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Chapter Text

Dean walks out of Dr. Harvelle's office deciding that yes, this is the absolute worst day he's ever had. Missing the bus this morning after his car refused to start was bad enough, but then he walked into his first lesson of his senior year with Dr. Harvelle 20 minutes late and without his goddamn sticks.

She'd decided to spend the lesson going over his plans for the year, and this is when disaster truly struck as she discovered he wasn't enrolled in an orchestra.

"Well, I'm a jazz percussion major," Dean had said, trying not to fidget in his chair. "I thought my large ensemble credits were covered by the big bands."

She called his bullshit immediately. "Dean, you know every percussionist has to serve at least two semesters in a classical setting, it isn't about ensemble size. Yes, you're on track for your large ensemble credits with the jazz bands, but you still need classical credits. By now, you're too late to sign up for a classical chamber ensemble, but, you're lucky one of the percussionists in Wind Symphony had a schedule conflict-"

"Wind Symphony! But that's their top ensemble!" Top ensemble means harder music, which means more practice and harder work, and Dean has way too much other shit to think about right now.

Dr. Harvelle had leveled him a glare and Dean wisely shut his mouth. "You're one of my most rhythmically accurate students. If anyone can do well in a classical setting it's you. You're a versatile player and play much more difficult music in the Two O'Clock band."

Dean grasped for any excuse he could think of, "What about- my schedule? I'm in my last year I'm pretty busy with-"

She smiled, "You already sent me your schedule so we could plan our lessons for the semester, and you've got no conflicts with their rehearsals. 

Dean thought about it for a second before slumping his shoulder slightly, realizing that he'd been well and truly got. 

Dr. Harvelle patted his shoulder sympathetically before she scribbled on a sticky note and handed it to him, "You'll need to head to the Music Advising Office and have them enroll you in this class and section, tell them to email me for the approval."

"Yes, professor," Dean said, sticking the note in his bag.

"It won't be as bad as you think, Dean," she said, "you might enjoy it."

As he was walking down the hall from her office, Dean knew there was no way in hell he was going to enjoy classical music. Regardless, he made his way to Laurel Hall, on the complete opposite side of campus, and joined the line of people in desperate need of an academic advisor.

Time ticked away until he finally got into one of the offices. He bounced his leg as the chatty advisor got him enrolled in Wind Symphony and he rushed out of the office to make the trek back in the hot sun, nearly breaking into a run when he checked his watch.

Dean finally burst into the Music Building's jazz wing, weaving through the last dregs of students on their way to class. He misjudged a corner and slammed right into someone else in a rush. They both went spiraling to the floor.

Dean's arm was sore, but the other guy's sheet music had gone flying. He must have just come out of the copy office.

"Hey, I'm sorry man, I didn't see you," Dean said, clumsily gathering the loose pages of a huge score.

"Watch where you're going next time," the other man grunted, and Dean looked up to see probably the hottest guy he'd ever laid eyes on. Tousled black hair, broad shoulders under a white button-up shirt, some kind of professor maybe.

Despite the other man's good looks, Dean bristled. "Hey, takes two to tango."

"We didn't-" The man met Dean's gaze, and Dean fought through striking blue eyes to manage a retort.

"Long sleeves in August in Texas? You must be new."

Mr. Blue Eyes huffed and snatched the pages of music from Dean's hands.

"And here I thought the South had something called hospitality," he said, following Dean up from the floor.

"This ain't the South, Teach, this is the West."

Mr. Blue Eyes shot him a glare and turned down the hallway. 

Dean arrived at his first jazz band rehearsal just in time. The drummer from the One O'Clock had left the drum set ready for him (he'll have to text him a thank you), so Dean surveyed the room for his target.

Jo was already at her seat, leafing through music with her tenor sax resting in her lap.

"Your mom is evil," Dean said, stopping in front of her stand. 

"Which ensemble did she assign you to?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, "How did you-?"

"Pam saw you storming out of her office earlier."

Dean looked up the risers to Pamela Barnes who grinned and waved her trumpet at him.

"Conniving, evil-"

"Which ensemble?" Jo asked again.

Dean sighed, "Wind Symphony."

Jo sucked in a breath. "Wow that's really bad luck," she admitted.

"Fuckin- tell me about it! I don't have the time to play around with-"

"Settle down y'all, settle down!" shouted Dr. Wright, the director of the Two O'Clock band. "To the set Dean, let's get a productive start to the semester!"

Dean nodded respectfully and walked over to the rhythm section. No use getting on Wright's bad side, especially since she's one of the only other professors he actually liked.

Kevin Tran gave him a sympathetic smile from around his upright bass as Dean slumped behind the drum set, pulling out the shitty communal/backup sticks he'll have to play with today.

Kevin was a child prodigy string player and earned his way into the Two O'Clock as a freshman last spring. He was a good kid and Dean didn't mind hanging out with him from time to time. He was honestly glad to see him still in the Two for this year since the guitarist and pianist were both new.

After a pretty relaxed rehearsal, all things considered, Dean hung back so they could set up a new rhythm section group chat.

"You know," Kevin said, packing up his bass, "I heard you talking to Jo earlier, is it true you're playing in Wind Symphony this year?"

Dean sighed, shoving the new music from the day into his bag, "Yeah, it sucks ass and I'm not looking forward to it."

"When do you start rehearsals? Next week?"

"Yeah, Monday."

"That's not too bad."

"Whatever," Dean shrugged it off, getting up to leave since he didn't need to tear down the set with the Three O'Clock about to come in.

"Hey, listen," Kevin started again, "I have a friend who's a composition major-"

"What year?" Dean asked. He was used to playing pieces for comp majors, but after a disaster with a thunderstick and hi-hat last fall, he swore to only do pieces by upperclassmen.

"Senior, but she's getting a piece performed by Wind Symphony this semester, and there was this percussionist that she was giving a solo to, but he had to switch bands because of this conducting class that got moved-"

"Kevin, what's the point?" Dean interrupted.

"Can I send her your number since you're in Wind Symphony now? I told her you were really good and she's interested in working on it with you."

"Fine, but I'm not making any promises." 

Kevin's face lit up as he nodded in understanding and Dean left for his next class. He said yes mostly to shut Kevin up, but also if he's gonna be in the ensemble anyway, might as well get a headstart on whatever hellish percussion part this composer wrote.

_________________________________

The following Monday, Dean rolled into Jacobs Hall with his heavily annotated percussion part. The composer had sent it to him Friday and Dean spent the entire weekend juggling tuning up his car, practicing the new music for the Two, new music from Dr. Harvelle, and absolutely tearing apart the new piece. (His upstairs neighbors probably hated him after all the noise)

The piece needed a lot of work, especially with the notation and implementation of extended techniques. The style wasn't that bad, and Dean could see there was something really good under the surface, but he had to make so many markings just to understand what she'd written. He hoped coming a little early on the first day would give him a moment to speak to the composer about it.

He set his stuff with the rest of the percussionists who'd all come early to set up. Shit was mostly in order and Dean also didn't know how they set it all up anyway, so he greeted the ones he recognized from the percussion departmental and looked around for the conductor.

Dr. Missouri Mosely was one of the finest wind ensemble conductors in the country, Dean knew that much, and knew to wait respectfully off to the side as she spoke with some greasy-looking grad student.

He eventually excused himself and Dean walked up to her.

"Hi, Dr. Mosely, my name is-"

"Dean Winchester," she said with a smile, "so glad you'll be joining us in Wind Symphony this year. Dr. Harvelle spoke so highly of you, I'll be glad to work with you personally."

"Oh, uh, thank you. I look forward to working with you too."

Her eye had that little glint in it like she knew what he really thought but didn't embarrass him by mentioning it. "Well, what can I do for you, Dean? I believe your section will already have your folder. And here in the classical side of things, the timpanist is the principal percussionist, so if you have any questions you can go to him, or our grad student TA's."

"Well, I was wondering about this piece with the solo percussion part, the composer reached out about-"

"Ah, well she's just arrived." Dr. Mosely gestured to a person across the stage in the sea of people setting up for rehearsal. "Feel free to work with her on the percussion stuff, I trust you can provide constructive feedback to her. She's a great composer but most of her work is electronic. Anyway, Dean, we're glad to have you, I hope your first day goes well."

Dr. Mosely gave him one more encouraging smile before whisking away to speak to someone else. Dean didn't have to wait long before an energetic redhead held out her hand.

He shook it, noting her firm grip, as she introduced herself.

"You must be Dean, my name is Charlie I'm the composition student working with Wind Symphony this semester."

"Hi, yeah nice to meet you."

"I sent you the part over the weekend, did you get a chance to look at it? Did you have any questions? I'm not sure when we're working on it today but I'd love any feedback you have."

"Actually, yes I do have some thoughts, a lot of thoughts actually-" he held out the music to her, "I made an annotated copy for things to revise."

"Oh shit," she said, taking the stack of paper from him and leafing through it, "I mean, wow, yeah."

"Sorry, I don't mean to come off as an asshole," Dean said, realizing how the gesture could be perceived. 

"Oh don't apologize," she said, "I love specific feedback like this, and I'm not that familiar with percussion so I really value an actual percussionist's input. The composition faculty is good most of the time, but none of them have percussion experience and they just give me really vague-ass comments. This," she wiggled the sheet music, "this is perfect."

"Oh, well, I'm glad," Dean offered her a smile. "Yeah, I really do like the stuff you have going, there's a cool groove and all that, but the notation just needs to be addressed and I had a lot of questions in there too."

"Thanks, Dean, I appreciate the effort you've already put into this. I was working with a percussionist before as well-"

"Oh, the one with the schedule conflict?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he wasn't that good anyway, and he definitely didn't care about the piece. I won't name names but... I'm already so glad to have you instead."

Dean smiled, he was starting to like this Charlie girl.

Dean's response was interrupted by the principal oboe player starting the tuning sequence. He gave Charlie one more wave before returning to his seat and pulling out his personal copy of the music and getting his shit set up.

Garth, the percussion principal passed him his ensemble-issued leather folder with an overly-cheery smile and turned his attention to Dr. Mosely who took to the podium.

"Good afternoon everyone, congratulations and welcome to this year's Wind Symphony. We have a lot of exciting music planned for the year and I can't wait to get started with you all. Before we play, I have a few announcements."

She gestured to Charlie who walked up to the front and waved. Dean could have sworn she winked at him.

"I'd like to introduce Charlie Bradbury, who is a senior composition major and the composer of a new work for wind ensemble that we'll be performing later this semester. It's a solo percussion concerto and will feature our newest member, Dean Winchester. Go ahead and stand up, Dean."

With his face heating up, Dean stood awkwardly, waving meekly to the entire ensemble who were all turning in their seats to look at him. When Dr. Mosely continued he quickly sat back down.

"Dean plays for the Two O'Clock band so we're very lucky to have him and Charlie joining us for such an exciting collaborative piece."

People clapped as Charlie bowed from the front of the stage and returned to her seat. He could feel the other percussionists looking at him.

"Now, as the returning students know, we have one doctoral TA and one master's TA every year. This year from the DMA program we'll have Fergus Crowley working with us again." The greasy-looking man from earlier walked by the podium with an air of self-importance as he carried a stack of music. 

"Some of you will know him from last year, but he'll be focusing on our February set for the tour. In the meantime, our master's TA, joining us from Colorado Boulder, will be conducting the new composition on this semester's last program. Everyone give a warm welcome to Castiel Novak."

Dean didn't know how he hadn't spotted him before, but from the wing of the stage, stood the gorgeous snippy long-sleeve-wearing blue-eyed asshole he collided with in the hallway last week. 

Mortification crept up Dean's spine. If this Castiel guy was conducting Charlie's piece and Dean was soloing for Charlie's piece, would that mean they would have to... interact with each other?

Novak seemed to intentionally avoid Dean's eye, not even looking back at the percussion section as he smiled amicably at the ensemble. For some reason, that made Dean even more mad than if he would have glared at him or something. This way, Novak wasn't even acknowledging Dean's existence.

Dean glanced sideways at his section members as they started moving to their places for the first piece. Dean mimicked them, wondering distantly why he wanted Castiel Novak's attention so badly anyway. 

His wish was granted about an hour into rehearsal when they pulled out Bradbury's piece. Dean did his best with the part that he had, trying to stay right on the beat as he played the atypical drum setup.

Novak kept cutting off the ensemble, first to give directions to the brass, then the low woodwinds, then he would tell the percussion section to stay ahead of the beat.

Dean centered himself and focused on his tempo for the next run, watching Novak's baton intently, lining up his rhythms exactly. The music was building quite well, some of the wind players were missing pitches and shit, but the groove was coming out, the drive, the motion. Charlie's piece was good.

He got lost in the sound, letting it wash over him as he listened to the brass, and to the other percussionists. His flow was cut off abruptly by Novak, who addressed the percussion section again, with a comment about not falling behind. 

They went back a few rehearsal marks and restarted. Dean kept pace with Novak's movements, anticipating the rhythms, the beats. They got through maybe one phrase when he cut off the ensemble again.

"Solo percussion," Novak said, his tone cutting through the silent hall, "you're behind the beat. I'm aware you're used to playing in a smaller ensemble, but this is a full wind band. You must play ahead of the beat. Brass, don't listen to the percussion, you need to follow me."

And just like that, Dean was positively boiling, his skin flush with embarrassment and rage. How dare this guy speak to him like that in front of a room full of musicians. 

When they started again, Dean made it a point to be a whole fucking 8th note ahead of Novak's conducting. They didn't get more than three measures before Novak swiped his baton through the air, turning a searing glare onto Dean.

"Was I not clear before, percussion?" he said, speaking only to Dean.

"Sorry," Dean said, keeping his tone in check, "I'm just trying to interpret your direction in a new environment, like you said, I'm used to playing in the Two O'Clock, not in a full wind band."

He knew he sounded petulant and braggy, but he couldn't help it. He was probably, no, definitely, the second-best percussionist in this goddamn school, second only to Benny in the One O'Clock, and Novak was treating him like a shitty high schooler.

"That's quite alright, Dean," spoke up Dr. Mosely who had approached the podium. "Playing in any kind of new ensemble is a challenge for everyone. It's important that we not think about just playing our parts as they're written, or focus on following the baton, but think about how you're playing with your section, listen to your intonation as a group, and an instrument family. Where does your part fall in order of importance during any given section? These are things for all of us to think about, especially as we play a piece with a soloist. For this piece, the percussion solo is the most important part, so everyone, consider how you fit into that featured sound."

She regarded the ensemble with a smile, having successfully smoothed over the situation.

"Now, we're running out of time for today's rehearsal, so everyone can go ahead and pack up. Remember to get your section's contact information before leaving today."

Humiliated and exhausted, Dean packed up his things, glad the chatter from the rest of the ensemble could cover up the thoughts spiraling in his head.

"Hey, Dean-o," Garth said as he approached him, "how are you feeling after your first rehearsal?"

"Uh, pretty shitty," Dean said, shoving his music in his bag.

