It seems like such an obvious connection that the Principal of Lawrence High would be Michael's father – Castiel knows he's pretty much screwed from the very beginning, as he trudges into the Office with Pamela from theatre class.

The office is warm, almost stifling in how hot it is, decorated in a minimalistic way with a sleek desk and high bookshelves that contain more diplomas and school awards than anything else. Flanking the desk on either side are large filing cabinets that Castiel guesses contains every student file that the school currently has. He swallows, slouching down a little more in his chair.

He knows he hasn't done anything wrong, but this is Michael's father. It seems just a little bit like an unfair trial.

The Principal shows up soon after Castiel and Pamela enter the office. He…does not look like Castiel had imagined him. He isn't a fat, balding man with sweat stains and a haggard or bitter look about his face. He's actually surprisingly young – no older than John Winchester or Mister Harvelle. His hair is the same honey-yellow as his sons', his eyes a warm, dark brown. Castiel swallows again, pressing his lips together and sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

Mister Santos pauses behind his desk, raising a brow at Castiel's appearance. "That's quite set you've got there, son," he says, gesturing towards his own face, and Castiel nods, flashing his eyes up at the man.

"They're old," is what he says in reply.

The man chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. "Yes," he says. "I imagine that is why you have been 'sick' the past few days…"

"Mister Santos," Pamela interrupts, her voice hard and annoyed. She leans forward and slides the files onto the Principal's desk. "Michael was caught trying to sneak out of your office with these."

The man sits with a heavy sigh, taking out a pair of thin-rimmed wire glasses and placing them delicately on his nose. "Jimmy and…" He flips the files. "Castiel Novak." He looks up towards the teenager. "Forgive me, but I don't think you have a twin, Mister Novak."

Castiel presses his lips together, looking down. "They're both me. I didn't want to be known by my birth name here."

"Castiel…this is an old file, young man. Your transcripts, if I'm correct," the Principal says, as though he doesn't have each and every detail of his students' files memorized down to the last detail. He seems like that kind of person. "You have quite the reputation back in Boston."

"My friend did," Castiel argues without much heat. "I just preferred his company than that at home. Detention would never…" He stops, swallows, and looks away for a moment.

"Ah, yes. Your father. Such a tragedy, that – though I hope you have found a good home with the Winchesters until you turn eighteen. It seems to me," Mister Santos says, changing the subject without giving Castiel time to speak up, and sitting back in his chair, "that my son may have wanted some information privy only to those in authority about your past." His eyes, though he is thumbing at the files, remain fixed on Castiel's face. "Michael is a good kid, but sometimes his sense of reality is a little…skewed."

There is a long silence for a moment, the two men staring each other down. Castiel frowns after a moment – this is his chance. This is his chance to tell Mister Santos everything; about Michael and Dean, Dean and his own relationship – whatever relationship there may be – and Michael's threatening behavior and his own father and everything…

"Don't try and bait me, Mister Santos. I'm not here to make accusations," he says, his voice just on the verge of snappy. He will not fall into anyone's traps – will not be invested. He's already fallen a little too far because of Dean.

The Principal smiles, his eyes proud as though Castiel has just proven something to him, and he raises his hands again in surrender, setting the files down. "Of course Michael will be talked to," he says, standing, and Castiel and Pamela take that as their cue also. "So sorry to interrupt your class, Miss Barnes, and waste your time, Mister Novak."

They shake hands and depart. Castiel feels shaky, walking with Pamela back to the auditorium, as they still have half an hour left in class. He reaches forward before they enter, hooking his fingers into her wrist and turns her around.

"Mister Santos…how on my side is he?" he asks, just a little edge of nervousness creeping into his voice.

Pamela just smiles. "Don't you worry about that," he says, squeezing Castiel's arm. "He knows when Michael's pulling some bullshit. You got nothin' to be afraid of."

And somehow the assumption that he thinks he does just makes Castiel more nervous than ever. His face is impassive by the time he reaches and rejoins Dean and the rest of the actors in front of the stage with Zen.

