Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(7,398 words)

It started as a joke.

Dean's somehow known as something of a bad boy in school. Probably because he doesn't really care enough to respect the school rules and skips classes altogether on a whim. Probably because he jumped from school to school so many times that he doesn't see the point in actually giving a damn anymore. Probably because he somehow befriended the 'cool kids,' most of which are just stuck-up dicks anyway, but they're in the school's wrestling club and they've known each other for long enough that Dean's kind of stuck with them.

It started as a way to spite his dad.

His dad just dropped him and Sammy off in Sioux Falls to stay with Bobby one summer and bailed nearly two years ago now when Dean was sixteen. He won't answer his phone, won't respond to any texts, and Dean's honestly not sure if he's even still alive at this point. His dad's always been against anything he views as 'girly' or whatever, so maybe a part of Dean just wanted to get back at him, daring him to come back to stop him.

It started as a dare.

His reluctant friend Gordon is the one who saw the poster first and waved it around like he'd just found a pair of the teacher's underpants, a big sneer on his face as he showed off his discovery to the rest of the group, obviously wanting to start their senior year off right and make it as bad as they ended their junior year.

"Looks like they're looking for new recruits." The discovery in question is a pink poster with pink words and pink ballet shoes scribbled on. The school's looking for people to join their little ballet club to get them all trained up and ready to present them for shows in hopes of getting more funding than they actually need. "I feel sorry for the poor saps who got roped into this crap by their mommies."

"Poor bastards," Dean replies with a hard swallow, wondering if his mom would've taken him to these types of things if she were still alive, wondering what his dad would think.

"Somebody should infiltrate their little group and sabotage the show," Alastair suggests. "All those rich brats should be taught a lesson."

"Why don't you do it?" Gordon says, waving the poster he'd ripped off the wall in Alastair's face, half-peeled tape still stuck to three of the corners. "You'd look great in a frilly skirt."

"Something tells me they wouldn't appreciate my charm."

"You got that right," Dean grumbles, unable to tear his eyes away from the poster he'd never noticed before, unable to think of anything but his mom's gentle face when she took him all the way to the beach to collect seashells that one time, even if his dad didn't really approve and said maybe he should've been named Sally if he liked them so much.

Benny's eyes drift to him, maybe picking up on something in his tone or maybe just finally starting to become as good at finding the insecurities in people as the rest of the people in their little posse. "Why don't you do it?"

"Huh?"

"The ballet thing. Why don't you sign up?"

Gordon and Alastair immediately look at him, eyes practically sparkling. "Uh, I don't really…"

"Aw, c'mon," Gordon goads. "What are you, afraid?"

It started…because Dean wanted it to.

Which is ridiculous, right? Who ever heard of a dude doing ballet, right? Talk about a schoolwide embarrassment. But then, that's why if anyone asks, he'd say it was because of a dare or out of spite or just a dumb joke, never admitting that maybe some part of him thought the idea was kind of…well, fun.

"I'm not afraid," he snaps, snatching the poster from Gordon's slimy grip. "I'll join the stupid club. Those rich, stuck-up jerks won't know what hit 'em."

So that's how Dean ends up in a pair of clothes far tighter than they should be, struggling to get these stupid folding shoes onto his feet. Suiting up for his first ever practice session feels kind of like he's suiting up for battle, and he's just hit over the head with a new wave of dread once he is all dressed up.

He steps out anyway and immediately surveys the room, scanning for any familiar faces that he can assure this whole thing is only a joke to. He finds a group of sixteen girls and two other boys. Under different circumstances, he'd probably be overjoyed at the idea of all these girls around, but as is, he's too insecure to even think about any of them.

The fact that his body looks nothing like everyone else's, too thick and built-up in the chest and arms from wrestling, doesn't help things. He looks all…clunky and awkward in his skin-tight clothes whereas everybody else looks…good, like they're comfortable in their own skins. Self-consciously, he plucks at where the fabric stretches a little too tight over his stomach and chest, frowning.

"All right, everyone, we have a new student in our dance class," the dance teacher, Mrs. Turner, says, and Dean wants to crawl into one of the wall-length mirrors and disappear. "This is Dean."

"Hey," he says awkwardly, and a few others acknowledge him, but most of them just ignore him.

"I expect everyone to make him feel welcome. Now, let's start with some warm-up stretches…"

It takes all of five seconds for Dean to feel pretty much worthless, like he used to in chemistry last year before he stopped putting in the effort, before he learned it's better to have everybody think he doesn't care than have everybody think he's a dumbass. Everybody else is able to stretch their legs up above their heads, and he can barely even touch his toes!

Five minutes in, Mrs. Turner pulls him aside and tries to help him out, but there's only so much she can do. Dean's seriously considering just throwing in the towel at the fifteen minute mark, pride be damned, when Mrs. Turner speaks the words that change his life forever: "Um…maybe you should try copying what another student is doing. Try Castiel, with the dark hair in the corner. He's been dancing for a long time. He can help you instead of doing his usual warm-ups."

Now, the first thought that runs through his head is a mix of a mental scoff and a sigh of defeat that he doesn't think he'd get away with making out loud. This is far from the first time that someone has been sent to tutor him or show him the ropes, and since Dean's never been able to get it right in the past, he's not expecting this time to be any different.

So he drags his silky ballet shoe-laden feet over to the corner where a boy a bit smaller than him is standing in a tutu and—wait, what? His eyes nearly bug out of their sockets, and when he's finally able to drag his eyes away, it's to see the boy already looking at him with big, bright blue eyes.

He instantly feels caught, even if the smaller boy is just looking at him with open curiosity. "Uh. Hey. I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel."

"Hey." He tells himself he's not gonna say anything for all of three seconds before his big mouth blurts out, "What's with the skirt? Isn't that only for chicks?"

"I like it. It makes me feel…graceful." Any other day in front of a crowd he knows would laugh, Dean would probably mock him for that, but as is, he only swallows and nods. "I'll show you some simpler stretches. Try to copy me as best you can."

The ones Castiel shows him are noticeably easier even with his lack of flexibility, and Dean almost enjoys getting the opportunity to push himself like this, even if leaning too far down makes his thighs want to explode and he can't get his leg higher than his waist (and even then, not without it bending at the knee). The fact that he has a pretty good view doesn't hurt either…

He's known Castiel since he came to this school last year as a junior, and they have a few classes together and even partnered for one of the many egg-related physics projects a couple of weeks ago. Castiel is always pretty quiet in class, and before today, Dean had yet to see him out of a dorky sweater vest or button-up shirt. That on top of the name 'Castiel' probably means he's seen the inside of a lot of lockers, and yet, he still manages to be nice and helpful and all that instead of a bitter douchebag.

The forty-five minute session is up before Dean knows it, and he's left feeling weirdly upset about that. His body is probably gonna make him regret it, but, well…this is what he signed up for, regardless of the reason. What he didn't sign up for is to start getting to know Castiel, who he barely even spared more than a passing glance to in the past.

Now, Cas is all he can think about, all he can look at. Those classes they share together seem to drag on forever and pass in a snap all at the same time. Dean can do nothing but stare at him and those stupid sweaters, remembering exactly what he looks like in a skin-tight leotard and a frilly pink tutu that looks…way too good on him, even if it's the girl's costume…

So yeah, maybe he gets a little bit of a crush. It's fine, it's whatever. Dean doesn't actually expect anything to come from it, especially considering he'd heard through a grapevine that Castiel's family is religious as hell and that Cas goes to church and all that. Besides, he's always hanging out with this redhead girl, Charlie from their shared tech class. He's totally depressingly straight…

Despite this, they still grow closer. Dean finds the strength to leave Gordon and Alastair's table shortly after Benny left to start following Andrea around, and he just kind of…slides over to where Castiel is sitting with Charlie and a couple of the girls from ballet class. Meg, Kelly, and Gilda, he thinks their names are, though he's never spoken to any of them before.

Meg's the first one to see him, and she immediately looks unimpressed. "Well, well, well. Got lost on your way to the nearest spit-ball game?"

"Uh." He looks around the table, feeling pretty stupid just holding his tray of food there while everybody stares at him, though his eyes eventually drift to look only at Castiel. "Hey. Got room for one more?" he asks awkwardly, but it's worth it for the way Cas' face brightens.

"Nope," Meg answers flatly.

"Of course," Cas replies at the same time, shifting closer to Charlie to create a space for Dean to sit. "Hello, Dean. How is your physics lab coming along? Have you acquired the eggs to drop yet?"

"Uh, no, not yet." He glances around the table warily. "So. Uh. You guys like ballet?"

"I'm just taking it because of my parents," Kelly admits with a frown. "It is kind of nice to be super flexible, though."

"I don't know. My body's been hurting since the first day," Gilda sighs, and Charlie gives her a warm look.

"Well, you look good doing it…"

"Oh. Thanks…"

Dean glances between the two of them, feeling just as confused as Castiel always looks, though the smaller boy is weirdly calm right now, probably used to the casual affection between girls that Dean's never really seen up close before, having only ever been this close to boys (well, and Jo) and never sticking around long enough to actually get to know people super well.

Still, he thinks he should try to say something, even if all that comes out is: "Yeah, it seems like a real pain in the ass so far." The eyes of everyone at the table fall to him and he fidgets. "Or, uh…thighs, I guess. All that…bending…"

"So, what got you into ballet, Dean?" Meg asks just as Dean's seriously considering crawling under the table. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing a self-proclaimed macho guy like yourself would be interested in."

"Yeah, you are kind of butch," Charlie agrees, moving around Cas to leer at him. "Admit it, you just wanted to look at girls in leotards, didn't you?" Dean's mouth drops and he immediately starts sputtering protests, even when Charlie adds, "Hey, not dissing you. That's a totally valid reason."

"What do you know? You're not even taking the class," Meg mumbles before looking at him again. "So, what is it, Dean? Why ballet?"

"Uh…y'know, just something to do." It's not even a complete lie, but Dean still changes the subject and turns to Cas, who just frowns at him. "How about you?"

Cas sits there and shifts, and Charlie grins at the both of them. "Good luck with that one, Dean. I've been trying to pry that out of him for years."

"Is it really that difficult to believe that I simply enjoy it?"