"Well, hopefully, Mr. Novak goes easier on you," he nodded towards the side of the stage where Dr. Mosely was speaking with him.

"Yeah hopefully."

"I thought you sounded great, by the way, you definitely play better than any of us," he said with a smile.

"Oh, thanks man, I appreciate it," Dean said awkwardly as he started to tear down the drum set.

They traded numbers and Garth bid him a quick farewell as Dr. Mosely approached.

"Professor," Dean greeted.

"I hope you're doing ok after a... rather intense first rehearsal."

"Sure," he said shortly, "I'm fine."

Dr. Mosely glanced at him knowingly. "Dean, I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to help organize the Wind Studies music library for me? I ask a few students every now and then to come on Thursdays and shelve up some scores. I think it's a good way to get to know your peers, and there's free coffee and snacks in it for you."

"Oh, uh, thanks but I'm not sure-"

"I won't force you, of course," she said, "but I would personally like you to come by for a bit. I know it can be hard working with new people sometimes, and I want to make sure you feel welcome here on the classical side of things."

Dean couldn't very well say no to her now, could he? "Well, yeah, sure. I'd be happy to come... What time on Thursday?"

_________________________________

After Monday's little fiasco, Dean was glad Dr. Mosely didn't have the ensemble rehearse Charlie's piece again for the rest of the week, instead focusing on the rest of their Fall program music. 

He hated to admit it, but now that he was a part of a percussion team and not soloing, he was starting to understand what Novak had said about staying ahead of the beat, even if that handsome bastard still got on his last nerve.

"At least it hasn't been too bad overall," Jo said, annotating a score for her conducting class on her tablet.

"I just don't want to have to work with him one-on-one," Dean said, looking up from his Music History class's syllabus. 

"Pamela, do you have your notes from Music as Communication?" Kevin asked, the most recent addition to their study group.

"Didn't I airdrop them to you last week?"

Kevin sighed, "Yes, but I don't remember which of my 8 million folders I put it into."

"Even if you did have to work with him individually," Jo said, continuing their conversation, "the piece only lasts for this semester."

"This semester just started," Dean lamented, leaning his head back against the couch, "I have so many more rehearsals to go."

"Surely there will be some opportunities to relax in there somewhere?" She asked.

Dean thought about Dr. Mosely's invitation to organize the Wind Studies music library. 

"What, what's that look?"

"What look?" Dean asked innocently.

"That one right there, do you have fun plans or something that you didn't tell me about?"

"No... Dr. Mosely just asked me to help organize music, I guess she asks other students too. We get snacks and stuff in return."

"There you go then!" Jo said, "A chance to make new friends and not stress about this Novak guy."

That's the thing about irony, it shows up when it's least welcome.

Dean walks into the Wind Studies library the next day to see just Charlie and Novak. They were leaned over a stack of scores on a desk, and the one on top opened up. The room around them was cramped with grad student desks, piled up books and scores, and a few instruments strewn about in cases. 

The back half of the room was a maze of shelves (Dean couldn't even see where it ended), practically bursting at the seams but meticulously organized and labeled. 

"I just love his voice-leading!" Charlie gushed, "When I started learning orchestration, I just sat in the library studying Tchaik's scores, and I may have stolen some progressions from him."

Novak laughed and it was a warm rumbling sound that, quite unwelcomingly, heated Dean's very soul. His arm was braced on the tabletop, holding up his weight and making his veins pop.

"He was such a master at what he did, and a huge inspiration, of course. Still one of my favorite composers. I recognized some of his timbral pairing techniques in your score, you definitely stole the good stuff."

It was Charlie's turn to laugh and they flipped to the next page in the score.

Dean knew he was acting like a creep, but his shock had rooted him to the spot, and now that he had an unobstructed view of Mr. Blue Eyes leaning over a desk...

Dean cleared his throat.

Charlie jumped and turned to him. "Dean!" she greeted.

"Hey, good to see you again, Charlie."

Novak turned and glanced at him like he wasn't surprised by his presence. He couldn't have known Dean was standing right there, could he?

"Dr. Mosely will be back soon with snacks and instructions," Charlie said, "we were just looking over her copy of Tchaikovsky 6, her conductor markings are insane."

Dean nodded and forced a smile. He'd never heard Tchaikovsky Symphony no. 6 and didn't really think he was missing much. He was pretty sure nothing could beat Charles Mingus's Moanin', or Led Zepplin's Fool in the Rain. 

"How are you anyway?" Charlie asked, then before he could answer, "Also I had an idea about the setup for your solo-"

Dean couldn't help himself from glancing sideways at Novak who was still leaning against the desk, looking over the score but angled toward them like he was listening.

"Sure, what is it?" Dean asked.

"I went through the picture of a jazz set up that you sent and I thought we could do something closer to that but substitute the high tom for the bongo? Would that be committing a percussion crime?"

"No, unusual but not a crime, better than having it on the other side of the floor tom."

"Oh! And I was thinking of doing a rack for bells and chimes, would that fit back there if you still had the splash cymbal too?"

"Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem. I'm tall, long legs, long arms, I'll still be able to reach everything." He gave her one of his signature Dean Winchester smiles and Charlie nodded approvingly.

"Perfect! Oh, you've been so helpful, Dean, thank you!" She said, suddenly pulling a dilapidated notebook from her bag and jotting something down, managing to sit at one of the spare desks without even looking.

"Happy to help," Dean said, suddenly awkward as he and Novak stood silently in the room, their mutual friend otherwise occupied.

He was saved from things getting even worse when Dr. Mosely walked in, wheeling a cart of scores and books.

"Ah, Dean! So glad you could make it. Good to see you Charlie, Castiel."

They all greeted her, Charlie going back to her notebook.

"These scores," she said, setting the cart in the only clear space in the room, "are used by the conducting classes and the composition classes for score study, so things are always being checked out. We've been trying to get a librarian in here for years, but the college refuses to allocate money for a new position, so I ask for volunteers to help reshelve things in exchange for snacks."

"The system sucks," Charlie said, "but I'm not going to complain about free snacks."

"Castiel I know you've been around in here a few times since you started, so if you and Dean could reshelve the standard size scores that would be great, help him familiarize himself with the musical score organization method. Ms. Bradbury and I will be tackling the oversized scores."

"Of course, Dr. Mosely," Novak said, still not making eye contact with Dean.

After splitting up the scores by size, Dean and Novak took the cart with their half of the pile and started going through the tight aisle of shelves. 

Novak explained the sorting system, thank god there was a reference key on the end of the row, and they began reshelving in silence. The cart stayed in between them, which Dean was thankful for. Especially after the first few times that Novak had passed him a score, his gaze locking onto those goddamn blue eyes, and was the AC not on in the stupid room? Dean began to sweat right at the small of his back. It must be the close quarters. 

He tucked his fingers in between two Gluck scores to make room for the one in his hand when Novak cleared his throat. Dean looked over, the other man was watching him.

"Ezio will actually come before La Sofonisba."

Dean furrowed his brow. "But Ezio is number fifteen, this one is number five. Shouldn't they go in numerical order?"

Novak shook his head. "No, alphabetical by title under the same composer."

"Then what the fuck are the numbers for?" Dean grumbled, mostly to no one as he rearranged the scores and put them in alphabetically. 

Novak sighed. "They're numbered by opus, or in Gluck's case it's technically the Wotquenne number, but basically, music historians went in after the fact and numbered all his pieces by when they were written, most older composers' lists of works are like that, but it's inconsistent so we shelve alphabetically."

Dean picked up another score, this one by Glass, and started looking for its place. He remembered the piece Novak and Charlie were looking at earlier. "What about that Symphony no. 6, by Tchaikovsky, how would that be shelved?"

"In that case, it would come before no. 7 and after no. 5, since that's the title of the piece itself and not the opus number, Symphony no. 6 is Tchaikovsky's opus 74."

"That's too confusing for me," Dean said, finding the right place for Glass's Einstein on the Beach, hell of a name.

Novak made a sound that Dean realized when he glanced over was a laugh. Mr. Blue Eyes had a bemused sort of look on his handsome face and Dean had to look away before he let himself feel anything more than surprise. 

They had a quiet rest of the afternoon eating the homemade brownies Dr. Mosely had brought for them and chatting amicably about the start of the semester. Dean did his best to not watch the way Novak's tongue darted out to lick his lips as he ate, but really, Dean was only good at the drums, not self-control.

Chapter Text

It was too damn hot as Castiel loosened the knot on his tie, the slight ventilation doing nothing to relieve him from the burdensome sun. He strode past a group of people standing around and talking in the middle of the walkway and tried rolling up his sleeves. Certainly, he should stop wearing button-ups in the southern climate, but switching to something more casual would be like giving up, and he only just started.

"Castiel!" a voice called to his left.

He looked over to see one of the other members of his cohort giving him a wave and a smile, they were walking in the same direction. To be polite, Castiel slowed his pace so they could walk toward the Music Building together.

"Nice to see you Meg, how are you?" Castiel asked.

Meg was new this year, like him, but she was assigned to one of the orchestras, and not the wind symphony hell he was chained to. Her boisterous and energetic disposition was sometimes too much, but Castiel didn't mind her as much as he did some of the other grad students.

"All good, you're just the man I was looking for," she said, flipping her dark wavy hair over her shoulder.

"Oh? Did you need something?"

"Yes, Clarence-"

"That's not my-"

"You're required to come out with all of us this Friday, we'll be going to some local bars and the like, and I need someone I know I'll like talking to there so I can avoid Fergus."

Castiel was going to politely decline, but he could sympathize with wanting to avoid that particular sewage rat in a group social setting.

"You buy me my first drink and I'll join-" Meg's face lit up, "But I'm not staying long!"

"I'll take it," she said, bumping his shoulder good-naturedly. "Where are you headed anyway?"

"Off to teach Exploration in Music."

Meg snorted a laugh. "What the hell is that?"

"The non-major music theory class."

"Ouch!"

Castiel nodded solemnly. "They definitely assigned me the class no one else wanted to teach."

"My sincerest condolences."

They started up the grand concrete stairs that led to the Music Building entrance.

Castiel cleared his throat. "What about you, where are you off to?"

"Just headed to the office to get an early start on some score annotations, I'm working on Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet."

Castiel smiled. "An excellent version! Tchaikovsky's is fine, but Prokofiev uses the brass in such engaging ways."

"I think I might use it for my thesis, it's been one of my favorites for years."

"You're thinking about your thesis already?" he asked, pulling the door open and letting her through first.

"Of course! We're only here for two years, no time to waste."

Castiel nodded. Should he have something planned already for his final thesis? Was he already falling behind? Was he already failing?

"But, uh, I'm sure you've got time to plan," Meg said apologetically, noticing his expression.

Castiel was equal parts embarrassed and surprised, his usual forced neutral expression must be slacking. 

"Anyway," Meg continued as they passed the stairwell doors, "I gotta go this way. See you around, Clarence."

"That's not-"

Before he could finish his retort, Meg had flashed him a mischievous smile and disappeared up the stairs. 

The rest of his day was a slough, his students didn't pay attention, the lecture in his 20th Century Techniques class was brutal, and he spent three fruitless hours in the library combing through scores trying to find something, anything, to inspire his thesis topic.

When he got home that night, he tossed his bag on the ground and got out of his suffocating tie and shirt, changing into something more comfortable as Charlie Bradbury's latest draft sat untouched on his already cluttered desk.  

The pesky thing would have to wait though, as Castiel's phone rang.

"Hello, Gabriel."

"Heya, Cassie! How's my favorite bro settling in?"

"I'm fine, busy."

"Studying hard? Making music?"

"Well, yeah." Castiel glanced forlornly at his keyboard which was still propped up against the wall where he placed it when he moved in.

"Met anyone yet? Got any friends? Got a regular spot in town yet?"

"Gabriel- what is this? Why are you calling?"

"I can't call my dear little Cassie just to catch up?"

Castiel sighed, sitting heavily on his bed. "In this family? No. Now tell me what's wrong."

Gabriel was silent for a moment before, "They kicked out Hael."

His grip on his phone became concerningly tight. "When?"

"Today."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Someone at the church saw her holding hands with her girlfriend."

Castiel hung his head. He still had an air mattress tucked away somewhere, and his apartment was dismally small but if he rearranged some things, maybe they could both fit.

"Where is she now, do you know? I can come pick her up."

"She's safe, she's with me. And don't be stupid Cassie, you don't have the time or space for her. We're setting her up in the living room. Kali and I are happy to take care of her."

"Gabriel, no offense, but are you sure that you-"

"I helped you land on your feet didn't I?"

"Hael's younger than I was, and the world isn't made for her." Panic and unrest creep into his tone, "She struggles at school without her accommodations, she needs to have-"

"Cassie," Gabriel's tone is gentle, "Cassie I know, we know." His sigh crackled over the phone line. "I know I've got a certain past... and present... but Kali is way more competent than I. Trust me when I say Hael's going to be taken care of."

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep calming breath. "Ok. Yes, you're right. I'll come visit on Sunday."

Gabriel laughed dryly. "If you say so. Just... try to relax a little bit before then, yeah? We'll be ok until you get here."

_________________________________

"Here, you'll like this," Meg said, shoving a drink in his hand.

"What is it?" he asked, wishing he would have been more clear about what buy me a drink had meant earlier that week. 

Meg grinned and gave him a wink.

It was fruity and sweet, with some pineapple and melon flavor that did little to mask the sharp taste of vodka. It wasn't horrible.

The bar, a charming place called Rocky's, was crowded with standing room only inside. It had large glass doors in the back that led to a big yard full of tables and seats. A local band set up on a small stage in one corner, playing rock music. Lining the other sides of the yard were food trucks of various fares. 

Castiel could see why it was such a popular spot.

The graduate conductor's cohort had commandeered a large table on the opposite side of the bar entrance. Castiel was squished on the bench in between Meg and a girl called Anna Milton, who was assigned to the University Wind Band, the same kind of ensemble as him, but at a lower skill level. They had plenty to complain about together.

"All these kids used to be the best at their high school," Anna was saying, "so then they get to college and think they're hot shit! Don't listen to a thing I say, I'm sick of it."

"Tell me about it," Castiel lamented, "The piece I'm conducting is a percussion concerto-"

"Oh I heard about that, the student composition. Is it bad?"

He shook his head, "No the music is good, contemporary, but not bad. It's the percussion soloist, guy named Dean Winchester, that is such a pain to work with. He's the stupid drummer for the Two O'Clock jazz band, and thinks that makes him some..." he waved his hand, searching lamely, "percussion god."

"Oof, I would hate to be you right now."

"He continually ignored when I told him he was behind, and then talked back to me in front of the whole goddamn ensemble!" Castiel glanced down the table to make sure Fergus Crowley wasn't listening. "Not only was I humiliated in front of Dr. Mosely, but Crowley too, who's the doctoral TA for the ensemble."

He dutifully ignored thinking about his civil exchange with Dean in the library yesterday. It was much easier to be angry anyway.

"I take it back, that's way worse than my thing," Anna said apologetically, scrunching her nose. 

