Chapter Text
Cas
Cas has his headphones on as he walks down the hall to his locker, listening to the same song he’s had on repeat ever since he heard it playing in a record store in Brooklyn. Although the main reason he has his headphones on in the hall is because he really doesn’t want Anna to approach him, because he knows that she’ll ask what he and Balthazar are doing this weekend and she probably won’t approve.
He has his head buried in his locker when someone comes up behind him and pulls his headphones away from his ears, before letting them snap back into place, and Cas doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Balthazar. He takes the headphones off anyway and leaves them around his neck so he can rub at his ears as Balthazar grins.
“I have a plan.”
“Lord, help us all.” Cas sighs, because whenever Balthazar has a plan it’s usually code for Something Castiel Would Never Do.
“Oh piss off; you’ll like it!” And Cas just wrinkles his nose because Balthazar always sounds extra British when he’s trying to coerce people into sleeping with him – and Cas resents him using the same charm now.
“Fine – but promise me you won’t get drunk and leave me by myself! Every time Balthazar – every time!” Balthazar rolls his eyes at the whine, but Cas is completely entitled to it.
Balthazar is always dragging him out to clubs and bars that they’re definitely too young to get into to, but always do anyway, and Balthazar always ends up abandoning Cas to slobber all over somebody he’s just met. It’s a never-ending circle of Cas bringing him home to drool all over his pillow, Balthazar slurring about how he’ll never drink again, until they do a repeat in a fortnight’s time.
“Scout’s honour!” Balthazar holds two fingers over his heart as he grins at Cas. The warning bell rings and Balthazar is positively giddy already; he straightens out Cas’ blazer and starts telling him which place they’re going to first and who they’re going to see.
It’s about that time that Anna strolls up, and Cas wonders if other people see them and are confused as to why they’re all friends, because Anna looks like a different rank to them. The sleeves of her blazer are rolled up and she looks effortlessly cool, as if she rolled out of bed with her skirt perfectly smooth, her socks pulled up to her knees, and Cas thinks she probably only has to shake her hair to get it to lie flat and neat.
He, on the other hand, usually looks like he’s just left his bed too, but not in a good way. His hair won’t stay down and he’s stopped trying to do anything about it, and he can never keep his tie straight or stop his blazer from getting creased.
“What’s up?” Anna asks, but there isn’t even a pause for them to answer because she’s already pulling something out of her bag and holding it up in front their eyes. “He made another one – should I say something to him?” She grimaces, and what Cas can’t believe is that this is the same girl he knew a year ago.
“Wait--” Cas says hesitantly, but Anna is already throwing the cassette tape into the trashcan at the end of the row of lockers, quietly mumbling to herself. She turns back to face them, shaking her head.
“You’re going to be late for class.” She says sternly, because even though she’s something of a heartbreaker, she likes to try and keep Castiel and Balthazar on the straight and narrow.
As soon as she starts walking in the other direction Cas is itching to reach into the trashcan, and Balthazar doesn’t miss the way he looks at it anxiously.
“Don’t – don’t you dare.”
But Cas has already rushed over to retrieve the tape from the top of the trash, staring at it intently as he turns it over in his hands. It’s just like all the others: a cassette in a plain plastic case, a slip of paper in the back that lists all the tracks, and scrawled handwriting on the front that reads Anna – from Dean.
“These mixes are so perfect… who is this poor bastard?” Castiel mutters, because everything he knows about him has come through the grapevine. The only thing he knows first-hand is that this guy is the only reason he’s grown to like classic and alternative rock so much.
“Oh God, it’s pathetic – you are so in love with this guy.” Balthazar groans, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and shaking him briefly. Cas screws up his face at Balthazar’s look of unadulterated pity, and pushes him away.
“I’m not in love with him, don’t be ridiculous.” Castiel scoffs, and he slips the tape into his bag and they start walking to the history department. “I have no idea who he is, I’ve never met him – I’m just going to convert this onto my IPod.” Balthazar raises his eyebrows at him dubiously, but drops the subject.
Balthazar spends the rest of the day telling Cas about this girl he slept with last weekend; some indie band were playing a show and he had convinced her that he was their tour manager, or something else equally as unbelievable. He’s always doing this, and each time Balthazar tells Cas how he’s managed to charm his way into someone’s pants, Castiel loses another shred of respect for humanity.
Castiel meets up with Balthazar again at around seven, and staying at his house for a while so they can have a few pre-drinks. Which translates to Balthazar drinking half a bottle of wine before they go out, while Cas watches television and tells him to hurry up.
He manages to shoo Balthazar out eventually, but not before he can fill up a water bottle with vodka and hide a hipflask of whiskey in the inside of his jacket. Cas wonders how he hasn’t shrivelled up and died from alcohol poisoning already, but somehow he always manages to bounce back after a day or two.
They endure the worst ride on the subway ever to get where they’re going. Balthazar is too excitable and keeps talking to strangers – keeps groping strangers – and Castiel has to pry him away from several men that are too eager to take advantage of him. He already knows how this night is going to end – Balthazar is usually good at keeping his word, but if he thinks Cas won’t hate him forever he’ll go back on it now and again.
It’s when they’re walking down the steps that lead into the club that Cas thinks about how he’d rather not be there, but instead at home, curled up in the couch with his cat and a good movie. But he can’t leave Balthazar and there’s no point in going now. He does know some of the bands playing, and he supposes it’s better than most of the other places Balthazar would take him to.
The first band that plays is a queercore trio called Hell Hunters, and Cas has managed to keep Balthazar in his reach so far. He’s completely trashed already, and Cas probably should have tried harder to stop him from downing those tequila shots when they got into the club, but Balthazar’s not a child and Cas isn’t a babysitter.