"Nope! Problem only comes when it's obvious there's more to it. Now, my gaydar is in perfect working order—"

Yeah, Dean's not really sure what they're going on about, and he doesn't have the confidence to ask, so he's left feeling like an outsider even when he's right next to a group of people. It reminds him of some of his old schools back before he realized people are nicer if they liked him, back before he stopped caring so much about the school's rules and started doing his own thing to try to make friends.

But this is a group that's more…preppy than he's used to, and he's not sure how to act, so he just sits there quietly and eats his lunch, trying his hardest not to appear as insecure as he feels.

-

If there's one phrase Dean hates more than anything in the world, it's 'feel the rhythm'. Unfortunately, this seems to be Mrs. Turner's favorite phrase, since she can't go five minutes without forcing down everybody's throats—

"Chins up—feel the rhythm!"

Dean wants to scream. Those words just don't make any sense! And how the hell is he supposed to feel a damn thing when his feet are numb from the stupid shoes he's forced to wear, or concentrate when his costume is tight enough that he has lines in his skin after every session? Even worse, no one else seems bothered by any of this, making Dean feel like he just isn't cut out for this crap.

"Good, everyone." The dance teacher adjusts the music and adds without looking at him, "Dean, make sure you keep practicing your stretches. Try to feel the music. Really get into it."

"How the hell do I do that?" he grumbles to himself, trying to discreetly adjust himself in his skin-tight leotard and pants combo, still not used to wearing it.

"Just try to keep a similar pace with everyone else," Cas says, making Dean jump, having not realized Cas was right there.

"Huh?" Dean says dumbly.

"She wants you to mimic the others. I think. I've never understood what that meant or how to feel something that's not tangible, but I've discovered that we're merely expected to copy the movements of the others," the other boy explains. "If you ever watch ballet, it seems to mostly be about synchronization and using the music as cues to do certain things, such as jump or spin."

"Oh, uh, really? Gotta admit, I'm not too…familiar with ballet."

"You should watch it sometime. It's rather fascinating watching a group of individuals move together as one."

"Cas, level with me a sec. Do you think I'll ever be halfway decent at this stuff?" he asks through gritted teeth, blinking back tears at the way his hamstrings pull when attempting to touch his toes and hold the position. "I'm not exactly a natural, y'know."

"No one is. It requires practice, that's all."

Dean watches the way Cas effortlessly seems to touch his own toes, watches how he doesn't seem to have any problems, and swallows. "Right. How long have you been at it?"

"Since I was around seven, I think."

"Whoa, really? That's—"

Mrs. Turner loudly shushes them, and they share a secret smile when they move to do that awful leg exercise that involves lifting one leg as high as possible. It isn't hard to become friends with Cas, since they already have quite a bit in common and knew each other from last year, even if they weren't close then.

Now that they spend a decent amount of time together doing ballet stuff both in class and outside of it (Dean still needs to catch up, after all), their friendship grows rapidly until Dean would sit with Cas and his friends all the time. It's not long before Dean can say Cas is probably his best friend.

They spend Halloween together, along with Cas' (their?) friends from ballet class. Charlie has them all dressing up as various medieval weirdos where she's the queen, Dean's her handmaiden, Cas is a frankly adorable dragon complete with cardboard cut-out wings, Gilda's her fairy wife, Meg's her knight, and Kelly's her royal gardener. They take entirely too many embarrassing pictures that he hopes Sam will never get his grubby hands on, though a part of him does wish Sam was there with him.

But Sam has his own friends now, flourishing in the stable environment they've never had before and launching off into plans about his future. Dean's…still getting used to things, but he's definitely way happier in his new friend group than he ever was with his wrestling pals (though Benny was always kind of all right). He never pictured himself willingly taking ballet, let alone hanging out with people who do more than he has to, but he finds that he enjoys their company quite a bit, and maybe it's a little early, but he's glad he took that chance and signed up for the class.

Then Mrs. Turner puts out a new poster for their upcoming dance recital, The Nutcracker, set to start right after winter break, and things all start coming apart.

A list of the people taking part in the dance is included on the poster to boost morale, but all it does is make little Sammy come up to him one day in the lunch line, poster in hand. "You're doing ballet?"

He fumbles for an excuse, knowing the environment Sam was raised in and how this type of thing would go down in their house. Before he can come up with anything, Alastair sidles up behind him and drops an arm around his shoulders. "It's all a prank, see? He's infiltrated their little group and he's gonna ruin their performance. They'll never see it coming!"

Sam frowns at him, glancing between him and the poster. "Dean?"

"Sammy, I…"

"You've done well, young grasshopper," Alastair continues, and Dean quickly shoves his arm off. "We can't wait to see what you come up with. It'll be good, right?"

"Uh…yeah, of course." He looks down at his tray. "It'll be great."

He hears a scoff and looks up again, expecting the noise to have come from Sam, but it's Meg. "Well, I called that one," she says, a hard look in her eyes despite her nonchalant tone. "You might've had Cas fooled, but not me. I'm afraid I got shoved in one too many lockers for that."

"Hey, I never laid a hand on you." Dean may hang out with a couple of douchebags, but he's never actually participated in bullying anybody, not wanting to set a bad example for Sammy, but judging by the way his little brother's eyeing him right now, he might've failed in that department anyway. "Look, Sam—"

Sam runs off, looking so disappointed in him, and Meg stomps away too, leaving him with just Alastair hanging off his neck. "They'll learn to appreciate it soon. This will be our chance to finally show those prissy ballet kids how things work around here. Right, Dean?"

"What? Yeah, sure," he answers distractedly, finishing up in the line and leaving Alastair without another word, only to find his regular spot at the table he usually sits at occupied by Meg. "Uh, hey, guys."

"Hello, Dean," Cas greets haltingly, hesitating.

"What…what's up?"

"Meg said that you're planning on sabotaging the upcoming recital," the other boy replies, as blunt as ever as those blue eyes bore into Dean's very soul. "Are you?"

"What? No! Look—"

"Yeah, likely story, Winchester," Meg says, shooing him away. "Why don't you go sit with your wrestling pals before I tell Turner what you're up to? Wouldn't wanna spoil your plan, right?"

"Hey, it's not like that—"

"How dare you betray us, handmaiden?" Charlie gasps, pretending to faint, and though her words aren't serious, he can tell she's hurt by this. "Am I gonna have to send you to the royal dungeon?"

Dean pauses. "Wait, where's that?"

"Okay, so I may have arranged the desks and chairs in an abandoned classroom to make prison cells…" Charlie says with a sheepish smile. "I haven't sent anybody there yet, and don't make yourself be the first!"

"I really don't plan on it, okay? Will you let me explain now?" He finds himself looking at Cas when he says it, because even if he's become friends with the entire table, Cas was his first friend in this group and has always been his closest one. At Cas' tiny nod, he admits, "Look, it…it was supposed to be to mess you guys up at first and ruin the recital. But it isn't now. I really do kinda, y'know…enjoy this and stuff. I just can't tell the guys that—I'll be laughed at all the way 'til graduation!"

Kelly looks at him. "So you're not planning on ruining the dance?"

"I swear I'm not."

"But you still won't tell your friends that," Gilda points out, "and you've known them for longer. No offense, but it's more likely you're telling them the truth than us."

He deflates, but can't even argue with that logic. "Cas?"

Cas squints at him for a long moment but Meg waves a hand in front of his face, breaking their prolonged eye contact as she asks incredulously, "Don't you even care that he only joined us to mess everything up?"

"I'm…not sure what I feel," Cas admits, and Dean looks away. He's realized before that Cas has trouble figuring out his emotions sometimes—he's told Dean as much, even—but Cas has never been uncertain about him before… "But I…I believe you, Dean."

Dean can't help but smile a little, even if half the table groans at the words, citing Cas' past naivety. They don't let him sit there (though Charlie and Cas do look like they want him there), and Dean's left staring down at his sad little milk carton and spaghetti look-alike slop until the bell rings, leaving him with little time to scarf everything down before heading to his next class.

Gilda and Charlie won't even look at him in their shared class, and to make matters worse, Gordon gives him an encouraging thumbs up, having apparently heard about what happened in the lunch line. That doesn't exactly make him feel good, and neither does Sam's puppy-dog-eyed silent treatment of disappointment when he returns home, though Bobby's thankfully none the wiser.

He doesn't know what he'd do if Bobby knew what Dean's been doing, let alone that it's not as much of a joke as he plays it up to be. Bobby may have been nothing but kind (in his own crotchety old man way) so far, but Dean's sure he has a limit, and he's not willing to test it.

-

Things are weirdly tense in the next dance class, where Dean's huddled off in the corner with Cas, practicing his stretches. He's pleased to find his thighs don't ache so much when he touches his toes and that he's able to get his legs decently high in the air. He still wrestles regularly, but dropped an entire weight class after doing ballet since the start of the school year so that he's a little lighter on his feet.

Still, it's good that he's pretty strong, since he's apparently gonna have to lift people for some reason. Dean's not sure how comfortable he is lifting girls he doesn't know way up over his head when neither of them are in more than skin-tight leotards, but he doesn't really have much of a choice. It's probably for the best, anyway, since lifting and jumping is easier than half the stuff the girls are doing, and Dean's still not all that great at…anything.

But even though boys are a rarity in the class, with only three being there including him versus the sixteen girls, Mrs. Turner seems fine with the fact that Cas would rather spin and twirl than lift people up. Probably because he looks so good doing it, if he had to guess. Cas is kind of weird like that, but Dean enjoys watching him more than anyone else in the class, some part of him wishing he could learn to do some of that even if he knows he doesn't have the flexibility for it.

"Man, I'm so glad I don't have to stand on my toes like all the girls do," Dean mutters, once again somewhat relieved by the fact that his dance routine is a little different from what the girls have to do, no matter how fun it looks. "Doesn't it hurt your feet to do that?"

"Yes," Cas replies simply, and Dean blinks, having never gotten such a short response before when they weren't in the middle of an intense, straining stretch where they could barely spare the oxygen to squeak out a word or two.

"Yeah, it looks like it hurts…" he reiterates awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Are you…I dunno, mad at me? Did I do something?"

"No."

"Well…" He shifts on his heels as much as he dares with his feet aching the way they are, something he's learned is a constant in ballet. "Is this still about the whole…uh, sabotage thing? 'Cause I'm not gonna do that, Cas, I swear."

