Castiel and the Phantom of the Opera - Chapter 12
I do not own Supernatural or ANYTHING from the Phantom of the Opera.
Chapter 12 – Twisted Every Way
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Sam shouted as he shouldered his way through the terrified crowd while carrying a limp Castiel. Everything that he had wanted to avoid had happened. Everything he'd been praying didn't occur had unfolded. Dean was back to terrorize the opera house, and he was still out to get Castiel. Not only that, but now he had an opera he was forcing the owners to put on. And Castiel . . . Sam shook his head. The poor boy was still so young and he was already caught up in something so dark and twisted.
He pushed his way through a door that led back to the dormitories of the theatre. Sam could hear footsteps hard on the wooden floor behind them. "Monsieur Winchester!" Balthazar's voice sounded close behind him. "Monsieur Winchester, please! Castiel is my friend! Is he alright? What happened?!"
Sam sighed as they neared the door that led to where the dancers slept. He briefly glanced over his shoulder and, to his great relief, Balthazar was the only one who had followed him this far. With a small growl, he nodded. "I'll tell you, just help me lie him down somewhere. Open the door for me."
Balthazar complied, and helped Sam carry Castiel in and lay him on the nearest bed. Both men were huffing and puffing with it was over. "Okay . . ." Balthazar breathed, looking at Sam with a determined gaze. "What happened? Why is Cas unconscious?"
The choreographer took a moment to try to piece together what exactly he was going to tell him. The truth? Should he reveal Castiel's affair with the infamous opera ghost? Or should he alter it and make Castiel sound like a victim? I suppose that is the truth . . . Dean is taking things too far . . . But can you blame him? His first shot at love and it's ripped away from him. "It was him," Sam finally whispered.
"What? Who?" Balthazar demanded; his voice was laced with impatience.
"The Phantom of the Opera," the choreographer explained.
Balthazar's eyes widened. He turned away from Sam for a few moments and stared at the wooden floor. The dancer shook his head. "No . . . Why would the Phantom be interested in Castiel?" he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself. He looked back at Sam, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."
Sam shook his head. "I don't expect you to." As he rose to leave, Balthazar roughly grabbed his forearm.
"NO!" he snarled, standing up beside the older man. "I'm not going to let you run off until you tell me what is really going on her, Monsieur Winchester! Castiel is my best friend – I'd die before I let anything happen to him!"
Sam had to admire Balthazar's loyalty. It almost reminded him of his own to Dean. But I have betrayed my brother . . . I've hurt him . . . I brought him to that world of unending darkness and he thrived in it. He let it consume him . . . I did this. "Balthazar," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The Phantom is Castiel's teacher – the one who taught him how to sing so well. And I fear that the Phantom may be in love with Castiel."
Balthazar's eyes widened. "You mean . . . really love as in romantically?"
"Yes," Sam murmured, avoiding the younger man's gaze.
For a while, Balthazar was silent. In all honesty, Sam was surprised that not more people had suspected that at least Dean had feelings for Castiel. Of course, their society would never accept two men loving one another in such a way. But to Sam, it was blatantly obvious just by the things Dean did to for the boy – the display at the masquerade was more than enough to convince him.
"Does . . ." Balthazar began, trying to find the right words. "Does Castiel feel the same about the Phantom?"
Sam looked down at the unconscious form on the bed. Castiel's eyes were still closed, but the faint rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still breathing. If Sam had been asked that question a few hours ago, he would have promptly replied in the negative, but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't miss the way Castiel had stared at Dean as if he were a god; the way Castiel's eyes had shone with tears as Dean approached him. Maybe I was wrong . . . maybe Castiel does love my brother . . . somewhere deep down. Maybe he is just fearful of him. It would make sense.
"I . . . I do not know," Sam admitted, not taking his eyes off Castiel. "I think so . . . But at the same time I am not sure. The Phantom is . . . well, the Phantom. I can't imagine that he is an easy person to love, Balthazar. Maybe Castiel does harbor feelings for him . . . maybe he even loves him, but I do believe that Castiel is scared of him. So, I think that yes, in a way Castiel does love the Phantom of the Opera, but I think his fear overshadows it."
