Chapter Text
For being one of the premier writers of his generation, Castiel Novak certainly knew how to put his foot in his mouth.
On the page, he could make his characters say whatever he wanted, he always could find the exact turn of phrase to heighten the drama, or the best way to ease misunderstandings. Paper was easy - the words always went where he wanted them to go. The characters easily understood each other and whatever tensions arose for narrative purposes were readily resolved with no lasting consequences.
In reality, Castiel did not possess the fluid felicity of wit that he imbued his characters with. If not for the persistence of his beloved boyfriend, Dean Winchester, Castiel probably would be the embodiment of reclusive author, somewhere along the lines of Sallinger. The young author did not like people looking at him; he did not like feeling all eyes on him, all ears turning toward him to hear whatever pearls of wisdom he was going to spew. It only stood to reason that someone who could write such lyrically beautiful and confident prose also would be able to speak effortlessly.
For those who first met Castiel, opinions were mixed. Some would consider the twenty-something author as socially awkward. Others would say he was downright rude and brutally blunt and honest. To his boyfriend, Dean would normally would just roll his eyes in fond exasperation and say that Castiel was adorably inept.
Those who knew Castiel best, knew about his little idiosyncrasies and typically didn’t take offense at whatever he might blurt out. His brother, Gabriel, often said that if people could laugh at the crazy shit that Sheldon Cooper said on The Big Bang Theory then they could laugh along with whatever Cas blurted out.
Even though his loved ones generally accepted him, there were times that Castiel went too far. If he was working on a new book or stressing about a promotional tour, the author’s verbal filter became non-existent and there was no telling what he would say. It usually was in these times that he made the biggest jackass out of himself. Often he would be able to quickly apologize and there would be no harm, no foul. Other times his barbs jabbed too deep and caused lingering, long-lasting pain to his loved ones.
Castiel’s problems started when the time came for him to promote his latest novel. Although he loved writing, Castiel hated having to perform in what he dubbed the “dog and pony show” and be trotted out to all the talk shows and travel to book lectures. He liked writing because he enjoyed losing himself in his own head, inhabiting new personas and traveling to places he may never see in real life. These types of situations involved talking to people, which never had been Castiel’s strongest suit.
The problems started at a rather innocuous event. Castiel’s agent, Balthazar, arranged an informal press junket to herald Cas’ latest novel and announce that his Angel on High, the novel that thrust Castiel Novak into prominence, had been optioned as a major motion picture. During this event there would be several print media reporters and one television reporter from Everything Entertainment.
Typically Cas loathed these functions. He was an introvert, the only thing extroverted about him was his characters; they lived their lives in ways he wished he was brave enough to do. Ways his boyfriend was brave enough to do as a police officer in Palo Alto, California.
Usually at these functions, Bathazar would do most of the talking and Castiel would be able to get by with a nod or a seemingly casual (though highly planned and carefully worded) bon-mot here and there, making him seem thoughtful, witty, and mysterious. Television reporters typically loved him in these instances because they said he was so handsome and filmed so nicely with his deep-chocolate brown hair nad his sapphire blue eyes. Comments about his physical appearance only caused the young author to blush scarlet and duck away before his discomfort became even more apparent. Cas missed Dean.
Dean was one of his shields at these functions - gorgeous, garrulous Dean who would smile charmingly at everyone, mirth sparkling from his emerald green eyes. Dean was used to dealing with a wide variety of people through his job. He never knew where he was going to get called to, or who he would meet, so the sergeant made sure he was able to speak confidently with everyone he met. It was a talent that Castiel envied, and tried to mimic through his characters. Whether Dean knew it or not, he was the inspiration and muse for many of Cas’ best creations.
Dean couldn’t attend this function, however. He was working a series of brutal twelve-hour shifts so he and Castiel could have a much deserved vacation together. They were going to be celebrating their fifth dating anniversary soon, and Dean wanted to whisk Castiel away on a romantic trip; but, to do so, he needed to save money and build up some time off. Cas argued that he was more than able to afford any vacation Dean would desire, but the younger man would not hear of it. Dean didn’t want anyone misconstruing their relationship to think he was using Cas for his money. Dean was adamant he was going to pay his own way, and was going to be able to buy things for his boyfriend - this trip was just an example.
So, with Dean unable to attend that left Castiel alone with Balthazar, which was obviously a recipe for disaster.
“Jesus Cassie,” Balthazar groaned, “you look like you are going to the gallows rather than going out to talk with some very friendly press corps members. They are just waiting to praise your literary genius and stamina.”
Castiel rolled his eyes at the agent’s not-so-subtle double entendre. “Can’t you just give them the general details and let me smile and nod and get the hell out of here before I embarrass myself by passing out, or vomiting on someone,” the young author replied, looking rather green, which didn’t contrast well with the deep set blue of his eyes.