He is very good at looking impassive.


It appears that, out of the Santos sons, only Michael is against him. The first thing Gabriel does when he greets Dean and Castiel in the cafeteria is clap Castiel on the shoulder and wrap him up in a hug. It hurts, his bruised ribs twinging at the treatment, but mostly it is Castiel's surprise that prevents him hugging back – and the fact that Gabriel apparently hugsaround people, not the actual person, and his arms are trapped to his sides.

"Um…thank you?" he hazards when the youngest brother pulls away.

Gabriel just grins at him and makes his way back over to whatever corner of the cafeteria he came from. Castiel and Dean are left to mull over the gesture before joining Sam and Ruby at the lunch table.

"That's how Gabriel accepts people into the group," Sam explains with a shrug of his shoulders and an indulgent smile, shoving another mouthful of salad in, his cheeks bulging with the lettuce and tomato. Castiel barely resists the urge to smirk at Dean's disgusted face. "Or he might be extending a peace offering. I mean, I'm sorry, but I think something happened with Michael or whatever that didn't happen with the other two 'cause they're almost normal, you know?"

"Jeez, Sam, you can't wait to dirty his name, can you?" Dean mutters, rolling his eyes, but there's a little smile on his face when he bites into his burger.

Castiel hesitates, fingers idly playing with the bottle cap of his water – he had splurged today and gotten a piece of pizza and an orange, figuring he hadn't actually eaten all that much in the past few days aside from dinner at the Winchesters'. He wants to tell Dean about the files – tell him that he really thinks Michael is up to something bad, wants to tell him about Lucifer's bruised knuckles and how he had felt he needed to beat Michael up on his request. But he doesn't.

He's trying not to be that kind of guy again.

"Zen wants you guys to stay behind for rehearsals, just so you know," Dean says after another moment, pulling Castiel out of his thoughts. "I called Dad so you guys can get picked up after your turn but I was under the impression he wanted Cas and I to stay later."

"Well, you are the leads," Ruby says with a large grin and Dean smirks at her, rolling his eyes. "I never got to congratulate you for that," she adds, looking to Castiel with her earnest brown eyes.

He smiles at her. "Thank you. I was very surprised," he says, shrugging. "Technically I didn't even do a line-run. They chose me on the song alone. I could be a horrible actor."

"They can't really be picky in a school this size," Dean replies with a grin, but there's this look in his eyes when he fixes his gaze on Castiel, a look that says; We both know you're an excellent actor. An excellent liar. Don't pretend.

Sam nods. "Yeah, otherwise they wouldn't have picked my sorry ass."

"Sam, language," Dean warns half-heartedly, taking another bite of his burger and Sam rolls his eyes again, continuing to eat his salad. Greasy though the pizza looks and way too bad for him to be normal, Castiel finds that it's gone too soon – he really hasn't been eating well and he feels it in the way his stomach lurches a little on the tail-end of the pizza. He finishes his water and orange and goes to the bathroom quickly before his Literature class.

He's finished his business and washing up when Michael comes into the bathroom. The older teen doesn't go into a stall or stand in front of one of the urinals. No, instead he quickly shoves open all the doors, making sure he and Castiel are alone while the younger teen watches on in the mirrors, and ducks his head when Michael joins him at his left-hand side.

"You got lucky today," he says lightly, his hand coming to his own face and tracing down the side of his cheek, along the edge of the bruises. "But my father won't do anything about it. He knows enough to stay out of my business."

Castiel remains silent, lathering soap on his hands and rinsing them away.

"I don't know what you did to wrap Dean so easily around your finger. Should've figured, though, I guess – he always has been so innocent and impressionable."

The mention of Dean makes Castiel go tense, a retort just barely bitten back behind his teeth as he clenches his jaw, forcing his face to give nothing away as he reaches for the paper towel dispenser and pulls out two, wiping his hands. The anger he feels on hearing this ass say Dean's name is irrational and dangerous, and he tamps it down and throws it away, deep in his box, his safe, his lake where he places everything he's not meant to feel.

