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Chapter Text

Cas was thrown down to the floor in front of him, his face smeared with snot, spit and blood, the white dress-shirt soaked in it. The dark waistcoat did not show the stains as much, but Dean knew what the patches of matted wetness meant. He tore on Cas’ tie and cleaned his bloodied knuckles. Cas’ eyes were puffy and red, tears were streaming down his face. Blood was leaking out of the corner of his mouth where Dean had hit him so hard that his head had snapped back against the floor. Cas was trying to sit up, cradling his left arm which Benny had broken when he had pushed a struggling Cas down in front of Dean. Dean swallowed and looked to his father. His father who was standing to the side, his arms crossed and a derisive sneer on his face. The rest of the Monster Hunters, his father’s gang, were grouped in a loose circle around them. There was no way Cas could escape. 

“You useless piece of shit”, Dean scoffed. “I hate you and your kind. Bloody faggots! I’d never ever spend time with you because I want to. You really think I like you? Just goes to show what a dumb, clueless, cock-sucking idiot you are. Tell me,” Dean coaxed as he stooped down next to Cas and cupped Cas’ cheek to twist his head around and force Cas to look at him, “is it just you who thinks a proper man would do anything else but treat you like the godawful vermin that you are, or is it a delusion all of your rainbow-farting friends share?”

A pained sob escaped before Cas bit down on his stained lip, a new wave of tears wallowing up in his eyes.

“I-I love you”, he sobbed, “Why are you doing this? Please, just… I don’t care, I love you, I won’t tell anyone, please, just-“ 

Dean stepped close and grabbed a handful of Cas’ hair. 

“Somebody’s really got to teach you not to go around insulting people and slandering their reputation”, Dean hissed.

Fear lit up Cas’ eyes, and only moments later he was gripping Dean’s arm as tightly as he could. Cas was thrashing and screaming in pain as Dean dragged him around the circle. The men around them laughed and spit on Cas and Dean only wanted to vomit. 

“Finish it”, Dean’s father said. “This has been going on for too long already.”

“Y-yessir.”

“Please”, Cas whimpered. “Please, I need you, I l-l-“

“Argh! Don’t you ever say anything like that homo shit to me again!” Dean roared. “Don’t you dare say anything to me again at all! Don’t ever come before me again!”

He carefully took aim and kicked Cas hard in the stomach. Cas screamed. Inside Dean was crying, but with a look to his father, he kicked Cas again. Harder this time, in the chest. Cas almost lifted off the ground as he was hurtled back more than two feet. Cas face contorted in pain and his breathing became raspy and irregular as he spat more blood.

Dean had to fight his tears. He couldn’t cry now. Not in front of his father. Not in front of the gang. They mustn’t know how much Cas meant to him. How happy he’d been with him in the few short weeks they’d had before the Hunter Gang, before his father had found out. About his… friend. That he spent time with a f-… a f-… Dean gulped. His father was so far gone, if he thought Cas had ‘turned his son gay’, he’d probably shoot him. And the gang would help clear the mess away, as always. For a single, golden moment in time Dean had thought that he’d escape the life his father lead. Cas had been everything Dean had ever wanted and never thought he could have. How had things snow-balled so fast from a chance meeting when he had been fencing his dad’s latest acquisitions at an antiques shop in Manhattan, to a shy invitation for coffee, to hours of talking, to chaste, then more and more passionate kisses, heated embraces, promises whispered in the dark to the sound of each other’s heartbeats? 

Dean clenched the scarf Cas had given him on their third date when he had been shaking with the cold of New York in January. The bright blue wool was flecked with red now. With a desperate cry, he slammed his foot into Cas again, wincing when there was only a voiceless groan. Then Cas lay still and did not move anymore.

“Ungodly creatures”, Dean’s father shook his head. “That’s everything that’s wrong with the world today - monsters, I tell you, all of them. Gotta show them that there’s no place in the world for them. Freaking sickos. However did you manage to collect that one, son?” 

His father shook his head.

“That’s ‘cause he’s just so pretty”, Benny snickered. The rest of the men all hooted with laughter.

“Well, can’t deny he’s got great genes”, his father grinned. He winked at Dean. “Come on, after a good night’s work, let’s find you some tail, son, gotta keep those genes in the pool!” 

Dean threw his head back in laughter even though he almost choked on it. Nobody had checked on Cas. He was lying on the floor, a crumpled heap of dirt and blood. Dean could not go and check on him either. What if Cas had believed Dean? What if he thought that Dean genuinely… Bile rose in his throat and he had to concentrate on breathing to keep the panic in check. His field of vision was swimming. He almost stumbled, but Benny caught him as they made their rowdy exit. 

“What, dude, did ya hit the bottle without me? Shouldna’ drink if ya can’t hold yer liquor”, he crowed. 

Dean didn’t answer.

— — —

The next thing Dean knew was that Cas was dead. His father told him that ‘the little faggot had snuffed it’, which was inconvenient because the body had to be taken care of and any investigations deflected. Dean was to lie low until everything was done and dusted. 

Dean broke. He lay on the floor, hugging the scarf, telling it everything he had wanted to tell Cas while sob after gut-wrenching sob tore out of him. When he had no more tears to spill, he invited his father over for a beer, and shot him. Benny had tagged along and tried to stop him, so Dean shot him too. He kissed the scarf, wound it tight around his neck, stuck the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was gone before he hit the floor.

— — — 

It had not occurred to Dean that his father might have been lying to him. When Castiel found Dean, he lost it. He tried to pry the gun from Dean’s hand, but the police was faster and stopped him. Eyes unfocused and babbling, he was put in a straightjacket despite the cast on his arm and committed to a surveilled ward. 

