Dean Winchester has always been a good liar. It's why he's so good at his job. He is able to convincingly put up an appearance and effectively become another person. Sam liked to say it was because he didn't like who he was, so he had a psychological need to be someone else. Dean liked to say it was because he was just good at his job. None of that psycho-mumbo-jumbo crap.
Either way, Dean was about to receive a very prestigious award for his skill at deception, otherwise known as his 'acting'. It's so stupid. I don't deserve this.
Dean hadn't been able to sleep for the last hour, tossing and turning. Finally, the alarm went off. He was free from his obligation to try and sleep now. He rolled out of bed, not sure what to do with his day off. Go to the gym, maybe hang out with Jo, work on the car a bit. He would need to do some calming things like that before going up on stage. Dean may be magic behind a camera, but live, he was a hot mess and he knew it. It was only a matter of hours now.
Dean wondered who would show up. He had invited his family, but he knew they weren't into the red carpet. Even less than he was. Bobby always grumbled because he couldn't wear his plaids, and all the pushy cameras always pissed off Ellen.
But Charlie would definitely come; she never passed up the chance to rub elbows with celebrities. Dean was glad. He missed his favorite wing-woman. It had been maybe six months since they had gone out to pick up dates together.
Only Charlie knew the truth about Dean. Sam probably picked up on it too, but never said anything. Dean was lonely. He put on his act, slept around, because that was his image. Even off the screen, Dean lied everyday, acting like he was enjoying life. But he was never really happy, and was becoming increasingly frustrated with his brief connections with people. He wanted someone to understand him, not the act. Someone to cut through all his bullshit.
But Dean supposed that was simply too much to ask for.
Castiel was in a rut. He knew it; his readers knew it, even his brother had eventually noticed. He hadn't been able to hammer out a quality page for over two weeks now. He kept sending in mediocre work, but he knew that the other writers and producers were becoming increasingly frustrated. He was whom they depended on. He was their problem solver. He was siting at his desk trying desperately to feel inspired by anything at all when the doorbell rang.
"Who's there?" He asked foolishly. He knew exactly who it was.
"Me! Open up!" Gabriel pounded on the mammoth stainless steel industrial-grade sliding door to Castiel's loft apartment again. The sounds ricocheted off the vaulted ceilings, through the hollow apartment.
"Be patient Gabriel, really." Castiel muttered, yanking on the door with his most ferocious scowl. Gabriel just grinned and breezed past him.
Castiel tried valiantly to keep his expression sour, but Gabriel's happy attitude was too infectious, and Castiel ended up cracking a timid smile. Gabriel had to be the only person on earth who was able to melt Castiel's icy shell, and he knew it, too. Gabriel had been making it a habit of dropping by every couple of days, claiming he missed Castiel. But Castiel knew it was because Gabe was worried about him getting any human interaction.
"Look, Gabe, I was trying to write, can you come back tomorrow?" Castiel knew Gabriel didn't really care if he interrupted Castiel's writing, but he really had wanted to be alone in his misery for one night.
"No can do, Cassy. It's that award tonight. You're coming with me. I gave you just enough time to shower and dress. I absolutely refuse to take no for an answer. Balthazar is meeting us here in half an hour." Gabriel settled in on Castiel's couch, putting the TV on. He pointedly ignored Castiel's grumbling as he stalked past.
"Atta boy Cassy!" Gabe called out as Castiel gave in.
Dean should have been nervous, but he really wasn't. He was way out of his element at this fancy party, but hey, there was an open bar. He could make do for the few hours he was required to stay, and then he could slip out and maybe pick up a hot chick along the way. So Dean felt more optimistic than anything else.
"Ay, Sammy!" He spotted Sam through the crowd to penguin suits. A pretty blond in a steel blue floor length dress on his arm, Sam meandered over to Dean.
"Jess! How are you? How's mini gigantor doing?" Dean gave her an enthusiastic hug around the shoulders, and gave a little listen to her swollen belly.
"Dean! We're doing great! Have I shown you the latest pictures?" Jess gushed and reached for her delicate little purse, pulling out two grainy black and white pictures. Dean put on his best smile. He loved Jess. Sam's wife of over a year now was the sweetest girl you would ever hope to meet. He always made sure to keep a pleasant mask up just for her.
Dean would deny it until the end of time, but he was just a teeny bit jealous of his baby brother. Sam had the life. But he smiled his best glassy, happy smile, and hoped it covered all the cracks.
Eventually the doors opened, and the ostentatious, excessive people shuffled into the gilded theatre where the event was being held. The lights were not only on the stage but on the seats as well, so that the famous faces sitting in its midst could be seen clearly.
Dean was seated in the front row, since he was receiving one of the many awards that night. As the hosts began with a few playful jokes at each other's expense to warm up the audience, Dean vaguely wondered if he should have planned something to say. He knew most people said they hadn't, but then would launch into a clearly rehearsed speech, but he had tried his best to ignore that this night was even going to happen, let alone thought about what to say.
"...Dean Winchester!" The bright red lips read from the little envelope, blasting Dean out of his daydream. He stopped zoning, and jumped up onto the stage. He plastered on a million watt grin, and accepted the little gold trophy from the woman. She motioned toward the microphone, clearly indicating he say something.