Saying that, Cas doesn’t want Balthazar to stray too far from his sight, otherwise he knows he’ll end up finding him in some back alley, about to fuck someone or get fucked, while high and drunk out of his mind. Cas also knows he’ll be the one who will have to drag Balthazar away from his activities and clean up the vomit, before bringing him home to sleep in his bed. So when that’s the alternative, he is perfectly content with Balthazar standing too close to him as they watch the band.
“You dirty little minx,” Balthazar jibes, a horribly devious smirk on his face as he turns to Cas.
“What?”
“You’re practically blowing him with your eyes!” He slurs, before he laughs loudly and gives Cas a smack on the ass as he watches the bassist on stage carefully. Cas is speechless and can’t form a single word to throw back at Balthazar; he just stands there with his mouth slightly ajar, looking from the bassist to Balthazar and back again.
“I’m not – nobody can even – that’s not possible.” Cas peels Balthazar’s hand away from his butt and gives him the stink-eye, but he can’t deny that he was staring. “Well maybe you can…” Cas adds when he sees the way Balthazar is eyeing up a girl standing on the side of the stage.
Cas, quite frankly, is offended – since when is it a crime to look at someone? Balthazar does it all the time, in fact he doesn’t even look – he leers. So what if Cas was staring at the guy – there’s something interesting about him. He looks different to everyone else in the room – hell, he looks different to everyone in the city.
There’s no way he could be a home-grown New Yorker in an underground rock band when he’s wearing those clothes and has that haircut. There’s something in his eyes too, as though nothing matters to him more than the loud thrum of each note he beats out, the steady bassline to the mess of angry guitar riffs and vocals that are half snarled.
Castiel is drawn in by the concentrated focus on his face; he almost feels as if the bassist has created his very own gravitational pull and he’s stuck in the middle of it, being gradually reeled in. Cas is fairly sure that he knows he has this effect on people, because when he looks up again he’s smiling playfully and purposely.
Most of the audience are focused on the singer as she shimmies out of her leather jacket to reveal a worn and torn Ramones shirt with the sides cut out to her waist. But there are handfuls of girls breaking up the crowd’s fascination with that image, and they’re swooning over the bassist and flashing their bras for him if means he’ll throw them back a wink and a full-on grin. Some of the guys are worse though – Cas can see them undressing him with their eyes, the bite of lips as they stare up at him and reach out to chance a touch, but when the bassist notices this kind of attention he just blushes faintly and returns it with a sheepish nod.
Hell Hunters are actually playing a good set, but Cas doesn’t get to appreciate it for much longer because Balthazar officially becomes an issue. He manages to slink away from Cas’ side and over to the far corner of the room where a group of guys have moved to. After Cas realises, he deliberates whether it’s safe to leave Balthazar with them for the time being - except he doesn’t really have the capacity to care anymore, because some guy is trying to roughen up the crowd and punches him in the side of the neck, and now Cas needs a drink to stop himself from punching the guy right back.
He’s in the densest part of the crowd and has to push his way through sweaty bodies to reach the bar, rubbing against the sticky skin of hipsters in baggy tank-tops and wannabe punks who have already torn off their shirts. Cas is pretty grateful for his long-sleeved sweater – even if it means he’s overheating – because at least he’s not directly mingling in other people’s bodily fluids.
Balthazar had tried to pry the thing off him before they went out, saying that nobody would ever go for him if he covered up all the goods; but Cas had just shoved him off, thinking about the obscenely deep cut V-neck that Balthazar would have him wear instead.
When he finally manages to squeeze into a space at the bar, he’s squashed next to the girl he’d seen Balthazar ogling before. In the dim light overhead he can recognise her now; she’s the singer of another band playing tonight, a kind of creepy, devil obsessed, rock band called Meg And The Dregs. Cas isn’t all that keen on talking to her, but she’s taken one look at him and is already sliding one of her shots across to him, and Cas isn’t about to pass that up.
Dean
Dean pretends that none of today has happened up until this point. It’s much better for his pride if he tells himself that he didn’t drop off another mixtape in Anna’s mailbox this morning, because that’s just plain embarrassing. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this: so sentimental and cracked. Well, he does know – it’s because he’s always been the one doing the dumping, and he feels strangely inadequate now.
He lets himself get buried in the music, because as pretty and sexy Anna may have been, she’s nothing compared to the feeling of his fingers sliding against the strings of his bass, or every thrum that vibrates through his body. He’d always liked the sound of Anna’s moans, but when he’s here, completely surrounded by nothing else but the music they’re playing, the sound of pounding guitars and gravelly vocals will always be better than hearing Anna in bed.
He’s not exactly sure how he got here. One minute he’s the new kid, a total nomad and completely lost in the bustle of New York, and next thing he knows two girls wearing biker boots and leather are asking him if he can play bass. He’d always wanted to be in a band, he didn’t think it would get anywhere, just something to pass the time until college or fulltime employment. As a fourteen year old he imagined he’d be playing guitar in a classic rock cover band, but Jo already plays guitar and even though Pamela shares his music taste, she wants to write her own songs. Sadly, they save the Zeppelin covers for practices into Jo’s basement.
None of it matters though, because he’s dripping sweat and pouring his soul into hitting every note and Jo is crossing the stage to stand in front of him, and they bare everything to each other, punching out a perfect noise as their guitars layer over each other. He mirrors the grin that stretches across her face and they’re thrashing their heads in time to the song before Jo is flailing and jumping, and Dean doesn’t know how she can give such a physical performance without ever missing a beat.
Dean looks up and the whole crowd is watching them, and he wants to punch the air with his fist because they’re the crappy opening band and people are interested. People are jumping and pogoing in the crowd, crashing into each other and getting as lost as Dean feels.