He was sitting on a narrow bed, now a thin hospital gown underneath the straightjacket, rocking himself, looking blindly out of a shuttered window, murmuring to himself about Dean, when the lights go out with a bang. The curtain drops.

Chapter Text

Thundering applause washes over the stage. Castiel blinks and shakes his head. The lights come  back on and one of the stagehands rushes towards him and helps him out off the straightjacket and into a dark robe. Castiel quickly slips off the fake cast as well. Most of the fake blood has been cleaned off when he had been offstage between the fight scene with Ronny, his dad and the gang, and Julian’s attempted suicide, but a make-up assistant gives him a quick wipe-down anyway. He got some of Dean/Ronny’s blood on himself when he was crying over his dead body, and there was no time to get rid of it again during the flying change into the hospital gown and the straightjacket to take off and put on again on top of that. 

Then the curtain rises again, and Castiel makes his way to the front of the stage to take his bow. Every last seat is filled. They had opened to rave reviews and every one of the eight weekly performances during their three week run had been fully booked. The fact that it had been a rather spontaneous gig due to the last show at the Roadhouse Theatre closing early (a friendly way of saying “Leviathans” had tanked spectacularly) had not dampened ticket sales in the slightest. When Bobby, the director, had called them up, both Castiel and Dean had happened to be free - a happy coincidence they had been waiting for ever since they had become friends at drama school. 

 Dean, Benny, Cain and the rest of the cast come onto the stage again, lining up to his left and his right. Dean gives him a quick half-hug. They take a bow altogether and jog off. Dean and Castiel immediately turn around again to receive their solo applause as the leads of the play. The audience cheers and makes even more noise. Today being closing night, the curtain call takes a bit longer than usual, but soon enough everybody is on their way to wardrobe village to relinquish their costumes for the last time. 

Crowley, the producer, had offered to let Cain and Dean, as well of the rest of the gang members, keep their custom made Monster Hunters Gang leather jackets as a souvenir, but all of them had respectfully but very decidedly declined. “Demons” is an award-winning play and a great chance for any leads to test their metal, but as beautiful as it was in some parts, it was tragic and horrific in others. They had known from the first read-through that some scenes were going to be harsh for everybody involved, but the response from both audience and critics alike had made it worth it. Even now the rumour mill was running hot about possible award nominations. However, all of them were happy to leave those particular parts behind them now, and given the connotations of the jackets in the play, the men were wondering what Crowley had been thinking to suggest they take the jackets home for everyday wear. When Cole, one of the ‘gang members’ said as much, Crowley blinked, looked surprised and then had at least the decency to look contrite and mumble a red-faced apology.

There is a mad dash for the showers, but whether it’s Castiel being one of the two leads or pity for all the fake blood and grime that has been smeared all over him during the evening, he’s always allowed in first. Also, being in only a hospital gown and a robe, he’s by far the fastest to get undressed and ready to shower anyway. He’ll be done by the time the rest of the boys have gotten rid of their leather costumes and all the gang bling. Besides, their fake tattoos will take an alcoholic solution to get them off, which they’ll have to do before the shower as well, unless they plan on smelling like clinical ethanol the rest of the evening if they do it after. Which, today, probably wouldn’t matter much, since they’ll be heading to the after-show-party pretty much straight away. 

On his way downstairs, Castiel runs into Jo, one of the prop masters. She’s grinning and tries to escape before he gets to her, but Castiel is not above grabbing one of the duct tape rolls dangling from her utility belt. Jo’s undignified squeak makes Castiel grin as well. But well, he’s got an axe to grind with her. He makes sure to hide his grin before he turns her around.

“Somebody switched the flavour of the blood capsules”, he growls. Might as well go for it and give her a scare, he reckons. “I thought I had ordered strawberry, but today I got sweet chilli. I wonder how that could have happened?” 

He narrows his eyes and glares at Jo as he crowds her against the corridor wall, his stance menacing. Castiel had won an Olivier for his part in “A Streetcar Named Desire” only last year, so he could look plenty menacing. But Jo only giggles. 

“Cas, come on, man, it’s the last performance, it’s practically required by law that the crew screws a little with the cast”, she laughs.

Castiel knows that, and is actually kind of pleased she was comfortable enough with him to try that - especially since he had assumed nobody would dare do anything considering how emotionally taxing his part was. Apart from Jo and Charlie, the head technician, the crew had been walking on eggshells around him. His grin is back on his face without him consciously allowing it. 

“Have you any idea how utterly horrible sweet chilli tastes? Artificially flavoured? Pure? In your mouth while you’re thinking of blood?” 

“Charlie and I ordered them on a pranking website - she tried one and actually threw up.”

Jo is laughing tears now and Castiel can’t help joining in.

“You know, I’ll get you back for that”, he promises.

“I’d like to see you try”, Jo quips.  Then a Cheshire cat smile spreads over her face and her eyes glitter with mischief. 

“But ask Dean what wardrobe did to him. Well, we helped, but if we’re getting into any trouble for that I’ll be pinning it all on Rhonda, so you haven’t heard anything from me, got it? Though I doubt he’s gonna tell Bobby that”, she cackles before she’s scampering off, presumably to tell Charlie about the success of another prank. Charlie’s booth in the back of the theatre is apparently not only the tech-HQ, but also prank-central.

Castiel is just about to close the bathroom door when Benny hurries over. It’s always busy after a show, but today it seems especially so. Benny gestures at Castiel’s arm, looking concerned. 

