want to watch another movie or…?”
Castiel pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s almost eleven. I can’t start
another one, and Anna’s going to start to… Well, not exactly worry, but I’ll
get an earful if I don’t get home soon.”
Dean nodded and helped Castiel get his laptop back in his bag. In the living
room, John was still up and told Castiel to come over any time. Castiel thanked
him and headed out. Dean was perfectly happy with darting back to his room, but
his dad had other plans.
“Sounded like you two had fun,” John said, his voice stopping Dean in his
tracks.
“Yeah,” Dean confirmed.
“Just… don’t have too much fun.”
Dean rolled his eyes. Which he only got away with because his dad’s eyes had
wandered back to the television.
“Yeah, okay, Dad.”
Weird.
~
Castiel was becoming more and more comfortable with his lines, so it was
quickly becoming obvious that the stage was the real problem.
When they practiced in the choir room and just ran music and bits of dialogue,
he was fine. He was more than fine, he was comfortable. He genuinely liked his
cast members and considered them friends, even if they hadn’t had a chance to
hang out outside of the play.
But on the stage? That anxiety creeped back in. Even with the audience empty,
he could sense the ghosts of audiences-past, all judging him. It sucked.
This Friday, thankfully, they were in the choir room.
Also thankfully, he had a window view to the parking lot, where Dean was
leaning on his car, talking with Sam, and a guy Castiel recognized as Ash,
their stage manager. Whatever Ash had said had made Dean laugh, and the way the
sunlight danced on his throat as he threw back his head was beautiful.
“Castiel,” Pamela called, “Kid, you are a prodigy with your vocal cords, but if
you don’t stop staring out the window, I’m going to smack you with a ruler.”
Castiel jumped. He didn’t realize he’d been staring out the window that long.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Pamela snorted. She didn’t like being called ma’am, but no one could help
saying it.
“Back to the top of La Vie Bohem then,” Pamela directed.
Charlie elbowed Castiel while Pamela flipped back to the right page in the
sheet music. “Dean, huh?”
“Oh god,” Castiel said, burying his head in his hands. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me,” Charlie replied.
A snort came from Castiel’s left. It was Kevin. “And me.”
Victor, Jo, and Gadreel all voiced their agreement, and just because Castiel
wasn’t quite at the point where he wanted to die and sink into the floor with
his embarrassment, Pamela chimed in, too.
“It’s obvious to everyone but him, kiddo,” Pamela said.
“You want my advice?” Meg asked. No, no he did not. “Get over him. He’s never
going to be with a guy.”
Okay. NOW the floor could come up and swallow him. The room was awkwardly
silent for a long moment.
“That’s enough. We’re here to practice, not gossip. From the top,” Pamela said.
The phrase ‘from the top’ had never sounded so freaking beautiful.
Fortunately, the topic of his crush on Dean did not come back up for the rest
of practice. It did, however, come up again after practice.
“So you’ll be able to make the Halloween party, right?” Kevin asked. “Next
Saturday? Ash invited the whole cast. Costume is mandatory.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Castiel responded.
They pushed open the doors to the school parking lot and dispersed. Castiel
only took a few steps before he spotted Dean about fifty feet away, still in
the parking lot. Sam was in the car and Ash was gone.
Dean met his eye and broke out into a grin. Castiel paused. Then stumbled as he
was nudged from the side.
“Hey,” said Jo softly. “I’ve known Dean a long time, and there’s more to him
than meets the eye.”
Castiel stared at her, unsure what to say. Unsure what she was trying to tell
him.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “that he doesn’t smile at everyone like
that.”
Castiel sighed. “Even if what you’re implying is true, Dean hides himself from
himself, let alone everyone else.”
“So,” Jo said with a shrug. “If he’s going to hide, maybe you should play
seek.”
She turned and left, jogging to catch up to Charlie, leaving Castiel alone with
his thoughts and Dean’s smile.
Dean noticed his conversation with Jo had ended and waved him over.
“What was that about?” Dean asked.
“Nothing,” Castiel replied. “They invited me to a costume party, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah? Ash invited me earlier.”
“Cool, so we can go together,” Castiel said. He cringed at himself. “I mean,
you know, we can both go, not like—“
Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Cas. Breathe.”
That sounded like a good idea, so Castiel took a deep breath and smiled to show
he wasn’t going completely crazy.
Dean removed his hand awkwardly. Castiel couldn’t remember when Dean’s touches
had become awkward.
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I had an idea. Do you have to go straight home?”
Turns out, Dean’s idea was to drop Sam off at home and then head to a stage and
practice some more. Not exactly what Castiel had been hoping for, but then
again, he was hoping for far too much when it came to Dean.
Dean explained that the theatre was his Uncle Bobby’s, and when he found out
nothing was going on that night, he asked if he could bring a friend by to show
them the place. Bobby had made him swear they weren’t going to get drunk or
high or bring a girl back to screw, and then gave him a key.
“This place is beautiful, Dean,” Castiel said, turning on spot in the orchestra
pit, neck craned to look at everything.
“It’s dated and worn down.”
“Maybe, but maybe that’s what makes it beautiful.”
When Castiel looked up, Dean was staring at him, eyes soft. He blushed and
looked away.
“We should practice,” Dean said finally. “We’ve got two weeks to kick the last
of your anxieties.”
Castiel laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if that’s possible, but we can try.
What did you have in mind?”
“Which number makes you most nervous?”
“La Vie Boheme. But that would put you doing most of the cast’s parts. It’s a
huge number.”
Dean assured him it would be fine and went to turn some lights on on the stage,
instead of just the house lights. Castiel dropped off his bag and his jacket in
the wings, then stretched his arms a few times.
“Oh, Dean, did you need—“
Dean waved off the question. “We might need some music though, for this one.”
Castiel nodded and pulled out his phone. “I’ve got the movie ready to go, I
just need to find the right spot. It’s close enough, and should help fill in
the feel of the whole cast being present.”
He set his phone up and put it on the stage towards the front edge. He’d
started it a few minutes back from the number so he could find his place. Dean
took a spot nearby, ridiculously close to where they’d been spotting it in
practice, for the first person who has a solo.
Castiel tried very, very hard not to overthink the fact that there was a ghost-
audience sitting out there. A very, very large ghost-audience, cause this place
was old, and there was no telling how many people once filled those seats.
Yep, here he was, with no one but Dean and the massive ghost-audience, and the
stage fright was still there.
He almost missed his queue.
Almost.
He sang, he danced, and so did Dean. Slowly, his muscles loosened and the
ghost-audience began to fade out. Dean knew his stuff and was so into taking on
each character that Castiel couldn’t help but smile and enjoy himself. Dean’s
singing voice was completely untrained and a little pitchy, but it’s not like
Cas was expecting perfection from a guy who preferred the stage wings.
The point was that he got into the number with Cas. Castiel’s character Mark
got to dance and bump against most of the characters in the number, and so
Castiel got to dance and bump against Dean, pretending to rock out on a
tabletop in a diner.
There was one thing, however, that he completely failed to account for and that
was that in the movie version, which they were both obviously familiar with,
Maureen kisses Mark. Not that Castiel expected Dean to kiss him, but when that
moment came, Dean’s movements definitely stuttered.