There are guys wolf whistling at Pam as she bends over the edge of the stage and they obviously aren’t listening to the lyrics because she’s singing about why she fucks girls instead of boys. Dean thinks this is what heaven should be like: good music and cheap beer and girls lifting their shirts up for him, otherwise something is clearly wrong.
His eyes skate over some of the guys in the crowd, the ones that are eyeing him up as if he’s meat on a stick being dangled in front of them. There’s one that hasn’t stopped staring for the whole song, but he doesn’t look predatory like the others, he looks like he’s worshipping at Dean’s feet. But when Dean looks up again he’s gone, and in his place he sees her and his fingers fumble across the strings for a second.
He remembers what he last said to her. Don’t come to the shows, just don’t. And she’d agreed to it easily, saying she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She’d screwed everything up when she said it was over – his mind has been haywire ever since, two weeks of feeling strangely splintered and half-empty. Fuck her; because he thought that was it and it really was over, but it’s not, it can’t be when she shows up at his gig just to torment him.
There’s another guy with her, his chest is pressed to her back and Dean wants to shove a bargepole between them. It hurts and maddens him that Anna would have the nerve to stand there and smile at him with a fucking douchebag hanging off her arm; he has floppy hair and fancy shoes and an earring and Dean wants to punch him in the face.
It’s not as though he was in love with Anna, so he’s not sure why the sight of her has killed his buzz so badly. They’d dated for a long time, too long, that was the whole problem. She was only ever supposed to be a one-night stand, but he happened to like her company and she made him feel significant, so he called her back. There were months and months of casual hangouts that eventually turned into dates, hook-ups that eventually turned into monogamous sex. Dean had told her right from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for a long term deal, he’d only just moved there and he had baggage; it would just make things complicated and he needed to get through senior year with good enough grades to get a scholarship for college.
Clearly that went wrong somewhere along the line. And he’d liked it for the most part, but the longer it went on the more he realised that they weren’t as similar as he’d thought, and they’d fight like hell but it usually worked out okay. Dean had worked really hard to make sure it did work, if he was going to do it he wasn’t going to half-ass anything, so having Anna dump him out of the blue for no specific reason other than ‘space’ was like a bomb dropping.
Dean tries to push her out of his mind, but how the fuck can he do that when she’s standing right there. His hands are still a little shaky, and suddenly Jo’s guitar is speeding up and they don’t even have a fucking drummer so he’s struggling to keep up and stay in time, and Pamela is adding in another verse that he’s never even heard before.
Just like that, the spell is broken and everything is starting to crumble around him. He turns away from the crowd – turns away from Anna – just until he can find himself and get everything sorted. By the time he turns around again, Pamela is kneeling on the floor and finishing up the song, tipping her head back as she wails a final note that shakes the speakers.
Their time is up and as always, Pamela lets herself be swallowed by the crowd and leaves Dean and Jo to pack away the equipment. People are shouting for another song, but the next band is hovering at the side of the stage and Dean doesn’t feel like performing anymore. Some guys in the next band decide to help out, and together they pull apart leads from amps and lay instruments in their cases and carry everything into the wing. Jo says she’ll move everything to the van and tells him to have fun, so he has no choice but to head for the bar and mope. And possibly drink the uneasy feeling in his stomach away.
When he gets there, Pamela is sitting in the lap of a pretty blonde girl who’s laughing as Pamela talks into her ear. She looks vaguely familiar, and maybe he’s seen her at another show or something, but he doesn’t care enough to dwell on it. He goes up to Pamela and she instantly introduces Dean as “bass god and Kansas badass”, and the girl is introduced as “Ruby from Ruby Does Ruby”. Dean has no doubts that Pamela can sense what he’s feeling, and she probably knows that Anna is here too, but she’s too preoccupied with Ruby to ask him what’s wrong. There’s just an awkward lull in the conversation and Dean knows where he’s not wanted, so he shifts to another part of the bar and waits for the barman to free up.
Meg And The Dregs have started playing now, and the guy standing next to Dean puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly, the sound travelling over the noise of people still talking. Dean can appreciate that – it’s an old-fashioned trick but it’s a hell of a lot cooler than a wolf whistle, and it takes a certain degree of skill to perfect to that level.
He looks a little too clean to be here, but not douchey enough to be one of the hipsters. His hair is a little overgrown and sticks up wildly at the front, but it’s a natural mess rather than a perfectly sculpted style. He’s slim, but not bony, although the beige sweater he’s wearing hangs off his shoulders and sort of swamps him. Just as he’s about to order a beer, Dean looks at the guy again and recognises him as the same one from the crowd earlier, the only one who stared a lot and didn’t made him feel uncomfortable and embarrassed.
Maybe if things had taken a different turn tonight, Dean would have asked what his name was and buy him a drink, maybe he would have even taken him out in the Impala. But all he wants to do is bury himself in alcohol and pretend he’s not feeling what he’s feeling, and if this guy with the blue eyes and baggy sweater asks him if he’s okay, he’ll probably just groan and smash his head on the bar.
Dean still doesn’t get to order his goddamn drink because the next thing he sees is Anna coming towards him with her new guy hanging off her. She’s still a fair distance away, but if he tried to bolt she’d see the commotion as he tried to push through the crowd. She’d think that he can’t handle it, and Dean is not about to be edged out of his own show. But what exactly is he supposed to do when Anna is showing off the new model and wants him to see it – she wants Dean to know that she wasn’t lying when she said she was tired of him. He can see just where this scenario is heading; Anna will stop in front of him and smile sweetly – it won’t reach her eyes though – then she’ll say great show, you were good before introducing the guy. Then she’ll round it off with some awful like, so how are you doing lately and she’ll probably reach up and squeeze his shoulder and he’ll squirm at the contact.
Anna spots him, Dean can see the recognition flash across her face. So without thinking he turns to the guy in the sweater who he doesn’t even know and puts on his best smile.