"What?!" a new, shrill voice exclaimed.
Both men jumped and looked to the door of the dormitory where Meg Masters stood, her brown eyes brimming with tears. Sam stared at her, a twinge of fear spreading through his body. What would happen if Meg went and told the others that Castiel may have feelings for another man? To act on stage was one thing, but to actually have such feelings was a different boat. "Meg," he said quickly, rushing to her side.
Meg jerked back as he approached, a single tear slipping from her eye. "He is in love with that monster?!" she shouted in disbelief.
Sam didn't know what to do, or how to react. He felt a stab of pain at the word she used to describe his brother. But he knew it was true; not only that, but it had become accurate. It seemed like Dean's love for Castiel was driving him mad. After all, what was he planning to do with this opera he gave to the managers?
"Meg . . ." he said, struggling to find the right words. How could he explain to her that her lover was in love with someone else – another man at that! "Do you remember Castiel talking about an Angel of Music?"
She paused for a moment, her face becoming thoughtful. "Y- yes," she sniffled.
"Well, the Phantom of the Opera is Castiel's Angel of Music. They are the same man.
Meg looked even more confused than before. "But Castiel said that his Angel was good and kind . . . that he taught him how to sing."
"The Phantom did teach Castiel how to sing. He trained Castiel, and, over the years, he fell in love with him. The Phantom is in love with Castiel. Love doesn't even seem like a strong enough word – he is obsessed. That is why the Phantom goes to such great lengths to make Castiel a star – why he singles Castiel out above all others," Sam explained. He was only giving her the tip of the iceberg; what lay beneath the surface of the sea was far greater, and significantly more complex. But this was a good start – enough to clear up at least some of her confusion.
"But you said . . . that Castiel loves him back," Meg pointed out, wiping away one of her fallen tears with a shaking hand.
"The Phantom was a companion to Castiel – a friend when he had none. He was something . . . different. He was . . . He was his Angel of Music. Castiel adored him from the time he was a child. He looked up to him like a big brother – relied on him and looked to him for guidance." Just like I did, Sam thought grimly.
Meg shook her head. "I . . . I cannot . . ." She paused and gripped a nearby headrest for support. "This makes my head swim . . . But, I came here to tell you that Monsieur Speight and Monsieur Fuller request your presence at once, Monsieur Winchester."
Sam sighed. Those two are helpless as infants, he thought bitterly. "Fine," he grumbled. He looked over his shoulder at Balthazar who was watching the scene unfold with an expression of discomfort on his face. "Balthazar, would you mind staying with Castiel until he wakes?" Sam requested.
The blond man nodded dutifully. "Of course, Monsieur."
"I will stay with him as well," Meg piped up quietly. "I need to rest anyway . . . I feel a little faint."
Sam nodded and exchanged one last look with Balthazar before leaving the dormitory. As he made his way to the managers' office, he felt a building sense of unease. Something very bad was going to happen sooner than later. Dean, for God's sake, what are you planning down there?
"Ludicrous!" Zachariah hissed, slamming his fist down on the desk. He rubbed his temple with his other hand, shaking his head. "Gabriel, have you even seen the score of this atrocity?" he grumbled.
His partner was pacing back and forth in the office, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "I know, Zachariah," he grumbled.
"This is the final straw!" the older man continued to fume. "If that ghost thinks that he can bully us—"
Gabriel suddenly ceased pacing and faced Zachariah directly. He put his hand on his partner's desk, his face contorted with rage. "We are not dealing with a ghost, Zachariah!" he practically screamed in his face. "This is a man! A man who has killed before! This is a man who is willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants! Do you not realize that this is not a game anymore!? This is real, and we need to take the Phantom of the Opera seriously, or we will pay the price for it!"
Zachariah was silent for a few moments before he picked up a note off the desk. Gabriel groaned as he saw the red skull seal. Another note, he thought sadly. Would they never escape the Phantom's torment? Zachariah unfolded the note and read the message aloud.