"Yeah fuck Crowley, and fuck that percussionist, Dean. Egotistical asshole," Meg said, leaning over to join their conversation. She asks Anna about her hometown and something across the yard catches his eye. 

The band on stage has finished a song and announced a short break. The speakers start playing random music and Castiel watches the drummer jump down and begin speaking with a familiar-looking man... The other man turns his head and Castiel is surprised to see it's Dean Winchester. 

But, why should he be surprised? Dean's supposedly been living in this town for three, going on four, years. Of course he would be friends with other drummers and go out to see their shows. 

Having taken maybe two sips of his drink, Castiel could hardly blame his reckless curiosity on the alcohol. Regardless, he excused himself from the table, giving Meg a reassuring smile before slipping through the crowd with his drink toward the drummers, trying his best to look casual.

"... serious man, I mean it," the other drummer was saying, "I can put in a good word for you here if you want, or if you want to go further into the city there are some places-"

"Benny, thanks man, I really appreciate it, but I just don't think it's in the cards for me, I don't even have a combo."

A combo?

"Brother, join one, everyone always needs a drummer."

"Listen, I'll think about it but- hold on, my brother texted..."

Castiel glanced at the bar idly. So this Benny guy is trying to convince Dean to join a group, play live at places around town. Castiel might have thought Dean already was in a band or something, he had that sort of self-serving rock star swagger about him.

He was then momentarily distracted by the mental image of Dean Winchester in a cut-off tank top and tight ripped jeans, covered in sweat and body glitter, playing the drums under a pulsing technicolor, and twisting the sticks between his fingers like-

Another body slams into him and Castiel's drink goes everywhere, down his shirt, pants, the ground, and the other person, who was reaching out to steady him.

"Hey man, I'm so sorry I-"

Dean's flushed face looked at him with those absurd green eyes, mouth agape in stunned silence.

"You have to be joking me," Castiel snapped, the flash of anger rising in him suddenly. He shoved Dean off him and stormed through the crowd toward the bar's bathroom.

He was sticky, reeking of alcohol and fruit as he pushed his way in through the men's door. There was a couple rudely making out in front of the sinks and Castiel gave them a pointed glare, clearing his throat until they decided to stumble out of the bathroom.

Resigned to counting the shirt as a loss, Castiel began tearing the buttons from their holes, pulling the sopping fabric from his body. His undershirt was in a similar state, but he wasn't desperate enough to take that off in public... at least not yet.

He began to thoroughly wash his hands and wrists and arms when another person carefully entered the cramped bathroom. It was, of course, Dean.

They made the briefest eye contact before the other man sidled up to the open sink on his left (Castiel just had to select the one in the middle) and started fussing with his own clothes. In his earlier haze of anger, Castiel hadn't realized that Dean spilled his own drink all over himself as well.

The distinct scent of whisky drifted by as Dean pulled his T-shirt off over his head, exposing his bare chest.  

Intent on keeping his eyes to himself, Castiel finished rinsing what he could and quickly started pulling paper towels down to dry off. 

"Shit," Dean muttered under his breath, and Castiel glanced over just long enough to catch tattoos and skin before deciding he was dry enough and shouldered his way out of the bathroom.

There was nothing left to do but send a quick apology to Meg, let the cohort group chat know he had something come up, and promptly get in his car.

The green-eyed stranger in his dreams that night had nothing to do with anything.

_________________________________

"Castiel," Kali said warmly, ushering him in through the door. He greeted his brother's fianceé with a smile and a nod.

He'd never actually been inside Kali and Gabriel's place. Castiel glanced around as he took his shoes off and lined them up with the others. The walls were richly decorated with vibrant tapestries and paintings, decorative bells hung over doorways and the air smelled of sweet incense. 

"You have a beautiful home," Castiel said, following the tall Hindu woman from the entryway. 

"You're sweet, thank you," she said. "We just moved Hael into the spare room yesterday, so excuse the mess." She gestured to the pile of office supplies and computer monitor resting across the couch.

"No, of course," Castiel said quickly, "thank you for taking her in. Is she...?"

"Sleeping," Gabriel said with a smile, making his way into the living room from a hallway. "You know how teenagers are. Come 'ere Cassie."

Despite his brother's short stature, Gabriel managed to pull Castiel down and give him a thorough noogie, ruining his carefully combed hair.

Upon release, he did his best to set himself back to rights. "Hello Gabriel, good to see you."

"Sit down, take a load off," he said, flitting into the kitchen, "I'm starting on breakfast, have you eaten yet?"

"Uh, I haven't, thank you."

The wall between the living room and kitchen had an archway cut out, with a bar and barstools built into the frame, letting Castiel and Kali sit and talk with Gabriel while he started cooking.

"We're planning for Hael to stay with us long-term," Kali said, "which is why we felt it important that she have her own space, so we're moving my home office things out."

"Long-term?" Castiel asked.

Kali nodded solemnly.

"Our deadbeat parents have dropped off several boxes of her things, including all her important documents, health records, birth certificate, the like."

"So they really mean it, then." Castiel wasn't that surprised, they'd virtually done the same to him, but he thought since Hael was still 17 they might let her stay for a bit longer. Guess he was wrong.

"It's not all bad," Gabriel said, "The school year's already started, but there's a school for the deaf near us."

"Really?"

"And Kali's helping her with her petition for emancipation too."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Kali said, waving a manicured hand, "I have a friend who's a family law attorney."

"I thought you did human rights law?" Castiel asked.

She smiled, "We did our undergrad together, and he works in the area."

The little knots of stress in Castiel's chest began to loosen, and he swiped a hand over his face, letting the smell of pancakes and fruit wash over him. "Fuck, I'm so glad Hael has you both."

"We're glad to have her," Kali assured him.

"And she'll be glad to be closer to you," Gabriel added, setting glasses of apple juice down for them.

They continued their chat while Gabriel finished cooking. Castiel asked if there was anything Hael needed, for school or her room or anything. They assured him it was all taken care of and if anything came up that he could help with, they would let him know.

The meal was almost ready when Castiel heard a squealing noise and turned just in time to catch his youngest sister in his arms. He stood from the bar stool to hug her more easily, laughing at her excited jumps. Castiel eventually had to unlatch himself so he had room to sign.

"Good morning, how are you? Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I'm ok, happy to be here with Gabe, and Kali, and you. I smell pancakes."

Castiel laughed and followed her to the table where his brother set out plates.

Breakfast was a peaceful affair, Hael seemed endlessly more at ease than Castiel remembered her being when she lived at their parents, certainly a good sign. She pulled them into a few games of Scrabble before Castiel had to excuse himself, the work in his apartment sitting heavily on his mind.

"Wait, before you go," Hael signed as he put his shoes on by the door, "You have to promise me that I can come to visit you and see one of your concerts."

"I promise. I'll let you and Gabe know when they are so you can come watch."

She reached up to give him one more bone-crushing hug before he opened the door. Looking back, he held up his hand, returning her "I love you" sign before she went back inside.

_________________________________

The next week went by as Castiel made his noblest attempt to avoid Dean Winchester. They still weren't rehearsing Charlie's piece as she was making edits, and sitting on the opposite side of the large ensemble seemed sufficient to avoid even accidentally looking at the percussionist. 

A different group of students was invited to shelf scores that Thursday, so Castiel had nothing keeping him from his study table in the library. He was even joined by Meg and Anna.

"Clarence you've been looking at that score for an hour," Meg complained, leaning back in her chair so far Castiel was worried she would fall.

"I'm considering it for my thesis," he grumbled, not willing to admit that he was nodding off.

"Why do you call him Clarence, Meg?" Anna asked, stacking up the papers she'd just finished grading.

"Just look at him." Meg gestured to his hair and attire and Anna nodded as if that made perfect sense.

"Maybe we ought to head to the student union, get something to eat..." Anna mused.

"Yes, brilliant idea!" Meg started packing up her laptop, "best you've ever had, Angel."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, finally closing Dvorak's New World Symphony. "Wait, why does she get 'Angel' and I get 'Clarence'?"

"Aw, don't feel offended." Meg stood, shouldering her backpack. "It's just that Anna's so much cuter than you."

"Of course," Castiel muttered, following the women out of the library. 

It was dark outside, the late summer sun having just set so the sky looked purple as they walked to the union. They re-entered the air conditioning, walking across the mostly empty marble floors. The student union was recently built, with tall ceilings, modern architecture, and plenty of space for the student population of a large public university. 

"Do you hear that?" Anna asked as they walked toward the food court.

Castiel turned his ear, distantly he heard it, a melody.

"No way!" Meg said, suddenly grinning.

"What?"

"Come on!" she started off towards the sound. 

"What is it?" Castiel asked again, following after her.

"It's a jazz band, they must be playing in The Bunker"

"The Bunker?"

"It's like a grill-style restaurant, but they have a stage, the jazz bands and stuff perform a lot there. They bragged about it so much during the tour," Meg said, "didn't you take a tour when you came to audition?"

Castiel bristled. "I didn't really have the time." 

Meg might have had a retort for him, but they'd arrived at The Bunker. It was a dining room with a large stage. Stairs on the other end led up to a second-floor balcony looking over the band. By the entrance was the grill order counter, but it was practically deserted. 

The place was absolutely full of people, some eating, but most sat in silent awe watching the band on stage. Plenty of people even had their phones out filming.

Anna pushed him along after Meg and they mounted the staircase, finding a tiny table with empty chairs on the balcony to sit at, completely ignoring their mission to find food.

But really, Castiel couldn't complain, not when they were listening to that.

He thought he'd heard jazz before, not often, but a few times here and there in a movie or television show. He knew the university had a big jazz program, knew a lot of people came here for it specifically, but this was something he didn't know.

It was mesmerizing. The band was playing something fast and energetic, but they played with such feeling, such total music understanding. All 5 saxophones played in such perfect time, they sounded like a single polyphonic instrument. The articulations matched, the rhythms tight, the note lengths perfectly consistent. 

The brassy timbre was so rich, so thick, that Castiel was thrown off-guard by one of the saxophonists suddenly standing, and holding a clarinet. She ripped out a squealing solo like it was nothing, leading the band down into near silence. 

One instrument continued, and Castiel slid his eyes over to the drummer, to Dean Winchester. With a lopsided smile, he beat out a rolling rhythm, the low drums booming across the room, shaking Castiel's very lungs. Dean shifted, riding on one of the cymbals as the trombones joined in, playing a complex lick across the section with perfect clarity. 

The whole band seemed to shout together, hocketing from instrument to instrument before Dean took over again, his sound alone rivaling all 17 other members. His second solo was more explosive, unpredictable but controlled. Fucking polyrhythmic figures washed over the crowd, and people started cheering. Dean looked away from his drumset, flashing a smile to the other band members on stage who were cheering for him too.

He gave one final measure, ramping up the energy before the rest of the band picked back up. Castiel couldn't help it, he was clapping with the rest of the crowd as the band played the final chorus and finished.

Dean, bashful, gave a wave to the audience's roaring approval. The clarinetist/saxophonist rose too, taking her bow before the band's director stood from her table in the audience and joined the band on stage.

"That was Sing Sing Sing, composed by Louis Prima, one of the most recognizable swing tunes. Another round of applause for our soloists, on clarinet and tenor sax, Jo Harvelle, and on the drums, Dean Winchester!"

In unison, Meg and Anna turned to Castiel.

"That's Dean?"

Chapter Text

The turnout for their first show as the Two O'Clock wasn't too shabby. But, they'd accumulate a bigger audience by the end of the year, if not the semester. And now that they got their easy music out of the way, Dr. Wright passed out the more complicated charts, something Dean could sink his teeth into. Something to occupy his mind.

The last Monday they had rehearsed Charlie's piece just enough for her to hear everything before it was promptly shelved for her to make edits. For the rest of the week, and subsequent week, Dean is resigned to playing the most boring parts known to man on the concert bass drum and the chimes. Honestly, it's an insult to his abilities. 

He takes out his frustration in the Two O'Clock, adding fills, leaning into it, losing himself in the physicality. On Wednesday Wright has to tell him to back off on his playing in rehearsal so he takes to the practice room instead, already lagging behind on his regular cousework.

"Alright, let's talk about your senior recital," Dr. Harvelle says during their next lesson as Dean finishes with his fundamentals, "Have you thought about repertoire?"

He sits back in his stool, a mild dread descending over him. "No, not really, I figured I would start working on that next semester."

She gives him a look, which she seems to be doing a lot lately. "Presumably you're going to be working with a combo, so you need to be mindful of scheduling. There's a better chance of that going well if you start planning now."

"So what I just pick some tunes, work them up with a combo and be done? I don't see why-"

"You'll be expected to display your proficiency in several different styles and instruments, so at least one piece solely on a keyboard-mallet instrument. At least one Afro-Cuban style, one Latin Jazz, one Swing, and the rest of the time is your choice to fill. The recital needs to have at least 40 minutes of music, with room for a break in the middle if you want it."

"So... if I play a Latin tune on marimba, I can play the rest on set?" Dean asked hopefully. He didn't mind playing marimba or vibraphone, but those were all in the wrist, there was no full-body movement to it like with a set.

"Yes that's fine," Dr. Harvelle said with a look of fond exasperation.

"And as long as I have the three required styles, the rest can be anything else?"

"Yes, Dean, as long as you're playing percussion instruments, it's your choice."

That, at least, was good news. Despite his earlier hesitation, Dean was already starting to brainstorm charts for his lineup, and got Dr. Harvelle to give him recommendations for the required styles before their time was over.

_________________________________

"Hey Kev, what are you up to lately?"

"Oh, hey Dean," Kevin said, closing his oversized locker which held his double bass, "not much really, class, rehearsal, practicing."

"Great, so if you're not too busy, I'm getting some folks together for my senior recital, wondering if you're game?"

"Really?" Kevin asked, awed. "You're asking me to join a combo with you? Is Pamela in it?"

"Oh yeah," Dean lied, "absolutely kid. You're a great player, I'd- we'd be happy to have you."

"I'm in! When do we start rehearsing?" Kevin was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Oh, uh, not for a bit, just need to iron out some details. I'll text you."

He nodded enthusiastically, "Ok yeah, let me know!"

Dean gave him a good-natured pat on his shoulder and headed down the hall, pulling out his phone to send a desperate text to Pamela, and Jo while he was at it. 

Jo Harvelle: Are you seriously asking me to join a combo with you? You know how busy I am, Winchester. You'll need to make it worth my while.

Dean Winchester: We'll play some charts for my recital and then I'll play on yours if you want! Or I can be your stagehand whatever you need

Jo Harvelle: Tempting...

Dean Winchester: Jo please I'm desperate Kevin's already in and I'm asking Pamela too

Jo Harvelle: I'm gonna need you to play on my recital, no complaining about my song taste, and you let me take Baby for a drive ;)

Dean Winchester: Jo you're asking for a lot, especially after I just replaced her timing belt but... deal

Jo Harvelle: Hahaha, I'll take good care of her. Ok, then it's a soft yes from me, but let's talk about it, where are you?

