Day 4: Wicked
Castiel keeps his longing for Dean Winchester, quarterback and last year’s junior prom king, the ultimate secret of his high school years. It's not hard; he doesn’t have many (any) friends.
At lunch, he sits at what he dubs as the “miscellaneous” table with the girl with the heavy eyeliner and combat boots, the boy with his trick deck of cards and actual top hat, and the freshman who always has their nose buried in a textbook.
After school, Castiel has homework, music lessons, cross country, and chess tutoring. Evenings not spent on extracurriculars are for his parents’ galas, auctions, and other fundraising events for their arts charity.
Dean would have graduated without ever saying one word to Castiel – except Anna Milton breaks her arm two weeks after school starts. Three days later, Castiel twists his ankle, marking the end of his senior year athletic ambitions.
As he hobbles away from his locker, he overhears Dean lamenting that they can’t find anyone to run tech after Anna’s accident.
Castiel gets the job before the school day is over.
* * *
Dean is magnificent as Harold Hill. He may have auditioned on a highly popularized dare from another football player, but he was born for the stage. His whole body lights up on the stage, and his impeccable comedic timing makes Castiel smile, even when he doesn’t get the joke.
Rehearsals quickly become Castiel’s favorite parts of his day. The stage manager, Charlie, seems determined to bring him into the theater fold and makes smalltalk about which video games and movies Castiel must try in his nonexistent free time.
Cas suspects she talks to him out of pity, but he can’t find the willpower to reject her. He has his pride – what teenager doesn’t – but not when it comes to his people skills.
The week before dress rehearsals, his chess tutor catches a cold, and Castiel finally finds an hour to read the first chapters of The Hobbit.
“You finally read it?” Charlie demands, a manic glee in her eye. She grabs his upper arm as if afraid he’s going to bolt from the conversation he started less than a minute ago.
Castiel nods. “I started it on Tuesday,”
“That’s awesome.” She punches the air triumphantly. “Count another one for Team Tolkien.”
“I haven’t finished it yet.”
“You will,” Charlie promises – or threatens?
“I like it so far,” Castiel says truthfully because he wouldn’t say anything else to her face.
“Good,“ Charlie says firmly. In a loud voice she calls, “Hey, Winchester!”
Castiel freezes.
Charlie yells, “Even Novak beat you to The Hobbit!”
From behind them, Dean’s voice comes, “I told you, I’m gonna get to it!”
Charlie shakes her head, telling Castiel in a carrying stage-whisper, “He’s been saying that for years. I honestly figured he couldn’t read and didn’t want to admit it.”
Dean makes a sputtering noise of offense. “What the hell? I can fucking read, Bradbury!”
Their drama teacher, Mrs. Chandler, barks, “Language!”
Charlie snorts, raising her hand to slightly muffle her giggles. “If Mrs. C is back from her smoke break, I’d better get going.”
To Castiel’s surprise, Charlie doesn’t drop The Hobbit until he finishes it. With her (increasingly fervid) urging, he carves out time during study halls, in between scenes, and in the back seat of their driver’s car on the way to school.
“Why do you want me to read it so badly?” Castiel asks when he only has a few chapters left, tilting his head as he studies her response.
“Other than the fact that it’s one of the best books ever written?” Charlie asks, her eyebrows rising.
“The beginning was a little dry.”
“Well, I never!” Charlie clutches her heart before she cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know.” She shrugs. “But it changed my life, and, I dunno,” she shakes her head, “I keep hoping it’ll do the same to someone else.”
Castiel sits up straighter in his chair. “I’d say it has.”
“Yeah?”
Castiel nods at the first friend he made in high school, three months into his senior year. “Of course, it has.”
* * *
The week of the performances, everyone is jumpy and on edge. Even Castiel gets swept up in the nerves, suffering through nightmares when he flubs all his lighting cues and forgets his pants.
On Tuesday – their opening night is Friday – Castiel stays behind after rehearsal to run through the lighting again one last time. Satisfied, he gathers his things and exits the tech booth, frowning as his ears catch a melody of strummed strings coming from backstage.