Did that mean something?
Didn’t matter, Dean would never tell him if it did.
When the song ended, Castiel paused it.
“This is working,” Castiel said, panting gently. “Mind running Tango
Maureenwith me again? I dare say we have more space than we did in my room.”
“Sure.”
Okay, so maybe he was curious what would happen if they were pressed against
each other again, hands clasped, dancing.
And as he suspected, his heart began to pound a rhythm to match the energetic
pace, his palms began to sweat, and having Dean and Dean’s woodsy scent pressed
in that close to him was making him hard as hell.
He was hyper aware of Dean’s reaction, too. He was holding Castiel’s lead hand
tightly, pulling Castiel in tighter than he needed, and when they stopped,
still embraced, he made no move to pull away, staring at Castiel like he was
the most amazing thing in the universe.
Then he did the impossible and moved in closer, eyes fluttering closed, lips
parted slightly. For one amazing second, Castiel knew they were going to kiss.
Holy shit.
And just as suddenly, Dean pulled back.
“Fuck, sorry,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair.
Castiel was still in shock, his brain unable to comprehend the idea that Dean
Winchester had almost kissed him. He said nothing.
“I have no idea what happened, Cas, I’m not...”
That made Castiel move, looking up from where his eyes had been glued to the
floor.
“I’m not gay,” Dean finished.
To his credit, he did say it like it was the last thing he wanted to say, like
he didn’t want to disappoint Cas.
“Have you considered the possibility that you might be?”
“What? No,” Dean said. He took a twitchy step back from Castiel. “I like girls,
Cas.”
Castiel rolled his eyes so hard, he was sure they were lost somewhere in the
ghost-audience seats. “It’s called bisexuality, Dean.”
“Oh, sure, yeah,” Dean said, stomping around the stage a few times. He was
winding himself up. “That would just make you happy, wouldn’t it? Yeah. Make me
queer, then I can fall madly in love with you and we can ride off into the
sunset together.”
“What?” Castiel snapped.
“Well, sorry Cas, doesn’t work that way. You can’t make me something I’m not
just to get your kicks in.”
The tone, the hateful, shame filled, accusatory, crude tone hurt like hell.
“Fuck you, Dean,” Castiel spat. “Don’t make this about me. I’m not making you
anything.”
“So you don’t have the hots for me? You don’t want me to kiss you right here?
Press you to the stage and suck your cock? Turn you over and fuck you?”
Castiel’s chin was on the floor. “Wow.” He stalked over to his stuff and picked
it up roughly. “When you want to push someone away, you sure go for it.” He
headed straight for the exit.
“Hey!” Dean shouted while Castiel continued his stomping. “Answer the question,
Cas.”
Castiel spun around. It looked like their friendship was over anyway, no point
in hiding any longer.
“Fine,” Castiel bit out. “I like you, Dean. A lot. But this isn’t about me.
This is about you figuring out who you are before the real Dean is so far
buried in Tim Curry’s fishnets, so carefully tucked away in your closet, no one
can find you again.”
That finally seemed to throw Dean, and he had nothing to say to that. Castiel
took that as an opportunity to relish having the last word and left, slamming
the door behind him.
He didn’t know how he made it home, and Anna had demanded the full story from
him when walked in the door, but he dodged her and made for his room. Castiel
face-planted on his bed and didn’t move until morning.
~
Dean was pissed.
But he was kind of pissed in that way where he didn’t really know what he was
pissed about or who he wanted to beat up.
No, that last part was a lie. He wanted to beat himself up. Cas had been way
out of line to imply what he did, but if Cas had been out of line, then Dean
had obliterated the line and spat on its corpse.
Damn it. How could he be so stupid?
He threw his book bag against the wall when he got home. It rattled the room,
but it wasn’t quite satisfying enough, so Dean picked up a pillow from his bed
and screamed into it.
There was a knock at his door and a meek, “Dean?”
Dean stared at the door. Could he, by any chance or miracle or sacrificial
small animals, get Sam to leave him alone and not ask?
“Dean, I can hear you willing me to go away and it’s not happening. Let me in.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean unlocked the door. He made Sam turn the knob though.
Cause he was feeling like a petty ass, so he might as well act like one.
“What happened?” Sam asked. “What did you do to Cas?”
“What?” Dean snapped, crossing his arms defensively. Shit, seriously, how could
Sam possibly know what just happened? “Why do you think it had anything to do
with Cas?”
Sam’s look conveyed all of a very put-upon teenager who despises having to
explain everything to his Very Stupid elders.
“Let’s see,” Sam started, walking further into Dean’s room. He held up his hand
and began to count on his fingers as he spoke. “For one, you were just with
him. Two, you spend all your time with him. Three, I’ve been waiting for you to
have a gay crisis about it, and it seems to be about time.”
Dean gaped.
“Oh no, wait. I forgot one. Four, you’re an idiot.”
“Very helpful, Sam, thank you.”
“So what happened? Did he try to kiss you?”
“Nothing happened, Sam!”
Sam sighed and sat down on Dean’s bed. Dean really wished he’d leave the
freaking room already so he could scream into his pillow a few more times, but
apparently that was not going to happen.
“Did you want something to happen?” he asked carefully.
“Sam.” His tone was dangerous.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Dean. Everyone has.”
“SAM.” Okay, forget the pillow. If Sam was going to talk like that, he’d need a
bag. He was going to hyperventilate.
“And it’s really completely okay if you like him like that. Honestly, no one
cares. When Jo came out and started seeing Charlie, no one cared.”
“Dad would care.”
“Fuck Dad.”
“Sam!” Dean admonished. This needed to end like yesterday. “Whatever. It
doesn’t matter because I’m not gay.” Sam opened his mouth to speak, so Dean
hastily added. “OR bi.”
It was beginning to feel false on his tongue, asserting that statement.
“God you are so screwed up,” Sam said, standing up. He walked to the door and
paused. He waited so long to speak that Dean tensed with the tension. Finally,
he said, “You’ve let your fear of Dad’s and other’s opinions control you for
long enough, don’t you think? Figure yourself out.”
He left before Dean could reply. Which was perfectly fine with Dean. He had no
idea what he would have said anyway.
I’m not scared.
Dean looked at his closet door where Frank-N-Furter was hidden. Okay, so maybe
someone who is well adjusted and not afraid doesn’t hide men in fishnets in
their closet.
Sam was right. He needed to figure himself out. Cause there was one thing he
knew to be true, and that was that he really liked Castiel.
He was funny. He was kind, and smart, and had the voice of an angel.
And when he laughed, his face was like pure sunshine.
And he knew some of Dean’s secrets and had never judged him for them. Not once.
Then there was the bravery. Facing down a very real, and very powerful fear so
he could follow his heart, chase his ambitions. Not everyone was that strong.
And Dean really wanted someone like that in his life. Castiel made for a very
good friend.
Friend. Cause he wasn’t gay. Or bi.
Dean collapsed onto his bed, staring blankly at his ceiling.
He had a lot of thinking to do.
 
Chapter 5
It had been a weird week.