Dean Winchester: On my way to the practice rooms. Meeting Charlie and Novak to do a read-through of her piece with the new edits

Jo Harvelle: Meet me in the library when you're done, then.

Dean Winchester: Jo have I ever told you how much I love you?

Jo Harvelle: Yeah, yeah, tell that to someone who cares <3. Have fun with Charlie.

Dean heard the sound of a piano coming from his practice room and recognized it as the melody for Charlie's piece. He figured she must have also come early and was warming up. When he opened the door Castiel Novak turned to look at him, his hands frozen over the keyboard like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

"You play the keys?" Dean asked dumbly, a small grin tugging at his lips despite himself.

"I'm a classically trained pianist, yes," Novak corrected, but there was no familiar edge to his tone like Dean would have expected.

"Hmm," Dean hummed at a loss for words, stepping the rest of the way into the cramped practice room and closing the door behind him. He sat down at his stool and began adjusting things on the set, but there wasn't much to adjust. He'd commandeered this practice room through seniority during week one, and has had everything set up for Charlie's piece since then.

Novak didn't return to playing the piano, just sat there in awkward silence with fifteen minutes left until Charlie was meant to arrive, so Dean cleared his throat, drumming up an attempt at civility (pun intended).

Gesturing to the old upright, Dean said, "What do you like about piano, then?"

Novak glanced at him like he couldn't decide if it was worth the energy to answer, but after a moment he responded. "Well... it was accessible I suppose."

"Accessible?"

He nodded. "My family is very traditionally Catholic. When I was growing up I was expected to participate in the church and learning the piano, playing for mass, was the only thing that interested me. I was always drawn to music and this was the... acceptable route in my parents' eyes. I don't enjoy it as much these days, certainly not as much as conducting."

Dean hummed, "I'm glad you've found something in music that you're passionate about. Are you still uh, traditionally Catholic?"

"No, I-" Novak wiped his palms on the fabric of his slacks. "No. What about you? Why the drums?"

Dean wasn't completely obtuse, saw the conversational redirect for what it was, and shrugged it off. He wasn't keen to talk religion himself anyway.

"My brother and I grew up a little rough, spent a lot of time with our uncle Bobby who runs an auto yard, takes in junkers, fixes up what he can, keeps the rest around for scrap and spare parts." Dean brushed idly at the snare. "Well, my brother and I would help out from time to time, but we'd get so bored otherwise and would pop in a Zeppelin tape or something and I would just play along, beating old metal scraps and buckets, anything I could get my hands on."

"Sounds... cathartic," Castiel said with a hint of a smile.

Nostalgia crept into Dean's tone, "It was. I started drumming at school, thought it would just be a hobby and I would eventually be a mechanic, join the family business."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't. I came across a video of Max Roach playing The Third Eye and it changed my life," he said simply. "Watching him play... shit. Have you ever seen him?"

Castiel shook his head.

"He played the set, not just the drums, everything was a part of the music, the sound. He was hitting the sides of the toms, the underside of the snare, the stand for the cymbal, it was insane. It was just like the shit I did as a kid, letting anything be a part of the music, even if it's the kick pedal or the fucking floor. It was freedom."

"So you became a jazz drummer," and Castiel had an inexplicable knowing look on his infuriating face.

"Hell yeah."

"Well, it paid off," Castiel said, looking back at the score propped up on the piano, and oddly, he took a breath. "You're incredible to listen to."

Confusion filled Dean's mind. As far as he knew Castiel had a poor opinion of Dean's actual musical capabilities. "What? We haven't played Charlie's piece in-"

"I came to see the Two O'Clock's show last week."

Dean's eyebrows shot straight up. He was suddenly flushed with the implications of Castiel's statement. "You came to watch me play?"

Castiel shrugged. "I wanted to see if you were any good in your... natural habitat."

He didn't even know how to respond.

"It got me thinking," Castiel continued, "about the timing issues we were having with Charlie's piece."

"Oh?"

"I may have been a little... harsh on you about it before."

"Harsh?"

Castiel cringed, which was singularly adorable, "Yes, I apologize for that."

Dean smiled, "Ok, go on."

"Well in your jazz setup, you're practically at the front of the stage with the other..." he waved a hand.

"Rhythm section."

"Right, and the sound is clear and driving. It lines up so tightly with the wind instruments. We should play to that strength here and have you set up at the front of the wind ensemble. It's not traditional, even for a percussion concerto, but it would solve the timing and reverberation issues."

"Reverberation issues?"

Castiel nodded, "I thought your playing was just... well, sloppy at first, too laid back and imprecise-"

Dean scoffed.

"But, that's obviously not the case. Your style and Charlie's writing are both quite detailed, and Jacobs Hall is so big that all the details get lost in the reverberation. If you're closer to the audience then there's less room for the sound to muddy."

Dean rolled it over in his mind. This wasn't his world, the classical side of things. Castiel said it wouldn't be traditional to move the set, would that just make it seem even more like Dean doesn't belong? "Are you sure, Cas? I'm not trying to dismantle classical wind ensemble or anything."

Castiel's eyes sparked. "Yes, but maybe I am. I hate the traditional institution, I want to break barriers, musically, socially... This is the perfect place for that to start, working with Dr. Mosely, with you."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "I didn't realize you... why?"

He shrugged, sliding his blue eyes to focus on the piano instead. "I've been fighting tradition my whole life. The church, my family... Just trying to make it better for..." Castiel sighed, "Sorry, I'm oversharing."

"No, it's all good," Dean said, desperate for Castiel to continue despite his better judgment, but he didn't seem like he wanted to say more. "Anyway... while we're talking I should say, I'm sorry about the other day at Rocky's, when I ran into you-"

"No, no, Dean, it was- it's no big deal. I deserve it anyway after running into you outside the copy room."

Dean laughed, "I'm pretty sure that was my fault too."

Castiel shook his head but smiled all the same.

Dean replayed both moments in his head before a thought struck him. "God, you were wearing a button-up at Rocky's too, weren't you? I'm sorry if it's ruined now."

"Ah, not ruined, but I think my sense of style is now officially at war with the Texas sun."

Dean couldn't help but lean forward, "Maybe you should just relax a little, it's not gonna get much cooler, not until February. Can't hurt to bust out a short-sleeve shirt once in a while."

"But then, where is my sense of professionalism?" Castiel asked, and shit, was that a smirk?

Dean had to hold himself back from making a comment about his appearance being anything but professional when Charlie Bradbury opened the door, saving him from his fate.

"Sorry, I'm late!" she said, breathless. "Had to wait in line at the stupid printer. Either of you know Dick Roman? Vocalist?"

Dean and Castiel could barely shake their heads before Charlie continued her rant.

"That asshole printed off an entire Requiem, with orchestra, and not the condensed score, on one printer, and then the fucking choral-only score from the other- I was standing there for ages! Who the hell needs both versions? Pick a struggle!"

Dean chuckled as she plopped down in the spare chair. "Should've bumped into him as he left, make him pick up all those pages himself."

His stomach swooped as Castiel looked at him, sharing a private amused smile.

"Honestly I should have," Charlie said, handing him a new part, "but anyway I made some notation adjustments per your last round of feedback, thank you again for that. Nothing substantial changed, so Castiel, the piano reduction is the same, you can keep your markings."

Castiel nodded gratefully, turning his score to the head. Dean spotted his meticulous notes in multiple pen colors.

Shoving his old copy in his bag, Dean set up the new one on his stand, looking over the changes as Charlie pointed them out.

From there, the rehearsal was easy, Dean had some sections memorized by now and felt himself start to relax. And Castiel's playing... his fingers danced over the keys, stylistic, fluid, confident, substituting a whole wind symphony. Dean had to remind himself to look at his own fucking instrument.

But, here in his tiny practice room, Dean and Castiel found the pocket, the narrow rhythmic space of perfect alignment where they locked in, coincided with one another. 

He was approaching that feeling, the groove, the vibration, what it feels like to play with the Two O'Clock, but something was still off. Maybe he needs to practice more, work out some kinks. Or maybe his sticks are bad or the hi-hat pedal needs oiling.

Dean rolled his shoulders when Charlie declared them finished for the day, and he accepted her praise with a smile.

"I think we're ready to bring it back to Dr. Mosely," Charlie said, "what do you think Castiel?"

"I agree. I'll speak with her about the timing issues too, I think I might have a solution." And there it was again, that little look Castiel had reserved for Dean. He was so distracted he almost missed Charlie's next question.

"Do you need anything else from me Dean? Any more edits?"

"Nope, all good."

"Great!" Charlie enthused and they began packing up.

Dean unceremoniously shoved his music in his bag, trying to work his tongue around something normal-sounding to say.

"Fancy playing today, Cas. Almost don't need the rest of the band with you on the keys." 

He tried for casual, but wasn't sure if he'd managed it when Castiel blushed as he pulled the lid over the keyboard.

"Thank you-"

"Cas?" Charlie asked, looking between them. "Do you prefer Cas to Castiel?"

Dean froze, suddenly wondering when Castiel went from Novak to Cas in his mind.

"Um, it's fine, either. Most people call me Castiel," he cringed slightly, "and my family calls me Cassie, so I don't mind Dean- or anyone! uh, calling me Cas. It's better than Meg Masters who calls me Clarence, of all things."

Charlie laughed but Dean was still playing their interactions over in his head, trying to figure out at what moment he started seeing Castiel as...

"Clarence! How did she come up with that?"

Castiel smiled, giving a long-suffering sigh. "You'll have to ask her, it's beyond me."

"Well Dean was right, you sound great on piano," Charlie said, standing with her bag.

Like a man possessed, Dean stood after her, grabbing his stuff and letting Charlie lead him out of his own practice room.

"Thank you. I'll see you both on Monday."

"Yeah, see you Cas," Dean managed, leaving the other man still sitting at the upright.

He had successfully cleared his mind of it by the time he found Jo in the library, sitting at a table with her girlfriend Alicia Banes and a paper with names in front of them. 

"Alright, combo!" Dean said plopping down across from them.

"How was your rehearsal?" Jo asked, looking over at Dean now that he'd joined them, "Novak wasn't too shitty?"

"Uh, no, it was good, very civil, friendly even."

"He's the conductor you were telling me about, right?" Alicia asked.

Jo nodded.

"What was he even doing then?" Alicia continued,  "Do they conduct soloists on the classical side?"

"Well, he'll conduct the rest of the ensemble mostly, but he also plays piano, played the orchestral parts along with me."

"Really?" Jo asked, "He any good?"

Dean shrugged non-commitally.

He was rescued from Jo's scrutinizing stare by her phone buzzing in her pocket.

"Pam is on her way," Jo said, reading the notification. "By the way, she agreed to join as long as you change her oil next month."

Dean laughed, latching onto the subject change. "I was gonna do that anyway."

"And Alicia agreed to join too because she's the world's best person."

"Babe," Alicia smiled, leaning over to give Jo a quick kiss. "But yes, I'll take any opportunity to jam with my girlfriend, even if it's for you, Dean."

"I'm honored."

"And you said we have Kevin on bass?" Jo checked.

"Yeah," Dean huffed a laugh, "kid was excited, to say the least."

"Great, then we just need to brainstorm a keys player."

Both women turned to look at him expectantly.

The problem was, Dean knew plenty of jazz pianists, but they were all pretty egotistical, no one he would want to actually play with. The only person he would want to play with... well that was a non-starter.

"Maybe Novak?" Jo suggested, having read his mind.

"You know... we don't really need keys," Dean hedged with a dismissive shrug, "not if we have Alicia on guitar..."

"You expect me to just sit and comp?" Alicia asked, leaning back in her chair. "No way, find a keys player, I'm not a rhythm guitarist."

"Dean, c'mon," Jo said, "it's not a big deal, just ask him. What's the worst that could happen? He says no?"

_________________________________

"Uh, thank you for thinking of me but I'm afraid I'll have to decline..." Castiel said the following Thursday from the other side of the library cart, just after Dean had finally worked up the courage to ask.

"But Cas- you're an amazing pianist, and if you're worried about scheduling, we can work around whatever you have going on-"

"Dean... again, I appreciate it but I'm classically trained, I don't know the first thing about jazz."

"We'll teach you how to read charts, it's super easy I swear! There's no right or wrong in jazz anyway, so you can play whatever you feel-"

"I'm sorry, I just can't," Castiel said, looking down at the score in his hands.

Dean turned to the shelf, letting his eyes wander the titles as he formulated a response. Heart pounding, he asked, "Come jam with us."

This got Castiel's attention. The other man rose an eyebrow. "Jam?"

"Yeah, a jam session. Everyone brings their instruments over and we just jam, improvise. I can even print out some easy charts so you have something to read if that makes you more comfortable. It'll be so low stakes, no big deal, no commitment. It's like a... a hang out really..." Dean rambled.

"Well, I... who all will be there?"

Dean smiled. "Some friends, mostly from the Two. You'll like 'em, I swear."

Chapter Text

The early October evening was cool, the sun, in the midst of setting, laid golden sunbeams across the parking lot, glittering off the tops of cars. Castiel walked through the apartment complex, which looked like every other apartment complex in a college town, and finally found building four. His eye caught on an old black classic car in beautiful condition. It was surprising to see, surrounded by the usual beat-down college student cars, and Castiel admired it as he made his way around the building, looking for unit 411.

He stood there for a moment, listening to voices laughing inside, and worked up the nerve before finally knocking.

A second later Dean Winchester opened the door.

"Cas!" He exclaimed, a grin on his face. Castiel barely had time to return the greeting before Dean was ushering him in.

It seemed a large number of the group had already arrived sitting on a couch in the small living room area. Several side tables and a coffee table, which had clearly been moved from the living space, stood stacked on top of each other just inside the door to what Castiel assumed was Dean's bedroom. In one corner, looking like it lived there permanently, was a drum set.

There were band and concert posters everywhere, and there was no overhead light in the living room, which was instead lit by a small collection of lamps. Dean's apartment was cozy, each furniture item well-loved, and full of people who were smiling and greeting him warmly.

"Castiel, nice to meet you," said a short blonde woman, a tenor saxophone resting in her lap "I'm Jo, childhood best friends with Dean."

Castiel shook her outstretched hand and returned her smile.

"And this is my girlfriend, Alicia," Jo said, gesturing to the dark-skinned woman beside her.

Alicia waved from the other side of her electric guitar as she was preoccupied with adjusting the amp at her feet. "Nice to meet you."

"And you."

"Can I get you something to drink?" Dean asked him, leaning toward him to speak near his ear. There was a sort of casual intimacy to it that almost had Castiel blushing.

"Uh, water would be fine, thank you."

Castiel was so preoccupied with the flash of Dean's grin that he missed the new voice to his left.

"You must be Castiel!" said a woman with dark hair from the doorway to Dean's room, she carried a keyboard against her body with one hand and the stand folded up in her other.

"Oh, let me help you with that," he said, rushing forward to take the keyboard from her.

