Chapter Text
“Stupid idea, Sammy. It ain’t gonna happen.”
“It’s for charity, Dean. I’ve already got Jon Bon Jovi paired up with Yo Yo Ma, Nickleback paired with Joshua Bell.”
“Stop…not my thing. I’m not doing a Christmas song with some tuxedo wearing jackass banging on a piano.”
“Castiel Novak isn’t…I don’t even know why I bother. I’ll ask Adam Levine.”
“Adam Levine!” Dean squawked. “Okay, I’ll do it. But I get to pick the song.”
“Fine, as long as it’s a classic Christmas carol.”
“Silver Bells.” Sammy looked so relieved that Dean laughed. “What, did you think I was going to pick ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas’ or some shit like that?”
“I wouldn’t have been surprised.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.” Dean gave his brother a hug but right before he got to the door of Sam’s office, Sam called out, “We need to start laying down tracks in August for release of the CD on December 1.”
“We’ll see. You do remember that we have concerts booked and the new CD coming out at the end of the summer?”
“You have no dates booked for August and the new CD will already be cut by then.”
Dean pulled a perfect ‘bitch face’ before slamming Sam’s door. Sam grinned. He knew bluffing with Adam Levine would piss Dean off enough that he’d do the CD. As Dean’s manager and publicist, Sam knew more about Dean’s life than Dean did. Sam looked down at the picture on his desk. Dean at the age of fifteen with his first band. They called themselves ‘Colt’ after an old gun their father had. By the time Sam went off to college, Dean was playing with some of the biggest names in the business.
Seven years ago, Dean formed his own band, Impala 67 and they became and overnight sensation. Dean’s looks, voice and crazy talent for the guitar had put them at the top of the charts and every concert was a sellout. Sam, a lawyer, left his job at the public defender’s office and became Dean’s manager, and later, his publicist. Sam basically handled all of Dean’s affairs.
He picked up his phone. “Garth, I got Dean on board. Did you get a chance to talk to Novak?"
“What did you have to threaten him with? The Dean I know and love hates Christmas music.”
“I told him I was getting Adam Levine.”
“Damn, boy, you’re cold.”
Sam laughed. “What about Novak?”
“He said he’d do it if the song was right.”
“Let him know it’s Silver Bells.”
***
Dean sat on the bus, strumming his guitar and writing down the music and lyrics of a song he’d been trying to get on paper for the last three weeks. The tour was winding down, only two more towns and then they had the entire month of August off.
Frustrated because the words weren’t coming, he put his guitar back in its case. He kicked back on his bed and pulled up YouTube on his Ipad. He typed in Castiel Novak and for the next hour, he watched video after video of the man playing at different venues, from Carnegie Hall to Madison Square Gardens to Central Park. The man was freakin’ gorgeous. After he watched every video available, he typed in Novak’s name into Google. By the time the bus rolled into Atlanta, Dean Winchester was an expert on the pianist. He even knew about the very public breakup between him and his manager, Luc Damian, a Broadway actor. Apparently, Novak came home to find Damian with a twenty year old twink. Damian’s little lover leaked the story to the press and they had a field day. The little shit told all the rags that Damian told him that Novak was a lousy lover. That happened late last year and Dean couldn’t find any more information of Novak’s dating habits.
Impala 67 played for a sold out crowd in Atlanta, another in St. Louis and ended with his Welcome Home concert in Kansas City on July 27th. Sam picked him up from CrossroadsKC, the outdoor venue where Dean always finished his tours. The rest of the band stayed on to celebrate the end of another successful tour, but Dean just wanted to get home and see his family.
Sam gave him a running commentary on the new motorhome that Bobby and Ellen bought and Jo’s on again off again romance with Mark.
“I gave Castiel your email address and he said he’d be getting in touch to set up some practice times.”
“Practice? Jesus, Sam, it’s a freakin’ Christmas song. We just go to the studio, he plays, I play and sing and we’re done.”