Dean had been avoiding him, not even meeting his eye in English class.
To top it off, they were beginning to run full rehearsals, and Saturday
afternoon they ran it with the stage crew. Which meant Dean was in the wings.
In some ways it was a good thing for Castiel. He was too distracted about Dean
to worry too much about the ghost-audience staring at him.
On the other hand, he was distracted about Dean.
Kevin had noticed. He elbowed Castiel in the wing while Jo and Charlie ran one
of their scenes. “What in the world is up with you?”
Castiel’s eyes drifted over to the other wing where Dean was leaning against a
table that was about to go out on stage. Kevin must have seen because he made a
humming sound that sounded a bit too much like understanding.
“He’s incredibly frustrating,” Castiel said. Well. They already knew what was
what, no point in pretending he didn’t know what Kevin was humming over.
“Does he like you back?” Kevin asked. Castiel turned and looked at him. Kevin
shrugged. “Everyone thinks he does, it’s pretty obvious.”
Dean was whispering with Ash when Castiel looked back to him. There was no
doubt in Castiel’s mind that if Dean could find it in himself to continue with
the drama club, he could be the stage manager for the Spring play. He
understood sets like Castiel understood pitch, and Ash would gladly step back.
“Well don’t tell Dean that. He thinks he’s successfully cloaked himself in his
own lies,” Castiel said. Dean turned and met his eye across the stage, looking
sharply away. “The only person he’s fooling is himself.”
Kevin was quiet for a moment. “Hey, putting yourself out there can be hard,” he
finally said.
Castiel hummed in agreement just as the stage went dark for the scene change.
He was up next, and any further thought about Dean would have to wait until the
next time he wasn’t on stage.
But he did think about it. In every spare moment he had. It wasn’t going to be
enough to talk to Dean about it. He was too stubborn, too far in denial. If he
wanted Dean to believe that the world would not end if he took a risk, then he
was going to have to show Dean that the world would not end.
“Hey Kevin,” Castiel said, catching his elbow as he headed off stage to do a
costume change. “What time was the party tonight?”
“Seven,” Kevin answer.
Seven. That gave him three hours to get home, change into costume, and get back
to the party.
“Hope you got a good costume,” Kevin said, slapping him on the shoulder before
turning to leave.
“I think I do,” Castiel said to himself, pulling out his phone. He needed to
text Anna.
“Do you have a corset?”
~
He’d had to text Anna a few dozen more times before rehearsal was over. Not
only did he have to explain what he was looking for, but she wouldn’t help him
until he explained why. Which led to more questions and exclamations until Cas
finally bribed her into being silent and helpful by promising that on Sunday
morning he’d make her pancakes and tell her everything.
To top it off, he’d had to ask her for help getting into everything. It should
have been incredibly embarrassing, but that was kind of the whole point of all
of this. To put himself out there, fuck what anyone else said.
It’d already worked, too, at least in that Anna had been free of judgment. In
fact, she’d been excited for him. He knew she was going to have a long night,
waiting for the sun to rise the next day, and Cas to give her the scoop.
Anna was efficient and Castiel walked through the door to Kevin and Ash’s party
just shy of fashionably late at 7:30 pm.
The entire front room stopped and stared at him. The only sound was Thriller
playing from a stereo in the corner.
The silence was broken when Ash came through the door from the kitchen. “Rocky
Horror!” Ash cried. “Rock on, man!”
“Technically I am Frank-N-Furter.”
Someone chuckled, another person shrugged, and the party continued.
Life goes on.
Castiel hobbled on his thrift store five inch heels across the family room. The
heels were a challenge, but the uncomfortable bit was the fishnets. He’d had no
idea they would be so scratchy. Or that corsets made you feel like you couldn’t
breathe, or that mascara was a bitch to apply.
But when he caught his reflection in the door to the patio, he knew he looked
damn good and that it was all worth it.
Maybe.
Depended on how Dean reacted, and whether this pain in his feet got better.
Feet got used to it, or something, right? Women didn’t walk around all the time
in this level of agony willingly, right?
“Hey,” Castiel called, catching Ash at the elbow. “Is Dean here yet?”
“Nope,” Ash said. “He’s usually late.”
Castiel nodded, letting Ash go.
He spotted Jo in the kitchen dressed up in army camouflage and went to grab a
drink and hang out with his new friends.
It took him 20 times longer to get there than it should have, but whatever. No
ankles were broken.
“Very nice,” Jo said when he approached. She reached down and snapped a garter
strap. “Where did this get-up come from?”
“Uh,” Castiel replied. My sister’s closet was not an acceptable answer. “Thrift
stores.”
“I think she means why,” Charlie said, approaching them. She was dressed as
Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. She handed Jo a cup of red punch.
“I wanted to make a point.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you’re trans?” Jo asked.
“What? No,” Castiel said sharply. He eased when he realized no one was actually
teasing him. In fact, it seemed to have been a legitimate question, free of
judgement. But the answer was still no. “Cross dressers don’t have to be trans.
Or gay, for that matter.”
“But you are.”
“Gay, yes,” Castiel said. He took Jo’s undrunk punch from her hand and downed
it. “It’s just a costume.”
“No, Cas,” Charlie said, “that is a statement.”
“Well. Yeah,” Castiel said. “That was kind of the point. I wanted to show…
certain people that it’s okay to put yourself out there.”
Jo took a step backwards and looked Castiel up and down. “Way to do that
literally.” Castiel blushed.
“Babe,” Charlie said, elbowing Jo. “You’re making him uncomfortable.”
“Are you jealous?” Jo said, grinning. The way she put it made it clear that she
was surprised by this. “Cas is hella gay, and I’m hella gay for you.”
Charlie beamed back.
She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of the front door opening made her
pause. The family room had gone silent again.
“Deeeean!” they heard Ash cry. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me you and Cas were
coming together? Wait, why did you arrive separately?”
What?
Castiel crossed back over to the door and there, there was Dean. Dressed as
Rocky Horror, the sexy, muscled god from the same movie Castiel’s character was
from. The same character Castiel had specifically mentioned being his favorite
just a few weeks ago.
Dean looked equally as shocked when he spotted Cas on the other side of the
room, his eyes roaming all over his body. It was the first time Castiel felt
truly revealed in his outfit.
And, for the love of all that was holy, somehow Dean’s costume was even more
revealing than Castiel’s. Rocky wore a tight, gold pair of briefs and gold
boxer shoes. Castiel at least got the corset.
Fuck.He could not get hard in this costume. All he had on down there was a
tight pair of black underwear.
There was a low whistle in the room. Everyone laughed and went back to whatever
they’d been doing before two nearly naked men had walked into the room.
Well. This was not going to work, they needed to talk. Now.
He stormed across the room, wobbled, remembered he was in heels, and proceeded
to tiptoe the rest of the way.
“We need to talk,” Castiel said. He grabbed Dean’s elbow and pulled him towards
the stairs. Someone whistled again. Castiel flipped off the room at large and
several people laughed.
Finding an empty bedroom was easy. Cas pushed Dean inside and shut the door.
He turned to say something to Dean but discovered no words would come out.
Awkward.
