Chapter 4: Expectations Hung

The Novak brother's lodging was a bungalow located in the heart of the wild (that's right, it's a cabin in the woods, go ahead, sue him. He only understood that reference because there was no way he was missing shirtless Thor no matter how stalwartly he stood by DC). Gabe stumbled upon the abandoned house during a very intoxicated night during senior break and called it his own. Cas thought the world of the place. No OCD parents or an insane asylum renamed school a couple blocks away—it was truly a home away from home.

The comic enthusiast hails from Pontiac, Illinois, a small town three hours west of Indiana. Pontiac was a tourist hotspot for the recurrences of Abe Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant, who parenthetically both had fascinations with studious young men and unforgiving winters. Those attractions brought in nice dividends, couple thousand annually at the most. Comic Con, try a couple million on a bad year. To illustrate, the people of quaint little Pontiac don't extend beyond what was fifteen times the population at SDCC. And don't even try comparing both numbers to the entirety of San Diego; Cas had to digest his breakfast first.

It wasn't like he had an easy time before flying down to sunnyside California. A day in the life of a high school kid isn't easy, his stepfather Zachariah claimed, starting into his premature old man tone that said there was a moral story around the bend. The guy was a religious kook, so he was bound to have a few unsolicited opinions about the education system, but he wasn't wrong. School was hard enough being the only openly bisexual kid in his graduating class. Add the biggest nerd and he was a walking poster boy for humiliation and torment.

The only real friends he had were the ones he made in southwest California—the ones that looked beyond his scrawny ass and "obviously confused" sexuality that saw him for who he was. Charlie was two grades ahead of him, leaving him behind long ago. Hannah was nice enough, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, always tried to get him alone, which was kind of scary. Garth and Kevin were always courteous, but they were more invested in each other than an upperclassman. That was fine, too. They were best friends long before a measly Novak came along.

Really, the only person he had that wasn't off at some illustrious university or a thousand miles away was Gabriel (mostly because the elder brother didn't believe in furthering his education when he found steady work at a candy mill in Naperville despite the hour-long sermon from their stringent parents). His other brothers and sisters were at Princeton… or was it Columbia? Hell, he couldn't keep track anymore.

Come to think of it, he doesn't know what he's going to do with the rest of his life. So many options, so little options, either way he had a gut feeling that he wouldn't fall through with the right decision. College seemed out of the question, since he probably blew a hole through every penny in his education fund on conventions and memorabilia. If it wasn't for Gabe's recent promotion he wouldn't have been able to afford airfare to San Diego alone. Their parents resented the idea of a "second Halloween" for a learning boy, so he didn't expect a check-in call from them anytime soon. He wouldn't live to see tomorrow if his parents knew he wasn't on paid training for some pre-medical internship in San Francisco.

He felt bad, using his brother for money he didn't have to begin with, but Gabe insisted on paying. He was one of the few adults who understood how hard it was to be a kid in the twenty-first century.

But even what he currently held in his hands couldn't top Gabe this time. It was an envelope (yeah, can you believe there's actually postal service in bumfuck nowhere?) enclosed to a C. Novak. Beneath the surface was something substantial, judging by the weight. Sure enough, inside were two official backstage passes to the final day at CCI. There was a note further back that read:

Hopefully this lives up to your expectations.

Cas didn't remember San Diego being this humid because that's totally why his damn allergies were acting up. He slapped his cheeks a few times to relieve the scarlet burn materializing there (because really, this all just had to do with global warming). He stared at the laminates for another moment before shoving them into his pajamas and receding back into the wooden chalet. He wasn't one for cold showers, but nothing in the world at that given moment sounded more propitiatory.

~O~

Gabriel Novak wasn't a genius. He wasn't a mathematician like Einstein or a scientist like…—shit, he slept through all his high school science classes. Well, there had to have been someone who made some significant contribution to the universe and he wasn't one of those guys. Point blank: he didn't know much about a lot of things, no matter how hard he tried to act like he did. Candy, overbearing parents, dating, little brothers—those happened to be some of the few exemptions from his long list of I'd rather not's. So when he found out that his little brother was on a date with a guy who didn't appreciate him for being a real genius and nearly cost he and Cas a parent-ensued house arrest… well, let's just say it didn't take more than half a brain to get extremely pissed.

"Are you insane?!"

Cas sat on what was once presumably a gonorrhea-infested couch before their renovations. He had his arms crossed, tucked between his abdomen and elevated thighs. "Do you need an immediate answer?"

"I mean you're seriously not considering—" Gabe stopped, watching his little sibling's face rise and fall with the changing tide. He put emphasis on the dis-proportioned drawstring of his pajama pants. "You are."

Cas caught a glimpse at the envelope in his waistband and grimaced. "I don't like what happened as much as the next guy, but it's a once in a lifetime thing…"

"So is having Obi-Wan Kenobi for an older brother." Gabe bent down to meet Cas's delirious eyes. He couldn't believe it was seven in the damn morning. Next time he decided to lay down the law, he doing it on a full stomach. "And believe me when I say Luke, you're in way over your head here."