"And so chivalrous," the woman said with a wink, setting up the stand with a click. "I'm Pamela, you can call me Pam," she added, fluttering her eyelashes at him as he positioned the keyboard in place.

"Pam, don't scare him," Dean admonished, coming in from the kitchen and passing Castiel a bottle of water, "he just got here. Plus Kevin's on his way, much more fun to tease."

Pamela stuck her tongue out at Dean before flopping onto the couch on Alicia's other side, dodging the guitar's fret box as Alicia straightened from setting up her amp. Pamela and Jo launched into a discussion on something he had no context for.

Castiel listened instead as Alicia absentmindedly played a few chords, her hands moving fluidly over the frets. She cut herself off with a huff and made adjustments on the guitar's panel of knobs, playing a few more notes before she seemed satisfied.

Maybe it was the glass of wine he'd had before he drove over (liquid courage) but Castiel was struck by the nonchalant ease with which she played something so immediately vivid.

"Got you a chair," Dean said from behind him.

"Thank you," he managed, sitting down at the piano. He'd already turned it on and played a chord before the thought occurred to him that he hadn't plugged it in. Dean must have when he wasn't looking.

Dean, who was now sitting behind the drum set, adjusted a few towels and small squares of something on the drum heads, must be to mute the sound in the small space. They were all arranged in something of a U shape, with Dean on one side and the couch with Alicia, Pamela, and Jo on the other. Castiel supposed the empty space across from him was for Kevin, who must be the one to have just knocked.

"It's open!" Dean called.

Surely it didn't mean anything that Dean had greeted an empty-handed Castiel at the door, but not his friend who momentarily struggled with a giant upright bass as he stumbled through the threshold.

"Kevin!" Pamela said with a smile, "Glad you could finally join us."

"Sorry! I got stopped by a train," Kevin said miserably.

"You need help?" Jo asked from where she reclined on the couch.

"No, I got it!"

To Kevin's credit, he did manage to get the door closed, himself settled, and his bass set up without assistance.

"Cas, give us an A," Pamela said, gesturing with her trumpet.

Castiel played the tuning sequence while the group tuned, except for Dean, who was sneaking looks at him, which of course, Castiel only knew because he'd been sneaking looks of his own.

"So I figured we'd start with something easy," Dean said, pulling a piece of paper from somewhere behind the set and passing it to him.

"Moanin'," Castiel read, "by Art Blakey."

"Oh of course!" Pamela said, "Always with the Art Blakey."

"He's one of Dean's favorites," Jo supplied conspiratorily toward Castiel, "we never manage to go a jam session without one of his tunes."

"I'm choosing the next chart," Pamela announced.

Castiel looked over the sheet. He'd expected it to be sheet music, but it was just lyrics and chord names. He supposed it was... simple at least.

"So that right there is called a chart," Dean said, nodding to Castiel's hand, "It's got the lyrics and chords for the song. I tried to find a proper lead sheet, which has the melody written out as well, but I couldn't find one for free. And I don't really read lead sheets anyway, so I didn't have one on hand."

"Don't worry Castiel," Jo said, "it's easy to pick up."

"I'll start us off," Kevin announced, "if Alicia wants to take the first verse."

Alicia played a short motif on her guitar which seemed to pass as an affirmative.

Immediately Castiel started to panic, thrust into a deep end when he hadn't even begun to swim yet. He was going to mess it up, he could feel it. Thinking of that mesmerizing sound the Two O'Clock had made before, and now with him, it would be ruined.

"Hey," Dean said gently, "Just jump in when you feel comfortable. Or, you don't even have to play if you don't want to. We're here to have a good time."

"No wrong notes in jazz!" Pamela announced, playing a messy bundle of discordant notes.

Kevin laughed, adjusting his bass like he was getting ready to play. And then just like that, the music began.

A few short bass notes, like a phrase, punctuated at the end with the saxophone and trumpet, perfectly in sync for having started with no warning. Kevin repeated the line, and this time Dean joined Pamela and Jo with the response. By the third time, Castiel joined too, just two short chords as Kevin added more flourish.

Then Alicia took over, the same melody with added harmony, like she was pulling the sound out of her guitar, slow, calculated.

The rest of the ensemble kept up the response, and at the end of the four-bar phrase, Dean caught his eye and the texture changed, the energy brighter, thicker. Castiel was lost, and his hands froze over the keys, but the expected panic never came, instead, he listened.

There was Kevin on the chord roots, Jo and Pamela played 6th harmonies in unison, like they knew their parts already, and all deferred not to Dean, like he might have expected on the drums, but to Alicia, who played the solo melody line in a driving rubato. Despite the shifting time, nothing was lost, the groove stayed strong.

Castiel was wondering if someone was going to start singing, if not, then what were the lyrics for? And where were they? He could hear the pitches, played along with some block chords, but was still generally clueless.

Alicia finished her solo and looked at Jo, who then took over like it was the most natural thing in the world. And they went around like that, trading and changing the melody, giving each player a chance to take over. Castiel was entranced at the ease with which they did it all, laughing, watching, nodding along to each other's improvisations.

Dean made a signal to everyone and after the next phrase, they ended together with a sustained hit. Castiel completely missed it.

The group dissolved into cheers and laughter, Pamela reaching over to give Kevin a friendly nudge, Jo leaning on Alicia with a smile, and Dean spun his stick in his hands, shooting Castiel a wolfish grin. He couldn't help but return it with one of his own.

"Ok, we're giving Cas a real chart now!" Pamela said, passing her trumpet to Jo and reaching into her bag. "Winchester, you're lucky I actually planned ahead." Pamela pulled out her tablet to Dean's good-natured protests. She tapped around on it before passing it to Castiel.

He took it and set it on the keyboard's built-in stand. It displayed a piece called "Fine and Mellow", it had a melody line written out with lyrics, as well as chord symbols. It looked much more familiar already.

"This will be easier to read I hope," Pamela said, "plus it's a slow tune, ballad swing instead of medium swing like Moanin'."

"Yes, it looks much more familiar," Castiel said gratefully, sneaking a glance at Dean whose cheeks were flushed ever so slightly.

"Great! How about you start us off, Castiel," Jo said. "Take it slow, and Dean can come in to set the swing underneath. Then we can join in."

Castiel set his fingers on the keys, forming the first chord, "Are you sure? I don't want to mess it up right at the start."

"No such thing!"

"Yeah, Cas follow your instincts!"

"Just lead the way," Dean said, "we'll follow."

He swallowed, taking a deep breath before pressing into the keys, playing that first tonic. By the second chord, Dean started in too, holding down a rhythm that Castiel felt like he could lean on.

Kevin entered, walking a slow bassline as Pamela began the main melody, and now Castiel could follow along.

In between Pamela's phrases Jo and Alicia entered with tiny countermelodies, fading into the background until the next break in the melody.

With each passing line, Castiel gained more confidence. He was reminded of the years and years playing for mass, the figured bass he would read and build his own realizations off. This wasn't so different.

He could hear the extended tertian nature of the harmony Alicia played and did his best to copy it. He listened to the articulations for Jo and Pamela, imitating their form. 

As the others traded solos, Castiel's finger slipped and played a wrong note, he tried something new and came in a little late to the next bar, he played over someone else, but through it all, he was starting to get it.

He was getting to know his instrument in a way he never had before. In his mind, he could start to hear little motifs, and did his best to translate those into what his fingers were playing.

"Dean, take a verse," Jo said over Alicia's groove.

Dean shook his head, leaning into the hi-hat. "You're crazy."

"Do it, Winchester!" Alicia said, passing the solo back to Pamela.

Castiel almost got behind but caught back up as Dean laughed.

When the next verse started, Castiel expected Dean would start soloing on his drums, almost like he had when Castiel had seen him play in the Bunker several weeks ago.

Instead, Dean opened his mouth and-

"My man don't love me..." he sang.

Pamela whooped and Castiel forced himself to look at the keyboard for fear of forgetting to play.

"Treats me oh so mean..." 

Dean Winchester with a rumbling baritone, his voice so warm and full. The sound settled around Castiel's bones like cider and fleece.

"No my man, he don't love me. Treats me awfully."

Surely there was a version of the lyrics with girl instead of man. Was Dean choosing to sing this version of the lyrics because he's...?

"He's the lowest man that I've ever seen." He held the last syllable between his teeth, a subtle dark vibrato sustaining with him.

Dean kept going, starting the next voice, and Castiel followed along on the chart diligently. He sang about high-trimmed pants, about stripes so yellow, and Castiel displayed valiant self-control, even concentrating enough to imitate Kevin's motif.

That is until the words "But when he starts in to love me," slid from Dean's mouth, with his eyes closed, his lashes fanned out over his cheekbones, and Castiel had to look, had to watch.

"He's so fine and mellow."

Castiel stopped himself subconsciously leaning toward Dean, but only because his green eyes had opened and caught Castiel in their gaze.

The energy had risen, and Jo had taken over the melody, giving him an excuse to look at her instead and follow her as she brought them all to the end of the song.

"Hell yeah, Cas," Alicia said.

"Great playing! You really got the hang of it!" Kevin enthused.

"Really?" Castiel asked, surprised by the sudden compliments, he didn't think he played particularly well or accurately.

"Totally," Jo said, "the back and forth, listening and trading licks, that's all jazz is about."

"Licks?"

Pamela played a short motif on her trumpet and everyone laughed slightly.

"Yeah, it's just a short little phrase you work in. What Pam played is a famous one, but it can be anything." Jo brought her saxophone mouthpiece to her face, playing another short motif-lick to demonstrate. 

Castiel echoed her on the piano, getting a note wrong but pleased with himself for being able to recreate most of it.

"Exactly!"

"I vote we play "September in the Rain" next," Kevin said, and just like that, Pamela was pulling up another lead sheet for him to play from.

They jammed for hours, stopping only when Jo and Pamela were complaining about their 'chops' getting sore.

Castiel stood there holding up Kevin's bass case as he maneuvered it in, truly feeling as if his soul had been nourished. 

"We should do this again," Pamela was saying, and the next jam session had been added to Castiel's calendar. 

As he walked back to his car, he drafted an email to Dr. Mosely: Can you recommend any wind ensemble pieces with strong jazz influences?

___________________

"Oh, we're definitely all going in costumes," Dean was saying, "including you and your friends, so you'll have to come up with something good."

Castiel blinked the sun from his eyes as they walked across campus to Jacob's Hall for the Wind Symphony rehearsal. 

"They don't have to be coordinated, do they?"

"Nah, and it doesn't have to be from the movie either, most people just go for classic horror or something like that."

"Ok, that's good to hear, I'm afraid I've never seen the film."

"Wait, are you serious?" Dean asked aghast, "This will be your first time?"

Castiel nodded.

"Hell of an introduction then!" Dean said, his exuberance was starting to rub off on Castiel. "A Community Theatre showing of Rocky Horror is definitely the way to go."

"Good to hear. Thank you for inviting me."

Dean looked at him with that bright open smile. "Of course, Cas, we're friends aren't we?"

"Yes," he replied, returning the smile. 

They walked up to Jacob's Hall, Castiel opening the door. Dean reached around his shoulder, the leather of his old worn jacket brushing Castiel's back as Dean held the door open for him. 

That kind of thing was happening a lot, casual touches, friendly gestures, but Dean was just like that with everyone. Besides, Castiel would never entertain... well anything, not as a conductor while Dean was an ensemble member.

Did he have any actual power over him, not in the slightest, but once Castiel had seen the movie Tár, it had forever left a bad taste in his mouth.

"How do you think rehearsal will go today?" Dean asked as they made their way through the lobby, only a few others having arrived early as well.

"Good, I hope. Now that we moved you up by the podium, you've been the only one I haven't had an issue with."

Dean laughed.

"But," Castiel continued, walking into the performance hall itself, "the brass had sectionals over the weekend so hopefully they'd be able to read the key signature now."

"Cas, you're ruthless."

Castiel blushed, and to cover his embarrassment he nodded toward Fergus Crowley, who was already in his designated chair in the wings, leafing through a score. "I'm not as bad a Crowley, am I?"

Dean patted his shoulder reassuringly, lowering his voice as they approached the stage, "No way man, no one's a bigger dick than him. Including Dick Roman."

Muffling his laugh, Castiel watched Dean give him a wink and head to the back where the rest of his section was setting up percussion instruments. 

When Dr. Mosely started rehearsal, Castiel took his usual number of notes, marking up his copies of the scores accordingly. It was almost ritualistic by now, his dedication to the sheet music, to Dr. Mosely's direction. Crowley scoffed lightly next to him, as he always does, and crossed his arms when it was Castiel's turn to conduct for Charlie's piece.

There was the usual amount of shifting around as the flutes and saxophones moved to make room for Dean and his setup at the front of the stage. Castiel readied his score on the podium, not that he really needed it, and rubbed his thumb over the smooth baton handle in his hand.

"Brass, let's start with you while percussion is getting set up. Letter K."

The brass section shuffled their pages and quieted as Castiel lifted his baton. The bass trombones were flat, but it sounded much better, giving him the confidence to lean into more interpretive conducting rather than simply keeping time.

When he was satisfied, Castiel waved his hand to cut them off. "Excellent, brass, thank you for your dedication this weekend in sectionals-" Dr. Mosely made a silent clapping gesture in the back corner of the room. Castiel took the cue. "Give yourselves a round of applause."

The hall rumbled with stomping feet on the stage, members of the ensemble giving each other smiles and high fives. 

When Castiel glanced to his left, Dean gave him a thumbs up from where he sat at his set, just a few steps away. 

"Right, we're gonna try something new today," Castiel announced, tapping the white of the baton on his podium stand to get everyone's attention. "We're going to start at letter H with everyone, and when we get to the trombone soli, let's have you all stand up and play. Take your 3 measures of rest before your entrance to adjust your stand, quietly if you can."

Everyone began to murmur, and Castiel sneaked a glance at Dr. Mosely who was grinning from ear to ear. It was an idea he stole from the pieces she'd sent. He spent hours watching them, Come Sunday by Omar Thomas, Kevin Day's Concerto for Wind Ensemble, Katahj Copley's Dope, and more that sent him on a rabbit hole of jazz-classical music, all 'groove-based' like Charlie's piece as Dean would say. 

Castiel steeled his nerves and cleared his throat, "Bass trombones, watch your intonation, you're leaning flat. Any questions before we start?"

The ensembles settled quietly, but the trombones, in typical trombone fashion, looked excited at the prospect of doing something out of the ordinary.

"Ok, is our soloist ready?"

Dean gave him a startlingly beatific smile and a sure nod.

"Letter H."

Castiel began conducting again, the sound lifting around him, and suddenly he was younger, smaller, a quiet golden child singing in the choir in that giant cathedral, the ladies next to him urging him to pay attention during the sermons.

Then he was a teen, awkward, still quiet, playing the lavish concert grand piano the parish had. They called him devout, spectacular, blessed by God. His parents would nod their approval and move on to lecturing one of his brothers or sisters. 