It was also a little weird that he was suddenly a few inches taller than Dean,
but that was hardly his main concern at the moment.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said, breaking the tension. “I was a dick.”
“Yes you were.”
Dean palmed the back of his neck and turned, pacing into the bedroom. He
apparently didn’t know what to say either.
“So,” Castiel ventured. “Rocky Horror?”
“Frank-N-Furter?” Dean replied, spinning around with a sly smile on his face.
“I was…” Castiel trailed off. Does he tell Dean the reason he chose this
costume?
“Was it for me?” Dean prompted.
“Was Rocky?”
Dean blushed. “Yeah,” he confessed. “I remembered you saying you liked him
best, and I wanted to show you that I could, you know, take a risk or whatever.
Put myself out there.”
Castiel snorted, and then laughed. Then laughed some more. Dean looked on in
amused confusion.
“That’s why I chose Frank-N-Furter. I wanted you to see that nothing bad would
happen. Our friends are awesome.”
“So basically we were trying to prove the same point by displaying our junk for
half the school?” Dean mused.
Castiel’s eyes involuntarily roamed all over Dean’s body, and once again, he
had to remind himself that this was a very bad costume to get aroused in.
Especially since he and Dean were on speaking terms again. He didn’t know if
they were on that good of speaking terms to survive cock-stretched latex.
He looked away sharply.
“We should get back to the party,” he said. He watched Dean lick his lips. Did
he look disappointed?
“Yeah.”
And so they joined the throngs of dancing, drinking and laughing teenagers. It
wasn’t hard to find Kevin, Jo, and Charlie, all hanging out together on the
back deck, and Gadreel, Victor, and Meg all stopped by to chill with them for a
while. The conversation was casual and friendly. And Castiel finally got the
story about how Jo had left a scar on Dean’s leg.
Once Castiel’s eyes had permission to look at Dean’s thigh to locate the scar,
he couldn’t keep his eyes away. How he’d slipped by his dad like that was
beyond him.
But his body was just a perk. Dean’s laugh, so full and carefree, had much more
to do with it. His eyes, so beautiful in color and filled with life, might have
played a part, too. And his freckles.
Dean Winchester was a Greek freaking statue.
Only he wasn’t just marble. He had life. He had a heart. He’d taken care of Cas
when he was still a nearly complete stranger, and he’d stepped up to help
without him even needing to ask. Thanks to Dean Winchester, Castiel was going
to be on stage in one week, living a dream he never thought he’d be able to see
through.
Oh fuck. Forget a crush. He was falling way beyond that.
“Cas,” Dean said, elbowing him and shocking him out of his realization.
“They’re playing our song in there.”
Sure enough, some little shit had put Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture
Show on in the family room.
“Dance with me,” Dean declared boldly. He gave Castiel no chance to protest,
grabbing his hand and yanking him into the house, through the kitchen, and into
the family room. It was a really good thing Castiel had been practicing walking
in heels all night long.
The rest of the group followed them more slowly, but everyone ended up getting
in on the Time Warp fun. It was obvious who had not seen the movie, but the
beauty of Rocky Horror was that it didn’t matter at all.
It kicked off some more dance tunes that had them all bumping along, hip
checking each other, grabbing hands and doing swings and dips for the heck of
it. Somehow Castiel found himself dancing more with Dean than anyone else, and
he certainly wasn’t complaining about that.
And then a few hip bumps with Dean, and a goofy twirl or two, led to another
and another, until Castiel had forgotten that he owed Jo a dip. It was all
about Dean. Dean’s body heat was blending with his, and the fact that they were
both practically wearing nothing but underwear meant a lot of skin was making
contact.
The thing he’d been telling himself all night that he was definitely not
allowed to do was starting to happen. He was so freaking turned on, drowning in
Dean’s scent and heat and skin, the room a fuzzy blur around them.
“Shit,” Dean cursed low. He grabbed Castiel’s hand and yanked him out of the
room, up the stairs, and into the bedroom they’d talked in earlier.
He shut the door and pressed Castiel up against it, moving in close, so
ridiculously close that Castiel could begin counting the flecks of gold in
Dean’s eyes if he wanted.
His heart pounded in his ribcage as it dared his head to believe that this
could really be happening, that Dean was as worked up as him.
“Fuck,” Dean mumbled again, so close that Castiel could feel warm breath on his
neck. “You look so fucking hot, do you have any idea. Fishnets, a corset. Jesus
fucking Christ, Cas, your eyes did not need eyeliner.”
Castiel whimpered. “Dean, please.”
Dean was going to have to make the first move. That was a fact. Castiel could
not make it for him. He knew what he wanted and where he stood, Dean needed to
decide the same for himself.
But god damn did his hands twitch to wrap themselves around Dean’s ass and pull
him close.
He flatted them against the door to keep them in order.
“Cas,” Dean whispered just a second before he closed the distance and pressed
their lips together.
The pounding in Castiel’s ribcage froze, staccatoed, and roared into life.
The first kiss was brief, Dean pushed it in as if he was afraid he’d lose the
courage to do so. Once that was over with, he dove in with all he had.
Castiel moaned into the kiss, opened his mouth, and let Dean take control. His
traitorous hands lost their poise and found themselves tangled deep in Dean’s
hair.
Fuck, his skimpy briefs hurt. He was straining the fabric, could feel cool air
across the tip of his dick. He couldn’t help it, he thrust forward into Dean’s
answering hips, their erections bumping together, sending sparks shooting up
his spine.
Dean froze and the kiss ended abruptly. Castiel stared at him wide eyed and
dazed.
“Dean?”
“I can’t do this,” Dean said, taking a huge, horrible step backwards.
“Are you… are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?”
“I can’t,” Dean said weakly. He was still panting. “I thought… I want to… It’s
too much.” He stopped and shook his head, taking another step backwards,
bumping into a night stand. “I can’t.”
Castiel gaped, his mouth working over several thoughts, none of which dared
leave his brain.
Finally, he spit out, “Coward.” To his sadistic delight, Dean flinched.
“Wallowing in fear instead of going after what you want. You couldn’t even join
drama club without lying about why!”
Castiel ripped open the door to the bedroom, and turned to say one final thing.
And there was Dean, backed into a nightstand, head down, biting his lip,
curling in on himself, trying to become as small as possible, trying to protect
himself.
God damn it. He was, most definitely, just a little bit in love with a man who
was never going to love him back. Not freely, not in any sort of a healthy way.
He couldn’t force a man to leave the closet if he wasn’t ready, and Dean was
never going to be ready.
With a stabbing feeling in his chest where his heart should be, Castiel left.
~
Dean watched Castiel storm out the door and, the second his friend (ex-friend?)
was gone, all strength left his body and he fell to the floor.
He was a coward.
He wanted to be brave and strong, he wanted to be okay with wanting Castiel, he
wanted to not care what his dad or Sam or the people downstairs would think,
but he was so very, very not.
Jo found him in the bedroom, figured everything out on her own, sighed heavily,
informed him he was being dumb, then hugged him and drove him home.
Dean struggled to find the key he’d hidden in his boot, unlocked the door and
headed for his room. The gold spandex was peeled off carefully, and Dean stared
sadly at his dick, which gave a faint twitch when the fabric was coming off.