"I never doubted that," the other boy admits through a spin that Dean tries and fails to copy with anything near Cas' grace. "Meg said I shouldn't forgive you so quickly, though. She said I have 'issues' and that I'm 'too trusting'. So I'm going to be upset with you now."

"Oh. Uh. Okay." Dean's a little thrown off, having never had somebody say that they were consciously deciding that they should be upset before. "What can I do to make it up to you, buddy?"

Cas puts on his thinking face, looking like he does in physics class. "Would you be willing to assist in the bake sale? It's to raise funds for the school. There's been talk of cutting out the art-related classes including ballet, and the bake sale is attempting to prevent that. It's next week, on Friday."

"What are they selling?"

"Cookies. For Christmas. Several students have arranged the bake sale, so they're going to be making them at home. We plan on selling things before, during, and after the football game other students are playing."

"You're promoting arts classes at a football game?"

"The fields might not overlap, but the interests of the individuals do," the other boy explains. "And this is the last game of the season, so we're expecting it will be busy."

He shifts awkwardly in his too-tight ballet shoes. "I mean…I'm not much of a baker, Cas…"

"I understand," Cas says, but Dean can tell he's a little disappointed and decides, y'know what? Screw it.

"But that doesn't mean I can't…try and stuff," he fumbles out, and the gummy smile he gets in response is worth it all. "Y'know, I wasn't a ballerina before either, and look at me now, huh?"

Then comes the part where he actually bakes the stuff. The bake sale is on Friday, so he has a few days to plan things. Luckily, Sammy's got some new friends to hang out with, so that's half of the problem dealt with, so he waits until Bobby's busy at the garage before pulling out way too much flour and sugar and a huge mixing bowl.

Bobby's late wife Karen used to be quite a baker, he's heard, so it's not hard to find a shoebox of recipes on index cards. He's never baked a thing before in his life, and chocolate chip cookies seem basic enough, so he decides to give those a shot after making sure he has all the ingredients (some of which look like they haven't been touched in a decade, which means Bobby hopefully won't miss them, right?).

Overall, it could be a lot worse since it's just following instructions, but just as the batter's starting to become the same color and consistency and all that crap, he hears a familiar old rumbly car and freezes, turning to the window slowly in horror. Yep, there's Bobby, coming to the house and looking as prickly as ever.

Dean has about fifteen, maybe thirty seconds to hide all the evidence and he fails spectacularly when he turns around to set the spoon he'd been stirring with down and his elbow immediately knocks the flour off the counter with a big puff of white smoke. He doesn't have time to do much more than set the bowl down and grab a dishcloth before the door opens and Bobby's eyes zero in on the mess.

Dean stands a little taller, bracing himself for an argument but still flinching when Bobby huffs, sounding more annoyed than actually upset, "What the hell's all this?"

"Flour."

"Smartass." He swallows as Bobby looks around the kitchen, no doubt putting the pieces together. "Baking, huh? I sure didn't see that one comin'."

"Why, 'cause it's for girls?" he bites out, unexpectedly defensive, but Bobby's face softens a little.

"Didn't think you were into baking, that's all. Are those Karen's old recipes?"

He nods a little, ducking his head. "Found 'em upstairs…"

"Chocolate chip? That was one of my favorites," Bobby continues before facing him. "What started all this, anyway? Would've been easier to grab cookies at the store. Faster too, if you were that hungry."

"They're not for me," he snaps before finally relenting. "There's a…dumb thing at school. A bake sale. And this…this person…asked me to pitch in."

"A friend?" Dean nods mutedly when Bobby presses, making his face go all red "A girl?"

"What's it matter?!" Bobby just looks at him with a weird knowing look in his eye that Dean doesn't like at all. "What?"

"I'm proud of you, son. You're a good kid."

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, looking away, embarrassed. Luckily, Bobby doesn't expect him to respond and just pats him on the shoulder on his way out, leaving Dean to stand there for a minute before he slowly picks the mixing bowl back up to finish up on the cookies. Getting them to come out evenly on the cookie sheet is harder than it should be, but he's soon sliding the first tray of cookies into the oven. He has enough batter for two more he thinks, but since there's just the one cookie sheet, he has to wait before starting another batch.

In the meantime, he cleans up the kitchen some, even doing the dishes despite it not being his turn (he figures it's only fair since he made the mess). The cookies smell amazing while they bake, taking Dean back to simpler times when he was little and his mom would occasionally bake something. Very occasionally, but that just made every time it did happen even more special.

He learns the hard way what happens when the cookies aren't spaced out properly, but they still smell amazing, so he sets them on a plate and starts loading up the second batch, being a little more conservative with space in hopes he doesn't end up with a sheet of one big cookie to cut out.

"Ooh, cookies!"

Dean looks up just in time to slap Sam's hand away, making Sam pout like he's three years old again. "Hey, whoa! Not for you, bitch!"

"Come on, like you're gonna eat a whole tray of them, jerk…"

"They're not for me either," he replies shortly, realizing his mistake when Sam pauses.

"Who are they for then? Your boyfriend?"

"W-what? I don't have a boyfriend!"

"Yeah you do," Sam fires back, face all scrunched up in what he probably thinks is a serious expression. "I see you sit with him all the time at lunch. I'm not an idiot, Dean."

"Then you must've realized that table's mostly girls," he hisses in a whisper, not wanting Bobby to overhear.

"And yet, it's not any of them that you're looking at." He fumbles for a response before giving up, turning away hastily to get his second batch in the oven, even as Sam prompts, "So, cookies…?"

"It's for that bake sale thing, so no nibbling!"

"Bake sale?" Sam repeats, cookies temporarily forgotten. "Since when do you do bake sales? Hm. I guess around the time you started doing bal—"

"Fine!" Dean says loudly, cutting him off and casting a suspicious look into the living room, definitely not wanting Bobby to overhear this. "One cookie. That's it. One."

Sam seems placated by that at least, scurrying off with his treasure. Curiosity gets the better of Dean and he reaches for one himself, taking a bite. It's surprisingly…decent. He never thought he'd be able to bake, but then again, he never thought he could muddle his way through ballet, either.

If his dad could see him now…

-

Friday comes far faster than it has any right to. Dean makes a couple different things, hoping to impress Cas and ease the tensions between Dean and the rest of the ballet class, and it's worth it all for the big gummy smile Cas gives him when their eyes meet from where the other boy is sitting at a table, bundled up in a trench coat that's definitely not thick enough for the temperature.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greets calmly before his face falls back into a neutral expression. "Oh. I'm supposed to be upset with you."

Dean glances around, realizing they're all but alone right now aside from some guys out on the football field, getting some early warmups in. "I won't tell if you won't." He sits beside Cas, setting his stuff on the table. "I made chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. N-not as one kind. Two kinds. Also this brownie thing? I don't know, it sounded good, so…"

"It looks wonderful, Dean. And thank you for helping with this."

"Yeah. No problem, man."

He takes a seat in the plastic chair beside Cas after setting his stuff up on the table. Most of the other stuff is gluten-free, he notices, making him wonder if he missed the memo and screwed everything up again. When he asks, Cas just says, "One of my brothers is allergic to gluten. We've learned to accommodate and no longer keep regular flour at home."

"Ah, I see. You make all these?"

They're all sugar cookies in varying shapes and with different colored icing and sprinkles, and they all have that same lumpy texture that means their creator doesn't know his way around a cookie sheet. Not that Dean's speaking from experience or anything…

"Yes. Would you like to try one?"

Dean's eyes light up and he gives one of his own chocolate chip ones to Cas. The sugar cookie (a gingerbread man, which he obviously picked just so he could bite its head off and not because of the dorky smiley face Cas drew on it) is more delicious than it has any right to be, and judging by Cas' forlorn look at the rest of their confectionary horde, they're both wishing they could be eating more than just one right now.

All along the edge of the field a safe distance away, there are two other dessert tables set up and loaded with cookies. Dean sees Gilda and Charlie at one, but doesn't recognize the kids at the other one, making him think they must be from a different art-related class that's on the verge of getting chopped.

They get a few visitors to their little stand once people start pooling in to watch the football game. It's mostly soccer moms 2.0 and little kids forced to watch their siblings' big game, but kids always have eyes bigger than their stomachs, so Dean doesn't mind them so much. In light of the fact that it's flu season and kids are disease magnets, he does enforce a 'you cough on it, you buy it' rule, and that's how one tired parent walks away with half a batch of cookies due to one snot-nose little kid, who looks far to pleased about things and eyes up the other tables on the way out.

Once the game actually starts, all business dies. It's like there's some universal rule that means getting up because of a case of the munchies during a high school football game means somebody gets a direct one-way ticket straight to Hell. Sucks for business, but Dean doesn't mind too much.

The game itself is nothing special, but when the temperature drops a little, Cas breaks out a thermos (which has a startling number of bee stickers on it) of hot chocolate laced with peppermint. Dean's never liked peppermint much before, but it's damn good hot chocolate. As a thank you, Dean wraps part of his scarf around Cas to help him stay warm too, since the dumbass didn't think to bring a decent coat, apparently.

After the game, of course, there's a huge influx of people desperate to get their blood sugar up again. The fact that their school's team won means a lot of people are on some sort of a high, which results in all kinds of people dragging their kids still in their football gear over to get some celebratory desserts. It's just Dean's luck that he happens to recognize a few.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Asmodeus, some douchebag he used to wrestle with before he dropped a weight class, begins. "Snuggling up with one of the school's biggest freaks, Winchester?"

Dean rolls his eyes and says flatly, knowing from experience that the best thing to do about a bully is to try not to care, "Yep, you caught me. Buy a cookie or get the hell outta the way."

"My, how the mighty have fallen. It wasn't long ago that you condemned this very behavior. What would your father think? Oh, that's right, you're staying with an uncle now."

"Dude, you're holding up the line and probably getting your gross sweat all over the cookies," Dean snaps as a reply. "Get lost before I rat you out. That won't look good for a football scholarship, will it?"

That finally gets Asmodeus to leave, though not before lobbing a few more petty insults that Dean just ignores in favor of pawning off more cookies. It's not long before everybody leaves now that the game's over, however, and Dean's pleasantly surprised to find that there are a few left for them to enjoy.

As he munches on another gingerbread man, he watches Gilda and Charlie giggle at each other, and a thought occurs to him. "They, uh…they sure are close, huh?"