“It’s a duet and neither of you has ever worked with the other before. I think you should get together and practice.”
“He sings too?” Dean was shocked, there were no videos on that piece of trivia.
“Yeah. He’s got a beautiful voice, great for the blues. I thought you two could play with the arrangement and make it yours. He’s willing to come here to practice.”
“Here? Man, he lives in New York, why would he want to come here? Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
“How do you know he lives in New York? You Googled him didn’t you?” Sam grinned.
“Yeah, so what? I wanted to check out who I’m being stuck with for the next month.”
“I told Gabe we had a recording studio and he said Castiel jumped at the chance to get out of New York. He really is a great guy, Dean.”
“And a lousy lay, if the tabloids are to be believed.”
Sam gave him his famous ‘bitch face’. “Damian is a bag of dicks.”
“How do you know so much about Novak?”
“His brother, Gabe, is a friend of mine. Garth Fitzgerald is putting the CD together, it was his idea to match rock stars and classical musicians.”
“Well, Garth knows his shit.” Dean had known Garth for several years. Everything the music mogul touched turned to gold.
“So, when is Novak flying in?” Dean asked as they pulled into his driveway. The house looked the same. The house had once belonged to his parents. Dean renovated it a few years back, putting in a recording studio in the garage and updating the entire house. He also kept a small apartment in New York and LA, though he rarely used them. Kansas was home, it was where he could write music and relax from the stress of being on the road.
***
“Why do I have to go to Iowa? Can’t the prima donna come here?” Castiel was not in a great mood. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he was in a good mood.
“It’s Kansas, not Iowa. Dean Winchester is far from being a prima donna and if you did your homework, like I asked, you would know that.” Gabe was patient with his younger brother, but since the media had a field day with Castiel’s breakup with that slimy actor, his sibling was very difficult to be around. The only time he relaxed was when he was playing.
“How are we going to practice without a decent recording studio? Let me guess, I’ll be playing a portable keyboard in his garage while he jumps around with his guitar screeching into a microphone.”
“Have you even heard the man? God, Castiel, when did you become such a snob?” Gabe knew the answer. Two years with Damian. His brother had been warm, funny and a bit naïve until Damian got hold of him.
“Look, Gabe, I know you mean well, but I just don’t think a Christmas compilation CD is right for me.”
“Garth Fitzgerald is producing this CD, Castiel. Garth Fuckin’ Fitzgerald. You cannot afford to say no.” It went without saying that since his public humiliation, Castiel’s own CD sales had declined.
“Fine, but I’m not playing some stupid song. If I’m going to do this, it will be a traditional carol.”
“I think Winchester picked ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas’.”
“What? Oh, hell no.” Castiel’s voice was almost a screech.
Gabe laughed and Castiel shook his head at his older brother. “You are an ass, Gabe.”
Later that evening, Castiel looked out of the large pane of glass in his Central Park West apartment. The New York skyline twinkled in the darkness. He turned and trailed a hand over his ebony baby grand as he walked by. Dropping his clothing in the hamper, he slid into his Egyptian cotton sheets, loving how the fabric felt on his bare skin. Opening his Ipad, he asked Siri to find Dean Winchester. There were hundreds of videos of the man and his band. Castiel as surprised that Winchester’s music was more Maroon 5 and less Metallica. He was just as hot as Adam Levine too. Maybe even hotter, not that Castiel cared about that. Wikipedia had a long article about him, from his earlier days as a backup musician to the more recent events, such as his last CD going platinum. Searching images, Castiel located several pictures of Winchester and a gorgeous redhead, but there were just as many with the rocker and a petite blonde. No mention of a wife and kids though, which was not surprising. Being a musician on the road several months out of the year didn’t really make lasting relationships possible.