“Hey, Cas, brother, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright - I was worried I might have been a bit rough today”, he says, his drawling Cajun accent back in place. He looks so apologetic Castiel has to smile. 

“It’s alright, Benny, I’m fine - I was struggling a bit more than usual as well, what with it being the final performance and everything”, he grins. And it’s true. He had given Benny a rather hard time. But then, that’s what keeps a show alive when it’s running for weeks or even months: everybody being a little different every day, exploring and experiencing things slightly differently. 

Benny loses a bit of the tension that had been there in his shoulders. Subtle, but still. He doesn’t look entirely convinced though.

“Are you sure?” he asks, suspicion evident in his voice. “I know it’s a rough scene. And it seemed… really vicious today. Intense. More than usual.” Benny hesitates. “And with the cast and crew photo once the curtain was down, and everybody rushing off to get ready for the party, we haven’t hugged it out yet, either. Especially you and Dean.” 

‘Hugging it out’ has become their ritual after doing The Scene, as they have ended up calling it. Their little post-scene/show hugging session had started in rehearsals, mostly because of Dean and the troubles he was having going through with the homophobic slurs and the violence. Castiel was gay and Dean himself was bi, and they had been best friends for so many years, but not even the context of the play and the cast talking about everything at length had seemed to make it any easier for the other lead. In the end it had taken Bobby and Castiel sitting Dean down in private and telling him in no uncertain terms that yes, of course those were horrible things, that was the point of the play - “It is supposed to make you, hell, everybody, uncomfortable, idjit!” Castiel had reminded Dean sternly that they were both professional actors, just another Tuesday for us, Dean, and when Dean had looked at him so lost and insecure, Castiel had not been able to help himself and had, against his better judgement, simply hugged Dean. But they were both actors, so being touchy-feely amongst best friends surely was nothing weird, he had silently calmed himself. Above all, Dean, we’re friends, it’s alright, I know it’s all just pretend. By silent consensus they had started hugging after every time they played The Scene, and it had not taken long for the rest of the cast members who were in it with them to join in. And thus their little hugging ritual had been born.

“I know, Benny, we’ll simply do it once everybody has had their shower - it will be a memorable last hugging session with everybody for once not being soaked in sweat and runny make-up”, Castiel winks, going for lightness to put Benny at ease. It works.

“Sure thing, brother. Will be nice a nice change not having Cain’s smelly, wet beard in my face”, Benny snorts. “I’ll better get rid of that damn leather stuff then, I can feel it fusing to my skin. Certainly won’t be missing that.” He grimaces and takes off towards the wardrobe department. Cain’s propensity for sweating in the limelight is legendary, to the degree that he even brought his own special high-duty matting powder.

Once Benny is gone and the bathroom door closed and locked, Castiel sighs and leans against it. He is relieved that he has finally got a few moments on his own. With Benny he just made light of it so Benny would be at ease, but he always needs a few moments to simply breathe and catch himself after finishing a performance. Which, of course, has to do with how drained he feels after going through the entire rainbow of emotions within barely two hours, and sure, it’s a taxing role, but that’s all it is: a role. Castiel has never had problems keeping a part in a play apart from real life. The problem in this case is not the part. Or the play. Or the production or anything like that. It’s Dean. 

Castiel presses the palm of his hands against his eyes and slides down to the floor. He knows Dean is only acting, and he knows that Dean is a damn good actor, otherwise he wouldn’t have received a full scholarship for one of the top five drama schools in the country. All that knowing does not help him to keep his heart from stuttering painfully whenever he sees how Dean appears to be suffering. How his character is suffering. But Dean is feeling the same things. But he’s acting. But Castiel knows that, as much as Dean loves acting, he actually suffers through those scenes. And so the merry-go-round of his confused emotions goes merrily around in his head, faster and faster, until all Castiel can see are Dean’s wide open eyes, full with anguish and remorse and barely contained panic. Ronny’s eyes. Frankly, at this point, Castiel is far beyond the point of caring. He has known from the beginning that this entire thing, while an exceptional chance both for themselves and for raising awareness of an important cause, was going to be an utter mind-fuck. 

Castiel sighs again. The breathing exercise is slowly kicking in and Castiel can feel his heart rate going down a little. Not much, but that has other reasons. Reasons where breathing exercises, if he was to go by experience, won’t be going to do the trick. And again, as virtually always, the problem is Dean. Castiel is a professional actor, and seeing a colleague enact a repulsive scene or character was nothing that he should not be able to deal with. Often enough it is him acting those parts, and if he did not have everything tidily compartmentalised in his head, he probably would be worrying about how authentic he must be when he's portraying some of those monsters to win as many prizes for it as he does.

The problem is both ridiculously simple and complex, namely that he is in love with Dean. Has been, since before they had graduated a couple of years before. Before that, it had been friendship, and then a crush, and then, by and by, sneakily, without him realising it, that crush, instead of doing what all passing infatuations do, i.e. pass, had solidified and made itself at home. And one day Castiel had been watching Dean’s droll antics in one of the stage-fighting classes and suddenly, out of the blue, he had realised that he was deeply, irrevocably, in love with his best friend. The problem then had been not so much Dean, but Dean in his turn not being in love with Castiel. The fact that Dean is bi and could, technically, be very much in love with him, has not helped Castiel much. Because obviously, Dean wasn’t, and isn’t. As was evidenced by him slowly but surely affair-ing his way through his drama class. Rumours had it that, by graduation, he had indeed managed to sleep with all but the lesbians, the actually straight boys, and the deeply closeted ones, and seeing how much alcohol had been around at some of the parties during their studies, even some of the straight guys were up for discussion. Nowadays there are fewer rumours, but still enough. Castiel has never asked Dean about any of them, and Dean has never offered up any information either. However, while that entire thing is plenty depressing, Castiel has grown used to it and, in his humble opinion, he is dealing with it admirably on a day to day basis. 

