Ahh the long awaited part three. This I think will be the last part – I'm still working on about nine other things and I just don't have the will cap'n.
Dean does indeed, catch hell for the song.
It could, he supposes, have meant a lot of things. It could be about a great many people and a great many emotions. But the fact is, Castiel Novak, born seventeenth of March, with a knockout sister and a closet interest in both guitars and Dean – knows exactly who the song was for.
So does Dean's dad – most the crowd does too, there's no hiding the kind of things Dean was feeling on that stage.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" his Dad explodes into Dean's tiny dressing room once he's stalked offstage. "What you just made us look like?"
"Well, I think I just made myself look like kind of a faggot." Dean looks at his Dad via the frameless mirror, jaw set and eyes hard and expectant. "That going to be a big deal?"
John slaps his hand down on the rickety dressing table.
"The hell were you thinking? You come to me with things like that – I'm your manager. I could have 'managed' it."
"You mean 'hidden' it." Dean grits his teeth. "I've actually been doing that just fine."
"Not as well as you think, boy."
Dean looks up at him, wide eyed.
"That's right – do you know how many stories I've had to buy off before they got going? How many times I've had to cover for you and that...Novak kid?"
"Why?" Dean grits out.
"I figured you'd get over it. Whatever teenage crap this was, and get back to what you're supposed to be doing." John sighs bitterly.
"Which is? Selling records and winking at chicks on stage? Jesus."
"Don't Jesus me." John growls. "Because of you, because of that Novak freak – we are officially media catnip. And not in a good way."
"Good." Dean yells petulantly. Standing up and backing away from the table, sending his chair clattering to the floor. "And his name, is Castiel." Dean storms towards the door.
"Call him what you want – you're not seeing him again."
"You're going to stop me, John?" Dean whirls round and looks at him pointedly.
"You watch it, boy." John growls. "But no, this isn't my handiwork. After your little performance? Novak dragged his son off for a heart to heart – which I'm guessing, had something to do with them checking out." John gives him a look two parts pity and two parts triumph. "They're gone son."
Dean has never run so fast in his entire life.
He knows which room is Cas's. Of course he knows, it's his business to.
The door's unlocked, and when he goes in the beds are made. There are no suitcases anywhere and no signs that the room has been used. Except for on one bed where his amulet is sitting, next to a pad and pen.
On the pad, in Cas's neat cursive, is written Dean.
"Fuck." Dean tries to say, only his voice sticks. "Fuck." He finally yells, and kicks the bed. Dean drops down onto the mattress and closes his eyes, furrowing his brow as the total helplessness of the situation hits him.
Cas is gone. He's ruined his career. His Dad will probably never forgive him, and he's lost the only thing that would make it worth it.
So when Castiel opens the bathroom door and comes into the room with a puzzled 'Hello Dean' – he nearly chokes on his own relief. Castiel looks terrible, suit rumpled, tie discarded and shirt collar clumsily opened. His eyes are reddened and he's so pale he looks like he's made of plaster.
"I thought you were gone." Dean says unsteadily.
"My father left." Castiel stays still and statue like.
"Where's he expecting you to go?"
"Anywhere but home." Castiel says tonelessly.
Dean feels a small part of him crumple up at the sight of Castiel, abandoned so cleanly by his father. At least John was still around after all. At least he was somewhat invested in him as something other than a trained canary.
"Dean..." Castiel rasps. "What the hell were you trying to do?"
It kind of blindsides him, but then, Dean kind of suspected that Cas would be angry.
"You wrote about me." He shrugs.
"I wrote about you." Castiel repeats dumbly. "But I didn't sing to...thousands of people that I was in love with you. I didn't tell them you're birthday or about...Shit, Dean – how many of them know it's me now, huh?" Castiel is uncharacteristically alight with anger and shock. "How many people got your point?"
"At a guess? Maybe a few." Dean glares up at him. "Hopefully all of them. Christ Cas – sue me for not wanting to deal with this shit for the rest of my life." Dean can feel his anger bubbling towards the surface. "You think I want to be fucking in bathrooms and shitty motels under stupid fake names when I'm thirty? How about fifty? Because by then no one is going to care that I sang, no one is going to know my name – and I still won't have you – because we missed out."
Castiel looks pained.
"I want to go to college, ok?" Dean continues. "I want to be able to go somewhere with you that isn't a locked room. Get a place to live, and just...get happy – because it is killing me, seeing you miserable." He slaps a hand onto the note pad. "But fine. You want to leave without saying goodbye? If you seriously want to pull that shit with me – fine. Get the hell out."
"I wasn't leaving." He sits down on the bed, picking up the amulet and fingering the smooth bronze lightly. "I was writing."
Dean doesn't say anything.
"I wanted to...I don't know, it seemed like a good moment to put a song together. Only I couldn't work out if I was pleased or angry."
They sit in silence for a while.
"What do you want to do at college?" Castiel asks finally.
It is by no means smooth sailing.
John will barely talk to Dean. Even when he shows up at his Dad's motel room with Castiel in tow and tells his father that his damn money paid for the room so he can invite whoever he wants into it, John still doesn't show any kind of grace in defeat. There's very little Dean can do about that, so he just ignores it and tells his Dad that they should probably do an interview before the paper's started making shit up.
John grunted and left for the hotel bar.
Dean and Castiel curled up in Dean's bed, wearing their underwear out of respect for john's unease. Dean played with the amulet around Castiel's neck. Castiel smiled in his sleep.
The next day John had lined up an interview with one of the celeb-news channels. Dean talked Castiel into coming along and they turned up, impeccably dressed, even Dean was wearing a clean tee, blazer and suit pants. Castiel had the amulet on, out from under his shirt. Before they left for the studio, Castiel removed his silver promise ring (his father's idea) and handed it to Dean.
"Well...you gave me something of yours." He says awkwardly.
Dean wears it on a chain around his neck.
The interviewer asks them about God and religion, so 'important' to both of them, and why they've chosen to move away from that.
Dean really hates her.
Castiel says, quite unexpectedly, that love and faith are both quintessentially human traits – and that both help you to be the best person you are capable of being.
Dean's kind of more in love with him than ever.
Castiel's father is furious that Cas did the interview without his consent. Castiel tells his Dad in no uncertain terms that he can shove his anger and that if he wants to see Castiel again he might want to reassess his priorities. Dean thinks that's code for – remembering that he's a manager second and a father first.
It's something John's having his own problems with.
Castiel helps matters in his own way by being unfailingly courteous, keeping out of John's way as much as possible, and being clearly devoted to his son.
These are three qualities John can respect if nothing else.
They're in the thorny territory of the public gallery. Everyone is talking about them and everyone wants the scoop. There are people who hate them, people who love them way too much and people who still don't know Dean from a hole in the ground.
But he no longer has to watch Castiel cry, and he can be with him all the time if he so chooses.
That, if nothing else, is something to sing about.