That's what music had been to Castiel, an escape, an outlet, his only reprieve. The Minister of Music let him study the score the church owned, the proper liturgies, the proper vigil mass, requiem mass, votive mass.

His confirmation stands vivid in his memory, of his father telling him to take Michael as his confirmation name, the archangel of soldiers, of Castiel refusing since it was his oldest brother's name, of the beating he received when he asked instead to take the name of Saint Cecilia, patroness of music.

Fourteen years old and he conducted the choir for his own confirmation mass, and he had taken the name Michael. 

In that moment, he could have sworn he'd felt the presence of God. That the Almighty had visited upon them that night, inhabiting the music, moving his hands as the waves of harmony rang in the frigid cathedral.

But there was no God, no divine path or purpose, just a cage. And that feeling, now he felt it in tenfold, it is the very nature of music, to soar, to reverberate, to move in emotion completely unknown.

He felt it now so easily, the freedom, the power, and he could control it, not the other way around.

Dean Winchester was more of a God than whatever he was supposed to find in that church. A powerhouse of groove and swagger, he alternated between watching his drum set, watching Castiel, and closing his eyes. Dean had the music memorized, like Castiel, and was commanding it with him. 

There was a level of trust they needed to have in each other, an understanding, communication. In their jam sessions, playing together was more intimate, direct. Ironically, here in the massive concert hall with a fifty-piece wind band, the music an inherently communal act, it was like he and Dean were the only people in the world, that wolfish grin of his set in Castiel's sight.

The trombones rose and played their soli, and unprompted, the rest of the ensemble cheered and stomped, the sound blending seamlessly into a blasting tutti uproar. Charlie's thick texture filled the room and the air felt super-charged. 

Castiel's whole body started to move, cueing sections on instinct, loosening the reigns to let Dean push and pull at the tempo. Hadn't Dean once said something about using his whole body to make the music? About the physicality of it? Castiel understood it now.

The Wind Symphony was now a well-oiled machine. For all the mistakes and failures that led to this moment, they finally got it.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester: Hey Cas is there some kinda special dress code for soloists or am I just wearing concert blacks? Jo is freaking me out about it

Castiel Novak: Concert blacks are fine. However, if you'd like, you're welcome to change during intermission and wear something more individualistic for Charlie's piece. Soloists do typically 'dress up' for concertos since they're the center of attention, so to speak.

Dean Winchester: Ok good to know! Thanks pal

Dean smoothed a hand over the dark green suit jacket again, the velvet was soft but smelled ancient. It was the nicest thing he could find at the dinky second-hand shop that Jo and Pamela took him to. He hoped it didn't look too stupid over his concert blacks, just a plain turtle neck shirt and his nice pair of black slacks.

It didn't matter whether or not Castiel approved of the outfit, obviously, and he already gave the go-ahead for wearing something different, so Dean shoved down thoughts of sending a picture to Castiel and took the jacket off, spraying it down with his nearly-empty bottle of fabric freshener and tucking it away in his closet.

It didn't stay there long, getting pulled out just a few days later and carefully draped across the back seat of Dean's Impala on the way to the performance hall. He blasted his favorite Van Halen album, 1984, and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. 

His phone chimed with a text as he pulled into a parking space. His younger brother Sam had sent him a good luck message and assured Dean he would be watching the concert livestream with Eileen, his girlfriend. Dean sent a quick reply and dutifully shut off his phone, heading into the performance hall.

Dean was swept up by a jovial Garth and the rest of the percussion section as they set up the percussion equipment on stage, avoiding the wind players who were setting up their own chairs and stands in arcs. 

Castiel must have been in charge, as he stood at the front, directing people and speaking with the building director.

God, Castiel was handsome. Dean had grown used to seeing him in professional-looking button-ups and the occasional tie, but there was something different about him in an all-black suit. Even from across the stage, his eyes were a more striking blue, and his dark stubble cut across his pale cheeks in a way that made Dean nearly drop the splash cymbal he was trying to put together. Dean quietly thanked whatever higher power was up there for the invention of concert blacks.

Charlie arrived shortly after and pulled him up to the front to meet Castiel.

"Now that the gang's all together, I just wanted to thank you both for your dedication to my piece this semester, and I wanted to give you these," Charlie said, retrieving two envelopes from her bag.

"Charlie, it was a pleasure to conduct your piece," Castiel said, taking his envelope from her, "truly I am so grateful for the experience."

"Me too," Dean said, taking his from her outstretched hand. "It's one hell of a piece, Bradbury."

"Everything will go perfectly well tonight and no one will mess anything up! I'm manifesting it. Plus my girlfriend is coming and I don't want to embarrass myself in front of her."

"Your girlfriend?" Dean asked with a grin, "That's great! How did I not know you had a girlfriend?"

Charlie winked, "I'm a woman of mystery. But mostly because we didn't become official until a couple of weeks ago."

"Congratulations," Castiel said, "what's her name, will we meet her after the concert?"

"Her name is Dot, and yeah we'll stick around. But she's a writer so she doesn't know much about new music, which is why this has to go perfectly."

"Don't sweat it, Charlie, we'll do a good job. My brother's catching the livestream too."

"Ah, can he not come in person?"

Dean smiled, "Nah, he's at law school, Stanford."

"Woah, good for him!" Charlie said with a nod.

"My brother's finaceé is a lawyer," Castiel said, "They'll be coming tonight as well, and my youngest sister."

"Youngest? Do you have many siblings?" Charlie asked.

Castiel shuffled uneasily on his feet and Dean remembered their conversation in his practice room, the first time they really spoke with each other. Castiel had shied away from discussing his 'very traditionally catholic' family.

"I have eight siblings."

"Your parents had nine children?!" Charlie was aghast.

"Yes. It's typical, I think, for catholic families in Pennsylvania to have many children."

 "Are you the oldest?"

Dean almost wanted to tell Charlie to stop asking him questions since he seemed a little uncomfortable, but Dean was also desperate to know anything he could about Castiel.

"No, I'm in the middle. The oldest are twins, Luke and Michael, then Gabriel, who will be coming tonight, then Raphael, then me. My four younger siblings are Naomi, Anne, Alfie, and Hael. Almost all of my siblings are very... uh, resistant to societal progression. The only ones who have left the church behind are Gabriel, myself, and our youngest sister Hael."

"That's crazy, I'm sorry to hear that."

Castiel shrugged, putting on a clearly fake smile, "It's fine, I've accepted it."

"Well," Dean spoke up, "I look forward to meeting your siblings Cas, after the show... if that's cool."

"Of course, Dean, I'd be happy to introduce you." And Castiel's eyes got those little smile crinkles and everything seemed right in the world again.

"We should go backstage," Charlie said, pointing to the building director who was shooing people off stage, "it's probably time for them to open doors."

Dean wandered back to where the rest of the percussionists had congregated in the rehearsal room, and smoothed a hand over his velvet jacket to ensure it was still in good shape where he'd left it draped over his backpack. 

He took the opportunity to open the envelope from Charlie, it was a nice spiral-bound copy of the score with a little message written inside the cover. He decided to read it later, once the show was safely in his rearview. 

"Nervous?" asked Garth, walking up to him.

"Not sure yet," Dean said, putting the envelope with his things.

"Well you shouldn't be, man, it's a killer part. Even if you do mess up, we'll just shake it off and move on to the next thing," Garth said, giving Dean a friendly pat.

"Right... thanks, Garth."

He smiled jovially. "Don't mention it buddy, good luck out there."

Oddly, Garth's eternal golden-retriever attitude did help. Dean wasn't sure what he was nervous about exactly. He had the piece memorized, it was muscle memory at this point, and he couldn't mess it up if he tried. Maybe it was the fact that it was Charlie's piece and not just a random jazz tune, higher stakes. Which was a ridiculous thought after everything he went through to get to where he was now, but... Maybe he just didn't want to look stupid in front of...

"Alright we're walking on!" called Fergus Crowley, rounding up the woodwinds to start heading on stage. Dean wiped the sweat from his palms, grabbed his folder, and followed the pack.

The lights in the hall shined brighter on stage now that the performance was starting, and the audience was a pitch-black void with any number of people that Dean couldn't see.

He set up his music on the stand by the concert bass drum and felt his body move on autopilot, almost outside himself as they played their first piece. Then came the second and Dean played this one too before moving to the snare for the third and last piece before intermission. 

His vision tunneled as he made a beeline for his green jacket backstage, excusing himself to the bathroom once it was in hand. Dean didn't really need to pee, but he was suddenly so nervous that he wasn't willing to chance it. Finally sorting himself out and donning his soloist attire, he walked back into the lobby only to find a frantic Castiel speed-walking through the crowd.

"Dean," Castiel said, spotting him, "thank god, I thought I'd lost you."

"No, sorry I was-" but Dean was cut off as Castiel's hand encircled his wrist.

"No time," he said, and he began bodily dragging Dean around the backstage area to the opposite entrance to the stage. Admittedly, Dean had never entered from this side, and hadn't known he was supposed to as a soloist.

Finally letting him go and slumping against the wall, Castiel sighed, watching the stage monitor where is was secured to the wall next to the big doors that would open to the stage. One of the building's stagehands sat in the chair next to the door, scrolling on their phone and pointedly ignoring them.

"Alright there, Cas?" Dean asked, knowing full well they still had 5 minutes or more left of intermission. His wrist tingles slightly where Castiel had touched it, perhaps from the pressure...

"Yes, just- lost sight of you after the first half... got, nervous..."

"Sorry to worry you," Dean said, and while he had half a mind to poke fun at Castiel, he meant what he said.

Castiel waved a hand, "I'm being crazy, it will go well."

Dean cracked a teasing smile then. "You seemed so serene half an hour ago."

Sparkling blue eyes crinkled at the edges as Castiel huffed a laugh. "A lot can change... including you, this green jacket is nice. You look good."

Dean looked down, both pleased at the compliment and self-conscious about it. "Thank you, you do too, by the way. I feel like I haven't seen you in anything but white or blue."

Castiel laughed again, some tension melting from his shoulders, and Dean's too if he was being honest. "I have a style."

"Are you ready?" suddenly asks the stagehand that Dean forgot was there.

"Yes," Castiel says. 

The stagehand activates their headset and says "Conductor ready," into it. 

A few seconds later, they watch the band slowly walk on stage from the other side, filling up the arcs and finding their places as the audience claps. 

Electricity sparks in Dean's legs and he's about ready to rush out when Castiel's hand comes up to stop him, brushing against his chest. "They have to tune."

And Dean sits through an agonizing two concerts A's and a concert Bb before the stagehand finally opens the door for them to walk out.

The audience applauds and Dean comes to stand next to the percussion set up, bowing with Castiel once before taking his seat. Castiel gracefully makes his way over to the standing microphone and pulls out a notecard from his suit jacket.

"Good evening all, and thank you for joining the university Wind Symphony here at Jacobs Hall. Tonight's program has so far featured three contemporary works for wind band composed in the last 20 years, conducted by the illustrious Dr. Missouri Mosely, head of the University Wind Studies."

Dr. Mosely steps on stage from the wings and takes her bow, waving to the roaring audience before stepping back away.

"However this next half of our program boasts many new aspects. My name is Castiel Novak, the newest conducting fellow, and I'm honored to conduct for you tonight a new piece by student composer Charlie Bradbury."

More applause as Charlie stands in the second row, twisting around to wave at everyone. Dean can just barely make her out through the spot lights shining directly in his eyes.

"This new work is a percussion concerto played by Dean Winchester" Castiel continues, and Dean's neck begins to sweat, "the incredibly talented drummer of the 2 O'Clock jazz band. This work explores, as Charlie puts it in her program notes, 'the unbridled rage of a young woman surrounded by all-male colleagues. And she must burn brightly and fiercely, lest her fire be completely extinguished.' It is with great pleasure that we present Rampant, by Charlie Bradbury."

Dean had never read the program notes. How could he have missed the program notes?

But then Castiel was on the podium, his baton in the air, and he gestured to Dean, making eye contact.

So then Dean's body moves. He closes his eyes for this first part, cadenza, Charlie wrote. Solo, Dean feels. His sticks rocket around the set, his hands moving of their own accord. He can feel every note, every hit, jolt up his arms, electrifying his chest in the bombastic opening. 

He creaks his eyes open to watch the cymbals, to make sure they're not out of control, they aren't, and he watches the way the stage lights flash off the chrome rims of the toms and the steel blue of the bass drum shell, sparkling and shaking with the force of his playing.

The fucking set- how did he never notice before, that shade of blue...

He looks up to catch Castiel's matching blue eyes, just as the stuttering rhythm locks into the transition. Their gazes meet for that split second as Castiel begins to conduct, and then suddenly the entire wind band is playing at Dean's back.

It's brass and dark and angry, and god, how could Dean have missed Charlie's program note? It all makes so much sense now. The sound feels almost cataclysmic, filling the performance hall to bursting as saxophones layer on top of clarinets on top of trumpets on top of tubas. Dean can hear Charlie loud and clear. 

And then Dean is part of the well-oiled machine of the ensemble, tutti hits, reverberant silence, locked in to every move Castiel makes. It's so easy to lose himself.

They start to transition to the next section, and Dean rides the cymbals, watching Castiel, feeling himself match the sway of his body, the same breaths in his chest. He anticipates it all, which nearly comes as a surprise to Dean, who didn't realize he knew Castiel on such a level.

On the stage, the music in his hands, in his feet, Dean becomes something else- maybe something other, maybe something more- but so does Castiel. The way Castiel looks at him, the soft commanding expression on his face, it's like they've become something entirely new together.

Before long, trombones stand behind him, playing their soli over the rest of the band. The audience roars with applause and then the climax of the piece truly hits and it's angry, vengeful, it's Charlie Bradbury, and Dean laughs, so caught in the rush of sound.

His short bout of laughter is certainly inaudible under the incomprehensible volume of the band, but Castiel locks eyes with him anyway and his fucking glorious smile graces Dean's vision. 

Too soon they crescendo to the last undulating note, trumpets and horn ripping in the stratosphere, tubas and clarinets and saxes holding down a wall of thick sound, and Dean pounds out his final nearly frantic solo before Castiel victoriously cuts them off.

The sound doesn't even have time to decay before the crowd matches their volume with applause and cheers. Through the lights, Dean can see movement as people rise to their feet, a standing ovation. 

Castiel steps from his podium and takes his bow, gesturing to Dean. 

His hands and feet numb, Dean rises and bows. Somewhere in the audience, Charlie is taking her bow, and then the ensemble bows, and the applause seems to go on and on, only diminishing when the house lights come up and Dean can finally see the theatre nearly full to bursting. 

Dean desperate wants to hang back, pull Castiel aside and hear how he thought it went, hear what he thinks of Dean's playing, but the stage is full of commotion as the throng of instrumentalists have their mass exodus and Castiel is caught up in helping hold open the doors, and Dean is summoned to the back to help with tearing down the percussion equipment.