Castiel had considered saying no to Bobby, when he had made him the offer. Ever since Castiel and Dean had realised that both of them were training to be actors, they had wanted to work together, but first being in different classes at school and then their professional life had kept that from happening. So Castiel just could not get himself to decline. Not even once he realised which play it would be and what that would entail. The fight sequence was bad, sure, but that was not what had him worried most. Their two characters fell madly in love with each other, and there was a lot of physicality involved, some of it rather explicit - as deep as Ronny and Julian fell at the end, in the first half of the play they were as high up as lovers could possibly get. And having Dean looking at him like that, smiling at him like that, touching him like that, kissing him like that, was torture of an entirely different kind. So, the first thing he had told Bobby and Dean and then the cast at the first read-through was that he would be going method, “as always”. 

— — — 

“So, if I may, just to let everyone know: I am a method actor, so I will be going in deep here as well. I hope nobody is going to be too uncomfortable with this, but that is the way that works best for me”, Castiel said, making it sound almost like an afterthought. 

Bobby shrugged.

“Y’all know my take on the matter, I won’t be telling any of you how to do yer job, as long as you know what you’re doing. However, this is a pretty intense thing with a couple of pretty dark places, so if you’re going through with this, I do want yer promise to come and talk to me if you suspect that there might even be a hint of trouble. I don’t want you ending up stuck in an unhealthy spot, and I sure as hell don’t want to have to cancel a performance ‘cause one of my leads has gone off the rails. Don’t laugh, it’s happened.”

“Of course, Bobby.”

“And that’s the law for everyone - anything comes up, anything at all, you talk. Got it? And Dean I’m not looking at you just ‘cause yer pretty.”

Dean spluttered with embarassment but huffed his OK.

Once the read-through was over and they were on their home, Dean shuffled up to Castiel.

“You never mentioned you were into method”, Dean said, confusion evident on his face.

Which was entirely true. Castiel had never done any more method acting than the one required in the, appropriately named, method acting classes at school. 

Castiel wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he knew he’d have to be careful. Dean had an uncanny knack for knowing when people around him were acting. He was like a bloodhound sniffing out lies. Which was one of the reasons, Castiel supposed, why Dean himself was as good as he was. He noticed all the mistakes and avoided them himself. And, again much like a bloodhound, Dean would not let anything go until he was sure he had gotten to the bottom of it, especially if it concerned his best friend. While that concern made Castiel feel all fluffy and warm inside, it was also sublimely unhelpful in his current situation, and so, to cover up his lie, Castiel was going to guilt-trip Dean. He wasn’t happy about it, but the alternative simply wasn’t an option. 

“Well, whenever we discussed acting techniques and theories, you rather made fun of method acting, and I simply did not feel comfortable telling you that that was my method of choice”, Castiel shrugged, giving Dean an incredulous look, as if it was the most obvious and logical thing ever.

Dean immediately crumpled. His face fell so fast and so far, Castiel felt he might have to go looking for it in the cellar. 

“Oh.” 

That was all Dean said. His jaw was working furiously. Dean looked so miserable that, for a moment, Castiel almost got weak. 

“I’m really sorry, Cas, I never meant…”

“I’m pretty sure you did mean it then.”

Castiel wanted to hit himself for making Dean feel even worse, but in the face of the very real possibility of completely fucking up their friendship, he felt this was a minor issue. Dean’s mouth had run away with him on enough other occasions. Though on this particular occasion it had been Castiel who had started the dissing. Hopefully, Dean was not going to remember that. Hopefully, Castiel was going to be able to deal with just how bad this entire thing was starting to make him feel.

Dean swallowed.

“Yeah, maybe, but if I had known the way you felt I would have been more respectful about it. I’m not religious, but I don’t go around making fun of religion in the front of religious people either”, Dean said, finally lifting his eyes to look at Castiel again. “I really am sorry, Cas.”

And that was the reason why Castiel was in trouble right there. Dean was just way too nice, and Castiel was feeling like a cad. 

“It’s alright, Dean, I know”, he said. Guilt tripping Dean had worked, but it had also thoroughly backfired. “If it had genuinely bothered me all that much I would have said something.”

“You would have, right?” Dean gives him a slightly distrustful stare. 

“Yes, I would have. Satisfied?” 

— — — 

Dean had smiled at that and that had been it. The reason for the method thing was simply that Castiel did not trust himself to be able to switch seamlessly between the default acting ’not-having-any-romantic-feelings-for-Dean’ and the ‘not-having-to-hide-his-feelings-for-Dean’ which, under the circumstances, was a questionable basis on which to model Julian’s feelings for Ronny. With a wry smile Castiel had thought that he actually was kind of being a little bit method here. 

And he had been correct. Once he was allowed to have those smiles and those touches in the play, he could not stop giving them in between rehearsals and performances. More importantly, while he might have been able to had he absolutely had to, he didn’t want to. For once in his life, Castiel was being utterly selfish, even if he knew that it was morally grey at best, and he decided to relish these five weeks and take everything he could, because he knew it would have to last him the rest of his life, or at least however long it would take to finally fall out of love with Dean. He just suspected that, while much more melodramatic, the former was also the much more reasonable estimate. 