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but would you please just pretend to be my boyfriend for five minutes?”
Cas
Meg from Meg And The Dregs is adamant that the bassist from the queercore band is straight. She’s staring the guy down with an amused interest as his band plays their last song, something sultry and fast and eighty per cent fiery angst.
“No – he’s definitely gay.” Cas replies, considering the bassist with a slight tilt of his head.
“No gay guy in the music industry dresses that badly – how many layers is he even wearing?” Meg raises her eyebrows at Cas and looks at him smugly, turning to the bar to down a shot of something murky and brown.
“He’s the only male in a queer riot-grrrl revival band, and you’re talking about his clothes?” He doesn’t think his reasoning is much better than Meg’s, but he’s come across plenty of gay guys that dress like they’re deer hunting, trucker cap wearing, gruff men. She’s still not convinced though, and downs another shot before excusing herself and disappearing.
But just because Cas thinks – no, is sure – that the scruffy, Midwestern-looking bassist is gay of some description, it does not mean he wants to be his fake boyfriend when he comes by ten minutes later and pops the question. Definitely not – Cas has morals, he’s a good Christian boy, and he doesn’t go gallivanting around with strangers who wear three layers of shirts inside a club, just because they ask semi-politely. That’s what he tells himself anyway, before he thinks it through logically.
Cas needs to get Balthazar home in one piece – that’s the most important thing, and he’s constantly worrying about it because Balthazar won’t. But Cas had seen Layers over there lugging equipment off stage earlier, while the singer of his band slipped away to get frisky or get drunk – or both. Cas can empathise with that, staying behind to pick up the pieces and clean up everybody’s mess – that feeling is a familiar friend to Cas.
He’s not complaining, not really. He loves Balthazar to pieces, and doesn’t mind the fact that he’s a shameless, attention-seeking drunk, who doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Castiel isn’t like that, and he can’t make himself be like that, but there is a certain kind of thrill that comes with accompanying someone who is like that.
Besides, they’ve been friends since they were in diapers and Balthazar is the brother (with an extremely bad influence) that Cas never had. And Balthazar listens to Cas talk about philosophy and politics and theology, and doesn’t make him feel like he’s being ignored or overlooked, so yeah, Cas figures he owes it to Balthazar to prevent him from choking on his own vomit in a ditch somewhere.
The point is – if Layers dragged all that equipment off stage, it means he has a van. It’s probably a piece of tin crap and Cas will probably be clutching onto the doorframe for dear life when he’s inside of it, but it’s a moving vehicle. And if kissing Layers means he can cop a free ride, then Cas will take the chance of him being some psychotic deviant if it means he doesn’t have to take Balthazar on the subway. But Castiel prides himself on being able to read people, and he’s fairly sure Layers is not a murderer or a psychopath – otherwise he wouldn’t be looking at Cas with big glossy eyes right now, a little like a desperate child.
Cas ignores the part of him that wants to lean into Layers and kiss him six ways from Sunday, the same part that melts over his sheepish sort of smile and an accent that definitely Midwestern. He pushes all of that down, swallows it well and good, and scans the immediate area for Balthazar. It’s packed in there though, and not only are the bodies tightly compressed like sardines in a tin, but Layers is standing directly in front of Cas and blocks his view with his height advantage.
Balthazar has been latching onto Meg, and Castiel thinks she’s okay, if he’s talking about ‘okay’ in Balthazar’s standards and not his. She probably couldn’t coax him into doing anything he didn’t already want to do, and while she’s definitely on something, at least she’s not snorting lines in the bathroom like half the other people there.
It’s just as Cas decides that Balthazar will be fine for a few minutes without him, that he sees Anna. She’s making her way through the crowd towards him, and it’s almost as if they all part for her. It makes Castiel want to slink back into the throng of people away from the bar, which would ultimately be better than having to talk to Anna and pretend nothing has changed between them. He clenches his jaw and wonders how Anna even knew that he and Balthazar would be there, annoyed that she had to go and put a damper on his night.
She’s walking in a way that makes her hair fan out and the lighting from the stage shines behind her, making her bottle-red dye-job look even more vibrant than usual. Everyone in the immediate area gawps as she moves – practically gliding like some graceful creature, and she sticks out like a sore thumb in the grimy and dingy surroundings. She’s beautiful, Cas has always known this, and even though she looks out of place it just makes her look better.
Cas realises that yes, she is in fact heading right towards him, not just his general direction to reach the bar. So he does the only reasonable thing he can think of that will prevent Anna from recognising him, and he grabs Layers by the back of the neck and pulls him down into a kiss. He yelps a little out of surprise and Cas almost thinks he’s resisting and about to pull away, when his lips become pliant and open against Cas’. And fuck, he really didn’t expect Layers to be such a good kisser, and he’s cursing Meg in his head because he is definitely not straight – not with the way his tongue is slipping into Cas’ mouth with slow intention. Cas lets out a small sigh when Layers grabs the front of his sweater and tightens his grip, pulling Cas in closer.
Cas really doesn’t expect to get a boner from a first kiss with someone he barely knows, but this doesn’t feel like just kissing. It feels like there’s a battery between their mouths and tiny electric currents are connecting them. And it’s not as though it’s his first kiss ever, but it feels like it should be because kissing has never felt like this before – it’s always seemed a little empty and just wet and nothing – but kissing Layers makes his skin feel too tight and constricting and his blood is on fire.
Cas is only human though and pulls away to breathe, but then Anna is standing right there and staring at the two of them. She has a new guy hanging off her arm: a friend of Brunette Ruby, whose band, Ruby Does Ruby, is supposed to be playing next. Cas wonders if Anna knows her new victim is another castoff of Balthazar’s; she should expect it by now, the guy has slept with almost everyone they know. He’s a sexual fiend and he has a problem, but his impeccable charm prevents anyone from actually hating him for it. Anna is always stuck with Balthazar’s leftovers though, and Cas feels a pang of sympathy for her.