“Here,” Balthazar sighed, annoyance lacing his every word and gesture. “Drink this. It will loosen you up a little before facing the wolves.”
“Really not helping, Balth,” Castiel retorted wearily.
He accepted the rich amber-colored liquid from his agent and knocked it back in one large gulp. The fiery liquid scorched his throat and made him sputter and gasp as though he had drunk lighter fluid instead of top shelf whiskey.
“What the hell was that?” Castiel choked out, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.
“The best whiskey you can buy,” the blond-haired agent replied cockily. “Strong enough to loosen the vice grip you have on that stick up your ass. You should be thanking me.”
Castiel didn’t feel grateful necessarily, but he did feel some of the tension he had been holding start to dissipate as the strong alcohol began to take effect. He began to ease into the feeling and gained some confidence that he could do this without a problem. He wrote for a living. Words were kind of his thing; talking to these few reporters should be no problem.
Castiel should never be given alcohol. He also never should be given exceptionally strong alcohol before he is interviewed by television journalists. Yet, here he sits as Bela Talbot, an ambitious up-and-coming British telejournalist peppered him with questions. Most were fairly standard, “What is your inspiration?” “What do you think fans will think of this latest novel?” “Are you excited to see you characters take life on the big screen?” “Do you think the film adaptation of your novel will be the next Harry Potter?”
As the interview progress, the alcohol’s warming effects were spreading, making the author more comfortable than usual. The alcohol ebbed away a large chunk of his inhibitions and he found himself divulging more information to the young reporter than he normally would. Words and ideas were escaping from his mouth without his consent and he didn’t know how to rein them back in; and, after a while, he didn’t know if he wanted to stop.
As a young woman determined to make her mark in the industry, Bela had gained the reputation as a shark, and sharks were keenly able to scent weakness in their prey. Bela knew that her guest was answering questions more freely than usual, and she was biding her time with the mundane questions, lulling Castiel into a false sense of security before she attacked.
Some phrases can’t be erased. Some words can’t be deleted. Relationships aren’t as black and white as they are in the world of novels; he can’t go back and edit dialogue to find a better word choice, or to make a scene play out differently, although he wishes he could. As Bela baited Castiel with increasingly scintillating queries and observations, he found himself answering when his better judgment was screaming from the distance to stop.
“So, Castiel,” Bela practically purred, “there is a rumor that Michael Milton is interested in playing the role of Hunter in the film adaptation of your novel. He said he only would consider the part if you would agree to meet him face to face, what are your thoughts on that?”
Michael Milton was tall, dark, and handsome, the very epitome of old-world Hollywood movie star, with a modern-era edge. He walked the razor’s edge between bad boy and golden boy. He was the type of actor that women wanted to throw themselves at and men wished they could be. Castiel never heard the warning bells clanging in his own head, dampened as they were by the alcohol, and he uttered the worst sentence of his life:
“If he wants to get together, I would be most amenable to that. I would definitely be on board with some quality time.”
Bela smiled ferally. She scented the blood in the water and wanted to further the salacious revelations.
“So, does that mean you would be open to a more intimate working relationship with Michael?” she asked, hoping her prey was ripe for the kill.
“I would tap that without a second thought,” Castiel answered, characteristically blunt and without thinking through his response.
“Even though you are in a committed relationship?” she prodded.
“I think everyone deserves to have a pass or two, especially a celebrity pass, I think this would be the one that I would call in,” Castiel responded, not realizing what he had said, and where.
Distantly, Castiel registers Balthazar trying to stem his verbal diarrhea, but Cas’ alcohol-clouded brain couldn’t understand why. Balth usually encouraged Cas to be more loquacious in these situations. His agent was the one to give him the alcohol to loosen his tongue in the first place, why would the other man now be trying to stifle Cas’ verbal expressions?
“I think that is enough, Ms. Talbot,” Balthazar interjected. “Mr. Novak has a very full schedule this afternoon, and it is time to go to his next appointment.”
Cas wanted to argue that he had nothing else scheduled for this afternoon, his agent knew better than to book multiple functions for him on any one day. The death-glare that Balthazar shot him quelled any argument that Castiel might have made.
“That’s okay Mr. Bentley,” Bela responded with a predatory smile, “I think I have more than enough for my story.”
The journalist gathered her materials and left before anything additional could be said. Leaving a confused novelist and a stunned agent in her wake.
Castiel settled his head back against the plush couch cushions. He felt comfortable sitting here, maybe he could even catch up on some of his sleep. He didn’t rest well when Dean worked his long shifts. Although the (slightly) younger man was exceedingly careful and had a dependable partner in Benny Lafitte, Castiel worried everytime he knew Dean was going into less safe neighborhoods; and when Dean’s shifts in those neighborhoods went into the night, Castiel found himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep until the other man was by his side again, safe, warm, and alive.