Sorry, buddy, I’m not in the mood. Not now, not after being a colossal idiot
and ruining everything with Cas.
He still couldn’t process what the clenching in his chest meant. He was scared,
he hurt, he just wanted to die and he didn’t really care if there was more to
it.
He pulled on his oldest, softest pair of boxers and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. It
was a good thing Dean loved pretty much all types of music. Sharing a love of
classic rock with Dad was about the only thing he approved of.
The front door opened and Dean heard Sam’s tinier feet come down the hallway.
He paused at his own door, and that’s when Dean realized his fatal mistake.
He’d left the light on.
“Dean?” Sam asked, pushing the door open. “What are you doing home? I thought
you’d be out until two.” Something must have shown on Dean’s face cause Sam’s
next words were, “Oh, Dean, what did you do now?”
He sat down on the bed next to Dean’s prone form.
“Why do you always assume I did something?” Dean asked, lifting his arm off of
his eyes to peer at Sam.
“Because it’s always you who did something.”
Dean snorted. “Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam responded automatically. “Seriously Dean, what happened? Did you
break Castiel’s heart?”
Dean stiffened and didn’t respond.
“Seriously, Dean?!” Sam screeched. “You like him! Why are you fucking this up?”
“I didn’t mean to!” Dean said, surprising both of them by sitting up sharply.
“You’re right, okay? Fine, is that what you want to hear? You’re right. I like
him. And it scares the shit out of me that a man in fishnets gets me hard.”
“Um…”
“No, you made me talk, now you get to listen. I don’t want to like Cas like
that. I’m straight Sam, I swear to god.”
Sam frowned. “If you’re going to lie like that, don’t bring God into it.”
“Fine! Whatever! Fine! What do you want me to say? What am I supposed to do
when kissing him made me more terrified than I’ve been in my whole life? Are
you happy, Sam, I’m a fucking wimp.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment, and in that moment, Dean realized he
sounded like a fucking five year old freaking out that he had to go get his
haircut for the first time.
“I think,” Sam said carefully. “That this is simple. It’s risk-reward. Do you
want to be who you are? Do you want to be with who you want? Are you willing to
do what it takes to be that person, or is pretending you are someone else how
you want to live your life? Are you willing to let him go?”
“Thanks for the wisdom, Confucius.”
Sam sighed, standing up. He paused at the door frame. “Look, Dean, I get why
this is scary for you. I do. Dad hasn’t exactly been nurturing, and I know
there are many people out there that are much, much worse.” Sam shuffled
uncharacteristically. “But I also know this. My brother may be a lot of things,
but he isn’t a coward and he can get past this.”
The door shut with a soft click.
But he was a coward. And every time he thought about how he’d pulled away from
Cas, the look of hurt, confusion and pain on Castiel’s face, he felt more
embarrassment and guilt than he could get a grip on. Then he’d backed into a
corner, willing himself to disappear into the carpet.
Why, dear god, why, couldn’t he have had disappeared into the carpet?
 
Chapter 6
If Castiel thought the week before had been awkward with Dean, then this week
could be described by some word that meant more than the word awkward properly
conveyed. Now Dean not only struggled to make eye contact, he went out of his
way to go absurd routes just to avoid running into Castiel. Castiel had to exit
stage right several times during the now-full-costumed rehearsals and Dean
would look away and shrink into the corner. It was horrible.
Because now Castiel knew, without a doubt, that Dean did like him back, that he
did want more than friendship. And there was no taking that knowledge back.
Sometimes Cas wished he was still ignorant.
But no, he knows Dean wants him, just as much as he knows Dean is scared of
accepting that.
The horrible thing, when Castiel is able to shove his own feelings aside, is
that he gets the fear. Things may be getting better, but there is still a lot
of prejudice out there against anyone who isn’t straight. If Dean couldn’t get
past that fear, then Castiel couldn’t, and wouldn’t, make him.
Sam had stopped him after the first full rehearsal on Monday, when Dean was
distracted by getting the set put away and ready for the next night. He found
Castiel heading to the dressing rooms and pulled him into a side hallway.
Castiel had expected a protective-brother spiel, but instead he’d said, among
other things, “My brother is an idiot.”
Which was unexpected. If it had been Anna pulling Dean aside, she would have
ripped his balls off. When Castiel had come home on Saturday night, Anna had
taken one look at his face and turned to stone. A scary, force of nature, I’m-
going-to-kill-someone face. Castiel actually had to tell her not to hurt anyone
or do anything before he went into his room and hit the bed face first.
The next morning, she handed him the plate of pancakes he had promised to make
her, and he told her everything.
Oddly enough, her conclusion and Sam’s were the same. They wanted Cas to give
Dean time, that if he could give Dean space and let him sort himself out, he
was worth the wait. That no one would ever take care of Cas so selflessly if
Dean could get past this.
Well neither of them put it quite like that, but that was the gist.
Honestly, Cas wasn’t sure he could or would even want to wait. If Dean came
around, he would have to come all the way around, cause Cas was not letting
Dean pull him into a closet. He wasn’t going to hide a relationship, he wasn’t
going to pretend to be anything other than what he was.
Not because he was bold or making a statement. It’s just who he was and he
wasn’t ashamed of it.
He was, however, still scared of performing in front of people, and the
temporary reprieve the distraction named Dean provided was rapidly
disappearing. Each night of rehearsal brought them closer to opening night, and
on Wednesday, the night before opening night, it was no secret that Castiel was
on the edge of a panic attack the whole time.
While Dean was avoiding him and clearly didn’t want to talk yet, Castiel had
still caught him watching Castiel with concern on his face. Castiel wasn’t sure
what he was supposed to do with that.
It certainly didn’t make the panic any better, so what good was it? All it did
was add to the confusion. Dean had rejected him, he didn’t get to look
concerned.
So in a blur of confusion, hurt feelings, and panic, Thursday came. Getting
into full makeup and costume on opening night was an exercise in frustration.
The poor girl who had to apply some concealer to his face was going to stab him
in the eye with the brush, and he wouldn’t even blame her. Whether it was
intentional or accidentally caused by the squirming, it didn’t really matter
when he couldn’t see out of one eye for the rest of the show.
“You need to calm down,” the girl had said.
“Easy for you to say,” Castiel quipped.
She clicked her container of makeup shut and picked up a different one. “You’re
right, it is,” she confessed, pressing a brush to his face. “But I know you are
good at this. And I know you’ve got a great man at your back.”
“What?” Castiel asked, pulling back.
“Dean,” she said plainly, like she was stating the obvious.
“Dean isn’t talking to me,” Castiel replied. He narrowed his eyes. “Who are
you?”
“Lisa.”
“Ah,” Castiel said, carefully neutral. So she was one of the girls Dean talked
about all the time. He’d never had a class with her. But she was pretty. He
hoped they’d be very pretty happily heterosexually together.
His face must have displayed at least some of his thoughts as Lisa rolled her
eyes. “I don’t want him, you know. I mean, I did. Who wouldn’t? But about a
month ago, he started talking about you like you made the sun rise, the moon
shine, and heaven sprout angels. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
Castiel sighed. “That’s lovely and all, but if Dean heard you say that, he’d
have a panic attack.”