“Dean? Cas? How do you two know each other?”
Cas tries to keep his expression blank; there are too many questions running through his mind that he wants answered, but can’t find the courage to ask. He wants to know why everything is different, why there’s a rift between them that never used to exist. Why Anna is still the sarcastic bitch he knew and loved, but no longer counteracts it with the caring sister-like affection for him, and him alone. He isn’t sure how long it’s been – months before she even started dating Dean.
They’re all heading for separate colleges after the summer, and even though Cas won’t admit it, he wants things to be like they used to again. He assumes it’s something he’s done; because no matter how much Balthazar gets on Anna’s nerves she’d never let him drive her away. She’d been looking at him differently when it started, something in her eyes that Cas couldn’t recognise. And then it was like she just disappeared; never coming with them to go out on the weekends and keeping their friendship very much within the school walls.
The irony is that when Dean came along, Cas assumed Anna would be even more distant from them, but it brought them back together a little. She liked telling Cas about Dean; how she didn’t have that much in common with him but Cas probably would, handing out those mixtapes and never commenting when Cas didn’t give them back. So yeah, he’s wounded, but Anna always told him never to let people know when you’re vulnerable, so he tapped into his pride reserve and became a little spiteful as a defence mechanism.
Then there is Anna’s new friend to consider. He looks pretty sketchy, not that it’s anything unusual for where they are. Cas’ uncle, Chuck, owns the place and Cas thinks he needs to have a little chat with him about his clientele. At least this guy can stand up straight; the worst are the junkies that are only half conscious and slumped in the bathroom while they shoot up. The ones who drink so much that they puke all over bar and crowd, and the ones who are selling sex in every shadowy nook. Cas wants to transform the place, stop it from becoming a crack den with great music and focus on getting the best underground bands and an appreciative audience. He just has to get through his year off volunteering, and when he comes back Chuck will have something lined up for him.
He realises that Anna had asked him a question and he hasn’t said anything, he’s just been staring at her with hard eyes. Shit – what does he even say to that? I only just met this guy but I think I want to keep him, and no – I won’t share. He doesn’t know whether he should say anything; if Anna catches wind that he’s even into Layers she might want him back. It’s not as if Cas is always going after guys, but she always saw Cas like a little brother and wanted to protect him. And he knows from experience that Anna will do a lot to keep him safe.
He also knows she’s not being a vindictive bitch and she’s not entirely to blame; it all comes from her less than wonderful family. Her parents are, shall we say, negligent, and it seems to be a common occurrence throughout their circle of families. And whatever she expected and didn’t get from her parents, she sort of implements on Cas, as if she has to make it work with someone. It’s typical: all the wealthiest kids having fucked up domestic lives.
Cas still doesn’t know what he should say though, so he settles for draping an arm around Layers so that he has a firm grip on his shoulder. He’d become tense and stiff, but Cas feels his muscles begin to relax under his hold. Anna stares at Cas’ hand, and her expression barely changes other than her eyebrows drawing together. She forces a smile and Cas doesn’t miss the way her nostrils flare, and in an instant she’s grabbing her guy’s hand and leading him away.
“How the fuck do you know Anna?”
For a moment Cas thinks he looks angry, before he realises that Layers is only frustrated by his own confusion. Cas doesn’t care for his brashness either, and is about to shoot back a coarse remark about how he knows Anna, when he remembers what Anna herself had said.
She’d called him Dean.
Fuck.
Layers is Anna’s Dean – the Kansas boy that moved out to New York last year, and started this unnameable thing with her. A thing that could never decide whether it was a relationship or not, before Anna called the whole thing off out of nowhere. She’s good at doing that, Cas thinks.
Everyone at St John’s Prep knows who Dean Winchester is, because they all wanted a piece of him. They all knew Anna had him whipped; apparently Dean’s defining feature had been womanizer. Cas doesn’t know how true that is though, because things have a way of distorting as they make the high school circuit. Cas has had to listen to Anna talk about Dean for months, and somehow the same guy has been dropped in his lap. He has spent many a lunchtime wanting to drool over the thought of Dean; and knowing that the boy in front of him is the source of the best mixtapes in the world makes Cas want to kiss him even harder.
He can’t answer Dean – words obviously aren’t his forte tonight – but continues to stare at him with an alarmed curiosity. Cas knows why Dean would go for someone like Anna; she’s all unusual beauty, unwavering confidence, and heaps of intelligence. What is he compared to that? He’s not exactly known for putting people at ease when he talks to them.
Cas is overwhelmed by the fact that this is a person he feels like he already knows; he’s seen pages and pages of songs Dean has written about Anna and it’s the only time he’s felt such fierce jealousy. Dean always made a point of telling Anna that he didn’t do relationships – so she must have been special to him. And it’s the most ridiculous thing ever, because Anna doesn’t like to be tied down for long either. So Cas really doesn’t understand why they would string each other along for half a year. Although that’s not strictly true – he does understand. Dean is almost like another species; he can be gruff and harsh and is always straight to the point, but he was always lavishing Anna with affection and she would teasingly whine about him being mushy when they were alone.
Cas doesn’t have time for this – he doesn’t have time for Dean. He might not be with Anna anymore, but he’s still under her spell and that means Cas doesn’t stand a chance. He can’t compete with perfect Anna; the girl who can kick a guy’s ass but is still made up of gentle curves and soft pale skin. He can’t be anyone’s muse – nobody is going to write songs about his scruffy mop of hair and the bags under his eyes. So he does what he’s good at, what he knows he can do, and gets up on the barstool to search for Balthazar.