Cas barely even glances up from where he's got an actual clipboard out and is calculating out their sales and profits and stuff, poking at a clunky calculator he always carries with him to class. "I'd expect them to be, given that they're in a romantic relationship with one another."

Dean nearly coughs out his cookie. "Huh? Since when?"

"It's a recent development, I understand. I didn't think to ask."

Huh. And all this time, Dean thought Charlie had a crush on Cas or something with the way she's always sitting next to him. It's stupid to think closeness automatically means relationship, he knows, but that was just what he assumed. Just like he assumed Cas is straight because of the whole Charlie thing and his religious upbringing and…stuff.

"Uh…are you?"

Cas finally looks up from where he's squinting at the numbers. Dude probably needs glasses, but weirdly enough, his constant squinting is kind of cute, only intensified by the fact that he's still wrapped up in Dean's scarf. "Am I what?"

"Are you…in a romantic relationship?" He feels dumb even saying it, and the other boy's now tilted head doesn't help that. "Ah, forget it. Nevermind."

"My brother said that relationships that start in high school often don't last," Cas tells him after a moment. "I've avoided getting close to anyone like that to avoid making any mistakes, as any relationship begun now will likely only lead to heartbreak once college becomes an issue."

Dean looks at the guy like he grew another head. "Wait, so…you've never been in a relationship? Like, ever?"

The head shake he gets in response leaves Dean stunned. As someone who stopped caring about feelings a while back, he'd been using schools as his own personal hunting ground for fun for a while, knowing it'd only be a few weeks before he had to move again. Personal attachment didn't mean a damn thing, so he didn't let feelings get in the way.

It's…different now. He's in a stable environment and the chances of moving away to go finish off school somewhere else get slimmer by the day now that he lives with Bobby, and as a result, he's had to be a lot more considerate and thoughtful about stuff like that. As such, he hasn't been flirting around much since he got here, and it's…honestly been kind of nice. Pulling girls into closets between breaks gets old pretty fast.

"That's probably a good idea, honestly," Dean admits after a moment as they start packing the table up to set aside for a teacher to collect later. "Nobody really expects high school sweethearts to actually stick together or anything. Everybody's just too immature, I guess."

"Yes, that's what I've concluded, as well." As they finish up the last of it, Cas surprises him by pulling him into a hug. "Thank you for your assistance, Dean. I enjoyed your cookies very much, and I hope everyone else did, as well."

"Hey, thanks for the invite. Never thought I'd be doing something like this, but…it's been fun." He gets his scarf back and another cup of Cas' hot chocolate before he starts to leave. "C'ya, Cas."

"Goodbye, Dean."

The drive back home is weirdly peaceful. Dean taps out a beat on his steering wheel and watches as a gentle snowfall picks up and starts dusting the streets, his mind seeming incapable of thinking about something other than oversized trench coats and messy hair. When he gets back, it's late, but Bobby surprisingly doesn't give him any crap for it; the benefits of calling ahead.

"How'd it go?"

"We raked in a good lump of cash," he reports with a grin, and Bobby's beard twitches in a way that lets Dean know he's smiling too, even though he'd probably deny it. "Oh, our school's team won too or whatever."

"Glad to hear it. Now get your ass in bed; it might not be a school night, but that don't mean you can stay up all night."

Dean rolls his eyes at that, something he'd never dare do if he was talking to his dad. "Okay, okay. 'Night, Bobby."

Despite his words, he takes a quick shower before even thinking about crawling into bed. Dean knows he's got it bad when he spends the last few minutes before he dozes off wondering if Cas' mouth would taste like peppermint hot chocolate if he'd kissed him earlier.

Wait, where did that come from?

Chapter Text

(10,546 words)

The realization that he likes Cas doesn't trickle in slowly. No, it hits him over the head with a baseball bat and demands attention the next time he sees the other boy on Monday during physics class, because watching Cas is way more fun than hearing about centrifugal force.

And yeah, maybe he always kind of thought Cas is hot in a leotard, but that's different. Now, it's more…mind-consuming than just thinking he's hot. Suddenly, Dean just wants to park next to the other boy and not move more than he has to, wants to stare at him forever because he just knows Cas will be staring back without a shred of shame because that's their thing.

If he had to guess, his crush (actual crush, something he hasn't had since junior high) started around the time he and Cas made it a little routine to bandage up each other's toes before and after every class. Dean didn't have too much flexibility in the beginning, so Cas helped him out that first day and just kind of…never stopped. At some point, Dean started returning the favor.

Before, he'd told himself that it wasn't weird. Some of the girls in their class would help each other out too, so it was okay, right? Of course, those girls turned out to be girlfriends, so maybe that said something about his and Cas' relationship, even way back when.

They're getting closer these days. Winter break is rapidly approaching, and on an impulse, Dean invites Cas over, having heard the other boy talk about how much he was dreading staying in an empty house all Christmas in the privacy of the Impala whenever Dean drives Cas home (which is increasingly often, because Sioux Falls winters are a bitch). Surprisingly, Cas accepts, and that's when Dean realizes he didn't ask Bobby for permission, and that's where he is now.

After pushing it off until the last possible minute, Dean finally seeks out Bobby, who doesn't look up from a book until he clears his throat. "Uh, Bobby?"

Bobby sighs heavily. "What didja break this time?"

"N-no, it's nothing like that. Uh…"

"What is it?" the older man asks, a little kinder after watching him fumble.

"Can I…have somebody over? For Christmas? It's nothing weird or anything, I swear. Just a buddy who's looking at a crappy Christmas at home otherwise…"

Cas' story hit a little too close to home for Dean's comfort, reminding him of all the years that it was just him and Sammy sitting on a bed they would only be able to call their own for a few weeks or months before they moved again, their dad never bothering to show up even for Christmas. Maybe that's why Dean's so willing to invite him over, if only to avoid the empty house blues on a holiday meant to bring people together.

"Fine. But she ain't sleepin' in your room."

Dean's so pumped that he doesn't even notice the pronoun, instead thanking Bobby profusely and running back upstairs. This, of course, creates an awkward situation on the doorstep when Cas shows up a few days later in an oversized winter coat that makes him look like a marshmallow, the removal of which makes Bobby realize that it's not a girl he invited over at all.

"Thank you for having me over, Dean. Your home is very…festive, and warm."

"Yeah, no problem, man. You need help with your bags?"

"No, I just have my backpack."

After giving Cas directions to his room, the dude wanders off and looks around with wide, fascinated eyes, and Dean watches long after he disappears up the staircase, becoming aware of two sets of eyes on him. "What?"

"You didn't mention your friend's a boy."

The raised eyebrow look should probably mean something to Dean, but it doesn't as he instead perks up. "Does that mean he can hang out in my room?"

Bobby grumbles a reluctant acceptance that has Dean bounding upstairs to grab a sleeping bag for his friend, but Sam unfortunately decides to tag along, bitching, "I don't think Bobby would let him stay with you if he knew you think about him like you think about girls."

"Shut it, Sammy, you don't know what you're talking about," he denies instantly. "He's just a friend from school. You're just jealous Bobby didn't let you invite anybody over."

"Am not! You just think you're being all sneaky, but you're not!" Ugh. Fourteen year olds. Thankfully, Sam has enough common sense to shut his trap when Cas comes in. "Uh. Hey."

"Hello."

Dean grins a little at Cas' lack of social skills that keep him from realizing this is where most people would try to keep a conversation going. "This is Sammy, my little brother. Sam, this is Cas."

He has no doubt that if they didn't have a guest, Sam would be bitching about the nickname, but as is, he just nods politely. "Nice to finally meet you. I see Dean hanging out with you all the time."

"We share many classes," Cas replies calmly, like that's the reason.

"Yeah, that and you're my buddy." The other boy squints at him before smiling a little. "What, you didn't know that? I don't exactly hang out with all kinds of people…"

"Or anyone as much as you," Sam adds unhelpfully, and Dean elbows him in the head. "Ow!"

"Zip it, Samantha, or I'll tell Bobby you're harassing the guest," he hisses, and Sam thankfully takes the hint and gets out. "Sorry about that. You know how little brothers are."

"No, I'm the youngest. I know how older brothers are, though." Cas is giving him a pointed look that breaks into another smile, showing he's not serious just before Dean can worry. "It's exciting to spend Christmas in a house full of people again. After my siblings left, it's been very quiet."

"Why'd they leave? Just…college stuff?"

"Yes, mostly…"

There's an awkward pause that's broken when Dean clears his throat. "So…Nutcracker, huh?"

Just before winter break, their roles in the upcoming recital were finally announced. Kelly is Clara, the only other boy in their class is the Nutcracker himself, Gilda is the Sugar Plum Fairy, and Meg is the Snow Queen. Cas is gonna fill a bunch of roles in the background ranging from a mouse to a snowflake to a fairy to a random dancer at the end, and Dean gets to play the Mouse King, which means he wears a mask and jumps around like a moron the whole time while the mice run around and fight the Nutcracker (though he is coming out to be a random dancer at the end too since it's all hands on deck).

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't mind playing the bad guy or anything. He just isn't sure what to think of having such an important role. What if he messes something up?

"Are you nervous?"

"I mean…yeah, kinda," he admits. "The bad guy always makes or breaks a movie, which is kinda like a ballet thing, right? And I kinda suck at ballet—what if I screw everything up and ruin the whole thing?"

There was a time when Dean wanted to ruin it—or pretended he did, anyway. There was a time where he would've played the whole thing off as a joke and laughed at the idea of the other kids pulling their hair out over a silly ballet recital. Now, the idea of being the reason everything goes to pot stresses Dean out more than he ever thought it would.

And through it all, Cas reassures him, putting a hand on his shoulder and starting another staring contest. "You'll do fine, Dean. I believe in you."

His face instantly goes red. "Ah, geez…"

"If you'd like, we can practice our roles over the break. I didn't think to bring my ballet shoes, though."

And that's how they end up doing ballet in Dean's room, though only when Bobby is out of the house. Sammy pokes his big head in sometimes and watches, but Cas doesn't care, so Dean doesn't shoo him away. Self-consciousness is overrated, and besides, Cas looks amazing doing all his jumps and twirls, something that makes even Sam look on in awe and hold his tongue. Dean can only hope he looks half as good as Cas does…

Christmas comes and goes the way it has ever since he and Sam moved in with Bobby, with the day being much more of an event than just another day. The fact that Cas is there makes it extra fun, even if the only presents he gets are a pack of socks from Bobby and a fuzzy cat sweater from Dean that he'd found in a Walmart, because everybody needs an ugly Christmas sweater.