He makes to leave the bathroom but Michael stops him, a hand on his shoulder spinning him around and shoving him up against a wall by the door. The force of the blow against the wall jars Castiel's body and makes him hiss but he remains tall, chin raised in defiance as he meets angry blue eyes.

"He will never be yours," Michael whispers, voice low and dark and just on this side of too threatening and familiar, as the older teen takes a step closer. "He has been and always will be mine."

"I don't want him," Castiel snaps, tasting the lie on his tongue as he growls at Michael and pushes himself upright, away from the wall. "You can have him."

Michael smirks, eyes flashing. "You don't want him?" he asks, derision and disbelief in his voice. He rolls his eyes. "So you're just going to string him along like a little puppy and then dump him when you're bored, Cas?" He growls, taking another step forward. They're almost toe-to-toe now. "At least I gave him what he needed."

"You can have him," Castiel repeats, voice low. He's shaking with anger and he can't quite understand why. "But you'll never be what he wants or needs. Hopefully one day he'll realize it too and be able to move out from under your Godforsaken shadow."

"Don't talk to me about God, boy," Michael snaps, his normally handsome face twisted into a snarl. "A demon like you has no place mentioning his name."

Castiel makes a low sound – frustrated or angry, he can't quite tell – and pushes himself away from the wall again. The action forces Michael to take a step back so Castiel's shoulder doesn't brush him. The younger teen moves to the door.

"I'll run you out eventually," Michael promises, voice low and certain.

Castiel turns around, one hand on the door, and shakes his head, almost unable to believe how ridiculous all of this is – who knew jealousy could make a man so insane? "Don't you worry about me," he says, turning back around, "I have no intention of sticking around. I just hope he sees you for what you are and dumps your sorry ass for good."

And then he leaves. He's almost five minutes late for Lit class but luckily Mister McCloud seems to be too.

His mind is racing. Michael has already proven that he has the means to get into Castiel's files – for some reason, though he's not quite sure why, the older teenager thinks that having his little brother bust his face open will get Castiel in trouble. He's more than a little crazy and more than a lot determined and, though perhaps Castiel doesn't fear him, he is intimidated by him.

He shouldn't have spoken so out of turn like that. Usually he has better control. He cannot concentrate on the book – poem? – they're analyzing and when Mister McCloud asks him questions, he has no idea what the hell the man is talking about. He seems to notice, in that way he does, and asks more and more, keeping Castiel's mind focused on the task. It helps for a little while, but the last two classes of the day do not pass by quickly and they cannot keep his attention no matter how hard he tries.

He hates Dean Winchester, for a brief moment, for making his thoughts so muddled. He used to be logical – prided himself on that, in fact. Now not even a day living with the man and he can't seem to think about anything but Dean and his safety. Michael's presence and threats makes Castiel worry and he knows it's none of his Goddamned business what those two get up to, but he can't help but feel angry in a personal way when Michael talks about Dean – talks about him like he owns him, like Dean is his to do whatever the hell he pleases with.

It reminds Castiel a lot of his father and in the end he thinks that that is why he's getting so upset. Clearly there is no other logical reason.


Castiel comes to realize something vital by the time school finishes and he worms his way through the bustle to get back to the auditorium for rehearsals.

His script is still in his father's house.

The thought of going back into that place is unsettling, though Castiel knows that that is ridiculous – the house was not evil, the residents were. Are. Whatever. He sighs, running a hand through his hair when he sits down next to Dean in the second row.

"What is it?" Dean asks.

"Left my script at the house," Castiel replies, and they both know he isn't talking about Dean's.

"Damn." There is a pause while Dean tries to think of a solution. "They don't usually print spares – 'Save the Trees' and all that. I can go ask Zen though, if you'd like." Without waiting for a response, Dean gets up and climbs over Castiel to get out of the row, and Castiel watches him go – Dean is so damn nice. Like, not only is he a good friend and a great brother but he's a nice guy, and Castiel wonders, not for the first time, how in the hell Michael managed to catch and keep him for so long. Someone that genuinely good doesn't do things like date a guy like Michael.