The stool is sticky with weeks worth of spilled beer and cocktails, as well as a fresh slick of something else. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady himself so as not to slip over, and maybe he just wants an excuse to touch Dean again too. So what if he does? It’s perfectly harmless, a platonic gesture, although he is tempted to move his hand upwards through the short back of Dean’s hair to make it a little less platonic. Before he can even finish the thought, he sees Balthazar up on the side of the stage, wrapped around Meg. Next to them, Ruby Does Ruby have taken to the stage and all hell has broken loose. Brunette Ruby is on drums but sing-shouts into her mic to back up Blonde Ruby, who is standing in front of her as she punches out guitar riffs and makes up lyrics on the spot: Pam, read my mind, Pam Pam Pam, I wanna take you out back. Cas raises an eyebrow when Blonde Ruby bends over the edge of the stage and sings to someone at the front of the crowd, a greedy look in her eyes as she draws them in with her raw voice and a few improvised, obscene moans from Brunette Ruby behind her.
Castiel steps down from the stool and is about to rush off to retrieve Balthazar, when Dean clasps a hand around his forearm and reels him back.
“Seriously – how the fuck do you know Anna?” Dean looks at Castiel with a sort of pained disappointment, and Cas knows that’s the kind of look that he’s been sporting for a while now, it’s practiced and tired. But he looks needy too, as if he’ll drink himself into a stupor and do something regrettable if Cas wrenches his arm away and leaves him there. Dean’s fingernails start to dig into his skin, and although Cas feels a faint burn where his fingers are pressing, he let’s Dean keep the death-grip on his arm. He’s reminded of something Anna had passed around in Latin class once – a song that Dean had written and given to her – and she of course found it both adorable and hilarious.
The angel on my back
The devil of my heart
You have picked me apart
And see through every crack
And fuck, Cas doesn’t even have the capacity to be angry. He feels cheated out of something he never really had – because Dean will be ruined forever. Even if he isn’t, he won’t want to date anyone else from St John’s. Cas can’t even blame him, that’s one of the worst parts, because he knows all too well how Anna enchants people.
She’s good at seeing through everyone’s pretences. She’ll unravel whatever mess of protection you’ve constructed around yourself and she can see the calamity that is you. And she makes you feel good about it, and then you start to think that Anna is the reason you feel good, and when she leaves you lose faith in yourself and it’s back to square one again.
Cas doesn’t know what kind of issues Dean might have had, but he can bet that before Anna, Dean had probably never let anybody psychoanalyse him like that. There’s a parallel to be found between him and Dean; they found something they needed in Anna and got left behind. Maybe it’ll turn Dean into a real rock star: he’ll screw people in dressing rooms and in the back of vans, but he’ll never let somebody make him feel like he’s worth something again.
Cas wants to shove Anna, yank her hair and push her over like he did in third grade. Everybody said it was because he had a crush on her, when actually he just really wanted to get his own way for once. She’d told him that he shouldn’t be friends with Balthazar, and Cas was as livid as a third-grader could be. At least before the crippling guilt settled in at seeing Anna’s eyes tear up behind her scowl.
And here they are all over again – except instead of fighting over friends, they’re fighting over boys. And instead of Anna wanting Cas to herself, Cas wants what Anna has already had to herself. Cas would fight people off and quite possibly kill to get the chance to have someone like Dean – someone devoted and loyal and affectionate, and yes, an asshole sometimes – but an asshole who eventually apologises and admits they’re both wrong.
Cas looks up at Dean – damaged goods – but he still thinks that he’d give up everything to have him. One kiss isn’t enough; one too-short kiss is only making Cas pine and mope over what he can’t have. It’s like test-driving a Ferrari when you know you can only get a fucking Prius.
Cas would abandon his gap year abroad to stay here with Dean; he would follow their stupid band around New York and be equipment-bitch with little complaint, if it meant Dean would give him more looks like this. He just wants to grab Dean and pull him into a corner away from everyone, and take his time exploring his mouth and letting his hands slip under his clothes.
And well, that’s certainly a new feeling because Cas has spent years of high school being called frigid by Balthazar. Only Cas has never thought of himself as frigid per se, so he always says something back like: You mean I’m not easy? Or do you mean I have standards? And Anna will always cut in with a variant of: No, douchebag, you act like a haughty asshole and don’t give anyone a chance. Maybe if you hopped off your cloud you’d find a nice guy, instead of intimidating them until they run away.
Cas wonders if Anna is right and if Dean can sense it too, because it’s not as if he’s angled for another kiss or even a casual grope. So Cas extracts his arm from Dean’s grip and claps his hand down on his shoulder, squeezing a little before saying, “You poor soul.”
Dean
Anna is there and then she’s passing straight by, and Dean wishes he wasn’t staring as she walks away, but she’s wearing the tight jeans he always loved and what he’s sure is one of his old t-shirts. It stings, but Dean thinks a tiny piece of the gap Anna left inside him has been filled by what just happened. She didn’t come all this way to see him or to sabotage his show. No, she only came here because she’s on a fucking date.
But Anna is gone and Dean is left with this guy, the same guy that wears a sweater to a club and still manages to look cool, Cas. He’s a good kisser – fuck is he good – but he seems a little derailed. Dean’s question of how he knows Anna goes unanswered, even unacknowledged, but he needs to know what the connection between the two of them is, how he ended up trapped in this fucking tangled web of confusion.
The look Cas gives him makes Dean’s chest tighten, and he feels like he’s being pitied but Cas’ eyes are tired and he looks so done with everything. When he jumps down from the barstool he’s about to make a run for it, so Dean takes hold of his arm and pulls him back, and even though Cas looks weaker than himself, Dean knows that he’s packing a whole load of strength under that sweater when Cas grips his shoulder again.