Castiel follows the sound to the green room to find Dean, crouched over a guitar, a songbook open in front of him. But he doesn’t recognize the chords.
“Could be, who knows,” Dean croons. “There’s something due any day, I will know right away, soon as it shows.”
Definitely not from The Music Man.
“It may come cannonballing down through the sky,” Dean sings in a rush, “gleam in its eye, bright as a – a fuck.” Dean blows a raspberry, his lips pursed, brow furrowed, as he traces a finger along the musical bars on the page.
Castiel makes an involuntary noise, and Dean whirls around. “Cas!”
Caught, Castiel coughs to dislodge the lump of nerves from his throat. “Hello, Dean.”
“What’re you doing here?” Dean asks, his expression apprehensive.
“I was running the cues one last time before heading home.”
Dean nods, his fingers tapping against the neck of his guitar, clearly uncomfortable. But, somehow, Dean’s unease puts Castiel more at ease. He takes a step further into the greenroom instead of hovering on the threshold. “You sound… nice.”
Dean laughs humorlessly. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but thanks.”
Before this moment, Castiel never would have thought Dean suffered from anything so mundane as nerves or low self-esteem
“West Side Story?” Castiel asks, peering over Dean’s shoulder to the songbook.
Dean waits a beat, but when whatever he is expecting doesn’t come, he says, “We’re reading Romeo and Juliet in English, and apparently this is just that with music and gangs, so… anyway, it’s stupid.” He raises his eyebrows. “You know West Side Story but not World of Warcraft?”
Cas blinks, surprised that Dean knew anything about him other than his name and his role backstage. “How did you know that?”
“Charlie,” Dean says with a smirk. After a beat, he ventures, “Have you seen it? West Side Story?”
Castiel shakes his head. The last revival only lasted a year and a half. “My parents never found the time to go while it was still playing.” They aren’t that far away, though, over the river in New Jersey.
“What’s your favorite?”
Castiel pauses. “I liked Rent,” he says, “Mother thought it was too loud, but that’s what the music deserved, what the characters deserved, after being ignored and overlooked for so long.”
“I have no idea what it’s about,” Dean says, sounding intrigued.
Castiel clamps his mouth shut. If any team member of the football team but Dean Winchester had gotten cast in the fall musical, the bullying would have been relentless. As it is, Castiel still sometimes catches slurs being tossed his way by the more homophobic members of their class. Dean laughs them off.
Castiel’s explanation dies on his tongue. Instead, he says awkwardly, “It’s… good.”
Dean studies him. “How come you never tried out for any of this theater crap?”
“I can’t sing,” Castiel confesses.
“Seriously?”
“I mean, I can,” Castiel corrects as his mother’s constant reminders to pay attention to details (semantics) ring in his ears, “but nobody who values their ears would willingly listen.”
Dean laughs, a sound Castiel will treasure forever. “Dude, you can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me, I am,” Castiel says eagerly. “There’s a reason I joined the orchestra instead of the choir.”
“Could I get a demo?” Dean asks, grinning.
Castiel draws up short. “Absolutely not.”
Dean laughs again, and maybe Castiel fell asleep in the lighting booth and any second now Mrs. Tate will come rushing in and remind him of a Calculus exam he should be taking right now.
To change the subject, he asks Dean, a tad desperately, “Have you seen a Broadway show recently?”
Dean grimaces. “Aren’t tickets expensive?”
Castiel frowns. They might be – he has no idea. “Probably,” he agrees, his shoulders slumping.
Dean gets to his feet, casting his gaze anywhere but at Castiel. “Listen,” he says in a low voice, “thanks for… thanks.”
* * *
Castiel arrives two hours before curtain on Sunday, the last night of the musical. Heart in his throat, hands almost shaking with nerves, he leaves the flowers and envelope with two tickets to Rock of Ages on Dean’s chair. He adds a note, Musicals are for everyone.