“Maybe,” Lisa agreed, “but at least you aren’t having one anymore.”
Touché.
By the time she’d finished, thankfully without damage to his eye, there was
still over a half hour to go before curtain. The nerves were rapidly returning.
What was he going to do for half an hour? Throw up 16 times?
“Hey,” Kevin called across the dressing room. He was pulling his skirt on.
“You’re ready, you got this.”
Castiel nodded, but it was a hollow gesture.
At some point shortly after that, Victor popped his head in the door.
“Circle,” he said to them and nodded to the side down the hallway before
disappearing in the direction he’d nodded.
Castiel stood. “Circle?” he asked Kevin.
“It’s tradition,” Kevin explained. “Come on.”
Kevin pulled him towards the choir room, and Castiel was surprised to discover
that literally everyone was in there. Everyone, including lights, sound, stage
crew, make up, props, and everyone from the extras with no names to Castiel and
Kevin and the main cast.
“Alright,” Mrs. Moseley said, walking in. “Alright guys, circle up, you know
what to do.”
No, no he very much did not know what to do.
The blob of a group slowly moved into a circle shape and everyone was crossing
their arms, right over left, and taking the hands of the person next to them.
Castiel found himself holding Kevin’s on his right, and Jo on the left. Dean
was directly across and met his eyes.
To his surprise, Dean did not look away, but held his gaze resolutely. It was
like he was trying to tell Cas something, but he had no idea what that could
be. Castiel raised his eyebrow in question, and Dean nodded gently.
Nope, still no idea what that could mean.
“Garth,” Mrs. Mosley said harshly. Castiel’s eye contact with Dean broke.
“Right over left.” He complied, fixing his arms with a sheepish grin.
“Where’s Mrs. Barnes?” Castiel whispered to Kevin while the room mumbled and
checked their own arms.
“Warming up the orchestra. Since she handles all of the music, she can’t make
it back for this.”
Castiel nodded his understanding, though he was still a little short on the
understanding part.
“Alright, alright, calm down,” Mrs. Moseley called. “First, I just want to say
that you have all done an incredible job these past few weeks. You’ve worked
hard, you’ve made new friends, and you’ve faced your fears.” She glanced at
Cas. A few people did. “Tonight is the beginning of the end of that hard work.
Tonight you take the stage and you tell a story. Lose yourself in that story,
and the audience will, too. Let’s get out there and put on a show they’ll never
forget!”
There was some cheering and Castiel thought that sounded like an end, but no
one made to leave.
“Victor, any announcements?”
“Cast party will be at my house this Saturday.” Victor said. “And of course we
would like to thank Mrs. Moseley for getting us to today. Without her, we
wouldn’t be here.”
While there was more cheering, Castiel couldn’t help but think that the actual
person he owed this to was standing on the other side of the room, not talking
to him. Which sucked. But hey, eye contact. That was something of progress.
“I’ll start the good luck squeeze,” Victor said when the cheering had died
down. “Don’t miss your turn. We’re not starting late again because someone
zoned out.” He shot a look to Garth and he blushed.
Fortunately, even though the instructions were vague, Castiel could see the
hand squeezes being passed around the circle. Kevin squeezed his, he squeezed
Jo’s, and the circle continued until it got back to Victor.
“That’s it! Break a leg!”
As the nausea rolled again in his tummy, Castiel thought that breaking a leg
might be desirable. Then he’d get out of having to actually go on stage in
front a room full of actually, breathing, living people. There was no ghost-
audience tonight.
“Five minutes to curtain!” someone called when Castiel was making his way down
the narrow hallway. Whelp. That meant it was time to take his position on stage
with the rest of the main cast for the opening number.
He had no idea how he was going to make it. He was going to die. On stage. And
then die again. He didn’t even hear or acknowledge his cast mates as he moved
into place.
“Hey! Hey Cas!” It was Dean’s voice, in a hushed, but urgent tone. Castiel
turned in a daze as the man who had been doing gymnastics to avoid him all week
approached him. “You got this. You so got this,” he said. The lights were dim
and Castiel could still make out the flecks of gold in his eyes. Curse Dean for
being so beautiful and so, so confusing.
“Dean,” Jo hissed, annoyed. They had, literally, a minute or two until Ash
would call for lights and the curtain would go up.
“Dean,” Castiel said, surprised, echoing Jo. “Dean, listen, I get it, okay?
It’s fine--”
“Cas,” Dean said, cutting him off. “I got like 20 seconds and I gotta…” He
licked his lips. “You can do this,” he said determinedly. “And just to prove
that anyone can face their fears…”
Dean stepped forward, fast as lightning and smooth as silk, pulled Castiel into
him, and kissed him.
Castiel heard gasps come from all around them, and from the corner of his eye,
Jo was pumping the air furiously. Silently, but furiously.
“Dean?” Castiel asked when he ended the kiss.
“Kick ass, Cas,” Dean said, stepping back. “You’ve got this. And if you want
me, you can have me.”
Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Ash was waving his arm violently from
the wing, trying to get Dean off the stage. Cas nodded instead, mouthing,
“We’ll talk.”
The butterflies were forgotten as Castiel took his mark.
Dean was right. He had this.
The curtain opened.
 
Epilogue
By the time the show ended on opening night, it had been past 11 and well past
when John would accept Dean getting him and Sam home, but he’d taken Cas aside
and kissed him again. And again and again.
“I’m not going to be great at this, Cas,” Dean had admitted. “I’m going to make
mistakes.”
Castiel had kissed him then and promised they would both make mistakes.
Friday when the show was over, Dean pulled Cas into a hallway and clarified
that he was going to need time. And Castiel clarified that he wasn’t going to
be anyone’s secret, but he also understood Dean wasn’t going to change
overnight. And that was okay.
Dean had just leaned forward and pressed their lips together when Sam found
them and informed them that the cast and crew were headed to The Roadhouse for
food and munchies, and he would not like to be an hour late, thank you very
much.
He’d also told Dean that he was proud of him, and Dean still didn’t know how to
process that, so he called him a bitch and punched him in the arm. Castiel
looked quite alarmed until Sam had called him jerk and punched Dean back. Then
Castiel’s face shifted to amusement as he smiled, the grin that made Dean’s
heart do a little dance.
And now here he was, Saturday night at the cast party, holding Castiel’s hand
in public. Who would have guessed a month ago that this would be him? He would
have punched you in the nose if you’d suggested it.
But here he was, having a great time, out with the man that made him happier
than he could ever remember being. The man that pulled him out of himself, to
accept who he was and be proud of it.
And you know what? It turns out no one really gave a shit. They didn’t bat an
eye at him being with Cas. They’d been congratulated once or twice at the
party, which was weird, but otherwise it wasn’t really a big deal. There was
still his dad to tell sooner or later, of course, but he’d cross that bridge
when they got there.
As for the theatre thing, Charlie caught him humming a West Side Story number
and just smirked, patted him on the back, and took her cue on stage without
another word.
The world did not end. If anything, it got a little brighter.