He’s not trying to get away, not really. Maybe he wants to, but he’s letting Dean hold him in place. And the way Cas’ palm is splayed out against Dean’s arm reminds him of his kiss, the firm press of his lips and the prickle from where his fingernails dug bluntly into the back of his neck.
“You poor soul.” He says, and he looks disappointed and patronizing at the same time. Dean can see that he knows something and he’s holding it back, he’s reigning it in and the frown on his face shows how conflicted he feels about it.
“Why?” Dean asks, but he skirts the question all together.
“I need to get my friend.”
“I’ll come with you.” Dean offers, because he knows Anna might still be watching him and he doesn’t want to get left behind. There’s nothing else he’d rather do right now than tag along with a damn good kisser, and he’s wondering what the odds of getting a repeat are.
“If you give me and my friend a ride home, I’ll add a few more minutes to your original request.” Cas is all business about it, and the sure tone of his voice excites Dean just a little, so he nods.
“Really though – how do you know Anna?” Dean asks, because it’s still picking at the back of his mind and he can’t bear not knowing how these two people can possibly exist in the same world. Dean can see how they’re similar with the certainty and calmness that they hold themselves with, but he already knows that there are endless differences. After he’d seen Cas whistling, the guy had knocked back three shots, one after the other, as if they were water. Anna would drink beer, but she didn’t like the hard stuff. Cas is scruffy and dishevelled, and it would be a fucking lie if Dean said he didn’t want to push his fingers through Cas’ hair and tug on it, while Anna is immaculate without even trying.
Cas looks at him and bites down on his lip; he’s going to let something slip. “I pushed her in the dirt in third grade,” he says, and Dean feels just as confused as he was before. “Now I think it’s the other way around.”
“You go to St John’s?”
“Yes.”
Dean doesn’t even have time to close his gaping mouth before Cas is trying to get away again, and he almost disappears into the crowd before Dean can follow. Cas is looking around frantically and goes tense, visibly frustrated.
“Where did he go?” He mutters to himself.
“Who?”
“It’s not important.” He fires back, but then he glances at Dean for a moment and lets his shoulders slump. “Balthazar. Just – shut up, okay?”
He’s a little irritated at Cas’ sharpness, but Dean goes silent and looks back to where they’d come from. Anna is behind them with her new guy and he has his tongue down her throat, hands tangled in her red hair. Before Dean can stop himself he’s imagining her naked, remembering all the times he’s peeled those jeans all the way from her hips, over her thighs, and down her calves.
He turns away and tries to shake the thought, and at some point Cas has moved because he isn’t there anymore. Pamela has joined Ruby on stage and become her personal dancer, and Jo is absolutely nowhere to be seen. To his right, he sees Cas reaching out to grab a guy that he knows he’s seen at every club he’s been to, usually half-conscious and trying to bone someone.
The blonde guy – Balthazar, he assumes – is clinging onto the girl from Meg And The Dregs and mouthing off at Cas. Meg has her arms wrapped around Balthazar’s neck and looks as though she’s trying to crawl inside of him, judging by how much they’re scrabbling at each other and exchanging words in one another’s ears.
Cas is shouting Balthazar’s name repeatedly while he ignores him and continues to grope at Meg. Cas’ authoritative and clipped tone almost makes Dean think they’re brothers, because it’s the same voice he uses when he’s telling Sam to back down. Jesus, he could really use Sam’s advice right now.
Cas reaches out for Balthazar again and Dean thinks a fight is about to erupt any second, but Ruby Does Ruby are still playing and they launch into a cover of Highway To Hell and nobody gives a shit about anything anymore. Dean’s blood is finally pumping again and it feels like he’s taken a dozen syringes of adrenaline straight to the heart.
The entire room is jumping and pushing and screaming and shouting every word, and Dean feels like he’s a part of something bigger and better than himself, because everyone here is connected by a mutual love for this one song. He can hear Pamela’s voice coming through as well, and it’s become a duet between her and Ruby, while Balthazar keeps Meg pressed against him as they dance.
Dean loses himself in it all for a minute, but he can’t ignore the presence of Cas next to him. He’s the only person in the room who is half-assing it, and he looks completely exhausted. Exhausted in his mind, not his body. And Dean wants to go crazy and forget about Anna and her new hook-up and enjoy this blissful moment, but it’s as if he’s tied to his fake boyfriend with a length of rope and Cas is keeping him on the ground.
“What is it?” Dean shouts over the noise, and just briefly, Cas’ face is like an open book. There’s none of the composure he had before, just the wide eyes of someone who feels like they’re falling when they’re standing completely still. Dean can practically feel Cas about to burst; he’s harbouring a lot of repressed thoughts and feelings and he has nowhere left to hide them, and Dean knows how that feels. It’s a heavy weight that you can’t take a rest from.
Dean changes his approach and tries again. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” And Cas crumples before pulling himself back up again, his expression becoming a mask of nothingness. Dean can’t work out why, but he wants to know. He wants to know what Cas is hiding and what is eating him up inside - does Cas even know?
“Absolutely nothing,” he replies, his tone a little harsh. “I think our time is up.”
“I thought you needed a ride,” Dean says, because he is shameless and doesn’t care if he has to use his vehicle as leverage just to stay in Cas’ presence for a little longer. He’s intrigued now, and won’t give up so easily.
He watches frustration flash over Cas as he becomes conflicted, and he’s looking between Dean and Balthazar and trying to work out what he should do. “Fine, okay, just stay here.”
Dean watches Cas go back over to Balthazar, and he’s tugging at his arm as Meg keeps an iron-grip on his midriff. There’s a rage in Cas’ eyes that has Dean clenching and uncurling his fists, because fuck is it hot. Balthazar stumbles on his feet and Meg can’t keep a hold of him, but Castiel is still wrenching him away and it propels him straight into Dean.