Practically every senior knows Dean loved music from the 80s. Whenever it was his turn to choose the warm up music for football practice, he opted for Styx, Bob Seger, or Def Leppard.
Castiel might not know pop culture, but he does know Dean Winchester.
Castiel doesn’t sign the card, so he doesn’t expect Dean to invite him along. In fact, he avoids Dean for the rest of the school year. If Dean can’t find him, he can’t reject him. Castiel is fully aware his logic holds water like a sieve, but he can’t bring himself to care.
The day on the tickets comes and goes, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief (and disappointment).
* * *
Charlie 7:20 Heyyy best friend! I scored last minute tickets to NY Comic Con this weekend You up to dinner and a show on Wednesday?
Castiel 7:20 Of course. It’s been too long since you’ve been back on the East Coast.
Charlie 7:21 Good cause I already got tickets to Wicked 7pm b there or b square
Castiel laughs as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He had expected his friendship with Charlie to fade once they separated for college, but Charlie had the singular talent of being just as present, just as herself, online as in-person.
Still, Castiel obviously prefers the three or four times a year he gets to see her “IRL”.
* * *
“So,” Charlie says as they take their seats in the Gershwin Theatre, “are you going to the reunion next year?”
Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t really see much of a point.”
“C’mon, it’s ten years,” Charlie wheedles. “You don’t want to see who went bald or had a dozen kids?”
“That would be very impressive,” Castiel says as he idly skims the playbill. “Statistically speaking, twins are still a relatively rare occurrence. And to have that many children in nine years would mean multiples.”
“So that’s a yes?” As Castiel shakes his head ‘no’, Charlie pouts. “You’re no fun at all.”
Castiel flips a page. “It’s been said before.”
She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’ll get you there one way or another.”
“Unless you’re talking about kidnapping, I’m not sure how you’ll accomplish that.”
“I have my ways,” Charlie says loftily. “Have you seen Wicked before?”
“Years ago.”
“Good,” Charlie says, “You’re not doing anything after this, right?”
He turns to her quizzically. She’s well aware of his perennial lack of plans. “Other than going home and sleeping?”
“Awesome,” Charlie says as the lights dim around them and chatter dies down.
The curtain rises and the first “Good news… she’s dead!” rings out from the stage.
Castiel leans in close to Charlie. “What are you planning?” he demands in an undertone.
She doesn’t turn her head away from the stage. “Shh! It’s starting.”
Castiel settles back in his seat and tries to immerse himself in the performance. They sail through The Wizard and I and What is This Feeling? Elphaba’s singing is slightly better than her acting, and Glinda adds a few too many runs to her solos.
But then Fiyero makes his big entrance before launching into his big number, Dancing Through Life, and –
“Charlie,” Castiel hisses.
“I know, right?” Charlie whispers back, beaming up at the stage. “He started this month!”
And he might as well be back in high school, since Castiel has eyes only for Dean Winchester for the rest of the show.
* * *
Charlie drags Castiel to the stage door to wait with the rest of the tourists for the actors’ autographs.
Dean emerges with Elphaba and Nessa, wearing a leather jacket to ward off the autumn chill and worn jeans.
“Hey, Dean!” Charlie shouts, waving with her whole body.
Castiel winces at her sheer volume.
Dean turns and does a double-take at Castiel. “Hey!” he says warmly. He holds up one finger and turns to the waiting crowd of admirers. He signs all the playbills shoved in his face, making smalltalk with anyone brave enough to strike up a conversation. But, all too soon, he makes his way over to Charlie and Castiel by the curb.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in to hug Charlie and, after a split second of hesitation, Castiel too. “So glad you made it.”
“Of course,” Charlie scoffs. “Like I’d miss it. Is it too late for a drink, Dean?”
“Nope,” Dean says easily. He turns to Castiel. “How about you, Cas?”
Castiel can only shake his head.
“Alright, Broadway Boy, where should we go?” Charlie asks.