“God damn it, Castiel,” Balthazar practically roared, once he was assured that she-devil of a reporter was gone. “What the fuck has got in to you?”
Castiel blinked blearily from his comfortable corner of the couch.
“Did you even stop to think what you were saying before you fucking opened your mouth? Did you consider who you were talking to? Did you even remember that was being televised?”
“You always tell me to interact more with the reporters and to answer their questions honestly, and that is exactly what I did,” Castiel defended, confused as to why his agent was so upset.
Balthazar sighed and ran his hands anxiously through his hair, creating a disheveled appearance, causing the usually implacable agent to look thoroughly human.
“I am never letting you drink before a presser again,” Balthazar vowed. “I just hope we can salvage the damage.”
“What damage?” Castiel queried. What could he possibly have said that would infuriate his fans. They usually found him to be quirky and adorable, and found his frankness refreshing.
“The damage to your boyfriend, dumbass,” was the reply.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel said. “How is there damage to Dean?”
“Oh, I don’t know Castiel. Are you really that self-centered?” Balthazar replied icily. “Maybe it has something to do with you basically admitting that you would have a sexual relationship with a famous movie star regardless of the fact that you are in a committed relationship with another man, a man who works a regular job and can’t possibly compare in status to a Hollywood type.
“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that if and when your boyfriend sees this he probably will dump your sorry ass because he will be afraid that you will leave him for an actor. Maybe because you swore to never cheat on your boyfriend after his abysmal last relationship, and yet you basically are saying given the chance you will hop into bed with Michael Milton and Dean has to deal because it is your ‘celebrity pass.’”
Balthazar paused for a moment, obviously trying to compose himself. Castiel had known for a while that beneath Balthazar’s gruff and cocky demeanor, he was a warm and compassionate sort. Over the years he had represented Cas, Balthazar had become more than an agent, he was a friend. He also was Dean’s biggest supporter. More than once the agent insinuated if Castiel and Dean ever broke up, he would want to have first dibs on Dean’s rebound man-whore phase.
“Would you be happy to hear Dean talk about having a celebrity pass?” Balthazar pressed, venom lacing his words. “How would you feel if you heard him basically flaunt the fact that he was contemplating having an affair and that you would have to just ‘deal?’”
Castiel felt sick. Surely that is not what happened. The alcohol haze was starting to dissipate, and the weight of reality was returning. Was Balth right? Did he basically say he would agree to an affair with Michael Milton? That was the furthest thing from the truth. He loved Dean. He and Dean had been friends since they were in grade school, and started dating in college - before Castiel ever became a success. Cas was there for Dean when his relationship with Lisa Braeden collapsed; when Dean learned that not only had Lisa cheated on him, but the baby she claimed was his, was actually the other guy’s. Castiel had been there to comfort his friend, and over the weeks and months that followed, that support morphed into something new, something richer and more vibrant. Could Castiel have cast doubt on their entire relationship with a stupid slip of the tongue.
“How long until the piece airs?” Castiel asked, wondering if there was some way he could beg Bela not to air it.
“It aired live, Cassie,” Balthazar explained, as though speaking to a young child. “We discussed that yesterday. It was a live feed back to the studio to give you better exposure.”
Castiel’s stomach sank to the soles of his shoes. This was a disaster. The only hope would be that Dean was at work, maybe he wouldn’t have seen it. The author reached for his phone and felt lightheaded when he saw a series of new text messages displayed on his lock screen.
Gabriel: Jesus baby bro, you sure know how to fuck up a good thing and start a major shit storm in the process. You better hope Dean-O hasn't seen your performance yet or else you are gonna be out on your famous ass.
Sam Winchester: You jackass, What the hell do you think you are doing? You’re admitting to the world that you would cheat on my brother. That is the lowest shit you have ever pulled. I trusted you. Dean trusted you.
Jess Winchester: Cas? Is this some kind of joke? Why would you say something like that? Dean will be destroyed.
Dean: I’m staying with Sam and Jess for a few days. Don’t contact me. I will have someone come to get my shit before the end of the week. I hope you and Michael are very happy together.
The air was punched from Castiel’s lungs with each text landing like a punch to his gut. Tears were flowing down his cheeks when he realized how badly his words had stung. His words had been razors, they shredded the fabric of his and Dean’s relationship. It didn’t matter that he never meant what he said. All that mattered was the words had been said and could not be unsaid.
His stupidity had cost him the more precious jewel he had, the thing he valued more than royalties, book publications, movie deals, or fame. One careless turn of phrase had cost him the love of his life. He didn’t know if his heart could ever recover from that. He didn’t know if he possessed the words necessary to fix what he had broken.
For the first time in his memory, Castiel had no words - no words to make this right.