 “Dean,” Castiel said, tugging on his hand, reminding him that they were
holding hands in public. “They have a pool table. We should play.”
“Okay, Cas,” Dean said. He was fully aware that he was grinning like an idiot
and didn’t care.
Charlie and Jo played against them as a team, and naturally, slaughtered them.
At least they hadn’t tried to hustle first. The girls were scary, but honest.
“I hope we didn’t kick your asses too hard,” Charlie said with an innocent bat
of her eyelashes.
“Yeah, those will be getting sore enough later, I’d imagine,” Jo said with a
leer.
Dean blushed and shook his head. “Good god, you two are worse than most men.”
“Say what now?” Kevin said, leaning into the room through the ginormous
archway. He was wearing a long haired wig with pigtails and a cheerleader
outfit. And not the men’s version with pants.
“I think jokes that involve gender roles are a little out the window now,”
Castiel said, chuckling as Kevin tossed back a pigtail and pranced into the
room.
 “Damn straight,” Kevin said. He looked at the four faces around him.
“Actually, there is absolutely nothing straight about anyone in this room, so .
. .  damn queer!” He lifted his pop can and chugged it back.
Dean reached back and grabbed his drink off the window ledge he’d perched it
on. “I’ll drink to that. Damn queer!”
“Damn what now?”
It was Sam, wandering into the room. He looked around the group who was all
smiles and laughs and shrugged. “Okay, then. Dean, they have Rocky Horror on
DVD, Victor was talking about putting it on.”
The entire group had started laughing about the time Sam had said ‘Rocky
Horror,’ while Castiel and Dean both blushed.
“You all are weird,” Sam said flatly.
Dean sobered up long enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Sam. I’m
going to pass on that.”
“Okay,” he said, looking around the group and turning to go. He turned back.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam pulled on Dean’s shoulder to get him to lean down so Sam could
whisper in his ear. Kid was so short. “Don’t forget the condoms, okay?”
“Sam!” Dean said, giving him a little shove. Sam was sporting a shit eating
grin. He gave the group a little wave and left.
“More pool?” Castiel suggested, wiggling his cue stick.
“There’s music and dancing outside,” Kevin suggested. “And a couple people have
climbed into the hot tub.”
“Yeah, I don’t have trunks,” Dean replied.
Jo shrugged. “We’ve practically seen it all anyway.”
“Oh god,” Dean bemoaned, covering his face with his hands. He was never going
to live down the gold spandex. He should burn the thing. He would burn the
thing, if it wasn’t for the fact that the night at the Halloween party was now
featuring vividly in many fantasies and he wouldn’t mind a chance at reliving
it. In private, with Cas-as-Frank-n-Furter, and a much happier ending.
“Music,” Castiel said, setting the cue stick down and resuming his grip on
Dean’s hand, “Sounds good.”
And of course it did, because dancing meant touching. And grinding. And sharing
breath. And getting so freaking turned on he couldn’t see straight. That’s what
happened last time.
Even without the spandex and fishnets, that was exactly what happened this
time, too. Cas was beautiful, his body was amazing, and it felt even better
when it was bumping against his. Maybe he’d could get a second chance at that
party hookup sans gold underwear.
He wasn’t the only one thinking that way, either.
“Think we can find a room upstairs?” Castiel asked breathlessly, hot into his
ear.
Dean shook his head. “Victor’s parents aren’t quite as laidback as Ash’s, and
they’re watching TV in the room where the stairs are.”
Castiel deflated. “Normally Anna would be cool with it, but she, um, doesn’t
like you right now. It’ll take her awhile to trust this.”
Dean nodded, not offended. If he’d seen Cas come home as upset as he
undoubtedly had last Saturday, he’d probably never forgive the person that made
him look that way.
“Well my house is not an option,” Dean said. He caressed Castiel’s hand for a
moment, letting the crowd dance around them. He pulled out his phone and
checked the time. It was 11:30 pm. Good thing they’d told Dad they’d be home
late. “I know where we can go.”
He still had a key to The Victorian, and at this time, the place should be
empty.
~
“I still can’t believe how beautiful this place is,” Castiel said as they
walked in. The place was empty. Their show had also ended two hours ago, and
much to Dean’s delight, there was still a couch on stage. It was set for a
living room.
“I’ll get the lights,” Dean said.
“No,” Castiel said, tugging his hand. “I like it like this, with just enough
light from the emergency lights to see by.”
That was fine by Dean. He hadn’t been nervous out dancing at Victor’s house,
but he was getting nervous now.
And Castiel, bless him, must have sensed that.
He pulled out his phone, pressed the screen a few times, and the song If I
loved You from Oklahoma! came out. Dean groaned.
“What?” Castiel asked. “I thought we’d dance some more and this seemed
appropriate.”
“But Groban?”
“Josh has a beautiful voice.”
“Fine,” Dean said with a put-upon sigh. But he was smiling as he put his hands
around Castiel’s waist, and Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck.
They moved closer as the music continued and soon found themselves kissing.
This kiss was different. It meant something, something more than a frantic,
horny driven kiss, or a kiss to make a statement. This was what their first
kiss should have been. Sweet, tender, full of meaning and emotions, emotions
Dean dare not name.
As the kiss grew deeper, Castiel’s phone switched to Can You Feel the Love
Tonight from Lion King. Dean barely noticed. Castiel was pulling him tight,
licking into his mouth, and the heat from earlier was rapidly returning.
They were making out. Heavily making out. As in, this was the time Dean would
start to consider sliding his hands around to the hem of a girl’s skirt, but
Castiel wasn’t wearing a skirt.
Castiel didn’t seem to have any of the same clothing inspired hang ups. His
hands had moved from Dean’s neck to grasping at his ass.
Dean groaned as Castiel pressed into Dean, pulling them impossibly close,
grinding them together.
Castiel had somehow walked them backwards to the couch and pushed Dean onto it.
He planted knees on either side of Dean, straddling his lap. Dean looked up as
if in a daze of lust. Castiel’s eyes were blown wide, probably matching his
own. He looked like he couldn’t believe this was happening. That meant two of
them.
He gripped Castiel’s hips as the kiss resumed, quickly becoming dirty with lip
nibbles and snaking tongues. Castiel began moving his hips, pressing downwards
and suddenly he could feel Castiel’s hardness, pressed right next to his own.
It was exactly like before, when their cocks had pressed together in a bedroom
at Ash’s house, except this time, Dean didn’t panic. This felt good, Castiel
felt good, fuck he felt amazing, and he was not going to screw this up.
He let Castiel rock into him a few more times, enjoy the tease of pleasure the
pressure was bringing, before he tightened his grip on Castiel’s hips and
helped change Castiel’s pace and his angle, grinding Castiel into him
unabashedly. Stars popped behind his eyes.
It must have been working for Castiel too, cause he moaned into Dean’s mouth.
“How,” Castiel panted, coming in for another quick kiss, “How do you want to do
this?”
Dean froze. There it was, he was going to fuck this all up anyway. He was ready
for kissing. Was he ready for that?
“I mean,” Castiel clarified, nipping at his ear, “what do you want? Not, do you
want to top or bottom.”