Dear Zachariah,
Re my orchestrations: we need another first bassoon. Get a player with tone and that third trombone has to go too. The man could not be deafer, so please hire one that plays in tune.
"You have one as well," Zachariah muttered once he had finished reading his own.
Gabriel sighed and went over to his desk. Sure enough, there was a note left for him right where it could easily be seen. He picked up the brittle paper and unfolded it. He could feel Zachariah's questioning eyes on him, so read the note aloud so he could hear the message too.
Dear Gabriel,
Vis a Vis my opera: some chorus members must be sacked. If you could find out which as a sense of pitch, it would be very beneficial to the performance. Do it wisely though, I've managed to assign minor roles to those who cannot act.
Just as Gabriel finished reading his note, a shrill male voice split the air. "OUTRAGE!" Meta Tronne screeched storming into their office. "THIS WHOLE AFFAIR IS AN OUTRAGE!"
Gabriel let out a laborious sigh. "What is it now, Monsieur?" he asked sharply. Although he knew better that to verbally admit it, Meta Tronne was becoming more of a nuisance than anything else. He was always whining and complaining about his parts and about everything the Phantom did. Surely he was only here to give Gabriel and Zachariah hell over something that didn't have control of.
"Have you seen the size of my part!?" Meta Tronne demanded putting his hands on his hips.
"Monsieur Tronne," Zachariah began tiredly.
"It is an insult!" a new voice snarled. Gabriel groaned as he saw Raphael come up beside the diva.
"Not you as well!" Gabriel muttered under his breath.
"Just look at the script!" Raphael snapped. "It's an insult!"
Meta Tronne rolled his eyes and covered his face with one hand. "Oh, the things I have to do for my art."
"Ha, if you can call this gibberish 'art'!"
"What is going on here?"
Gabriel's mood lightened as Sam Winchester appeared in the doorway, squeezing past Meta Tronne and Raphael. "I could hear you all shouting from the other end of the hallway."
"We are trying to explain to them that the Opera Ghost . . . didn't make Meta Tronne the star of the play," Zachariah said, clearly trying to word it carefully so he wouldn't offend those present.
An almost haunted look passed Sam's face. "What is this opera even about? Have you looked at it?"
"As far as I can tell," Gabriel began, disgruntled. "It's about some kind of lord that is seeking the affection of a young stable boy. He devises some kind of plan with his friend to get the boy alone and seduce him."
Sam gulped and suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Who is the star of this opera, then?"
It was Zachariah who answered in a defeated voice, "Castiel Novak."
When Castiel came to, his head was throbbing. All he wanted to do was slip back into unconsciousness and let the pain go away. But then he remembered why he was unconscious in the first place. "DEAN!" he shouted, shooting upward in bed. The sudden movement made his already hazy vision swirl with blinding color.
"Cas!" Balthazar's voice sounded from somewhere close by. Firm hands gripped his shoulders and held him upright. "Hey, hey, buddy! Look at me. Cas? Can you hear me right now?"
"Castiel?" Meg's voice reached his ears too.
Now Castiel was confused; where was he? All he remembered was passing out in the hall after Dean disappeared. How did he get here? When did Meg get back? And why was Balthazar with him? "What? Where am I? What happened?"
"The Phantom showed up," Meg explained. "And then Sam said that you passed out so he carried you here."
"Sam?" Castiel asked, still in a daze. He looked around. Sam . . . I need to talk to Sam. I have to find Dean. He lurched forward again, trying to get out of the bed, but Balthazar held him steady.
"Easy, Cassie," his friend said, tightening his grip on his shoulders. "You have to rest."
"No, I have to find Sam," Castiel replied, shaking his head. "Please, let me up. I can walk." He wasn't sure if that was true or not, but he would be damned if he sat there and did nothing.
Meg nodded and took his hand in hers. "I'll take you to him," she told him gently.
Castiel gave her an appreciative nod and shakily stood. Balthazar and Meg each took hold of one of Castiel's arms and helped him get to the door. Castiel's vision slowly began to come into focus and he took more confident steps. You can do this, he told himself as they finally reached the door that led out of the dormitories. "Where are they?" he asked Meg as Balthazar opened the door for them.