With a groan Castiel makes himself stand up and get ready to shower. He grimaces when he pulls off the medical tape that holds the now torn cellophane pouches in place which in their turn had held some of the artificial blood. There was no time to remove them between the scenes. However, no matter how uncomfortable removing the tape might be, Castiel would be lying if he said he did not enjoy fight scenes, even, and sometimes especially, if he is the one getting beat up. From a technical standpoint, getting beat up is, at times, probably the more active part of the two. And the fact that nobody in the audience knows how closely choreographed the entire thing is, how he is the one in control, makes Castiel giddy beyond measure. This is why he loves acting: the orchestrated effort of an entire group of people at playing pretend. 

Also, while he had always known that he loved stage fighting, he had, in the course of the rehearsals for this production, discovered a considerable kink for getting pretend-beat-up by Dean. He is not sure how he feels about that, but hell would probably freeze over before he’d ever tell Dean anyway. It is his love for acting and pretend celebrating a joyful union with his love for Dean and Dean’s concern for him.   

The audience did not see it, if it’s well done they never do, but every single one of ‘Ronny’s’ supposedly vicious actions brimmed with carefulness. Dean’s punches had always stopped perfectly in time to give him just a helpful push to convincingly act being thrown back by it. Getting dragged around by his hair was his favourite part. That was actually Castiel clinging to Dean’s arm and throwing himself around while Dean pretended to have a tight hold on his hair. Castiel had very much enjoyed having Dean’s hand in his hair. When Ronny was kicking Julian, Dean always aimed so carefully to slam his foot into the floor just centimetres away from Castiel. It was the same with the entire cast, that is just how stage-fighting works, but with Dean Castiel knows that he would rather break his own leg than hurt him. 

It is weird, but Castiel had rarely felt as safe as with Dean ‘beating him up’. ‘Dancing with him’ is probably a better word. The fact that Dean’s entire attention had been on him had not been detrimental either. But thinking of dancing this way makes Castiel think of dancing in another sense, and that is where his newly discovered role-play kink comes in. There is the other scene, sure, but the fight scene… Just thinking of the way Dean looks when he pretends to be bad while only having Castiel’s wellbeing in mind makes Castiel’s dick twitch. Standing above him, all rippling muscles and trembling with barely contained emotions. He turns on the water, and while he is waiting for it to heat up, he gives himself permission to relive his favourite scenes. By the time he steps into the shower, he is hard. 

The entire cast and crew think he is looking as pitifully as he does in this scene because of his part, and that’s true. It’s also true that the scene bothers him because Dean’s anguish in it is played so well that even Castiel can’t help feeling some of it might be real - half the tears he’s crying in that scene are because Dean is crying. But most of the time it is mostly desperation - Castiel hoping desperately that he won’t go popping an extremely inappropriate boner. Half the triumph he feels every time the curtain falls after a successful performance is for making it through both the sex scenes and the fight scene without little Castiel making a guest appearance. 

When he feels the heat pooling in his groin and everything growing tight, he moves from the fight scene to the sex scene. The main one, the one Castiel is picturing now, is a love scene, really - slow, and reverent and tender. When Castiel feels himself coming close, for just a moment, he allows himself to imagine that, like him, Dean is not actually acting in the scene. That Dean is looking at Castiel that way. The vision of green eyes overflowing with love for Castiel is what takes him over the edge.

After a couple of minutes of floating on the bliss of his orgasm and that feeling of his chest being much too small for his heart, Castiel slowly tumbles back to reality. To Dean being just his best friend, to his guilt for lying to Dean, because that’s what it feels like he is doing in that scene when it is him kissing Dean and not Julian kissing Ronny. And to his mortification at what he does in the shower after every performance, and at the knowledge that he won’t be strong enough to stop. But mainly, to the fact that this is a dream that is not true now and never will be.

Castiel forces himself to finish his shower and makes his way to the dressing room. He’s got to get ready for the party. One last hurrah of ‘emotions spilling over from the stage to real life’, before he will have to start acting again. 

Chapter Text

The moment Dean has made his way off the stage and into the wings, Kevin, one of the interns at the theatre, holds out a cup of water. Dean gulps it down greedily before Garth from make-up is up in his face with a wet towel, hurriedly wiping away any blood he managed to splatter himself with. He gives Dean another towel to clean his hands. Jo appears by his side and unceremoniously lifts his jacket and shirt to slip the gun prop into the back of his belt. 

“Watch it, Winchester, gun in place. Two blanks, third bang triggered by me backstage at your signal”, she rattles off like always. She hands him an open beer bottle, filled with water. “Try not to break it, we’re still picking up shards from last time.”

“One time, Harvelle, one bloody time, three weeks ago during previews!” he mutters. It had not even been his fault, not really, but Jo only sticks out her tongue at him and disappears. However, all the evidence had long been taken care of, meticulously so. Nobody was keen on having pieces of broken glass all over the stage. Cain had been supposed to catch it, and when he had missed it, the bottle had shattered on the floor - which had lead to Dean, Cain and Benny having to mess up the blocking as they, upon being shot, could not fall down where they were supposed to because of the glass. So Cas, in his turn, had been forced to cry over Dean’s body in a weird corner halfway off the stage, before stage-management had given one of the policemen a brush and a dustpan to clean up the glass. Usually Cas was barefoot in the last scene, but this time he obviously couldn’t, so stage-management had been frantically sourcing any sort of marginally suitable shoes for him to wear as a mental patient. In the end, that had been slightly too small, hot-pink crocs, which apparently belonged to Donna, one of the stage-door receptionists.