Still, before Dean knows it, it's back to school. He spends way more time practicing his moves for his upcoming role than he has any right to, but it has to be perfect. He's so caught up on perfecting his stupid squats and jumps that the date of the recital totally creeps up on him. That's the only reason he's only to get one ticket, obviously, which he reluctantly gives to Sam.

Though Sam's his little brother and is undoubtedly gonna be a little dick about it, they've been through too much together for Dean to not invite him at all, so he sucks it up and chucks a ticket at his head, trying his hardest not to make a big deal of it. For once, Sam doesn't mock him to scorn and just accepts it with a smile when Dean explains he's going to be dressed up as a giant rat, which Sam says suits him.

Yeah, Dean's tentatively gaining some confidence about the whole thing that only boosts when he sees his hilarious costume in the mirror. Then the day of the recital arrives.

The place is unexpectedly packed for a dumb high school ballet recital, and that's when the stage fright kicks in while he watches Kelly jump around on stage. His only comfort is that everybody else seems to be losing their minds too, Cas included given the way he's pulling at his first costume of the night, a little mini mouse. The fact that Cas is going to be right there through Dean's entire role as the Mouse King is comforting where it might otherwise be embarrassing if it were anyone but Cas.

"Well, here's your chance to ruin the whole thing, Dean," Meg pipes up as Dean straightens the crowns on his seven mouse heads. "Break a leg. Or don't."

He shoots her a glare that's lost in the mask. "I'm not gonna mess it up. Not on purpose, at least…"

"Everything's gonna be great, guys," Gilda assures them. "Just do your best."

Easy for her to say when she's not the one up next. Then again, that just means she has more time to freak out and second guess herself, so maybe Dean's in the better position here after all. He can't worry about it too much because the next thing he knows, he's being called out to go up to the Nutcracker, his rat army trailing after him.

The fact that Cas is right there beside him helps. While Dean does his dumb little jumps and pretends to wrestle with the Nutcracker, Cas and the other mice jump around and seem to cheer him on. Of course, Dean can't watch them too much when he's so busy filling his role and pretending to die, but the obvious support is nice, even if he loses track of Cas in the sea of people with identical masks.

After his role is done, Dean still sits by to watch the rest of the performance though, giving him a clear view into the roles of his new friends. He'd like to say his eyes are on everyone equally, but the truth is, he's watching Cas more than the more prominent figures of Meg or Gilda or Kelly.

Cas, twirling around as a snowflake. Cas, jumping around as a fairy. Cas, moving as one of the dancers at the end with Dean on the other side, trying to resist going up to him. Before he knows it, the ballet recital is over, and Dean's pulling his Mouse King mask back on to take a bow beside everybody else.

Beneath the mask, he's grinning wider than he ever thought possible, proud of himself for all his heart work and for taking a step out of his comfort zone and trying this out.

That high continues the entire drive home, with Sammy chattering away in the passenger seat while Dean hums a song from the ballet (what? It's catchy). "Dude, I didn't know you could do that stuff! You were jumping around and everything, and how you fell over during that fight scene had half the building cackling!"

Having his little brother proud of him is a whole new high that fades the second they get home and find Bobby waiting for them. "Where have you two been?"

And there it is. There's always been an unspoken agreement between him and Sam that they never try to get the other in trouble, not when it actually matters, so Dean's not worried about that. No, he's struck by the weird urge to actually tell Bobby where they were and what they were doing, even though he knows it's a horrible idea. After all, his dad and Bobby are both super old, so they probably both have the same old person views on things like this, and frankly, Dean's tired of rearranging his whole life.

Then again, he had been accepting about the bake sale, and didn't even say a word about how men don't belong in the kitchen or something when he'd caught Dean baking, but making cookies and doing ballet are two very different things. He wants to tell Bobby, but until he's sure that the guy isn't gonna give him crap for it, Dean's going to have to keep the whole ballet thing a secret.

"We were together, so we were safe," Dean replies simply. "Sorry for being out late. I'll, uh, help with dinner to make up for it?"

Bobby studies them for a long moment before sighing and looking away. "Just tell me next time you idjits are gonna be out all night, unless you want me to lose the rest of my damn hair."

That's the end of that conversation apparently, but Dean's lightheartedness doesn't come back for the rest of the week after he's immediately jumped by his old buddies at school the next day and still doesn't have the balls to tell them off.

-

"Splendid, splendid! Everyone did so very well in the recital!" Mrs. Turner babbles the next time they have ballet class. "So well, in fact, that we've been asked to do an encore in a few months!"

Dean feels like the too-tight ballet shoes are yanked out from under him. "Wait, what?"

"We're doing the same one?" Meg asks, mirroring his thoughts. "Why?"

"Well, we were going to do Swan Lake, but it was ruled to be inappropriate for a school setting, so we're just going to do this one again. Oh, isn't this going to be fun?"

No, no it isn't. In fact, not a single one of them is half as enthusiastic as Mrs. Turner is, but none of them say it. Instead, Dean shuffles over to his usual spot to start on his routine and tries not to feel too disappointed about everything. But who knows? Maybe it'll turn out even better this time around.

Everyone holds their tongue until they're in the cafeteria, where Kelly wastes no time in saying, "Are they really gonna do the exact same ballet twice in a row?"

"Yes," Gilda says glumly while Charlie pats her shoulder. "I enjoyed my role, of course, but I was looking forward to trying a new part out. And why are they waiting so long to do it?"

"I heard it's because of the budget cuts," Meg replies around a mouthful of food. "Sorry to say that your little bake sale didn't bring in as much money as you thought, Clarence, as cute as the idea was."

"The school doesn't put much money at all aside for subjects they view as non-essential. There isn't much we can do," Cas says simply. "I just fear the future of arts classes here and what that might mean for future students…"

Dean imagines Sam's high school career without a single non-academic class and frowns. He never thought about it much before, but these classes are somewhat of a break from a stressful school day. He never relaxes like he does when he gets in those tights and starts his routine, and to think about Sam never getting to experience something like that…

"Maybe we could do something about it." He doesn't realize he even said anything until everybody's looking at him, but by then, the words don't want to stop. "Those tickets to the recital cost a decent amount of money, but people still bought them because it was Christmas and stuff, right? Maybe this time, they just lower the price and we try to get people to go?"

"Oh, that sounds easy enough. Should we get the school to lower the price of something first, or ask our non-existent friends to come?"

"Meg—" Kelly starts with a sigh, but Dean shakes his head.

"No, she's right. We need to come up with a plan to get people to actually show up." A dumb idea pops into his head. If he were with his old douchebag buddies (and Benny, who was just as lost as he was back then), he never would've said a thing, but he feels safe enough here to suggest, "What if we show up to prom in costume?"

"Would that be allowed?" Kelly asks, blinking in surprise.

"Probably not, but as long as we don't mess the costumes up, nothing's gonna happen. And they both take place at the end of the school year, right? That gives us plenty of time to practice."

Somehow, he's able to gain the table's hesitant acceptance of that plan, and when he looks over, Cas is beaming at him, making him feel like he did something right for a change. The only remaining problem is the insane amount of time between now, the middle of January, and the performance, which is in early May near the end of the school year.

It turns out to be a busy time nonetheless.

They still need money for the future of the school (something Dean never thought he'd care about, but if Sam's still going to be going here the next few years now that they live with Bobby…), so he and Cas bake more stuff to sell during the high school basketball games all through March Madness, which earns more than a few looks from his old pals, but he doesn't care much.

On the side, Gilda and Charlie start a petition to show their dedication to the cause, Kelly takes up photography just to put pictures of people actually enjoying their classes up on every wall in the hallway, and Meg somehow scrounges up some money to donate, though her refusal to explain how that happened makes it kind of suspicious.

All in all, it's nice to know they're actually doing something to help out, and more than that, it's nice to look into the audience during one of his wrestling matches to see the faces of his friends joining those of his family.

Cas goes to nearly all his practices too, even if he does homework through a lot of them. Not even Sam goes to his practices, so it's unexpectedly kind of nice to have somebody that does. For one stupid moment, he thinks about returning the favor, but Cas' only non-academic elective is ballet, and Dean always shows up for that anyway for his own role.

Dean doesn't want to say that something seems to be happening between him and Cas, but something totally seems to be happening between them. Pairing up for every group project and working elbow to elbow on desserts for a bake sale will do that to anybody, really, but there's a bit of a problem here, and that is that Cas isn't interested in any high school relationship.

Admittedly, that's probably a smart move, but damn if it doesn't put a damper on things. But Dean can do 'just friends,' and it's fun hanging out with Cas after school, inviting the guy to hang out at his place (after checking it's okay with Bobby) and for the occasional sleepover. By now, they've talked about their childhoods enough for Dean to know that Cas' parents don't really want him around, but that's okay. Dean…he gets it.

All the while, they keep on dancing together. Dean's decent enough at ballet by now that he doesn't need a mentor anymore, but like hell is he going to tell Mrs. Turner that. He'd rather copy whatever Cas does in the corner and complain about how their dreams now contain her voice repeating shrilly, '1, 2, 3—1, 2, 3,' and various other annoying phrases she spits out constantly.

"Feel the rhythm, guys, there we go!"

Dean suppresses a groan at that. He's on his best behavior today, because this is the day they're going to ask Mrs. Turner to lower the ticket costs. They were hoping she might just do it herself after realizing that The Nutcracker is the Christmas ballet and might not do so well in freakin' May, but it's late March now and pretty damn clear that she has no plans of changing anything.

So he grits his teeth and bares it, once again glad that he doesn't have to do those fancy turns with his one leg pulled up to his stomach, even if Cas does do all those little spins and twirls, despite those being the girl's parts. Then again, Cas also has yet to show up not wearing a tutu, so anything's fair game.

He messes up a few jumps and gets yelled at for it, but brushes that off too as he curses the existence of the bars on the wall length mirrors and all the stretches he's forced to do on them. Just ten more minutes and it'll be time to ask, ten more minutes of jumping and stretching and they'll be home free. As long as none of them screw anything up, they'll be fine. Hopefully. Then again, Mrs. Turner can be a real pain in the dance belt, so who knows?