Dean relaxed, but all he could get himself to say was, “Um…”
“Hmm,” Castiel hummed thoughtfully. “Well then, why don’t I try something and
you stop me if you’re uncomfortable? We’ll go back to what you’re okay with.”
Dean took a deep breath. Yeah, yeah he could do that.
Castiel slid off of him and sunk to his knees before Dean, looking up at him
through his stupidly dark and long eyelashes. His heart skipped a beat in his
chest as Castiel reached for his fly. Holy shit, Castiel was going to suck his
cock. Castiel popped the button and slid the zipper down so slow, he thought he
might die. When Castiel finally reached in and touched his cock, it took all
his willpower not to blow right there.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean panted. “I’m not going to last long here.”
Castiel grinned up at him. Holding Dean’s cock, he raised himself up, and then
lowered his mouth down.
“Aw, fuck!” Dean cursed. He thrust up and Castiel coughed a little, backing
off. “Sorry, sorry.”
“You just surprised me,” Castiel said.
That did not make it okay to choke your partner, so when Castiel wrapped his
lips back around him and the wet heat enveloped all those sensitive nerve
endings, he bit his lip to keep from screaming, thrusting, or doing anything
else he really shouldn’t, like yank on Castiel’s messy hair. But damn, he could
make it messier...
Castiel slunk down slowly and back up, like he was learning every inch of Dean.
When he pulled back, he pulled off, and gave the head of his cock a little
lick. His cock jumped, trying to drive itself back into the sinful home.
“Caaas,” Dean complained.
Chuckling, Castiel shifted his grip, put Dean back in his mouth, and completely
shifted gears. After a short pause, he sucked in air through his nose and
swallowed Dean whole, taking Dean to the base and letting his tongue work on
Dean before pulling back up.
After the first pass, like he was proving to himself that he could do it,
Castiel did it again without hesitation, and again, and again, until Dean was a
whimpering mass.
“Holy shit,” Dean said, throwing his head to the side. His hands tensed by his
side, opening and shutting again and again, desperate to do something else.
“Holy fucking shit.”
Castiel reached with his left hand, took Dean’s right, and placed it on his
head. He was giving Dean permission.
And that was really, frankly, unfair and too much, and that was all she wrote.
The pleasure spiked almost painfully and he was shooting himself into Castiel’s
beautiful, sinful mouth, his back arched off the couch as he chased the edge of
his orgasm.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably two seconds, Dean
collapsed on the couch.
He knew he was the perfect picture of debauchery, with his pants hanging open
and his softening cock bobbing in the air, his arm thrown back behind the couch
and his eyes glazed over, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but
lay there.
Castiel looked entirely too smug as he took a seat next to Dean.
“Good?” he asked.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean said, wobbling his head sideways to look at him. “Good
doesn’t cover it. Where did you learn that?”
Cas shrugged. “Lots of practice.” When Dean’s face fell, he added, “On a
cucumber, Dean, calm down. I haven’t been blowing the football team or anything
like that.”
That was, strangely, a relief. It’s not like he had any right to Castiel’s
sexual past.
“Okay,” Dean said, when he could speak again without struggling to breathe.
“Okay, so I should…” he said, waving at Castiel’s crotch.
“Just kiss me,” Castiel said.
“But…”
“Kiss me.”
“Okay…”
Dean peeled himself off the back of the couch and turned to Cas. Then he had a
better idea and put his hands at Castiel’s shoulders, guiding him until he was
laying down. Holding himself above Castiel, he kissed him.
“Mmmm,” Castiel moaned in appreciation, threading a hand into Dean’s hair.
They kissed, deep but not frantically, for a few moments, and soon Castiel’s
hips were doing little gyrations in the air. He could lower himself and give
him something to grind against, but then Cas would be coming in his pants, and
that didn’t seem like a lot of fun.
Castiel’s hand found his and guided it to his zipper.
Oh. Yeah, he could do that. He could undo a zipper.
Once Dean got the fly open, he undid the button on Castiel’s boxers, and slid
his hand inside the slit of fabric.
FUCK, that was a penis. Castiel’s penis. Castiel’s hard and leaking penis. His
brain short circuited.
When Castiel whimpered, Dean realized he had been loosely touching Castiel’s
dick for like a full minute, not moving and not kissing.
“Dean, I swear to god, if you’re freaking out on me right now—“
Dean pecked him on the lips. “You’d let me. And be incredibly frustrated for
it. But no, I’m not freaking out. I’m stuck on how awesome your dick feels.”
“Then maybe you should touch it some more.”
“I think I should.”
He pulled back enough to get both hands between them and pulled Castiel’s
boxers down, tucking them beneath his balls. Castiel took a shuddering breath
while Dean stared down at him.
 “Fuck,” Dean mumbled. He licked his hand and unceremoniously wrapped it around
Castiel’s length. Then he leaned back in and resumed kissing Castiel,
tightening his grip on his cock and moving. He worked Castiel’s length like he
would his own, giving the tip a bit of a squeeze every so many passes before
sliding back down.
It didn’t take Castiel very long at all to be thrusting vigorously into his
hand, moving sharply enough that they’d had to break the kiss. This was almost
better though, hovering right above him, sharing his air, watching his eyes
blow wider and wider with lust as he came closer and closer to the edge. His
fingers wrapped around Dean’s bicep, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
“Dean,” Castiel exclaimed softly and breathlessly, like he was amazed he was
saying that name at all, before his hips left the couch and come was shooting
out of his cock.
Dean held him through it, moving gently, coaxing every bit of come out of him.
When Castiel finally collapsed, boneless with satiety, Dean let go. He used his
now semi-gross hand to prop himself up, sighing with the relief of pressure on
his other arm. A strand of hair had fallen across Castiel’s forehead and Dean
pushed it aside gently, letting his fingers caress Castiel’s face.
He gave Cas one final kiss before sitting up.
And now that he didn’t have a cock on the brain, he remembered where they were.
He’d just fooled around on Bobby’s stage. Good god, they could have gotten come
on the couch.
Dean started chuckling and Castiel looked at him like he was nuts.
“What?” he asked.
“Well,” he said, “Technically, I did not break any rules. I did not bring any
girls back here to sleep with.”
Castiel laughed. “Nope. We’re all good there.”
Dean laughed with him, but ended up looking away at the end, wondering how true
that was. “Are we? Are we all good?” He’d been such a tool. He still couldn’t
believe Castiel still wanted him.
“Yes. Dean, stop that. We’re good. I want this, I want you. At some point
you’re going to have to stop being afraid.”
“But what if…” Dean began and trailed off. No. He wanted to say this. “What if
I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with you?”
“Then I’d say we’ve overcome worse fears. I think we can handle love.”
Dean grinned.
Love. Love sounded like a fear worth conquering.
End Notes
     HUGE thank yous...
     ... to lennyways, the artist for this story.
     ... to Alene, my constant source of strength and someone who is never
     afraid to tell it to me straight.
     ... to my husband, who stepped in for the final proofread of this. He
     READ the entire thing OUT LOUD. Yeah. I married well.
     If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a quick message, to warm my
     fragile writer soul. You can also find me on tumblr at
     caswouldratherbehere. I'd love to chat with you!
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