"I think they're in the managers' office. Monsieur Speight and Monsieur Fuller called Sam in there about ten minutes before you woke up," Meg explained. Castiel noted that her grip on his arm was very tight – tighter than normal. She's probably just afraid that I'll fall.But there was something about her tone of voice and just the way she was acting that told Castiel that something had changed while he was unconscious. There was something different about Meg that made him uneasy.
She's still my best friend, Castiel thought. No matter what happens in these next few days, Meg always has, and always will be my friend. I just wish I realized that I loved Dean more a long time ago. This is my fault . . . it's all my fault, and I have to fix this. I need to make it up to Dean. I need to show him that I do care about him. I need to show him that he doesn't have to kill or make threats. I need to show him that he is loved.
"Ah, here's our little songbird!" Meta Tronne sneered as Castiel, Meg, and Balthazar finally reached the managers' office. The three of them squeezed past Meta Tronne and into the already full office. Raphael was leaning up against the back wall sulking. Monsieur Speight was pacing. Monsieur Fuller sat at his desk with his head in his hands. And Sam just sat at Monsieur Speight's desk his chin resting on one of his hands and apparently deep in thought.
"Monsieur Novak," Gabriel greeted stiffly. "Quite the man of the hour, it seems."
"Yes, Castiel," Sam said, his voice void of all emotion. "It appears that you have secured the largest role in this Don Juan."
"Castiel Novak," Meta Tronne snorted from his place in the threshold. "He doesn't have the voice!"
Everyone ignored Meta Tronne's comment and the conversation continued as if it had never been uttered. "So I take it you're agreeing?" Meg asked, looking between the two owners. "You're going to perform this travesty?"
"It appears we have no choice," Zachariah sighed resignedly.
"He's behind this!" Meta Tronne insisted, jabbing a finger at Castiel. "He's the one behind all this! Castiel Novak!"
Castiel suddenly felt a surge of hatred. Sure, Dean had written the opera for Castiel and had given it to the managers in hopes of having Castiel perform it. And maybe Dean had sabotaged Meta Tronne in the performance of Il Muto so Castiel could take on the lead role. But never once had Castiel asked for any of that. He had never wanted any of that to happen. Whatever Dean did, he did on his own. If it was for Castiel or because of Castiel, it was still by Dean's own free will. I didn't want this, Castiel thought with a pang of sorrow. I didn't want to get caught up in this game. I didn't want to be thrown into the limelight like this. I didn't want the Phantom of the Opera to fall in love with me. I didn't want to live my life in fear of him taking revenge on me or my friends.
"How dare you!?" Castiel shouted, rounding on Meta Tronne. The older man recoiled, eyes wide. He clearly had not been expecting any retaliation. Castiel continued while giving the diva the fiercest glare he could muster. "You evil monster! How dare you!?"
Meta Tronne seemed to recover at last. "Do you think I'm blind?" he prompted. "I'm not a fool, Novak! I can see what you're doing! Staging all this ghost nonsense to steal my spotlight!"
"This isn't my fault!" Castiel shouted in response. There was no other sound to be heard; in fact, it was eerily silent as Castiel spoke. "I don't want any part of this crazy plot! I don't want to be a star! I don't want to sing anymore!"
"But why not?" Gabriel finally inquired after a few moments of silence. "It's your decision, but why not? I thought you would be in favor of these notes? I mean, they are in your best interest."
"He's backing out," Meta Tronne whispered more to himself than anyone else.
"You have a duty to sing in this opera, Monsieur," Zachariah butted in. He stared at the boy with hard, unforgiving eyes.
Castiel shook his head defiantly. He was done listening to two fools who didn't have any knowledge of music whatsoever. "I will not sing it!" Castiel replied. "Duty or not, I will not sing it!" He felt tears of frustration spring to his eyes.
"Castiel, it's okay," Meg murmured softly, taking his hand in his. She must have noticed the tears and the way his body was beginning to shake in anger. "You don't have to sing it – they can't make you do it."
"This Phantom has terrorized us for too long," Meta Tronne spoke again. "We need to do something about it! We cannot simply bend to his every whim! We need to take a stand."