Finally, the last ten minutes are up, and Mrs. Turner releases them. "Everyone did excellent today! Though Hannah, your feet should be arched more, and your turns are a little sloppy, Dean. But just excellent!"

As most of the other students pack up and leave as quickly as possible (probably to go gorge themselves now that nobody's going to be looking at them in skin-tight costumes; seriously, who decided ballet class should be after lunch while still expecting them to look all thin and pretty?), a few of them stick around, just as they planned.

Discreetly, the remaining few play rock-paper-scissors until Gilda, the unlucky chosen one, approaches. "Mrs. Turner? We'd like to talk about the upcoming recital."

"Oh, of course! It will be exactly the same as last time, so there's nothing to worry about."

Behind her back, they all grimace at that, but Gilda stays on target. "We'd like to request that, in the best interest of the recital and everyone involved…that the…prices be lowered a little? For the tickets?"

The ballet teacher looks at them like they'd just asked to dress up as headless chickens for the recital. "What? Why would you request that? Don't you know that those tickets are what's paying for the recital in the first place? Those prop rental fees are not cheap, Gilda."

Paying for what, exactly? The costumes are pretty decent, sure, but the staging back in January was abysmal and definitely subpar, and the music was all screwed up because it was playing off of an old boombox that cut out halfway through a song only to magically come back on when somebody jammed a screwdriver into it, resulting in an awkward pause for a few seconds on stage and a redo of a few moves.

Still, Dean holds his tongue and cuts in, "What if we did all that stuff? We can get some art kids to set up the stage and stuff, and I know a guy with a better stereo. No fees, so…lower ticket price?"

"The Nutcracker is much more relevant to Christmas due to its themes. It likely won't sell as many tickets in the spring, especially at such a high cost," Cas adds quickly, showing all their cards.

Mrs. Turner is quiet for a long, stressful minute before shrugging. "If you guys are willing to put in the work, I'll request the ticket prices be lowered."

And just like that, they're given something resembling a greenlight, and they're able to really get to work spreading the word about the performance in hopes that lots of people will show up. This means plastering all kinds of posters up on the wall not unlike the very one that had made Dean sign up for the class in the first place.

In a way, it almost doesn't feel real. The days tick by faster and faster as Dean pours more effort than he thought possible into schoolwork and ballet practice alike. It's the end of April before they even know it, and prom is right around the corner, so they have to really work their butts off to get everything perfect, and that's when Mrs. Turner drops a bombshell.

"It's come to my attention that many people here have been hoping to change their roles in this rendition of the ballet. Therefore, I'll be reselecting everyone for every role."

"Dibs on Mouse King!" When a few of them shoot her looks, Meg says quickly, "What? Who doesn't love to play a bad guy?"

Dean grumbles a little, having wanted to play the bad guy again, but he's ultimately assigned to some prince guy who dances with the Sugar Plum Fairy, who turns out to be Cas this time around (after he turned down the role of the Nutcracker, saying he'd rather play a role meant for a girl), making any bitterness about the new role disappear…even if it's admittedly kinda weird that Cas was picked for such a major role over any of the girls in class.

So yeah, he's pretty hyped about getting to do a fancy duet dance on stage with Cas, even if that means lots of practicing that makes him kind of glad he's only in the one scene. Seriously, ballet has absolutely destroyed his feet to the point where he forgets what it's like to have them not hurt, and he doesn't even dance on his toes! He doesn't care what anybody says—somebody needs to be pretty badass to take up ballet.

Beyond just practicing, the responsibility of setting up the props falls on the ballet class too when the art students start messing stuff up. They'll put in the work, sure, but everything just becomes too much at some point, so the ballet class has to step in to organize stuff.

The more enthusiastic, passionate ballet students worry over the designs while Dean just follows their instructions to the best of his ability (which admittedly isn't much in some areas like painting). Cas is beside him, of course, his tongue poking out every few seconds before he seems to remember himself and retract it again.

"When I signed up for this course, I never expected to put my, uh, artistic skills to use, but…" He glances over at where Cas is painting a cardboard Christmas tree and smiles. "You seem pretty good at it though, man."

"I used to paint with my sister, Anna." Cas is quiet for a long moment, so Dean's surprised when he continues, "She used to take ballet. When we were much younger. She would come home and teach me what she learned, and even smuggled a pair of ballet shoes home for me. My parents could only afford to send one of us, so they sent her, because she's female."

"Oh. Man, that sucks." It takes Dean a minute to put everything together. "Wait, is that why you do ballet?"

Cas nods a little. "That's why I started, but I really do continue doing it because I enjoy it. I'm not sure why people keep asking about it when I say I just enjoy it. But she did teach me to dance en pointe—that is, to dance the way intended for females. Though many teachers in the past tried to force me, I never learned the male way and don't really feel inclined to. My parents were not happy about that."

That sounds just like Cas, breaking barriers left and right and not caring what anybody says. There's something to be admired in that, and Dean wishes he had the courage to stand up for his interests and stuff. "Does your sister still dance?"

"She's, uh…actually deceased," the other boy says quietly, looking at his hands, and Dean's heart drops.

"That really sucks, man…"

Well, that explains why Cas doesn't like to talk about why he started ballet, though from the sounds of it, even a little baby Castiel was interested in ballet and only got barred from getting into it too much because he's a boy. Which is just crap, since there are totally male ballet dancers, and anyway, why not let kids explore their passions? Why not let them dream?

Dean remembers a time after his mom died that he wanted to be a fireman and got really into the whole idea, always dreaming about going up that ladder to rescue people and hoping he'd get over his fear of heights once he got bigger. Of course, that dream died along with many others when they'd been moving around the country every other week, but he still holds the idea of it close. He couldn't imagine being told his dream couldn't happen because he had freckles or something equally arbitrary and unimportant.

"I remember going to collect seashells on the beach with my mom once when I was little," he begins after a long pause. "I was…maybe three or four and was really excited to pick up all the, uh…pretty shells and junk. But my dad wasn't too happy about that. Drove me all the way back and made me dump 'em all back on the beach. Said it was too girly to collect shells, that there's a reason the rhyme talks about 'Sally' selling them and not 'Harry'."

Cas looks at him during the entire story, just staying quiet and listening. He's a good listener, easy to talk to about even this stuff. "I don't understand why people place such a high value on genders to the point where they intentionally limit their children to certain activities or behaviors according to that."

"Me neither, buddy." They keep on painting, and as he puts the finishing touches on his big, pink cardboard gumdrop, he laughs a little. "Man, my dad would have a fit if I knew I was doing…this. Any of this. Baking and painting and doing ballet…"

"Would your uncle, um…'throw a fit'?"

At that, Dean pauses, seriously considering it for the first time before realizing that he can't say for certain how Bobby will react. "I don't know…"

-

Prom sneaks up behind them and whacks them over the head. Dean forgets all about it until Bobby catches his elbow when he's going to drive to school. "Ain't your silly dance tonight?"

For one horrible second, Dean thinks Bobby figured out what he's been taking as an extracurricular before realizing he just means prom. "Yeah, so?"

"C'mere." With that, the older man leads him over to a closet, where a nice but visibly ancient suit is hanging. "You can wear it to your dance. Just don't get any stains on it or I'll have you scrub it out with a toothbrush."

Despite his gruff words, Dean realizes that this moment means a lot to Bobby. This is pretty obviously the suit Bobby had gotten married in, and maybe it's a little old and a little small for him, but he really appreciates it. Then he instantly feels guilty when he realizes he won't be wearing it for most of the prom, since he's gonna be in costume instead.

"Thanks, Bobby," he says genuinely anyway, because it really is the thought that counts, and Bobby's beard twitches like he's smiling, though he looks more like he might cry.

"Have fun, ya idjit."

He packs the suit in the trunk with as much tenderness as it deserves before driving to school. Classes are as boring as usual (though he does get to beat his head off a wall with Cas for half an hour in physics class over one freakin' question in a team discussion, so that's fun), but that only serves to distract him throughout the day until it's finally time for prom.

Half an hour before it starts, about half of the ballet class (the rest declined in favor of wearing their usual dresses that only just dodge the school's dress code restrictions) goes to get suited up in their costumes for The Nutcracker. Dean hopes they get a big spike in ticket sales, or else he's swapping his boxer briefs out for a dance belt for nothing.

As predicted, all eyes are on them the second they spill into the school's sparsely decorated gymnasium as a group, all decked out in all things skin-tight and eye-catching. Alone, Dean's pretty sure he'd crumble up and die in an instant with everybody looking at him like that, but as a group, he stands tall and plays his role, shoulder to shoulder with all his friends.

"Don't you all look pretty," Alastair sneers, slinking out of the crowd to look them up and down.

"Thank you," Cas states impassively, his deep voice making the comment funny enough that Dean smirks a little even in the face of his old pals.

Gordon doesn't seem to like that much. "Winchester, why are you hanging around with these losers? And what's with the get-up?" His eyes brighten a little. "Oh, is this about the…y'know…plan?"

"There's no plan, Gordon," Dean replies flatly, encouraged by the fact that he has friends on all sides. "I just like doing ballet."

Gordon's eyes widen like saucers as he sputters like an idiot. "Wh—you a fairy now, Dean?"

"No, he's my prince," Cas corrects. "I am the fairy."

He knows he should probably explain what Gordon meant, but the look on the guy's face is too funny to ruin right now, so Dean instead says, "We got another performance of The Nutcracker in a coupla weeks. Why don't you guys swing by?"

Alastair actually gags at that. "Pretty and pink really aren't my style. Unlike you, apparently."

"Ballet's a lot more work than you dickbags seem to realize," Charlie says heatedly as she comes up beside Gilda. "Do you guys have any idea how much work goes into perfecting all those little jumps? I mean, you guys should see how exhausted Gilda looks after a session…"

While Charlie talks Gordon and Alastair's ears off, the rest of them disperse, with Dean going to see if anybody spiked the punch yet and Cas following right after him, looking—okay, he'll say it—gorgeous in his costume, which consists of white tights and a leotard clearly meant for someone with a little more…uh, padding on the chest, and of course a big white tutu that sparkles like ice crystals whenever the light hits it right.

"So…this is prom. Seems kinda boring."