Or Castiel.

Not that he cares.

That's beside the point.

"Zen doesn't have another copy," Dean's voice suddenly says, coming closer than Castiel had expected, and he jumps a little when the teen rejoins him. "But he says we're doing songs today anyway and he has separate music for that so." He shrugs.

Castiel nods, pressing his lips together. "I can't read music," he says.

"Do you know the songs?"

Castiel nods again.

"Well, then that should be fine."

A pause. "Will you come with me to my father's house tonight, after practice? Pack some things up?"

Even though Castiel isn't looking at him, he can hear Dean's faint smile in his voice; "Sure thing, Cas."

It is that moment that Zen chooses to appear, scurrying onto the stage. His hair is in even further disarray than usual and his glasses hang off his nose. "Alright, alright, no need to panic everyone, sorry I'm late – it's cool, it's all zen, everything is zen…" He pauses, coughing slightly, and looks out over the half-dozen students gathered. "Is this all Pamela asked for?" he asks, brow furrowing.

"She asked for the main singing parts. People with solos," Dean says, and Zen pauses for another moment.

"Is, ah, is our Elfabio here?" he says, flicking absently through some papers, and Castiel nods once, raising his hand. Zen smiles. "Good. You, Fiyero, come up here. We're gonna start with your song."

Dean is up and out of the seat before Castiel can fully comprehend what that means, and he blinks when Dean holds out his hand. It seems like such a silly thing to do, but Castiel takes it and lets Dean pull him to his feet, lets the younger teen lead him up onto the stage.

The curtains are drawn apart when they approach, revealing some trees wrought from iron and a makeshift slope leading off into the stage right wing. There are crosses and lines taped to the floor, presumably for other pieces of scenery. Castiel is amazed at how fast the school must be working to create the scenery so soon.

"Oh, good! We're starting off with our stars." Castiel and Dean turn to look up at the top of the auditorium. Pamela is walking down the middle aisle, before she turns around and cups a hand to her mouth. "Andy! I want mood lighting!" Immediately the scene is enveloped in a dark blue glow, and Pamela nods, satisfied. "Good, good."

She claps her hands together and jogs to join Zen up on the stage, fixing Castiel and Dean with a smile that Castiel can only really call predatory.

"Alright, guys, let me set the scene for you." She sweeps past Zen, leaving the small man to choke on whatever he might have said and look after her with a confused, slightly affronted expression on his face. "The character of Elfabio is pretty much like Elfaba from the original – we've just made him a barbarian from one of the enemies of Oz instead of, you know, a green witch. Think voodoo kind of thing.

'As Long As You're Mine' is an iconic song, when Fiyero and Elfabio will share one magnificent night together before they are torn apart by the guards who are hunting Elfabio down. In the original play, the scene is very…" She waves her hand vaguely, searching for the right term. "Wholesome. Too wholesome. It's a sexual song – we want to see that on stage."

Castiel blinks at her, unable to hear her over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. She wants Dean and him to…wants it to be sexual. To be honest, Castiel had had doubts that they would even keep the kiss in the play at all – apparently not only that, but they're wanting to go a whole lot further with it.

Dean's looking at him – he can feel those jade eyes burning into the side of his face and he's not sure if he's blushing or not but he hopes to God that he is not. His fingers clench nervously in the sleeves of his hoodie and he resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself.

"…Just go with what feels natural," Pamela finishes with a smile.

Dean swallows audibly and Castiel feels a small amount of relief, knowing that he isn't the only one that is uncomfortable here. He dares to glance at Dean, finds the younger teen blushing, a light red stain high on his cheeks, biting into his lower lip as Castiel knows he tends to do when embarrassed or thinking. The slow drag of his flesh between his teeth is distracting, though.

"We're…" He coughs. "You want us to do that tonight?"

Pamela's smile widens. There is murmuring coming from the seats. "Yeah, Jimmy. Just go for it."

"Pamela -."