"And do what, Monsieur Tronne?" Sam growled from Monsieur Speight's desk. "What could we possibly do? D—The Phantom has shown us that he won't take no for an answer. Are you prepared to undergo another disaster? Has your voice even fully recovered from the last one?"
The prima donna blanched at the mention of the fiasco a few months ago. He looked at the floor in submission.
"Although I hate to agree with him," Meg mumbled, holding Castiel's hand tighter and looking at the men around her. "Meta Tronne is right. We cannot simply sit here and do nothing. But I think the solution to our problem is staring us right in the face, Monsieurs. In fact, I think the Phantom himself has given us a chance to ensnare him."
"We're listening," Zachariah said slowly.
"Yes, go on," Gabriel encouraged.
Castiel looked at his lover curiously. What exactly was she planning? He also noticed that Sam wore a very nervous look on his face. Castiel met his eyes for just a moment before looking back to Meg.
"We shall play his game," Meg began slowly, letting go of Castiel's hand and stepping into the center of the room. "We shall perform his work, but remember that we hold the ace! If Castiel sings, then the Phantom is certain to attend, right? I mean, he clearly wants Castiel to be the star. He'll show up to see him sing. And when he is there, we simply make certain that all the doors are barred, the police are there and armed, and the curtain will fall on the reign of the Phantom of the Opera!"
Castiel stared at Meg in shock. How can she think of that? Of murder?! His knees began to wobble. He felt weak. Balthazar's hand grabbed him just as he was about to fall over. He gave his friend a grateful look, but was still stuck on Meg's words. Dean . . . Dean! They're going to kill Dean! "No . . ." he whispered so softly only Balthazar heard him. "No . . . Dean . . ."
"Madness!" Sam shouted, jumping up from his seat. He looked absolutely furious. "We cannot . . . kill a man that is more shadow and phantom than anything else!"
"It might work," Gabriel murmured to himself.
"It will turn the tide!" Zachariah agreed.
Sam began to look a little desperate. His eyes were wide and his breathing was shallower. "Monsieur, believe me! There is no way of turning the tide!"
Zachariah rose from his seat and gave Sam a hard look. "You stick to dancing, Winchester."
"Then help us!" Meg shouted, looking at Sam with pleading eyes. "Instead of warning us, help us!"
Sam shook his head. "I wish I could."
"You can!" Meg insisted.
"Don't make excuses!" Zachariah interjected.
"Please, believe me!" Sam began, looking around at all the hard faces. Castiel realized that everyone in the room seemed to be turning against the choreographer. They were all in favor of killing Dean once and for all while Sam was trying so desperately to save his brother. I have to help, Castiel thought, but his mouth was dry. All he could do was think about Dean's body getting shot down by policemen. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't happen – he couldn't let it. He wanted to speak up against it, but his mouth was dry. He felt sick.
"I intend no ill," Sam went on. "But messieurs, remember that we have seen him kill! I just want to avoid any future unnecessary death!"
"We say he'll fall, and he will fall!" Meta Tronne shouted.
"Castiel is his undoing!" Meg added.
"If this succeeds, we'll all be free!" Gabriel added. "This so-called 'angel' has to fall!"
"Angel of Music, fear my fury!" Meg muttered to herself. "Here is where you fall."
Sam slammed his fist down on the desk. "HEAR MY WARNING, ALL OF YOU! HIS IS THE FURY TO BE FEARED!"
"This black angel of death should say his prayers!" Meg shouted back in response. "This time, we will be the ones that triumph!"
Castiel was shaking now. It was real . . . It was becoming too real. Dean couldn't die. They couldn't kill him. Dean . . . Dean . . . I just want to see him! I want him! Where is he?! Please let him hear this! Let him hear this plan! "Please . . ." he tried to call to the others. "Please don't do this!"
"Mademoiselle, I beg you!" Sam was pleading now. "Don't do this! For all of our sakes, do not do this!"
"This will seal his fate!" Meg replied.