Now Dean has about a minute to breathe before he’ll be going back in and be told about Cas’ death. Dean shakes his head. Julian. Julian’s death. He has never felt this far down the rabbit hole, but today would be the last time. Dean is usually sorry to see a production go, but in this case he is kind of glad the run is over. Dean knows he isn’t hurting Cas, and he knows that Cas is acting, but seeing Cas hurt and in pain and crying like this, telling him - telling Ronny - that he loved and needed him, is seriously messing with Dean’s head. Even if he knows that Cas was just one hell of an actor and that it is all fake, from the blood to the fight to the tears. Well, real tears, sure; Cas working his body up into spilling them. But for all intents and purposes Cas is crying, and what Dean is doing is making him cry more, and Dean is fighting hard to not simply kneel down, pick him up and carry him away to somewhere where he can sit him down, wrap him in a blanket, make it all better, kiss it all better. 

Kiss it all better?  

Dean groans.

And that’s why Dean Winchester cannot have nice things. Such as the cutest, smartest, kindest, hottest, most adorably quirky, in short, most amazing Cas-named best friend EVER. Because Dean will see all the reasons why falling in love with your completely uninterested best friend is a breathtakingly idiotic idea, and then do it anyway. And then jump on the chance to star with him in the one play where he’d get to finally, finally, kiss Cas, to touch him. To openly love him with all his heart. And where he’d then have to be an utter asshole and make Cas cry. Before the rehearsals had started, Dean had not thought all that much of it - hey, kissing Cas, fight scenes with Cas, what’s not to like? Dean loves fight scenes, and he had suspected very strongly that he’d love kissing Cas, an assumption that had turned out to be correct. Painfully so. The fight scene, however, had come with an unexpected twist. 

Before Dean can soak any further in his self-pity, it’s his cue again and he goes onstage to tear up over losing Cas for the penultimate time this evening. The final time will be when he gets home from the party and the adrenaline wears off. When it will finally sink in that today was the last time he will ever get to kiss Cas. Because what are the chances they are ever going to get to play lovers again? At least Dean can manage to stop himself from entertaining any thoughts about even thinking about him and Cas as real-life lovers. He might be weak and give in to many temptations, but that is place he is not going. Not again. Never again. 

Nothing had ever hurt as much as realising that Dean would never be with Cas, because Cas simply wasn’t interested in him. And when he had finally managed to kick his ass out of his bed at the end of the summer after his first year at uni, when Cas had gone home to his family, a summer spent sleeping and crying and staring at the ceiling with burning eyes when there were no tears left, he had sworn to himself that he would never return to that place. He had basked in his warm, cozy dream for one last short moment, before he had carefully tucked those feelings away in the deepest corner of his heart, locked them up, and thrown the key away. 

The last weeks had shown him that that deepest corner was much closer to the surface than he had thought, and the lock much more brittle than he had hoped.

So, in about ten minutes, Dean will once more cry about everything he has lost in the play and will never have in real life. Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all… even if it was only second-hand. But Dean will take what he can get, and he clings to every scrap of love Cas shows him, even if it is not meant for Dean but Ronny. He will work through this, and maybe one day, he will be able to look at Cas without wanting to hold him tight, without physically hurting from holding himself back from doing it. 

But maybe he will never have to worry about this anyway. Cas has become less and less comfortable with spending time with him over the last four weeks, so maybe, once this is over, Cas will do his best to never see Dean again anyway. Dean even has a good idea why: it is his own fault for being the unprofessional idiot that he is, for slipping up and making his best friend so monumentally uncomfortable that Cas is trying to actively avoid Dean, that he cannot even look Dean in the eye. The play might have been a huge stepping stone for them professionally, but, by the looks of things, it has also blown a devastating hole in their friendship. A hole that is starting to look much too big to patch up.

— — — 

“Right, guys, I know you’re all thinking about the fight scene anyway, so we’ll get that elephant out of the room and start with blocking that one,” Bobby said. “Lafitte, show us what you’ve got.”

Benny nodded. He had been cast to play Franky, one of the gang members, but he was also the fight choreographer for the production. He quickly outlined the scene and his ideas for it. 

“We’ll start with the gang in a half-circle, Dean in the centre, Cain outside, stage right. Start out a little further up-stage - yeah, like that. I’ll enter up-stage on the left, dragging Castiel along with me. Once I throw him down in front of Dean - Dean maybe a bit more to the right, brother, so you’re closer to Cain here - the gang can move in, come a bit more down-stage. Make it feel crowded and claustrophobic, but remember to leave space for the fight. Maybe think like the lower third of the stage. What do you think, Bobby?” Benny turned to the director.

“Looking good so far,” Bobby nodded. “What about the fight?”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, but I think it’s important we work something out that everybody feels comfortable with,” Benny answered. “I thought we could have three stages to the fight: punching, dragging around, and finally some kicking. You feeling up to that?”

Dean looked at Cas. Cas was focused on Benny, but turned to face him at Benny’s question. He shrugged.

“Sounds good to me. What about dragging me around by my hair? Dean?”

“Sure, let’s give it a go.”

They tried all of Benny’s ideas and decided on a rough outline. The details and the exact timing would be worked out later, when they would be including their lines. Bobby quickly set out the rest of the scene.

“Exit stage-left, make a ruckus leaving. Cain in the lead, then the gang. Dean, maybe stumble a little, the entire thing’s making you physically unwell. Benny, next comes yer line, hitting the bottle, maybe steady Dean a little. Dean exits next and you follow him. Castiel stays-“

Charlie was bending over with laughter, tears in her eyes. Everybody turned and stared at her where she was sitting on the side, taking notes.