A look from the woman cuts Zen off, and Castiel just barely thinks that she really is quite a pushy woman, before her eyes turn back to them. "Alright Dean, Jimmy, let's see what you've given me to work with." Then they leave the stage and Dean and Castiel are left alone.

It feels strange, but hearing himself be called 'Jimmy' is…strangely soothing. He isn't Castiel, here, on this stage, even though Pamela knows his real name now – he is an actor. An actor told to play a role. Jimmy is a good actor – Jimmy doesn't have daddy issues and an inappropriate fondness for the man who has taken him in, and his family. Jimmy does not have all that emotional and confusing crap hanging over his head.

And Jimmy is being told to play a role.

He can do that.

He looks over to Dean and flashes a smile – there is an emotion on Dean's face and in his eyes that he cannot identify and doesn't waste time on it. "We should run on," he says, forcing his tone to be light. "Heat of the moment thing and all that."

Dean nods, swallows, and reaches forward. Two of his fingers hook into Castiel's – Jimmy's – sleeve and he tugs, leading the other teen off-stage. Lucifer is there, manning the curtains and flies, and he gives them a nod with a small half-smile. Castiel nods back at him.

For a moment there is silence, and then Dean takes a breath. He still hasn't let go of Jimmy's arm. "If I…do anything," he says, voice low and tense, heavy with hidden meaning, "that…I mean, I don't want to freak you out or anything. I don't want to…"

Suddenly, it makes sense. "Dean," Castiel whispers, stepping forward, his eyes earnest, voice stern. "You are not my father. I would never…you would never do that to me. I can't even equate those kinds of things with you on any level."

Dean looks relieved, but there is a hesitance in his smile that pulls at Castiel's heart, and he bites his lower lip. "Just…if I do something and it's too much just shove me away. I won't get mad or anything. I don't want this to be any more awkward than it's gonna."

Castiel smirks a little at that, before he takes a deep breath, and falls back into the role of Jimmy. Jimmy is calm, ready to perform – he's 'Zen'. Totally Zen.

"You boys ready?" Zen calls, and Jimmy nods, pressing his lips together. Dean gives a small 'yeah' back and then the opening chords of the song are playing. It's on an audio track so they can't stall while the two run onto the stage.

Suddenly, anticipation fills Castiel – not Jimmy, not this time. He is going to hear Dean sing. Dean is going to be singingto him, with him, with all the raw emotion that he somehow can't capture in a recording. He is not naïve and vain enough to think that it is his presence itself that changes Dean's voice and makes it so much more.

He feels a tug on his arm and runs onto the stage after Dean. There are two of the iron trees, one on each side half-way back from the proscenium arch, and they run to the furthest one. The time comes for Castiel's first note and he stops, digs in his heels, pulls Dean towards him. Dean doesn't anticipate it, stumbles, sends them spinning until Castiel's back collides with the hard iron tree. It hurts – stings his injured back and ribs like a bitch – but it just incenses Castiel more.

Dean steps close, one of his hands on the side of Castiel's face, fingertips tracing him like he's precious, fragile – almost enough to make Castiel believe it himself.

"Kiss me too fiercely," he whispers, fingers coming up to curl over Dean's wrist, his other hand coming to rest on Dean's waist, pulling him close, fractured knuckles stinging when he digs in and hangs on. "Hold me too tight."He takes a deep breath, tilting his head back to look up into Dean's eyes – Fiyero'seyes. "I need help believing you're with me tonight."

Dean smiles a little – Fiyero smiles – affection and desire flashing in his eyes and Castiel cannot tell whether that is acting or real and he doesn't want to find out in case he gets an answer he doesn't like. He tugs closer, the hand on Dean's wrist moving to his hair, pulling him in. They're so close now, their chests are touching, and he can smell Dean's soda and some gum on his breath, the minty warmth washing across his face.

His hands are shaking again. "My wildest dreamings could not foresee…" He looks down, biting his lip, closing his eyes when Dean worms a thigh between his legs, pressing so close that Castiel feels he's going to meld with the tree behind him. "Lying beside you…with you wanting me…."