"Yes. I've never attended before, but it seems I was not missing out on anything."

"I never really got to stick around in a school long enough to worry about it," Dean admits, looking into his red solo cup. "We, uh…moved around a lot. Like a lot a lot. Nearly every month, sometimes more."

Big blue eyes look up at him, visibly sad. "That must've been difficult."

"Yeah…never got to really establish friendships so I just kinda stopped caring at some point. But…I dunno, I have friends now, at least." He smiles a little, and Cas smiles back. As Dean gets another cupful of punch, a thought occurs to him and he clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh…Cas, you know those guys weren't talking about costumes earlier, right? They were, y'know…calling me gay and stuff. 'Cause I do ballet now."

"Are you?"

"Not gay," he hedges, hesitating. "I guess something like…bi? Like I'm mostly into girls, but there's a coupla guys that…uh, nevermind. You?"

"I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation."

A little of the tension leaves his shoulders. "Oh yeah?" He kind of thought so given Cas' comfort level with playing roles meant for chicks, but he didn't want to assume—and no matter what anybody says, a dude doing ballet doesn't automatically mean he bats for the other team.

"Yes. That's another thing that I don't understand the significance of. Why do so many people care about such an arbitrary thing, Dean?"

At this, he can only shake his head. "I don't know, Cas…"

He really doesn't know. Why can't Dean do ballet without fearing what everybody's gonna say? Why can't he do something he enjoys, even if that something is dancing? Why's everybody gotta try to dictate what people they've never even met before can and can't do?

It's a depressing train of thought, so Dean's glad when a distraction comes up, even if that distraction is in the form of dancing in front of everybody, and that's where those distressing thoughts come back. Everybody's probably expecting him to dance with Lisa Braeden or something, but he doesn't want to. In fact…

"Hey, wanna dance?" Cas blinks at him, getting all adorably squinty, and Dean rushes to add with a wink, "It'd be bad rep for the Prince to dance with anybody but his Sugar Plum Fairy."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dean's hoping for the universe to swallow him up and hide him away. Why did he wink? Ugh… But to his surprise, the other boy just smiles and lets himself be led into a more open space. "All right. We can try to practice our pas de deux in costume."

"Our what de what?"

"Our…uh…the dance we do together. That's the proper name for it."

"Oh." He takes Cas' hand and guides him through a one-footed twirl and yeah, okay— "I guess I should probably learn the proper terms for all this junk, huh? Don't pick up much in class when I'm too busy feeling the rhythm."

"1, 2, 3—1, 2, 3…" Cas mutters under his breath, and Dean grins at him, holding his waist while he twirls around gracefully in a familiar sequence. "Are you going to continue doing ballet after you graduate?"

"I don't know… I don't think I'm really good enough to actually do anything with it, like become a performer or anything. But it's fun as a hobby, at least." The other boy does a jump, and Dean's right there to catch him and pull him close, the movements comforting in their familiarity by now due to how much they've practiced them. "What about you? You're good enough to go to some fancy dancing school, I think."

"I do enjoy dancing. I'm…not sure if I'd want to do it as a career, though." Dean nods along, doing his own series of spins to mirror Cas', though his spins don't involve going on the tips of his toes. "It's fun, but there's just…so much out there to do and discover. Perhaps I'll find something I enjoy more than ballet."

"And if you were offered a place in some sweet ballet school?"

"I think you overestimate my abilities, Dean."

"Me? Impossible."

As they come to the end of the sequence, their faces end up right next to each other. It'd be so easy to lean over and plant one on him. But Cas doesn't want that, so Dean just smiles and releases him with the excuse of wanting to go mingle. In reality, Dean just needs to cool off for a second, but same difference, right?

It doesn't really matter though, since it's not five minutes later before they're finding each other again, this time to slow dance like everyone around them is doing, even if they're the only two guys doing it, but Cas looks kickass in his tutu, so Dean would like to see anybody dare to say a word about it.

Pretty soon, the night is over, and everyone from the ballet class that had changed goes back to shuck their costumes. Dean changes into Bobby's suit to go home, finding that it's definitely short in a lot of places but still feels just right. He's seen dads giving their sons suits to wear on TV and would sometimes wonder if his dad would ever do that; he's glad he gets to experience it, even if the method is a little untraditional.

When he gets home, Bobby's all weepy-eyed again, though he's obviously trying to hide it, blaming it on dust in his eyes. "Have fun?"

"Yeah, it was all right. Thanks for the suit." As he sheds the jacket, he adds, "And no, I didn't mess it up."

"You dance with anybody?"

Dean pauses, considering how to answer. "Yeah…"

"What's with that tone?" Bobby asks, arching an eyebrow. "You're not in any trouble, are ya?"

"Dunno yet," he mutters, hesitating. Bobby's been good to him though, taking him and Sam in and raising them like his own, and he can't keep lying to the guy… "I danced with Cas."

"Castiel?"

"Yeah. That Cas."

Bobby huffs a little. "That why you're actin' all squirrely? You think I care about somethin' like that?"

"Dad did," he rasps out, voice straining a little as tears spring to his eyes while memories he'd rather forget pop into his mind, and Bobby's whole face softens as he stands up to put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I ain't your daddy, Dean. I don't give a damn who you dance with or what you get up to, so long as you're happy."

Aaaand there go the tears. Dean doesn't try to hold them back though, not in front of Bobby, because Bobby doesn't care if he's a boy, he just cares that he's crying. Instead, he lets them fall and accepts the hug Bobby gives him, feeling lighter than he has in a while.

-

In a blur of tests and exams, finals are somehow over and the ballet recital is tonight. Dean's been putting off asking Sam and Bobby to come until the last possible minute, but there's no more time left to putz. So, two tickets weighing heavily in his pocket, he goes up to the two of them when they're watching some dumb show on the couch.

"You guys busy tonight? Like, around eightish?"

"Just planned on sittin' here and rotting away," Bobby replies, gesturing towards the TV, which is just playing some crappy reality show. "Why?"

Point of no return. Here goes nothing… "There's a…thing at school tonight. A ballet recital."

He holds the tickets out, and Sam snatches one up with a grin. "I was wondering when you'd ask, jerk."

For once, he doesn't return the friendly name-calling, instead watching Bobby's face. "How come there's only two? You tryin' to get rid of us so you can invite your boy over?"

"W-what? No!" Well, his face is already red, so he forces out, "There's only two 'cause, uh…I'll kinda be…on the stage. As a dancer."

Bobby's eyebrows shoot up to the brim of his hat. "Well, I didn't see that one comin'. 'Course I'm coming, ya idjit. Don't look so nervous."

"Are you gonna be the rat again?" Sam asks excitedly. "You were awesome last time with that."

"'Again'? How many of these recitals have you had?"

"This is the second one. They were both The Nutcracker because of budget cuts," he explains. "I, uh…just got into all this stuff this year, so it hasn't been super long, a-and I still kinda suck, but it's…it's fun. Y'know?"

Bobby looks at him before huffing, smiling a little. "I better see a ticket next time around, boy."

"This is probably gonna be the last one I ever do unless I actually, like…go to school for it and stuff."

"You could always take classes on your own," Sam pipes up. "Maybe find a cheaper one just to mess around and stay in shape for it if you enjoy it."

Dean doesn't want to admit that a big part of why he likes it is the company, so he just nods. "Yeah, maybe."

The future is big and vast and all that, but Dean's really not worried about that now. Right now, he's more worried about the recital, so he bails out of the house early to go to practice with the rest of the ballet class, slipping into his skin-tight costume like it's a second skin and going to his place in the back, right beside Cas.

Rehearsal passes in a blur of stretching and jumps that are practically second nature by now, even if Dean has only been dancing for a number of months and not years like most of the other dancers. Somehow, he's earned his place here, and in about an hour, he's gonna show the whole school that as he plays such a prominent role, dancing alongside the Sugar Plum Fairy.

A few months ago, he would've been mocking all these names for sure, but joking around is currently the farthest thing from Dean's mind. He's too focused on making sure everything is perfect—his family's going to be watching, after all. And the entire school, but screw them if they're planning on making fun of him for doing something he enjoys.

Before he even knows it, they're adjusting their hair and costumes to perfection and marching out to camp out backstage. From the brief glimpse Dean got of the crowd through the journey, he can tell that the whole place is totally packed, all eyes on them once again—only this time, Dean doesn't have a rat mask to hide behind.

That thought would've freaked him out to Hell and back in January, but by now, it doesn't bother him. He's been watching himself move around every day for months now in those wall length mirrors, so he knows he's pretty decent. Definitely not the best, but passable. He can do this without a mask, and that's exactly what he plans on doing: getting his tights-clad ass on stage and showing everybody that he's serious about ballet. It's not a joke or for spite or anything like that. He likes it, and he's not afraid to admit that, not anymore.

Mrs. Turner is like a peacock with its tail all puffed out, jumping all around the stage in a flurry of useless activity, plucking and adjusting things that don't need adjusting. "Oh, I do love a good recital! I'm so nervous, but excited!"

They all keep their mouths shut about the lack of other recitals this year, since two is barely any at all, and doing the same one twice in a row isn't as exciting as learning a whole new ballet, but whatever. They're used to Mrs. Turner's antics by now (she's a good enough teacher, but man can she be annoying) and can easily tune her out to do any last minute stretching.

Their Clara and their Drosselmeyer go to start things off, and it's like a wave of tension suddenly rolls over them all.

From backstage, they're all able to see the entire stage and a good chunk of the audience, which is never a welcome sight because hello, stagefright. But Dean's able to push past it, instead watching the cast already up there (with a slightly jealous look at Meg tromping around at the Mouse King) and waiting for his cue.

Then it's Cas' turn to get up there and do tiny movements on the tips of his toes, as graceful as can be, and Dean can't take his eyes away. Cas is naturally facing the audience so Dean can only see his back and side, but what he wouldn't give to be in the audience right now, watching him from the front and seeing that serene expression the other boy always gets when he's dancing, like there's nothing more relaxing in the entire world than straining his muscles and breaking his toes.

Before he knows it, Cas' dance is over, but Dean just keeps on staring until Meg, holding her rat head like a purse, flicks the back of his head. "It's your turn, moron."