Garth congratulates him, and so does the rest of his section, and Dean smiles and nods and carries the kit drums into the storage room as quickly as he can. He's relieved the concert went so well, but he's also filled with an inexplicable anxiety at the thought of facing Castiel and Charlie.

When he finally enters the lobby, the crowd is still big and bustling, the echoing sounds of laughter and talking makes it so Dean can hardly hear himself think. 

He thought it might be simple to at least find Charlie, with her bright red hair, but the crowd of concert-goers immediately swamped him with congratulations and well wishes. He smiles politely at the line of strangers, thanking each of them and a little in awe of it all considering no one treats him like this after a jazz gig.

Dr. Harvelle is there, and she gives him a hug and an 'I told you so' before going off to find Dr. Moseley, and then finally, Dean spots the woman of the hour, Charlie Bradbury.

Charlie has her own group of friends and admirers who she's talking to, and one dark-haired woman who she has her arm around.

"Charlie!" Dean calls above the noise, and the composer actually turns toward him, her face lighting up in a smile.

"Dean! That was amazing!" She rushes over to hug him enthusiastically. "Absolutely killed it, what did I say?"

Dean laughs.

"Dean meet my girlfriend Dot," Charlie said, steering him back toward her group.

"Nice to meet you," Dean says, shaking her hand, "how did you like the show?"

"Incredible, I've never seen anything like Charlie's piece, I don't know how she did it, and you were so good as well." 

Charlie grins like an idiot at Dot and then introduces Dean to the rest of the group, all of her friends from composition, many of whom ask him if he's willing to perform for them. Dean respectfully declines and cites his upcoming recital. Charlie must take pity on him because she points Dean back toward the performance hall, where Castiel is loitering with his family, who Charlie already got to meet.

Dean makes his way back into the performance hall where a few people are still hanging back and chatting, and there by the stage is Castiel standing with who Dean assumes is his family. 

He walks up on the side Castiel is facing away from, if only to let himself mentally prepare. There's a short man with floppy golden hair who Dean assumes is Castiel's brother Gabriel, who truthfully doesn't look that similar to him, and a teen girl who does look exactly like Castiel, with pale skin, light eyes, and wavy black hair. Under Gabriel's arm is a tall Hindu woman, Dean barely registers that she's strikingly beautiful and well-dressed because someone must have pointed him out and Castiel is turning to look at him.

He meets that broad smile with a smile of his own and wonders if it would be weird to give him a hug like he'd given Charlie. When he's close enough he opts for a friendly pat on the shoulder, and he's cut off before he can say anything.

"Ah Dean-o, drummer extrordianre!" Gabriel says with gusto, shaking his hand firmly, "That was some playing up there!"

"Oh, thank you," Dean said, returning his smile, "you must be Gabriel."

"Cassie talks about me a lot, does he?"

"I do not-"

"I'm his favorite brother after all."

Castiel huffs (adorable), "You are-"

"I'm Kali," the woman says, holding out her hand, "Gabriel's finaceé."

Dean shakes her hand politely. "Lovely to meet you."

Then Hael starts to say something in sign and Dean is momentarily thrown off before he manages to pick up the end of her phrase "... watch you play."

"Oh, this is Hael," Castiel explained next to him, "she said it was nice to watch you play."

But Dean was already brushing off his sign and replied to her, somewhat clumsy, "Thank you, it's nice to meet you."

Hael's eyes widen and she does a little hop, smiling widely at him and her brothers. She signs something quickly and Dean can't quite make it out.

"Sorry," Dean apologizes, signing along with his words, "I didn't catch that, my sign isn't very good."

Castiel signs something quickly back to Hael with a cute little furrow in his brow, and Dean just about makes out "... too old for you." before he turns to Dean and says "Oh ignore her, she's just editorializing."

Gabriel buts in with a smile, "You know a little sign?" he asks, signing along for Hael's benefit.

"I should know more," Dean admits, trying to remember both grammar structures as he speaks and signs, "My brother's girlfriend is deaf, and I've been learning for her, though I'm still pretty bad."

"Well, I think that's lovely." Kali said, "and it was a real pleasure to hear you play."

"Thank you." Dean said, suddenly bashful, maybe due to Castiel's proximity, "Gotta say I've been getting a lot more praise for this than I ever have playing with the Two."

"Is it very different, playing jazz than... classical?" Kali asks, looking between Dean and Castiel.

"Classical works, or you can call it concert music," Castiel informed her.

"Yeah, they're like two different worlds, though this piece for Charlie was pretty sick."

"It was fun to watch," Hael signed, and Dean was glad that she went slow, "And loud enough that I could feel it from the front row."

"What did you all think of Castiel's conducting?" Dean asked, itching to move the attention from himself in front of Castiel's family.

Gabriel laughed, "He always looks so serious."

"Also fun to watch," Hael added.

"I thought it was very elegant," Kali said with a pointed look at her fiance.

"Regardless, I am glad Cassie's close enough for us to see his concerts in person."

"Oh that's right, you did your undergrad at Colorado," Dean said easily, turning his attention to Castiel.

"I did," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the unspoken 'how did you remember that?'

"I remembered," Dean began, licking his lips with that little urge to explain himself, "because when we met it was like 110 degrees out and-"

"Yes, well-" Castiel interrupted, "a story for another time, perhaps-"

"Say," Gabriel began, "we were just planning on grabbing a few drinks, maybe some tacos-"

"I'm hungry." Hael nodded solemnly. 

 "-would you want to come with, Dean-o?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-" Dean began just as Castiel said,

"I'm sure Dean has plans with his friends-"

A little something twisted up in Dean's chest.

"No, we would love to chat, hear that story maybe? Get to know Castiel's new friend a bit more." Kali asked with an easy smile, raising an eyebrow at Castiel with that last remark.

With his slight pouty grimace of embarrassment, Castiel turned his eyes toward Dean as they all awaited his answer.

"Uh, I'd love to, thank you."

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, "Right on! Know a good dive in town?"

___________________________________________

Dean wasn't entirely sure why he took them all to the yard behind Rocky's... well, maybe it had something to do with a certain memory of seeing Castiel drenched in alcohol and the desire to not let that be his last memory with Dean at the establishment.

"Wow, this place is nice, all the lights and live music," Gabriel said, carefully spreading out the drinks he'd ordered for himself and Kali, and the soda for Hael, on their chosen picnic table. Hael wasted no time in rocketing off to one of the food trucks, a $20 bill from her older brother in hand.

Dean glanced over to the stage and smiled, "They have one of their regular groups playing tonight. That's Benny on the drums, he also plays for the One O'Clock."

"That's another jazz band?" Kali asked politely, "are they... the band above yours?"

Dean chuckled slightly, "Yeah, Benny's a beast. The One is kind of the precision band, the Two is more the fun band."

"Dean is being modest," Castiel interjected, swirling the ice around in his cocktail, something bright green, "even his rehearsals sounded like what you heard on stage tonight."

Dean could not start blushing before he'd even had a drop of alcohol. So he took a sip of his whisky and asked Gabriel and Kali about their work.

The conversation flowed easily, between Dean getting to effuse about his brother, the future lawyer, and Gabriel's knowledge on rock bands that nearly rivaled Dean's own, there was no shortage of topics. Dean was grateful too for Castiel and Gabriel's help in interpreting for Hael so Dean could understand what she was signing. 

He should have been more surprised at how easy it was to get to know Castiel's family. Should it be weirder? They were just friends, and barely even then considering the animosity they started the year with. 

Dean went through another whiskey and a water and they all followed Hael's lead in ordering gyro's from one of the food trucks. The evening passed faster than he realized.

"Come on, angel," Kali said, placing a hand on her fiance's shoulder, "Hael's nearly asleep, we should start the drive home."

Gabriel and Kali bid them goodnight and steered Hael from the emptying yard. 

"That's sweet," Dean said, turning his straw around in his water.

"What?" Castiel asked, turning to face him.

"Just, I don't know, you don't normally see a woman calling her boyfriend 'angel', or- fianceé."

Castiel chuckled, "Well that's what we are."

Dean turned to him and he could believe it, that the man sitting next to him was a real angel. "You're an angel," he said, and it wasn't really a question.

There was that pretty blush on his cheeks, string lights twinkling in his blue eyes like stars. "Well, no I just meant, sorry, my siblings and I are all named after angels."

"Ah, well, could've fooled me." All caution had been thrown to the wind, Dean was officially flirting, Dean is... hot for teacher.

"Oh I- um, that's very- thank you."

Dean laughed. For all Castiel's usual intelligent eloquence, he was so adorable when at a loss for words. Taking pity on him in the late night, Dean quickly drank the rest of his water and shuffled from the booth to stand up.

"It's getting late, I should probably get going."

"Yes," Castiel said, "yes, I have papers to grade."

"Do you need a ride?" Dean asked, stacking glasses for the wait staff.

"No, thank you. My apartment is close by, only a five-minute walk."

"Ok, if you're sure..."

Castiel gave him a reassuring smile, "I'll see you this weekend."

This weekend... Dean almost forgot about Halloween.

Chapter Text

It's all skin in the dark. Glass-green eyes and plush lips and careful fingers pull apart Castiel's attention. There's pressure and friction and tangles of limbs inhibiting his movement, and he's desperate. Castiel squeezes his fingers around broad-built shoulders and a baritone voice rumbles against his ear.

He doesn't even know what they're doing but he arches his body into it, into him. Just as soon as he starts to feel that delicious weight, Castiel begins to fall.

He's plummeting and weightless and then he crashes into the ground with a shout.

Body sore and blinking in the darkness, Castiel finally awakens from his dream to his tiny apartment. With a groan he untangles himself from the quilt he brought down with him and makes his way to the bathroom to take care of the uncomfortable hardness in his pajama pants.

The rest of the morning passed him by as he made several cups of tea, heated up food in his microwave, and started going through the massive stack of scores he'd checked out from the music library. They were on week 11 already, only four more to go till finals, and Castiel was still trying to come up with anything for his thesis.

During his audition, he'd expressed his interest in conducting for large ensembles and developing programs to highlight diverse composers. The faculty seemed excited about that, and clearly thought he was a good fit for the school, but faced with actually narrowing down his topic... Castiel was drowning.

He could focus on diversity from the Romantic period, or the Impressionist period, there were plenty of resources on Poulenc, Ethel Smyth, Florence Price, and Tchaikovsky, obviously... But what could Castiel have to say that hasn't already been said?

He took diligent notes during his score study, as always, but frustration ate away at him until he could finally rationalize putting it away and getting ready for Halloween.

Dean's invitation to the Rocky Horror Picture Show hadn't been last-minute, so Castiel didn't really have a good excuse for not coming up with a good costume. So he looked through his closet and threw together what he could. It wasn't too bad anyway, he hoped, for fans of the show or comic he supposed he would be pretty recognizable. 

Gabriel had bought illicit copies of the comic back when they were teenagers, and hid them in his room with other things he was expressly forbidden from having like alcohol, porn magazines, a CD player, etc. Their parents came across them anyway, because of course they did, and Gabriel was no longer welcome at home.

It hadn't been the only thing, of course, tensions were high regardless, but years later when they adapted the comic into a tv show, Gabriel made Castiel sit down and watch it with him that summer before his first year at Boulder.

The costume wasn't far off from his usual attire anyway, as he already had slacks and a white button-up, a tie, and a tan trench coat, so it all worked out.

At least, he hoped it would as he walked into the theater. 

The place had been built in the 60's just based on the architecture with its vintage velvet and wood paneling (and also Castiel had looked it up online beforehand to make sure he knew where he was going). It was tiny compared to the chain theaters, with only three screening rooms, two small and one large, and a lobby just big enough to fit an old school ticket counter and concessions. It had all the charm of a local theater, but was densely crowded.

"Castiel Constantine Novak!" Someone called with a laugh, and Castiel knew that voice.

He turned to see Dean Winchester sidestepping a Sexy Shrek with a beer in hand and a smile on his face. Dean was wearing a red shirt, black leather jacket, and had something in his hair to give it frosted tips. Castiel honestly didn't hate the look, but did hope the hair was temporary.

"Are you Constantine?" Dean asked when he was close enough, "Or are these just your normal clothes?"

Unable to resist a little smile, Castiel shrugged, "Yes and yes."

Dean shook his head in good humor, throwing a casual arm around Castiel's shoulders. He could smell candy and alcohol on him already. "You know Constantine's tie is red, not blue, right?"

"I don't have any red."

"Massive oversight," Dean said, beginning to steer them through the throng to a corner where Castiel saw their friends had congregated. Their friends... what a pleasant realization.

"Who are you then?" Castiel asked, feeling dangerous already, "Yourself from last week but with early 2000's Justin Timberlake hair?"

Dean barked a laugh and Castiel felt pleased. "I'm Spike from Buffy! Here, we did a group thing-"

They wedged themselves in the circle of friends and Dean removed his arm from around his shoulders. 

"Cas! Good to see you!" he traded greetings with Pamela, Jo, Alicia, Kevin, Charlie, and Charlie's girlfriend Dot. 

Everyone's costumes were explained to his confusion, Jo and Alicia as 'the iconic lesbians from Buffy' and Pamela in a poor-quality blonde party city wig was Buffy herself. Kevin had opted for Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender (Castiel had never seen it, of course), and Charlie and Dot were Catra and She-Ra, respectively, another 'iconic lesbian couple' as he'd been informed. 

Meg and Anna hadn't been able to make it, and Castiel mourned their loss, but he had grown closer to everyone through their jam sessions; he didn't feel like the odd one out anymore.

"Cas, I'm afraid you're the only virgin among us," Pamela said.

Castiel was already blushing, "I-"

The group laughed, "Come on Pam!" Jo shouted, "Be nice to him."

"She just means you haven't seen the film yet," Kevin told him kindly.

"Yes, which we all agreed to keep a secret, so you don't get hazed," Jo said.

"Uh, thank you," Castiel managed. Dean had told him the showing would be roudy, but he was beginning to suspect there were things Dean hadn't told him. "What should I expect then? It's a movie but with audience participation, right?"

"It will be a bit more than that!" Pamela laughed.

"There will be live actors as well, and they'll do like an opening set with the rules and stuff," said Jo.

"But everything's in good fun, don't worry!" Alicia added.

Castiel was a little worried.

The theater was packed as they sat down. Unable to get a full row for all of them in the group to sit together, Charlie, Dot, and Kevin sat directly behind Castiel, Dean, and Pamela, with Jo and Alicia on Castiel's left. He felt a bit weird sitting in the middle of everyone, being basically the most recent addition to the group. 

Jo surveyed their position and then sat down and leaned across Castiel to whisper to Dean. "Alright, this should be a safe spot for our little virgin."

Dean flashed a grin at Castiel and put a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly, "Don't worry Cas, we'll take care of you."

Castiel nodded and settled in. The energy in the room was thick, with people already chatting excitedly, laughing loudly, and dancing with little regard for other people's personal space. 

