Castiel Novak has had the week from hell. The baby sister he has raised like a daughter has died, and despite all his work and sacrifice, the artistic director looked right over him for soloist-again. Her excuse, yet again was 'You're lacking in dedication, always running off for some crisis or other. You have to be fully committed to Michigan Contemporary'. He slips into an empty studio, kicks of his shoes, slips out of his shirt and puts his CD into the player-'God in this moment' started to play softly in the background. He started to dance.
Sure, he's made his adolescent mistakes, so has everyone. But he pulled himself together when mom died, and dad took off and left him and his sister alone. He was basically a parent at 18.
He is very much a religious main. He has great faith in his god, or at least, didn't doubt it until now. He prays the lord is listening as he dance around that studio, ready to break. He mentally curses as he falters during turns in second, and sets his spot to try again.
He used to believe that no matter what he went through in life, he would always believe in god and his power and his plan. Now, it's a struggle to believe. To believe in a dead family, an absent father, an unforgiving artistic director and a lord who doesn't care.
'She was ten, just ten. A little girl. My BABY sister! She was so small when she was born, I remember how she slept. She looked so much like me. The most important person, most important thing in my life, period. And now she's gone. I just can't believe that she's not here anymore. Funeral, burial or not. I don't WANT to believe, because believing means I have to accept it.' Castiel gets lost in his thoughts as he works his way through the trickiest parts of the latest routines. 'I've spent twelve years busting tail for this company, turning down offers from New York, Chicago, San Francisco, LA., Sacremento, Tennessee, Houston. I've been faithful to Michigan, for TWELVE YEARS and what do I get? Nothing. I guess I thought after a more than a decade I'd be a little higher up in the company than the coryphee. So much for great expectations.'
'No I don't know. How can you know when so many terrible things happen, when mothers die in childbirth and little girls die? How can he be watching over me?' Castiel had asked his pastor that and was told simply to believe in the lord who was testing him to see if he were truly faithful, which meant believing when times were bad. 'Not bad.' He had said to the pastor, 'Terrible, horrific, impossibly cruel. But bad is saying Mother Teresa wasn't a saint. It just isn't so.' He had walked out of the church without so much as a single glance backwards.
Castiel was completely unaware that one of the soloists, Dean Winchester, was watching him from the doorway as he moved. He was simply expressing his anger at the lord in a non-violent manner, in tombes, pirouettes, grande jetes and any matter of movements instead of punching out the artistic director and anyone else who cared to push him just that little bit closer to the edge. He had begun to sing along to the track sometime during the first verse, maybe at the start. He wasn't really sure, he didn't really care. But Dean thought he had the voice of an angel.
Castiel hoped and prayed that heaven was real, and remembered that same pleading prayer when his mother passed away. Just as he hadn't noticed Dean stand in the doorway, he didn't notice him leave to speak to the artistic director about why he had really been overlooked.
He tried to ignore the screaming coming from the AD's office across the hall and the papers flying everywhere as hands gestured and Dean-the-hot-soloist walked out on the AD as she went absolutely ballistic and threatened His place as a soloist within the company.
He didn't try to ignore the guy as he stood in the doorway and watched him. He just turned up the music and belted out the lyrics just a little bit louder, his hopes on display for anyone listening to hear.
Because he so badly wanted to still believe. His faith was all he had, if not for "Michigan Contemporary" and their full-of-it AD. All he wanted was a sign that god was there. As the music faded, he wiped away the tears he hadn't realized had been streaming down his face, and stopped the CD. The soloist spoke with a smile on his face. 'Hey, I'm Dean. Tough week?' He found himself spilling every detail. 'By the way, I'm Castiel. But don't call me that,' he chuckled, mirthless as it was 'It's Cas...hi.' He smiled, a real smile, the first in a long time, and they sat with their backs against the mirror just talking for hours. They were still there when the AD left the office and came into the studio.
Cas was surprised when she handed him a contract, his name printed on the front. 'You mean I made soloist? But I thought you'd forgotten me. I've been in the coryphee ten years.' The confusion on his face was clear as day. 'I expect full commitment to your work and Michigan Contemporary Dance Company. Understood?' the artistic director demanded as dangled the pen just out of Cas's reach. 'Committment? What do you call 2 years in the cors, ten in the coryphee and twelve of knocking back company after company to stay faithful?' Cas spoke with utter disbelief at the AD's cutting words. Dean simply tried not to smile as he muttered 'Don't screw this up, man.' Whilst elbowing Cas right in the ribcage-hard.
'Oomph. I mean, yes, thankyou director. Nothing but commitment for the rest of my career, I promise you.' The grin spread over Cas's face as the pen was dropped into his lap and he signed his name quickly and messily somewhere near the line marked signature. The AD stomped out of the room in her high heels and Dean started laughing 'Yes! I KNEW it had to work. I bet my freakin' JOB it would!'
'You got me my contract? Why?' Cas asked, genuinely confused and curious. 'Word is, you've had a hard time of it, and your friend Gabriel from the cors told my brother Sam he thought you'd quit if you were skipped over again by that bitch of an AD. Ten years in the coryphee? Hell, I'd have told her where to shove that, too.' The-hot-soloist confessed. Cas wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He went with laugh. 'Gabriel? He'll pay for that...wait, Sam is your brother? Gabriel never shuts up about him. I'd swear they were married.' Cas shook his head. 'He was lucky though, that Raphael left for Boston Classical and they needed to bump up a coryphee a couple of years ago. He really earned it. Hey, aren't you up for Principle?'
'They are…getting married I mean. You haven't spoken with Gabriel?' Cas shook his head 'no' but said he'd make sure to 'drop in' on his way home that night. 'As for principle..I was. AD says I'll be lucky to keep my contract or be dropped into the coryphee for that stunt. But hey, Sam's going for permanent principle now and there isn't anyone left in the coryphee whos ready except maybe Crowley but he's injured and quitting, so, if she drops me back into the coryphee she's screwed.' Dean grinned from ear to ear. Cas just shook his head and leaned forward to kiss Dean-the-hot-soloist, who kissed him right back. After ten long, impossibly hard years, things were beginning to look up for Cas. He felt he had a growing family. Not by blood, but the people closest to him, and in the case of Gabriel's impending marriage, his brother in law of sorts…also by the fact that Sam was the little brother of his new boyfriend, The-hot-soloist; and now, he himself had finally signed his own soloist contract.
He stood up, pushed "Play" on the CD and sang along with a smile on his face. This time, Dean danced with him. There really was a god, and Dean (the-hot-soloist) (he HAD to stop calling him that in his head, especially since they were together now) was the sign. Things really were going to be okay. He just had to believe there was a god in that moment.