Hastily, Dean scrambles to brush off his costume and take a few deep breaths before carefully (and hopefully gracefully) making his way on stage, striking a pose every few seconds just like they practiced, making sure he looks strong and powerful whereas Cas is agile and delicate. They dance around each other in time with the music, jumping across the stage in short bursts before they finally come together.

He takes Cas' hand and holds it high while Cas stretches out a leg, and as always, once their eyes lock, neither of them seem capable of looking away. Dean's favorite part of Cas exclusively dancing en pointe is that when he's on the tips of his toes, they're exactly eye level; though he's not gooey enough to admit that, he's pretty sure Cas knows and maybe even feels the same, even if they're still playing the game of just being friends.

He guides Cas through a few careful pirouettes or whatever, making a real show of brushing fingers like they're going to hold hands, though they never quite get there, not yet. Instead, they separate completely, with Cas going off to do his tiny tiptoeing thing that makes his tutu shimmer while Dean watches from afar, touching for a few seconds to twirl the other boy around before releasing him and backing off again.

The back and forth between closeness and distance is as dizzying as ever, with Dean growing more and more reluctant to release Cas each time, so he's glad when that bit is over and it gets to the part where he dips Cas low and holds his waist to help him through more pirouettes. This time, every short break away from each other ends with Cas spinning up to him again, which has Dean's usually serious expression cracking into a smile that the other boy mirrors for a second.

Then comes his favorite part, where they dance completely in sync. Every little jump, every spin, they perfectly copy each other in a way that he knows from watching in that wall length mirror looks amazing. His wrestling skills come to use as he lifts Cas up by the waist a few times in the sequence, something he once dreaded but now delights in doing because it's Cas.

Yeah, he's definitely glad he didn't cut out his wrestling training or else he probably wouldn't be able to lift the other boy at all, but as is, the action is effortless and well-practiced, something they've been doing for weeks leading up to this. Most people probably don't realize how much muscle is required of ballet dancers—Dean sure didn't, but that's a mistake he'll never make again.

It gets to the part where Dean helps Cas spin and spin, which he knows always makes the poor guy dizzy. Cas is still able to mask that incredibly well to the point where Dean probably wouldn't even know if the other boy hadn't told him about it during all their practicing. The fact that Dean then picks him up and tips Cas until he's partially upside-down doesn't help with the dizziness factor, but Cas toughs it out anyway and soldiers on like a badass.

It's thankfully over soon enough, and with the music getting louder and more dramatic by the second as it reaches its end, they jump and spin around in a few more pirouettes just a little more before Dean helps Cas bend down to touch the ground while one leg is in the air, slowly helping him back up before they strike a few quick pose and the song ends, their part now finished.

The audience bursts into applause that brings matching grins to both of their faces even as they shuffle off stage hand in hand. The next scene starts soon enough and other people are sent out there, and the show…goes on or whatever, leaving Dean sitting backstage still buzzing with excitement and nervousness and disbelief that he just did that, all with his family watching. If he looks really closely, he thinks he can even see Benny in the crowd; he seems to be a lot happier now that he broke away from Gordon and Alastair. Or maybe he just likes ballet, too.

"You were awesome out there, dude," Dean says suddenly, looking right at Cas, who goes a little red. "No, seriously. You were like…super graceful and stuff. So awesome, man."

"Thank you, Dean. You did very well, as well."

They grin at each other like morons before Dean clears his throat. "You, uh…got anybody watching in the audience?"

The other boy's face falls a little. "No. Just…people in school, who probably don't approve of my role."

"Don't worry about them, buddy, I'll protect you. Break the noses of anybody that tries to get close," he promises solemnly, fists clenching just thinking about it. "But, uh…Sam and Bobby are there. In the audience. Y'know, if you wanna…go see them…"

That brings that smile right back, even if it's a little shy. "All right."

They stand together backstage and watch the rest of the ballet together until they're called out to take a bow at the end. Dean doesn't even realize he's still holding Cas' hand until the other boy trips and nearly faceplants, had he not been there to pull him back up to his feet, steadying Cas the way he has so many times in practice and the ballet itself alike.

"Careful," he whispers as they all line up, laughing a little as he wonders how someone could be so graceful one minute and so clumsy the next.

"I think someone tripped me."

Dean tries not to let his surprise or outrage show on his face as they all bow at once to the torrent of applause raining down on them, but the minute they're all backstage again, his eyes are scanning everyone who was beside them, everyone who they'd been doing ballet with for months. Would somebody really try to trip Cas up? And why? To make him look bad in front of the audience, maybe? Or maybe someone's pissed Cas got such a high spot meant for a chick.

Whatever the reason, he can't do much about it now when Mrs. Turner is rushing them back to go shower and change their clothes, telling them to be careful because the costumes are rentals and this school is ridiculously stingy.

There's nothing quite like showering in a room full of other naked dudes. Luckily, there are a lot less dudes in said shower after ballet class compared to regular gym class or wrestling, but it's still as unpleasant an experience as ever. This time, he has his thoughts there to slow him down whereas he'd usually be racing. Then he remembers Sam and Bobby are waiting for him so he picks up the pace.

He finds them loitering outside the shower area waiting for him, like you do. "Dean! You were great, dude. Why didn't you say you could dance around like that?"

"You, uh, you guys liked it?" he asks shyly, and Sam looks at him like he grew two heads.

"Duh. You were in it."

"I never thought I'd like ballet before, but it had its appeal," Bobby contributes gruffly, because he just can't admit he enjoyed the thing.

Sam leans closer and whispers, "He was looking for you every scene, trying to figure out why you hadn't come on yet. I told him you were the Mouse King last time and he lost his mind."

Dean laughs at that, but before he can respond, he catches Cas watching in the distance, looking kinda sad, so he marches right up and grabs the other boy's hand. "Hey, guys. You remember Cas."

"Man, you were incredible up there, Cas!"

"Oh. Um…thank you…"

"I've never seen a guy move around like that or knew that they let them take those roles, but you were amazing!" Sam keeps on gushing like a dweeb, and Cas' face goes endearingly red. "The way you and Dean moved together was seriously amazing. It was all so…in sync."

"That's what lots of practice'll do to a guy," Dean replies for Cas when he sees the way he just looks at the ground, resembling a tomato. Poor guy probably never had somebody there to tell him how great he was out there…

"You idjits were both great, now can we move somewhere else? Standin' by these bathrooms is giving me memories I'd rather forget…"

Dean laughs at that and nods, and when Cas assures him that he still wants to go with him, Dean leads his friend right along beside Sam and Bobby, where they go off to celebrate the success of the ballet and enjoy a good meal now that they're not so worried about looking fat in tights.

The realization that that's likely the last ballet recital he'll ever be in hits Dean later when he's trying to fall asleep, Cas already snoring away in a sleeping bag on his bedroom floor. Unless he takes up classes or goes to school for it, this is it, and that thought haunts him.

Over the past few months that he's been taking ballet, Dean discovered something of a passion for it. The stretching's a bitch and he doesn't like cutting out his favorite foods to watch his figure, sure, but he likes ballet, and the thought of never doing it again bothers him probably more than it should. The idea of never wrestling again, on the other hand, is like that of never having to suffer through physics again—water off a duck in one of those dish soap commercials.

With that in mind, maybe he'll look into taking more classes after all. With any luck, maybe Cas or some of the girls from class will join him and make the whole thing a little like what he's got going on now, though deep down, he knows it won't be the same. Half the ballet class doesn't even like ballet, and certainly don't like it enough to keep doing it when they don't have to. Maybe he's weird to like it, but he does.

But whatever. That's something for future Dean to figure out. For now, he just sleeps off his exhaustion for the night and looks forward to his last few ballet classes that he might ever have. Last of the school year, at least, which is such a crazy thought.

With all the excitement of The Nutcracker, the end of the school year just sneaks right up on him, and the next thing he knows, he's on stage to get his high school diploma, with Sam and Bobby cheering louder than anybody. A part of him can't believe it's even real. A couple of years ago, he thought he'd never graduate, that he'd drop out just to stop the pain of moving schools every few weeks, and now…

As he's standing there in his frilly robe and his funny hat later beside Sam and Bobby, diploma in hand, he realizes one constant he at least knows he wants in his life, even if his future is still all foggy. As if the universe answers, Meg pulls Cas over and gives him a shove that makes him almost land on his face, had Dean not been there to catch him.

"Falling for me again, Cas?" he asks with a grin, even as Sam groans at his dumb pick-up line, and that's when a thought occurs to him as he helps the smaller boy back to his feet. "Hey Cas, we're graduates now."

Cas nods and tilts his head a little, making his already crooked graduation cap look even worse. "Yes, we are."

"That means we're not in high school anymore."

"Yes…"

"So…I know you said high school relationships are a no-go, but since we're not in high school anymore…"

Cas' face goes bright pink. "Oh. I-I suppose… I mean…"

"Wow," Sam pipes up, unimpressed. "You can never call me lame ever again after that."

"You are lame," he shoots back right before Cas jumps forward to kiss his cheek, which Dean reaches up to hold when Cas backs away again. "That…wasn't lame," he says lamely, which at least pulls a smile out of the other boy, even if it's all sheepish and embarrassed. "Is it too soon to ask you on a date?"

"Since when is six months too soon?" Bobby grumbles to himself. "You boys've been pinin' after each other since I first saw you, and probably way before that."

"I'd love to," Cas replies, since they're appropriately ignoring Bobby, though the older man's words turn both of their faces a deep red.

"Good. Great. I, uh…look forward to it. And not just 'cause I'm hungry."

Cas smiles again and takes his hand. "I do, too. Although I am hungry, I don't think it's affecting my judgment."

He smiles a little at that and gives Cas' hand a squeeze. Pretty soon, they'll be out of range of the place Dean got to call his school for the past two years, but he's not in a hurry, not when he's got his family and Cas right beside him and all his friends from ballet class circling around somewhere, all equally unsure about what the next step is.

Dean might not have everything figured out in life, but he's fine with that. He never planned on taking ballet classes, but now, he can't imagine what his life would've looked like without them. The future will come eventually and bring all kinds of unexpected paths his way, and it's his job to keep taking them no matter what people around him say.

After all, he didn't take ballet as a joke, or a dare, or out of spite—he took it because he wanted to, and look where that led him. With that in mind, he's content to keep making it up as he goes, with Sam and Bobby and Cas right by his side.