Castiel spent the next few weeks at Julliard as a guest lecturer. This was something he enjoyed. Working with young students, seeing their passion. Passion he used to have before Luc stole it from him by bringing a stupidly young Broadway dancer into their home, into their bed. The same stupid dancer that told the tabloids about his affair with the Tony winning actor and spilled all their pillow talk. Apparently, Luc had been bored with Castiel’s lack of enthusiasm in the bedroom. He failed to tell them that Luc was the one who was so strung out on drugs and alcohol that half the time he couldn’t even get an erection.
The first of August came and Castiel’s luggage was loaded into the belly of the airliner. Gabe stood with him at the TSA gate. “You look like you have a stick up your ass. Why are you wearing a freakin’ tie, Bro? You’re just flying to Kansas, not performing at the Gardens.”
“I would be wearing a tux if I were performing at the Gardens, Gabe.”
“Don’t be obtuse.” Gabe straightened his brother’s tie. Smiling at the way it was tied backwards. Castiel never could learn how to tie a perfect Windsor knot.
“Sam will meet you are the airport, so you’ll see a familiar face.”
“Did you make my hotel reservations?”
“About that…” Gabe looked sheepish. “Sam said that Dean had a guest room and it would be a waste for you to stay at a hotel. The recording studio is at his house…”
Castiel’s face was crimson. “Gabe, God damn it, you know how I feel about being around a bunch of strangers. I’ll book my own fucking hotel.”
“Castiel, don’t be a jackass.” Gabe anger flared as well. “You need to get your head out of your ass and maybe you can locate that guy that was my little brother somewhere in that fucked up brain of yours. Breakups happen, dicks cheat on their boyfriends, celebrities lives are smeared all over the front pages of tabloids, you can learn from it and move on, or you can be a dick for the rest of your life.” Gabe turned and left Castiel standing at the security gate without a hug or even a goodbye. Castiel felt contrite. He knew he was acting like a dick, but he just couldn’t help it. He made a note to call Gabe when he landed in Kansas and apologize.
He had a three hour flight to resign himself to staying in the same house with Dean Winchester, sexy rock star. Sexy, straight, rock star. Not that it would matter either way. Castiel was not shopping for anything that even remotely resembled a relationship.
As the plane banked over KCI airport, Castiel looked down at all the squares of farmland, like those on a chessboard. ‘Welcome to Hicksville’, he thought morosely. He gathered his carryon bag and laptop bag and being in first class, he was the first one off the plane. He saw Sam, the tall man towering over the majority of people at the terminal. He liked Sam. Sam and Gabe had been friends for several years after meeting at Stanford. Gabe was a visiting professor and took the new, gawky student under his wing. A friendship was born that had last over the last four years.
“Hey, man, how was the flight?” Sam asked as he threw his arm around Castiel in a brief ‘man hug’.
“It was fine,” Castiel said, returning the hug.
“Come on, let’s get your bags and get out of here.”
After the luggage was stowed, Castiel and Sam left the airport in Sam’s SUV.
“Dean is really looking forward to working with you.”
Castiel looked over at the driver. “Really, Sam?”
Sam must have picked up on the sarcasm because he grinned. “Probably about as much as you are to be working with him.”
Castiel gave him a lopsided smile. “That bad, huh?”
Sam laughed.
When they pulled up to an older home, Castiel was surprised. He expected a gaudy mansion like you’d see on an episode of ‘Cribs’, not this two story, light green house with a large front porch. His disbelief must have showed.
“This was our parents’ house. Dean bought it back from the bank right after his first album went gold. A few years ago, he did a full renovation and added the studio in the garage.”
“The garage?” Castiel all but groaned.
“Yeah, but don’t worry, Dean’s studio will rival just about any professional studio you’ve been in. He had a piano, but since it wasn’t the quality you are used to, we had one brought in for the next couple of weeks.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Don’t thank me. Dean was the one who thought of it.”
The two men got out of the car and picked up the luggage. “Dean must be out, but that’s okay, I have the key and I know which room he’s got ready for you.”
“I really don’t want to impose; perhaps I should just stay at a hotel.”
“No,” was Sam’s abrupt answer.