“Charlie?” 

“Exit, pursued by a bear!”

Dean’s incredulous look was mirrored by the entire cast and crew.  

“Oh my Spock,” Charlie wheezed. “Dean… exiting, followed by Benny. Exit pursued by a bear.”

Dean groaned and he entire cast broke down in giggles. It took some time to call everybody to order, but beneath his half-hearted annoyance his eyes were twinkling with amusement. 

In the afternoon of that day, when they were working on the details and what lines would go where and how they would tie in with the fight, Dean discovered that he was having problems getting his lines out. They had talked about everything at length at the read-through and before the scene, but now that he was supposed to say them to Cas and mean them, when he saw Cas lying on the floor before him, his throat was dry. The words simply would not come. After more than half a dozen failed attempts of starting the scene, Bobby called a break and told everybody to take five, before gruffly telling Dean to get his ass down here, and Cas to tag along.

Bobby did not waste any time on talking around the matter. 

“Dean, if this is about the homophobic bullshit, we talked about this. You’ll have to get over yerself and just do it. We all know it’s the text, it’s not like anybody here thinks that that’s how you’re feeling, idjit.”

Dean nodded. That was not the problem; that wasn’t what he was worried about.

Bobby gave him a knowing glance.

“There’s another reason, isn’t there.”

Dean sighed. He wished Cas wasn’t standing next to him right now. 

“It’s not that I’m worried about what people might think. I know it’s a line, I’m an actor, that’s what I do. It’s just…” Dean took a deep breath. He’d have to own up to this one; there wasn’t really a way around it. He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of them though, but thankfully Bobby’s notes on the table set up in the middle of the auditorium were very interesting. “It’s just that it makes me uncomfortable saying that shit to Cas, acting or not.”

“It is supposed to make you, hell, everybody, uncomfortable, idjit!” Bobby huffed, but there was no heat behind his words.

Cas was silent, but when Dean finally couldn’t bear it any longer and looked up, Cas’ eyes were soft and there was a warm smile on his face. 

“Dean, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s alright. This is just another Tuesday for us,” Cas said, and Dean only wanted to hug him and hide his face in his neck and breath him in and never let him go again. Suddenly Cas filled the space between them and him a tight hug. It felt like coming home after years of trudging through a blizzard. Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest and he was glad Cas could not see his face. Ever since rehearsals had started and Cas had been getting into character, he had been more and more open with his touches, and Dean was craving them. They were only two days in, and already Dean could feel himself slowly going insane. “Above all, Dean, we’re friends, it’s alright, I know it’s all just pretend.” 

…it’s all just pretend. And that was the sentence that always brought Dean back down again. Because none of the smiles, none of the shy glances, none of the soft touches were really for Dean. They were for Ronny. And it wasn’t Cas smiling at him either, it was Julian.

Right now, maybe it was Cas giving him, giving Dean, a hug, though. Dean knew he was being ridiculous, but Cas’ unexpected method acting was already messing with his head, and he knew that by the end of it, he’d be utterly screwed.

He made it through the scene the next time they rehearsed it and somehow he and Cas drifted towards each other after the scene was finished and hugged each other again. Dean couldn’t say who had hugged whom first, but he wasn’t going to complain. They started giving each other a hug every time they finished the scene and, when rehearsals were further along, the play. Once the other actors noticed, they soon joined in.

The next day Bobby brought up the main love scene. There was some groping and some rutting against each other in other scenes, but nothing explicit. The main love scene was different though.

“It is kind of a symbol for everything good they share, so we gotta keep this classy. I don’t want people coming to see this play only because of smut, no matter whether it’s critically acclaimed or controversial. Ideas?” Bobby looked at his cast and crew expectantly.

Charlie waved and opened her notebook.

“We were talking about the lighting scheme yesterday evening, and that got me thinking. We’re starting out with a slightly dreary light, which gets all light and golden with bright colours as they fall in love, and turns dark and reddish when things go to shit. How about we use light for the love scene as well? We could have a backlit screen, so the audience only gets to see the shadows of what’s going on”, Charlie suggested. Then she smirked. ”It’s really romantic, and it can look really awesome if done well. We’ll need a choreography though, otherwise it’s just gonna be weird shadows and likely out of focus.”

Bobby thought about it for a moment.

“A bit like shadow theatre, you mean?”

Charlie nodded.

“Pretty much, yeah. I know it’s not a new idea, but it would look good and give us the freedom we need - we can have a great love scene without having to worry about things getting seedy. Come to think about it, they wouldn’t even have to go all the way - if Dean and Cas wear some tight briefs, they could strip their pants and even their boxers without actually having to go full monty. Unless they want to, of course.”

Charlie winked at him and Dean’s brain supplied him a fine array of images and the main reason why doing this scene actually naked was not going work without them veering off into another type of live-performance altogether. Being naked on stage was something many actors did at least once in their career - what better way to show how committed one was to their craft. It spelt professionalism in capital letters. Dean knew that in this case, he could kiss his much valued professionalism good-bye, and he did his best to hide just how grateful he was for Charlie’s solution. He wasn’t an exhibitionist, not by any length, and normally, if there was one place on earth where he didn’t have to worry about popping a boner, then that was on a stage in front of a theatre full of people. But he and Cas naked, touching each other, rubbing against each other… Dean could feel the sweat beading on his brow and little Dean perking up even now.