The younger Novak mirrored his exasperation, "Gabe…"

"Don't Gabe me, Castiel," he warned, standing up. "You were my responsibility this weekend."

Cas scoffed, staring at the rundown carpet. "You sound like mom."

"Well at least I know why she sounds like mom," he replied tersely amid the silence that hung between them.

After a moment that felt like time milked into molasses, Gabe bent down again and pulled his brother into a hug that lasted a little too long. He felt Cas's eyes close like he was crying, but…nope, just sleeping. He should have suspected—the kid was a notorious night owl. Prudently, he removed the envelope out of his slackened grasp and tucked it into the pocket of his coat. His baby brother may have been a child prodigy, but there was no way he trusted him with the one slip of paper that would shortly change the rest of his nerdish life.

~O~

"Have you ever seen so many dicks in one place?"

Cas chuckled, fleetingly catching the gentleman's eye with his snide remark. His ingress into high society was led by someone not much older than his impending seventeen (and not at all bad looking, if he said so). He wasn't wrong about his previous claim; there were dozens of hot male personalities teeming in one narrow passageway—he just failed to see the problem. "You make it sound like hell."

"Dude, I PA," he countered. That expunged all preceding postulations he made about… Cole? Cole. When the guy said dick, he meant 'my career choice was dick move'.

Typically right about now he would be in Denver, downing lukewarm Styrofoam cocoa from a cheap vendor inside the airdrome. (Not for warmth, but for morale support. Flying wasn't easy for a claustrophobic teen when his fear was only exercised one or two days out of the entire year and since the local eatery sacked PB&J sandwiches after new health precincts…) Gabe would most likely be at variance with TSA for some misinterpreted item in his carry-on, and Dean would be—

Wait, where did that thought come from? Dean would be where he is in spite anyway. End of story.

Regardless, he couldn't believe the luck he had on the last day of the convention. He met everyone from Iron Man's doppelgänger to War Machine in the flesh (whose real name he hadn't known until being properly introduced; it was Terrance Howard). He met most of the pubescent cast of the newest X-Men film, Haley Atwell from Agent Carter (that name he knew because Charlie has a hard-on for her the size of Mordor), and even the legendary Stan Lee. They talked for an impressive time, though Castiel couldn't tell you anything said on both parties. Breathing in the same presence as the man who practically built the fairgrounds single-handedly was a little overwhelming to say the least. He felt like he should have been paying a separate fee every time he wasted oxygen mumbling something far less resourceful.

Okay, so maybe he liked Marvel. Just those damn Fantastic Four movies needed to be salted and burned, Christ…

What? It's a reference from Ghostfacers, which he may or may not have caught the tail-end of a couple nights ago. There was nothing else on and he sure as hell wasn't going to settle for some uptight conservative weatherman that couldn't get up more than his 401K.

"Where's your boyfriend, Matthew?" stirred Gabe, slinging an indolent arm around his shoulders and tossing him his famous shit-eating grin.

Cas shrugged him away. He obviously found the refreshments table. "His name's Matt. And he's not my boyfriend."

"Oh yeah, that's right, you're still hung up on Mr. Hung… you know the guy who nearly got our asses—?"

"Oh my God, Gabe, I think Uruguay knows the definition of hung."

Cole turned to the two of them. "Wait, did you say Matt, as in Matt Ryan?"

Even the intern knows who Matt freaking Ryan is, Gabe. "Uh—y-yeah, why?" he stammered.

"Mr. Ryan's my boss," he said, "I can hook you up with him, if you want."

Cas saw his life flash before him in technicolor hues. Then it dawned on him: he was going to die without a eulogy. He would be remembered eulogy-less. That's like joining the basketball team to be a benchwarmer—or worse, the water boy. He scrambled for an introduction… Ladies and gentlemen, we gather here today to celebrate the queer and painfully lackluster life of Castiel Novak… that was a good start. He'll try to remember that when he was drowning in a sea of his own foam-like salivate.

The detainee guided them through a series of rooms each with respective platinum nameplates, like those corporate offices reserved for the white collar shareholders that occupy roughly one percent of the entire population. Ambling through a hampered hallway, Cas understood better now about the previously mentioned 'dick' comment. He couldn't believe how many plastics were, well, plastic. Pushing, screaming, biting—most of what he saw was like something out of Jerry Springer. And this was a professional establishment… even if some members of the elite society were partial to spandex shorts and body paint.

He was about to round a corner when strange sounds arose from the room he was passing. He knew it wasn't any of his business, but what if he was the first to know that Captain America was casting a patriotic dispersion into Iron Man? (Man, wouldn't that be years of dogged shipping paid off?) Curiously, he stopped and stole a fleeting glance into one of the few pronged doors with a shrewd smile. What he found, however, was not the live-action fan fiction-driven foreplay he had hoped for. His smile dissipated into a fine line as he saw Dean Winchester getting a little something from who was presumably one devout fan.

Unfortunately for Mr. Hung, he had one less mouth up for grabs.