The chorus rises – makes emotion clog his throat just for a moment and Dean rides it with him, hands moving to Castiel's hips, rocking, just a little – just enough for him to feel the hard strength of Dean's body contrasting with the cold, unwelcoming feeling of the tree at his back.

"Just for this moment," he sings, his voice cracking just a little and he can't figure out why, "as long as you're mine…I've lost all resistance…" His hands move to Dean's hair, his eyes close and he tilts his head when Dean leans down, open mouth dragging spit-slick lips across his neck, down his jaw. It feels good. It feels really good – God, how can he have never felt like this before? "And crossed some borderline…And if it turns out…"

Dean's suddenly not by his face anymore – Castiel's fingers clench in his soft, thick hair when he feels Dean's thigh move from between his, warm, large hands flattened oh-so-gently across his flanks, moving down in a caress so gentle and soft that Castiel trembles from just how loving and affectionate it feels. He looks down, eyes flying open, sees Dean staring back up at him from where he's kneeling -.

He's kneeling.

"It's over too fast…" There is such emotion and love in those dark green eyes. Castiel pets a hand through Dean's hair, sucking in a breath at the puff of warm air that escapes from Dean's bitten-red lips against his stomach. His gut clenches at the feeling, an undeniable heat pooling low in his belly from having Dean on his knees. "I'll make every last moment last. As long as you're mine."

He is a little ashamed to admit he growls out the last line – he doesn't understand why…with the music, what's going on. Dean, kneeling, on his knees for Castiel –it seems so absurd that Dean should be able to affect him as much as he is right now. His hands tighten in Dean's hair, one hand comes down to trace the curve of the younger teen's strong jaw.

Castiel wants. He wants Dean. He wants Dean right now.

Dean smiles – is he still in character? Is all of this just an act? God, please, no, yes… "Maybe I'm brainless, maybe I'm wise…but you've got me seeing through different eyes." His voice is huskier than Castiel's, less pure, more 'manly' as it is, marred with gravel and emotion. Castiel tugs on his hair and his eyelids flutter. He leans forward to mouth at Castiel's stomach and even through his hoodie and shirt Castiel can feel his warm breath.

Then his hands start skating up Castiel's thighs, large and warm and steadying. "Somehow I've fallen under your spell…"There's a laugh in his voice – a happy, glorious revelation. Suddenly, he rises to his feet, those hands still on Castiel's thighs and hauling him close and it seems like the only natural reaction is to cling to Dean's shoulders, wrap an arm around his waist, hold himself close to keep from falling. "And somehow I'm feeling it's up that I fell."

They sing the chorus together, harmony colliding together as easily as though they had rehearsed it a thousand times. Dean is leaning close, they're sharing air – God, he's so close, so warm…he feels like a steady hand, a warm blanket on a cold night, reassurance, safety. He smells like leather and oil and a warm, welcoming home full of food and spices and something that homes always have but Castiel has never been able to identify.

Castiel gasps, then, suddenly – Dean is…Dean is…There is an undeniable press against Castiel, something he knows and recognizes, and he looks up with wide eyes into Dean's face. Dean's leaning close, his mouth resting just barely against Castiel's temple so the older teen could turn his face and would be able to feel Dean's stubble-rough jaw.

That's insane.

Castiel tenses up, pushes Dean away and he stumbles back, just two steps.

He doesn't break the song, though.

"…Say there's no future for us as a pair…"

He sinks to his knees again, one hand reaching out to Castiel. He's clinging to the tree for strength, breathing hard, flushed – the room feels like it's a thousand degrees and for a moment he forgets that they are on a stage, that there are people watching. He runs forward and falls into Dean's lap, thighs straddling and bracketing Dean's hips and Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's waist, holding him close.

"And though I may know…I don't care."

Dean's hands are on his back, sitting low, just short of being uncomfortable and intrusive. But it doesn't feel awkward. It feels…dare he say it, natural. Like they should just be sitting here for the rest of their lives, singing, emotion flying high. Dean's cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, Castiel imagine that he can't be looking much better.

God, it feels right.