“Don’t call me that.” Dean shudders. He points down the street, and they start walking. “That makes me sound like the lamest sidekick ever.”
“Kinda,” Charlie agrees, punching Dean in the shoulder. “But you’ll only ever be my handmaiden.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you ever gonna let me live that down?”
“Nope,” Charlie says cheerfully.
Dean turns to Castiel. “It was an off-Broadway experimental performance,” he explains with a grimace. “There were robots. And tentacles,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “in space.”
Charlie cackles. “It was awesome.”
They cross the street, and Dean pushes open the door to a homey-looking dive bar. It’s relatively empty this late on a Wednesday night. They order their first round at the bar, and pick a table near the front window to catch up.
But, practically as they sit down, Charlie bounds to her feet. “Little girl’s room,” she says by way of explanation, completely ignoring the look of extreme panic that Castiel shoots her over Dean’s head. “Don’t get trashed without me!”
“No promises,” Dean says with a grin as he waves her off. “So,” he starts once they’re alone. He taps his fingers against the side of his beer, and Castiel’s riot of nerves calms a little at Dean’s fidgeting. “How’ve you been?”
“Good and you?”
Dean snorts. “Not bad,” he says, raising his drink to his lips.
Castiel mentally scrambles for something, anything, to talk about. “Is this your first Broadway role? Charlie mentioned you started only recently.”
Dean nods in agreement. “Finally popped my Broadway cherry on the 2nd.”
“Congratulations.”
They each take a long pull of their drinks. Castiel tries not to stare too intently at Dean’s face.
Dean sets his glass down with slightly more force than necessary, foam splashing out over the side. “Look,” he says, reaching behind him for his wallet.
Oh no. How in the world has Castiel driven off Dean so quickly? He’d thought his people skills, never the best, had gotten better since high school.
But Dean stays seated as he flips his wallet open and pulls out two old, familiar Broadway tickets. “I just wanted to tell you that you changed my life with these,” Dean says seriously, meeting Castiel’s gaze.
Castiel swallows, and he has to take another sip of beer to get his throat working again. “I’m glad,” he says. He reaches out to touch them, his fingers hovering a hairsbreadth above the paper, creased and fragile from ten years of handling.
Dean pushes them closer, and Castiel dares to pick them up, running the pad of his thumb along the half-faded barcode stamped on the side.
“You were amazing, even in high school,” Castiel says quietly. “You deserved to see all the possibilities open to you.”
“What? No,” Dean says, and Castiel’s eyes snap from the tickets to Dean’s face. “I was already saving up to play hookey and line up for same-day tickets.”
Castiel’s mouth thins. “I’m glad I saved you one day as a truant and the extra cost.”
Dean shakes his head. “’M not saying it right,” he says, frustrated. “It’s – Cas, it wasn’t about the show.”
Castiel is completely lost. “Okay?” he says. “I hope you at least enjoyed it –”
“Of course, I did,” Dean cuts him off, irritated. “Fuck it,” he mutters as he stares down at his beer. He raises his head. “It’s that you gave them to me.”
Castiel blinks. “I don’t understand.”
“For some fuckin’ reason, you saw this kid who didn’t know an arpeggio from an archipelago, and thought he could make it on Broadway based on one dinky high school production of The Music Man.” He taps the tickets still in Castiel’s hand, leaning in. “That’s why I kept these close – because they showed that you believed in me.”
Castiel looks up, and Dean’s face hovers much closer than he remembers. “Oh,” he breathes.
Dean bites his lip, and every nerve in Castiel’s body thrums with anticipation the longer they stay there, not moving, sharing the same air.
“So sorry, they were cleaning out the bathrooms –”
The moment shatters with Charlie’s arrival.
But, for once, Castiel isn’t going to let it go without a fight. He grabs Dean by the lapels of his flannel and seals their mouths together.
Dean makes a noise of surprise but doesn’t pull away. He reaches up to cup Castiel’s jaw, and his little hum of satisfaction rings ten times sweeter than any love song Castiel has ever heard him sing.