Balthazar smells like a stagnant cocktail of every alcohol under the sun, and his pupils are suspiciously large and round. He stares up at Dean as if he’s about to put the moves on him, but then he’s bowing his head to dry-retch, and Dean takes holds of his shoulders and cautiously steps back.
The vomit never comes though: Balthazar just burps and swallows it down. Except Dean is the one who wants to throw up now. Cas is back and he looks at him before nodding towards the exit, and then he’s pushing through the crowd and people are legitimately parting for him. Dean thinks Cas may be some kind of god until he catches sight of the intimidating look on his face, in tandem with the rumble of his voice shouting, “Out of my way, now!”
Dean has Balthazar’s arm slung around his shoulder and he’s propping him up as they follow the path that Cas leaves in his wake, but apparently his life is all just some horrible nightmare tonight because when they reach the bottom of the stairs, Anna is standing there.
“I need a ride.” She says; there’s no preamble or stupid icebreakers, because Anna has never really wasted time on that. “I have to get somewhere.” She’s staring at Dean with her lips curving into a smile, and it makes the words die in his throat at once.
Dean blindly reaches his hand into his pocket, because if she wants a ride then they’ll be sitting in a confined space together, and maybe they can work some things out. He doesn’t really want to be with her again – not like they used to – but he sure as hell needs a little closure. Break-up sex will do the job, he thinks. Because at least he’ll feel his worth: a throw away fuck.
It’s Cas’ voice that interrupts the haze he’s moved into, “Car’s full, Anna, there’s no room.” And there’s that tone again, firm and demanding, but it’s not the same one he used with Balthazar. There is no exasperated affection lurking under the surface of these words, just anger beginning to bubble.
“Stay out of it, Cas.” Anna’s voice hasn’t raised a decibel, but it’s abrupt and she looks like she’s at the end of her tether. And Dean assumes that she’d expected Cas to back down, because when he next opens his mouth, Anna’s cheeks flush and she takes a step towards him.
“No. You need to leave, understand?”
She’s peering up at Cas now with a dark expression, but Cas stands his ground and glares back at her.
“Look, you know I don’t want to argue with you. But this is between me and Dean – so why don’t you go look after drunkzilla here?”
Dean is stuck on the fact that they’re fighting over him – that Anna is fighting for him. Cas is only sticking around because he needs to get his friend home, but Anna wants time with Dean. The distraction means it takes him a few seconds to realise that Cas has frozen in place, and where he expects to see a smug expression on Anna’s face, he only finds a twisted frown.
“Come on, Dean, please. We’re late and we need to go – I’ll give you the money for gas and bring the car back.”
That’s all it takes for Dean to yank his hand out of his pocket. She doesn’t want him. He’s not a part of her ‘we’, he never was. He wants to kick himself for being so fucking idiotic and jumping to conclusions. Now he can fully appreciate that he thoroughly romanticised what he and Anna had, because even when they were a couple they were still never a ‘we’.
It doesn’t keep him from snapping back at her though. He can’t help it, and the words fly out of him automatically.
“Right, ‘we’, who exactly is that – is he a part of your ‘we’?” And he doesn’t care that he sounds neurotic and malicious; he just doesn’t want to feel like anyone’s pet to play with. He hates himself for letting it get this far; had he not moved to New York and been completely out of place and out of his depth, this would never have happened.
It’s a stupid thought – he knows that. He doesn’t hate Anna at all; he still likes her very much actually. Maybe that’s part of the problem; he wants things to be easy between them and he wants to be friends, but it’s not and they’re not. It’s not like he’s blameless anyway; he’s the one acting like a complete asshole.
Dean’s jaw is tightly clenched, and he realises that the only person he wants to scream at is himself. And as if he can read his mind, Cas slips his hand into Dean’s and threads their fingers together. He knows it’s for show – that he’s just trying to edge Anna out, but it’s comforting all the same and Dean doesn’t feel like he’s seeing red anymore.
Anna looks down at their clasped hands, and she must notice how tightly Cas’ fingers are pressing into his skin, as if Cas is afraid he might go ahead and leave him standing there. She must have noticed, because she takes a step back and looked rattled. Dean is sure he imagines the flash of guilt on her face.
“It’s fine. I, uh, I just wanted the car.” Dean would roll his eyes, but she’s already going back into the club without so much as a backwards glance.
Dean looks down at the hand that is still joined to Cas’. He’s never held another guy’s hand before, but he likes the firm press of lightly calloused skin, and it feels worlds away from the gentle and soft grip that girls usually have. Cas sees him staring and he instinctively pulls his hand away, clearing his throat as he flexes his fingers.
“We should go.”
Dean nods and passes over Balthazar, who has been surprisingly silent throughout this whole ordeal, bar the occasional hiccup or gurgle. He’s grumbling about going back to find Meg as Cas leads him up the stairs, and Dean wants to know where he gets the strength to carry a fully grown person who is so incapacitated.
Dean walks in front of them and pushes his hands in the pockets of his jacket, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that’s been coursing through his palm and fingers ever since Cas let go. He’d managed to park the Impala just down the street, so it isn’t too far to walk, and maybe if he was a better guy he’d offer to help support Balthazar, but he doesn’t have it in him.
People are lined up on the curb as they light their cigarettes, and he inhales the smoke they breathe out as he passes by them, thinking about the disaster that is his life. Today was supposed to be easy – get through school, play a good set, make some money, drink a little too much, and maybe a quick screw in the bathroom. So how the fuck is it that he’s ended up seeing his ex-whatever and is taking home two strange?
“What is that?” Cas asks abruptly as Dean comes to a stop at the car. He stares back at Cas and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to snap at him defensively.
“It’s an Impala.”