And then, it's over.

"…know I'll be here, holding you, as long as you're mine…"

The note dies out, and Castiel almost expects Dean to deflate, to slip out of character like he so desperately wants to himself, but it feels like the character has a hold on him now, talons dug in, and refusing to let go and it's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

Dean's hand comes up, tracing the side of his face, his eyes dark and full of concern when Castiel turns his eyes away.

"What is it?" he whispers, just loud enough to be heard. Castiel vaguely remembers the line, and it's so damn easy to smile wide, to cling with excited fingers to Dean's hair and arms and neck, his thighs clenching tight with his excitement.

"Nothing," he replies, feeling giddy. "It's just for the first time…I feel...wicked."

Castiel is a little pleased to note Dean's small shiver at that, his fingers curling into Castiel's flesh, pulling him close. They're leaning in, and that is when Castiel feels the sudden, icy clench low in his stomach. He gasps, turning his face away so Dean's soft, warm lips land on his jaw, Castiel shuddering and clenching his eyes tightly shut, going tense.

He knows that it is irrational – the fear. This is Dean; Dean is pretty much the antithesis of Castiel's father…but that doesn't make it easier to forget. To feel Dean's fingers clinging to him so desperately as those of his father – hurting, bruising. He shudders, fingers curling in the material of Dean's shirt, breathing in deep to try and steady himself. Dean's pulled away from him now and he can feel those concerned green eyes on his face.

"Cas?" he whispers, almost too softly to hear. One hand starts stroking up and down Castiel's flank and he bites his lip. "You okay?"

"I…"

It is then that Castiel hears Pamela clearing her throat, and he lifts his gaze to the woman because looking at her is easier than looking at Dean. Carefully, he shifts off of Dean's lap, wincing when it feels too cold, sitting on the stage floor. He looks up at her again.

"How was that?" he asks, voice carefully neutral, still trying to shake off the feeling of being hunted, caught, too close.

She raises a brow at the two of them – Dean, flushed, breathing hard, rubbing his palms flat on his thighs – Castiel, too quiet, too still, a prey animal waiting for the hunter to move on. "A good first attempt," she finally says, tossing some of her hair back over her shoulder. "But you do realize the scene requires a kiss, Jimmy. A realone."

He flushes slightly, biting his lip and looking down. "I understand."

"Good. Work on it. Now, you two take a break. We'll get…where is our Nessa and Bog?"

The rest of her words are drowned out in the rush of blood in his ears, as Castiel shoves himself clumsily to his feet and practically flees down back to the seats. Only in the darkness of the auditorium, away from the bright stage lights, does he feel a little safer, and allows himself to release the breath he'd been holding.

Until Dean sits next to him. He is tense but the teen doesn't touch him – just fixes him with this look. Like he's trying to figure out what he needs to say in a way that is the best way to say it.

"I'm sorry," he finally settles on, leaning back in his chair, non-threatening. "Got a little carried away there, I think."

Castiel flushes, biting his lip, and looks away. He can still feel the heat of Dean underneath him, feels the warm tingle where his lips had landed. "Not your fault," he says, absently wiping at his jaw. "Says so in the script. I just…had a moment, there. Won't happen again."

"Don't force this."

Castiel's instinct is to snap back at him, tell him to just back off and give him some space – but then he realizes that Dean knows. Of course Dean knows. So do Sam and Ruby, too – Sam, who is looking over his shoulder to watch the pair out of the corner of his eye, concerned and caring. Ruby is sparing them glances while Pamela goes over the scene with her and her costar – a sophomore named Garth.

They care about him.

What in the hell?

"I just…" He clears his throat, staring straight ahead and folding his arms across his chest, fingernails digging into his hoodie sleeves. "I got carried away there, too. And bad timing. I'll get over it. With time and, you know, practice." He hesitates, just for a moment, then; "I trust you."

Dean's smile is blinding at that, and Castiel lets himself relax, just a little bit. "Good. I'm glad. Well, whenever you want to run through it again, just let me know."

He smiles. "I will, Dean, thank you."