Some dramatic 80s music started playing over the speakers, and everyone started cheering, taking their seats as a drag queen took to the stage in front of the movie screen. She wore a long strapless red dress covered in sequins with a dramatic slit that went as high as her hip. She held a bedazzled microphone in her purple-gloved hands, smiling brightly at the roaring crowd as she tossed her wavy red hair over her shoulder

"Good evening, everyone!" she greeted, "I'm Saint Lighter, your local drag queen and host for tonight's showing of the raunchiest flick in town, The Rocky Horror Picture Show! Thank you all for coming out and joining us for our Halloween Costume Extravaganza! As you all can see, I'm dressed in my most modest look borrowed from my good friend Mrs. Jessica Rabbit."

The crowd cheered and whistled as Saint Lighter spun around on the stage, doing a few obscene poses.

"I'm seeing some excellent costumes in the crowd tonight as well. We have a few Mr. Worldwides, some minions, I'm seeing Barbie, ooh Sexy Shrek, honey you come find me after the show."

The audience laughed as Sexy Shrek stood up from their seat and made the "call me" hand sign.

"Now," Saint lighter continued, "normally we have a no suits no stripes policy, which is relaxed for tonight, you're welcome Beetlejuice-"

Someone whooped from the back of the theater, "Say it two more times, gorgeous!"

Saint Light laughed and winked, "Even so, will someone tell me why we have a tax accountant sitting in the middle of the theater.

And suddenly, everyone had turned to look at Castiel. Frozen in place, he looked to Dean for support, but Dean was looking at the stage. "He's Costantine!" Dean shouted.

"Oh, of course," Saint Lighter said with a smile, "you're missing a red tie, handsome!" Everyone laughed, and Castiel sank further into his seat. 

"As for you, Spike," Saint Lighter continued, "why, you're a delicious little thing, how about you stand up and give us a better view?"

Laughing, Dean rose from his seat, doing a spin for the roaring crowd.

"And is that Buffy right next to you?" Saint Lighter asked, "Someone better slap this man's ass before I start climbing over the crowd!"

The crowd started closing in, pushing Pamela, dressed as Buffy, until, with a grin, she reached over and slapped Dean's ass. Everyone applauded and shouted 'slut' at Dean, but when he sat back down he was laughing and cheering along.

Castiel was now confused in many more ways than he had been before. 

Saint Lighter continued with her routine, poking fun at other audience members instead, even having one come onto the stage with her for some raunchy game. Castiel could only be glad that people weren't looking at him anymore.

There was a lull as Saint Lighter walked backstage after outlining several rules (among them was 'no throwing things') and assured everyone that the real show would be starting shortly. 

Dean took the opportunity to lean over to him, speaking quietly in his ear. "You doing ok, Cas? That wasn't too much, I hope?"

Castiel turned to face him, so close in the dim colorful light, full of glittering laughing people. "I'm ok," he said, trying for a smile. It didn't feel too forced with Dean so close. "Just unexpected."

"I really didn't think she would call you out, honestly, I forgot about the no stripes no suits rule."

"It's ok, besides the crowd loved you, I think."

Dean laughed, "Thank you, yeah, I was surprised, I dressed as Rocky last year and got no attention."

Castiel didn't know what that meant, but nodded anyway. He was cut off from asking any more questions as a whole cast of actors took to the stage, apparently, starting the show.

___________________________________________

"No, no," Jo was saying, trying to keep her margarita balanced in her hand, "Castiel, what did you think of the show?"

His friends turned to look at him expectantly. He couldn't help but laugh. "Honestly, I liked it!"

"You're not scarred for life?" Alicia asked, she'd already taken off her ginger wig.

"No, though I'm definitely not wearing a suit next year."

Everyone laughed, and Charlie threw an arm around Castiel's shoulder. "You were a good sport about it, though!"

"I don't think I actually said anything," Castiel smiled.

"No, Dean swooped to your rescue!" Pamela added.

"Oh my god!" Jo said suddenly, slapping the table of their booth, "Pam what was it like to slap Dean Winchester's ass?!"

And Castiel's light, half-drunk buzz turned into an ugly jealous tilt. He'd forgotten all about that moment once the show started, the joy and energy of the crowd had swept him away, and the live performers were so captivating to watch. The reminder mingled uncomfortable feelings in his chest. He could admit he felt... something for Dean but...

"Oh, I will cherish that moment for the rest of my life," Pamela said, placing a hand over her chest, "as an asexual, what an honor, truly."

Dean threw his head back and laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Castiel was feeling hot, but was trapped on either side from exiting the circular booth. At least the jealousy died down a bit, Castiel didn't know Pamela was asexual, but still the ugliness persisted.

The rest of the night passed, and they left the bar, everyone stumbling over each other except for himself and Kevin. Castiel didn't want to get drunk, not with his emotions so tumultuous, and Kevin was the designated driver.

Charlie and Dot bid everyone goodnight as they walked east of downtown toward Dot's apartment. The rest of them walked to Kevin's car. Castiel would be walking himself home, but didn't want to abandon Kevin with four drunk people.

Castiel helped Pamela into the front seat, she was close to tears, thanking Castiel for how nice he was being, when he heard Kevin swear.

"Fuck! I forgot I had my bass in here," he lamented.

"That's ok, Kev," Jo said, swaying on her feet, holding up an also swaying Alicia.

"Yeah, we can just move it, right?" Dean asked.

"No, it only fits in my car with one of the seats down."

"Well, that's not a big deal." Dean leaned heavily against the car. "I can hold it in my lap."

"Dean," Castiel said, "It's a contrabass."

"Oh." Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "I forgot."

"Maybe I can come back for you? If Cas doesn't mind hanging out?" Kevin suggested. "Just cause Pam, Jo, and Alicia are all up by University Drive and Dean is on the other side of campus."

"I can hang here," Dean said, holding the door for Jo and Alicia to get into the car. Castiel walked around the other side to stand with them.

"Well, if that's the case, Dean could just stay the night at my place," Castiel said, crossing his arms and hoping he looked casual saying it.

Dean caught him in a very intense look, his mouth open a little. "Cas, you wouldn't mind? I wouldn't be intruding?"

"No, of course not. I have a pull-out couch, you're welcome to crash for the night."

Dean stumbled forward, holding Castiel's shoulders with both his hands. "Thank you so much, Cas."

Castiel swallowed. "It's no problem."

"Great," Kevin sighed, "thank you, cause I'm about to pass out."

They bid Kevin and the girls goodnight and started on the short walk to Castiel's apartment, the street lights providing ample light to help Dean watch the sidewalk. He stumbled regardless, and Castiel braced a supportive arm around him, eventually steering him into the apartment's lobby and the elevator. He only lived on the second floor, but didn't want to risk Dean on a staircase.

Inside Castiel's meticulously clean apartment, he got to work moving the couch back so it would have enough room to pull out fully. Dean slumped into one of his two dining chairs and giggled to himself.

"What's funny?" Castiel asked, trying hard to keep the fondness out of his tone at the sight of Dean at his table as he retrieved the bedsheets.

"You've been at my place a bunch, but I've never been here. Dunno Cas..." he sighed, "smells like you."

Castiel diligently kept his eyes on his task, lifting the thin mattress to get the fitted sheet secured. 

"I know it's small but," he shrugged, "hopefully comfortable for you."

"It's great," Dean smiled, "you got water?"

"Cups above the sink."

By the time Dean returned, holding one of Castiel's bumblebee mugs, the sofa bed was ready for him.

"The only bathroom is through my bedroom, but don't worry about waking me up if you need it. I would much rather it be a little noisy than have to clean something up later. I'll keep the door open for you."

Dean gave him a lopsided salute. "Sir, yes sir." 

"Ok, let me know if you need anything," Castiel said, but Dean was already putting his cup on the side table and lying down on his stomach, shoes and jacket and all.

"Dean."

"Hmph." His eyes were closed, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"Please do not sleep in your shoes and outerwear."

"Cas, you rascal... underwear stays on..."

"No-" Castiel took a breath, willing his sudden blush to subside. "Outer-wear," he said, over-enunciating the word, "your jacket." 

"Help," Dean muttered, spreading his arms and legs out. This man was going to be the death of him.

With a sigh, Castiel leaned over him and helped him out of his jacket, laying it neatly on the floor next to him. The curve of Dean's ass was... well a bit distracting now that is was on full display and Castiel was tasked with unlacing the most frustrating pair of boots anyone had ever worn.

Finally, the boots came off and Castiel retreated to his room, only pausing to set some ibuprofen in a ramekin next to Dean's water before he changed and got into bed himself.

___________________________________________

Castiel didn't wake up during the night, only after the sun had risen, and he smelled... was that bacon? 

He stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen area in his pajamas. He was shocked to see the sofa-bed was back to being a couch, the pillows and blanket neatly folded, and Dean Winchester was standing shirtless in his kitchen, cooking.

"What, uh-" Castiel said dumbly.

"Morning, Cas!" Dean smiled brightly, "I hope you don't mind, your bacon looked like it was about ready to go, and I figured I should thank you for last night anyway."

"No, it's ok, I don't mind." Somehow, Castiel's feet had taken him to his dining table.

"If you're sure."

Castiel nodded and Dean returned his attention to the stove. Truthfully, Castiel didn't mind, not when faced with the litany of tattoos covering Dean's torso. 

He'd seen some of them before, briefly in the bathroom at Rocky's so many weeks ago, but here in his kitchen, it was something else.

The tattoos were mostly symbols, foreign scripts, and curling lines of text. They lined his spine, his ribs, when Dean turned to toss egg shells in the trash, he saw pectorals, sternum, and, by god, his abdomen. He was fit and covered in tattoos and Castiel was falling dangerously fast for Dean Winchester.

"Interesting tattoos," Castiel said, because after all that, he couldn't not say something. 

"Oh, thanks," Dean shot him a smile over his shoulder, "I mentioned my uncle Bobby to you before, right?"

"Yeah, he owns a garage, you said?"

"He does! Well, Bobby's a practicing pagan, into all that esoteric stuff. My brother and I both have tats for symbols of protection and the like."

"Are you, I mean, do you practice as well?"

Dean shrugged, the muscles of his back rippling with the motion. "Yeah a bit, nice to believe in the inherent energy of nature and all that than some bag of dicks in the sky."

Castiel laughed suddenly, couldn't help himself. "Bag of dicks... that's one way to put it."

"Hope you don't mind," Dean said, throwing Castiel as goddam wink. That's it, Dean Winchester is a pagan sex god sent here to seduce Castiel away from his studies. "Being named after one of those bags of dicks and all."

"Not at all." He needs to change the subject, desperately. "Anyway, how are you feeling, not too hungover?"

"Nah, I'm good. Whenever I know I'm gonna get hammered, I always get the good stuff, less of a hangover that way. The pills you left out did the trick anyway, thank you for those."

"Of course, I was happy to... Are you too warm? I can't change the thermostat if you..."

"Oh, no, I'm ok. Yeah, I might've not-quite-made-it to the bathroom at some point during the night, I got a little... uh, on my shirt. I soaped and rinsed it, but it's still wet hanging in your bathroom."

"Oh, well, let me get you something to borrow."

"You don't have to-"

"I insist," Castiel smiled, because really much more of Dean cooking in his apartment shirtless was going to kill him.

Castiel owned plenty of T-shirts, used primarily for sleeping and exercising. He had put on an old CU Boulder shirt last night to sleep in. Now he stood in front of his closet trying to find a shirt that Dean wouldn't mind wearing... well, really a shirt that Dean would look good in. 

Losing a battle with his self-control, an alarming thought in itself, Castiel grabbed a long-sleeve black Henley, a shirt he only ever wore as a base layer during the winter months. 

Dean accepted it gratefully when he returned to the kitchen, and Castiel forced himself to look at the table instead of Dean as he put it on. Dean had already plated their breakfast, eggs, bacon, toast with the butter already melting...

"Thank you again," Dean said, smiling up at him as he took a seat. The Henley was just a little too tight on him-- Dean was a few inches taller than Castiel, and with broader shoulders and generally more muscle mass. 

"Well, you made breakfast," Castiel countered, forcing himself to sit down and stay on topic.

"I'm surprised to see that you do own more than just button-ups," Dean joked.

The food was good, of course, it was. "I can hardly go for a run in something so formal."

"You run?"

Castiel nodded, chewing thoroughly to give him time to formulate a response that didn't sound weird. "Well, it's important to maintain one's health, cardiovascular and otherwise."

"Yeah, for sure... do you cook much?"

Castiel smiled. "As little as possible. I was never much good at it, but this is amazing, Dean."

"Oh, it's nothing," Dean said. And was that a blush on his cheeks, or just the sun from the window? "My aunt Karen, Bobby's wife, she taught me when I was little. When she passed, I kind of took over. Bobby was shit at it and Sammy and I couldn't survive off of frozen meals forever, ya know? So I get it, taking care of yourself in the ways you can."

Castiel nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about your aunt, that must have been hard."

Dean shrugged. "It was, but ya know, Bobby says her spirit visits him as a dragonfly from time to time." A smile tugged at his lips. "Always reminds him to stop being a stubborn bastard."

"That's beautiful. There's a peace to that I think not everyone gets to find."

Dean put his fork down and leaned back, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to reveal his chest, on his left pectoral, above scrawling runes, was a dragonfly.

"We've all got dragonflies for Karen," Dean let the shirt fall back into place, "Doesn't really match the rest of them but..."

"It's the most important one."

Dean smiled, locking eyes with Castiel for a startlingly intimate moment that resonated between them.

"What about you? Any tats hiding beneath your collared shirts and ties?"

"I'm afraid not, though I think I'd like to get one some day, or a few. My parents were very against tattoos or piercings-- body modifications. So it would be..."

"A nice fuck you?" Dean supplied.

Castiel huffed a laugh. "Exactly."

"Well, what are you doing during the winter break? Cause I know a great artist in town, she can get you set up no problem!"

"Maybe... I don't have any plans, other than driving over to Gabriel and Kali's for Christmas."

"Well then, it sounds like you're getting a tattoo." Dean grinned at him.

"Sounds like... Are you going anywhere for the break?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, looking every ounce of comfortable sitting in Castiel's apartment, wearing Castiel's clothes, and eating breakfast with him. "Yeah, we're heading up to Sioux Falls for Yule at Bobby's, that's on December 21st, by the way. It's basically Christmas, just the original version."

Castiel nodded, the pinprick of jealousy in him rearing its ugly head. "We?"

"My brother and Eileen, his girlfriend, are meeting me up there."

"Oh, of course," Castiel smiled, chastizing himself already, "Do you get to see Sam often?"

"No, we're both too busy with our own stuff at the moment, so it will be good to bully him in person again. But yeah, other than that, I'll be prepping for my recital. Still, uh, well, still need to find a permanent pianist."

To Dean's credit, there was no edge to his tone, and he didn't make eye contact, just listing it off like a fact.

"Well..." Castiel must be going mad, "You can stop looking, Dean, I'll play for you."

"Cas, are you sure?" And there was that beautiful sparkle of hope in Dean's green eyes, the disbelieving curl of a smile on his lips.

"It would be my pleasure."

Castiel was in trouble now.