"Ahh... Well, thanks. To everyone out there who voted for me, my awesome family." Crap, crap, crap! Dean had no idea what to say. He sounded so generic. He reverted to his cocky asshole act. Hopefully he could think of something clever to say. He had always been awful with words.
"Well," He hefted the little golden thing up; "I guess this must make me officially famous now. Thanks y'all." Dean smirked at the female host, winked at the audience, and sauntered off the stage.
There was a smatter of applause, and Dean was glad awards were given based on performance, and not personality. He was also glad he had presented his bad boy persona to the public after he had secured his job. His bosses knew he wasn't really a complete asshat otherwise they wouldn't have ever hired him.
After one interview and another hour later, Dean was back at the bar, looking for someone to go home with. Sam and Jess had left, and Charlie had finally shown up. He glanced over at her. She was having considerably more luck than him, and was currently chatting up a lovely blond. Dean decided to call it a night and go home alone. Again.
Castiel was having a panic attack. The room was spinning, the voices around him distorted and loud. He franticly looked around for an exit, he needed air, yesterday. The lights were glaring, and his breath was becoming short and accelerated. His heart rate shot through the roof, and he began to sweat through his expensive tux. He knew this was a bad idea. The crowd was crushing him.
Balthazar finally returned, two alcoholic beverages in hand. He took one look at Castiel, and set them down at the nearest table. He pulled out the chair, and forced him to sit. He pulled out two little white pills out of his breast pocket, put them in Castiel's mouth and made him wash it down with the fine whiskey he had brought.
"Balthazar what the hell was that?" Mere minutes later, Castiel was beginning to feel the effects.
"I filched some of your anxiety pills. I know you thought you could do it, but dear, look at yourself." Balthazar was infuriatingly patient, and he was right. Castiel knew he shouldn't have attempted this night without any help. He had gone so long without an attack he thought he was finally getting better.
All hopes now dashed, and feeling considerably calmer, Castiel finally took a look around. The bar outside the theatre was spacious, the coffered ceiling and walls painted in gold and held up by rich mahogany supports. The room was filled with elegantly dressed people; Castiel only recognized one or two, being fellow writers. The rest must be the actors and actresses who played his characters.
When the lights flickered and dimmed, Balthazar led the way to their seats. The ceremony was quickly begun, and Castiel had no time to feel nervous, his award was one of the first few. He wondered what he was receiving this for. He hadn't paid much attention to it until now.
"...And we shall end the writers awards with the last but certainly not least, Writer of the Year. This writer has dedicated more to his work than any other this year, producing words read by many of our other award winners, and writing into existence the other worlds which earned our production, directors, and technological awards. This years Writer of the Year goes to... none other than my characters very own creator, Castiel Novak!" Castiel's eyes widened. Well this was shocking. He hadn't expected this. Surely, Balthazar should have warned him. Or perhaps Gabriel could have said something? Apparently neither thought to warn him.
But oh, now he was on the stage, how did he get here? And now he was accepting the award, a little golden thing. And then the lady was pointing at the microphone, and he was speaking. Man, those pills must have been magic, because Castiel had never spoken in public, on a stage, in front of anyone in his entire life, let alone millions of people who were currently watching. He had no idea what he said, but it must have been somewhat okay, because people were laughing and smiling, and then he was back in his seat.
Balthazar asked if he was okay, but Castiel was gone. He stared at nothing, not even thinking. His brain was now fried, and Balthazar, thank god, managed to get him out to the car, skipping the interview and after party completely.
In the car, Castiel said nothing, but stared out at the city. Balthazar began musing to himself about how this would affect Castiel's life and career. Castiel was finally brought back to the real world when he heard Balthazar saying he would actually have to show up to his sets now.
"WHY?" Terror colored his voice. The pills were wearing off too fast. They were still ten minutes away from his apartment.
"Look, Cassy, calm down. We can talk about this later, all right? Lets just get you home. Please calm down." Balthazar held up his hands, as if placating a wild animal. Castiel let it go. He was just so tired. All he wanted was to sleep. The whole ordeal had been absolute hell.
Dean Winchester hated weekends. He rarely spent them at his apartment, choosing instead to go on set and rehearse or work on something. The tech and set guys all knew he could handle himself, and they let him help out every now and then.
But on days like today, when there was no more preparation for the next weeks filming, Dean was either forced to help out in the studio or just chill in his trailer. Or have a personal life. Ha. As nice as his trailer was, Dean needed to feel helpful. So indoors he goes.
The studio was large, almost a warehouse, made from brick, with few windows and a bureaucratic air to the cubical filled rooms. Dean figured he should visit Sam first. It was a Saturday, so he would definitely be in today.
Legal was on the third floor, so Dean was forced to hop in the elevator. There was always a chance he might run into Zachariah in there, so he generally avoided them. But today, the journey was all clear. Sam was not surprised to see Dean, but he was swamped with work, since they were currently fighting a number of lawsuits from their rival, Morningstar Studios.