"IF YOU DON'T STOP, I'LL GO MAD!" Castiel wailed above all the other voices. Everyone went deadly silent as all eyes rested on him. He was leaning up against a wall, breathing heavily. Balthazar was trying his bed to keep him upright and keep him on his feet. Castiel was hanging on to his friend and using the wall for support. He felt like he was going to vomit. This couldn't happen. They couldn't kill Dean. He had to make them stop – make them think about this for a second. "Meg," he said quietly, his pale blue eyes finding her brown ones. He had to make her stop. Whatever it took, he had to make her stop. The only way he thought to convince them was if he made them think that he was afraid – that Dean truly was something to be feared.
"Meg, I'm frightened," he said, taking a stumbling step toward her. His voice came out half-strangled. Tears were beginning to fall – they were tears of fear for the life of his Angel of Music, and tears of just plain anger and frustration. They mangled his voice and made him sound like a broken, defeated man. "Don't make me do this." He grabbed her shoulder, partially to steady himself, but also to make her understand. "Meg, it scares me – don't put me through this ordeal. He'll take me, I know . . . He won't let me go."
He let go of Meg then. He knew that Balthazar's support wasn't enough to keep him on his feet any longer. He slumped to the floor but, to his surprise, didn't pass out. He just sat there, standing at the rug beneath him, the tears flowing uncontrollably. Balthazar was crouched down beside him, doing his best to comfort him. "What I once used to dream, I now dread," Castiel whimpered. That much was true; he never wanted to sing on stage again. "If he finds me . . . it won't ever end . . . And he'll always be there singing songs in my head." A part of Castiel was still fearful of this; he did have feelings for Dean, but Dean was still the Phantom, and that alone was a terrifying thought. He remembered Benny's death and the way he so easily destroyed Meta Tronne's voice. Dean was a force to be reckoned with, and it did scare Castiel to some degree. But I still have to save him, he thought. I have to find a way to keep him alive. Me and Sam . . . We'll figure it out. Sam will tell Dean and we can get out of this.
After a few moments of silence, Castiel heard Meta Tronne's voice, "He's mad." For once, the diva didn't sound scornful or cruel. In fact, he sounded genuinely remorseful about that fact; his voice was full of pity.
"Castiel," Meg murmured, kneeling down beside him. She gently cupped his cheek and wiped away some of the tears with her thumb. She told him the same thing she'd said on the rooftop three months earlier: "He is just a man. And while he lives, he will haunt us until we're dead."
He shook his head numbly. "Twisted . . ." he breathed. "This is twisted every way . . . What answer can I give?" he wondered aloud, keeping his eyes on the rug. "Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I really betray the man who inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I even have a choice? He kills without a thought . . . he murders the innocent . . . I know I can't refuse, but I wish I could. Oh God, if I agree . . . what horrors wait for me in the Phantom's opera?"
Another silence descended upon those gathered at Castiel's words. He could feel Sam's burning gaze on him; it was actually very similar to his brother's. You always knew when one of them was looking at you just by the intensity of their eyes alone. Meg lifted Castiel's head so he had to look at her now. "Castiel . . ." she sighed. "Please, don't think that I don't care . . . But every hope – every prayer we have – rests on you now."
Castiel forced himself to look around at all the hopeful faces. They wanted him to sing – they wanted him to be the bait to get Dean in the line of sight of an armed policeman. That was what they wanted. He forced himself to meet Sam's eyes. The choreographer's blue-green gaze was hard and unyielding, but there was the slightest trace of reassurance in it. Sam was giving him the okay to agree. He has a plan, Castiel thought in relief. Finally, he looked at Meg and gave a nod of consent.
She gave him a gentle smile and kissed his lips. Castiel resisted the urge to push her away; he had to act now. He had to put on the biggest performance he'd ever done; Dean's life depended on it. He kissed her back softly. When she pulled away, he felt relieved, but was then horrified by her next words that were clearly directed at Dean.
"So, it will be war between us. But this time, clever friend, the disaster will be yours."
A/N: Thanks for reading! It really means a lot to me! So, this story only has a few chapters left. It's been fun. I'll try to write them out as quickly as possible. Please remember to review and tell me what you thought!