“We’ll do that then,” Bobby agreed, and Dean jumped when he didn’t immediately realise that Bobby was answering Charlie’s and not Dean’s thoughts. “Castiel, Dean, we’ll work on that choreo later, come up with some ideas until then.”

— — — 

Dean’s mind had come up with some ideas, alright. He’d tried getting them out of his system during his shower once he’d come home in the evening, but they’d shown much more endurance than he had, and had stuck around. 

With the biggest challenges out of the way, the rest of the rehearsals had gone smoothly. Soon enough, their very limited number of previews (it was a very limited run, so they were lucky to have any previews at all) and then press night and then opening night had rolled around. Their reviews were enthusiastically positive, and Ellen, the owner of the Roadhouse Theatre, opened the bar that night for everybody to celebrate. 

Dean is sitting in the same spot today as he did then, blandly sipping beer in front of him. The party around him is still in its warm-up stage - most actors haven’t made it out of the changing rooms yet, and the crew is still cleaning up. Normally they would be prepping for the next performance, but since it was the last performace, the crew have probably already started packing stuff away. They will have to vacate the the theatre by tomorrow evening, so that the next production will be able to start setting up the day after. 

After the photo, Dean had taken off. He had shot off a text to Rhonda that she could come pick up his costume in his dressing room when she was done with the rest - very bad manners, but Dean had felt that after Rhonda’s prank today, she owed him. Big time. Like, probably for forever. Then he had bribed Bela to let her use the ladies’ shower room while she and Rowena were with Meg to get their make-up removed. He had been about to duck out of the stage door, when he had seen Cas coming out of the showers. Dean had hidden behind a door.

When he had finally made it out of the door, his entire family had been there, hugging him and congratulating him to a great last performance and a successful run. There had been much ribbing about the love scenes from Sam and Jess. Dean had felt his head go up in flames. John had blushed and tried not to look at his son while congratulating him anyway, and Mary had blushed and playfully told him off for not telling her about the hanky-panky, before hugging him with tears in her eyes because the ending had been so sad, saying she had been crying all the way through the second half of the play to see her baby suffer like this. Dean’s weak protests that he had told them not to come see this one were swallowed up amongst all of Sam’s snickering and Jess’ giggling. Still, for a rare moment, the pair of them had sobered up and told them how amazing they thought the play and their performance had been. 

Dean had offered that they could join the party, but his parents preferred to go home as they were tired, and Sam and Jess were meeting a couple of friends to go dancing. Before they had taken off, Sam had taken Dean aside.

“How are you doing?” he’d asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

Sam had only given him a knowing look. 

“It’s been years, Dean. I had been hoping that maybe… you’d finally have the nerve to ask Cas out. You looked really… comfortable with each other on stage.”

Dean had given a dry laugh.

“That’s called acting, Sammy. That’s what we get payed for.”

Dean had not been able to stomach Sam’s sad puppy eyes and had quickly said his good-byes and good-nights.

Dean waves Ellen over and orders another beer. When Ellen plunks it down in front of him, she gives him a concerend look.

“Isn’t it a bit early to get drunk when most of the cast hasn’t even shown up yet? Everything alright?”

Dean keeps himself from pulling a face. He should probably get his shit together and start acting as if he was enjoying the party. He gives Ellen a tired smile.

“Yeah, thanks. Everything’s good, I’m just tired. Plus, it was the last performance, you know how it is. Always feels a little weird.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Just slow down a little, so you can all get wasted together,” she winks, satisfied. 

Dean chuckles and nods. He keeps the smile on his face throughout the evening. They finally have their hugging ritual, and if Dean hugs Cas a little tighter than he usually would then that’s just because it’s the final performance. During the party, Cas comes over a couple of times, hovering close to him, touching him at every chance. When Dean’s smile slips a little half-way through the evening, Cas seems to realise what he is doing and takes his hand away.

“Whoops, sorry about that, Dean. I should really start getting properly out of character,” he grimaces and shrugs apologetically. 

“Na, don’t worry, it’s alright. I know it’s just the rest of Julian in your system,” he smiles good-naturedly. Inside, Dean is screaming. He is on his last leg. He can’t take this any longer. His chest is a single ball of hurt and he feels as if he can’t breath anymore. 

When nobody is looking, he grabs his stuff and disappears. He makes his exit unseen, with nobody the wiser. It’s a shitty thing to do, and he should say good-bye properly to everyone, but he’ll see them again tomorrow when he comes to collect his stuff. He’ll have to time it so that he won’t run into Cas. After having Cas look at him the way he has been looking at him for the last month, Dean is afraid he won’t be able to bear Cas not looking at him like that anymore. Especially if Cas really doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. He’ll need some time. Maybe he could ask Benny to spy for him. They’ll want to know why he left so abruptly, and in a spur of the moment decision he texts Benny that he just scored big time and asks him to tell everybody thanks, good work, and good-night. He’ll see them himself tomorrow. It’s an asshole move, but hell, everybody thinks he’s after tail constantly anyway. Nobody will think anything of it, except that he’s being a bit more of a jerk about it than usual.  

Dean opens the door to the lively Saturday night outside and shivers. The air is cool and fresh and Dean gulps it down, trying to force away the black spots in his vision. He tells himself that leaving like this is nothing his reputation won’t survive. He wonders whether the same can be said about his heart. But then, he had known that there was a countdown to when his heart would shatter like that unfortunate bottle all those weeks ago. That countdown had started when Cas had kissed Ronny for the first time, when Dean had struggled to remember his lines for the rest of the scene. It clicks to zero when the door falls closed behind him.