Unfortunately, just as Dean was about to leave, Becky Rosen, one of the Assistants from the Writing Department, popped in. Becky was, to be kind, friggin' annoying. She followed Sam and Dean around sometimes, and was like a groupie they just couldn't shake. But Dean humored her, if only because she was a veritable goldmine of information and gossip. But Dean would never admit to it, he just liked to be 'well informed'.
Today, Becky seemed particularly excited. She must have something particularly juicy for him.
"Becky! Just who I was hoping to see!" Dean flashed her a smirk. Becky looked surprised, but pleased.
"I was wondering where everybody is. I haven't seen anyone around here today. Place feels empty for a Saturday." Becky perked up, and began bouncing excitedly.
"That's actually why I was here. I was coming to get Sam. We have a special guest today down in writing. Everyone's freaking out. Trust me you want to be there. Come on!" Becky, with surprising strength for such a small woman, grabbed Sam, hauling him out of his cubicle. Sam grabbed Deans arm and Dean found himself in the elevator, sandwiched between a vibrating Becky and a pissy Sam.
The conference room was not large, but it wasn't tiny either. About 20 to 30 people could probably fit inside. The entire floor seemed to be mostly open space, with a cluster of desks and computers in the middle, and comfy looking chairs littered about. There was a couch by the far wall, and along one side ran a row of offices, and the singular conference room. Paper was scattered on the tables, notepads, pens, and pencils cluttering up any free space.
Castiel, Gabriel and Balthazar each sat in a plushy chair. Gabe had delightedly jumped into a hot pink one, promptly unwrapping his lollypop. Balthazar had chosen a navy blue chair, and sat with his arms crossed, an air of disdain permeating out from him. Castiel had slunk to a bright yellow chair, liking its brightness. He wrapped his trench coat around him tighter, and shifted down further. The Head of the Writing Team, Bobby Singer, remained standing.
"Look, so, this is where we write, and hold meetings, and that's my office over there. I'm gonna go get some work done, if you don't mind, and Kevin here will show you around for today." Bobby was gruff, but in a friendly, paternal way. Kevin plopped down into the green chair next to Castiel. Castiel pulled away, hopefully subtly, so that there was at least four feet separating them.
"So uh, yeah, he is usually like that. But uh, he is kind of the best at what he does, so. Anyway, here is where we usually do most of the work. Every episode you send in goes through Bobby first, and then he sends it out to all of us. We read, give it some annotations, write some thoughts out, and then we gather the next day in here to discuss. Oooh, there's Garth. You should meet him." Kevin had begun launching into a full-fledged detailed description of every phase of the writing process, but just as he was winding himself up, a skinny man in a ratty flannel and trucker hat popped out of the elevators. Followed by what could only be described as a hoard of people. Castiel could feel his anxiety spike, despite the pills.
Balthazar, who had been thus far silent, stood. He held up his hands and said as pompously as possible,
"Oy there, whoa. Keep your distance. Cassie here needs his space." At that Castiel stood, placing a hand on Balthazar's arm. He shook his head, and even though he felt his blood pressure jumping he managed to indicate it was okay. He even managed a smile, small as it was. He would prove to them he didn't need to be coddled, treated like he was contagious or an invalid. Balthazar sat back down, and so did Castiel. The remaining people pulled up chairs and sat. Garth, the apparent ringleader, opened the conversation, asking Castiel how his day was going so far. Castiel smiled at the easy question, and despite his discomfort, he found the group to be engaging and friendly. The discussion was lively and Castiel found himself participating, even laughing whenever he understood a joke. Maybe this wasn't a disaster after all.
Dean didn't like the writer's room. It was so colorful, like some one had vomited a rainbow all over it. The bubble chairs were just stupid looking, most of them were an embarrassing shade of pink or eye blindingly bright. Today, said chairs were circled around three men.
Becky squealed and pulled Dean and Sam by their wrists over to the group. Dean could see Garth, Rufus, Jo, Ellen, Gordon, Victor, Jess, Amelia, Sarah, and Missouri. He figured he better sit with Jo, since she was his best friend, but Becky had other ideas. Becky shoved Kevin over, pulled up a large baby pink chair over, and shoved Dean down. He landed with a whuff. He glared at Becky, who merely smirked. She and Sam sat behind him.
"Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," The British man in the blazer glared at Dean, like it was his fault. Dean smirked. He crossed his arms and sunk low into his chair, attempting to be inconspicuous and nonchalant. The man continued, clearly dismissing the incident.
"So none of you ever knew where the scripts were coming from?" The Brit was incredulous.
"Well, we knew a name... " Kevin trailed off weakly.
"Yeah, Novak or something like that, right? But no ones ever seen him before. 'Cause he's an old hermit or something. " Dean figured he might as well jump in to the discussion, rather than sit and wait to figure out what they were talking about. Of course that meant Dean was nearly guaranteed to say something stupid, which he clearly did judging from the awkward laughs and whispers. Dean just rolled his eyes. Of course, Sam chose this opportune moment to clue Dean in, whispering in his ear,
"Dean you are currently sitting right next to said 'old hermit'." Dean whipped his head around to meet accusing blue eyes, not two feet from his face.