snarklyboojum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
snarklyboojum) wrote2012-06-27 12:16 pm
snarklyboojum) wrote2012-06-27 12:16 pm
Entry tags:
The Precision of The Fall - 4
Dean got a little nervous in the alley while waiting for his cue during the matinee show the next afternoon. Okay, Dean got a lot nervous. He almost wanted to throw up, a first for his pre-show jitters. His hands weren’t shaking, thank fuck, but he thought it was a near thing.
“I haven’t been under canvas in over a year.”
Sam rescued Hershey from nosing through a discarded peanut bag, tucking him close under his uninjured arm. (He still hadn’t gotten the mutt to sit yet but he didn’t seem to be in that much of a hurry.) “Don’t worry, it’s like riding a bike. And you have been doing that.” Dean nodded; Sam had a point. “Just remember: if you get stage fright, just picture the audience in their underwear.”
“I’ll picture Jess in her underwear.” Sam kicked him in the shin. Jess called him a pig from where she was adjusting her suit in the corner, carefully arranging the thin scarf over her neck and shoulders.
“Come on, Hershey, let’s go watch my brother kick this thing’s ass.” A last encouraging smile, a kiss on the cheek for Jessica, and Sam wandered off to find a seat.
Jess sidled up next to Dean, fiddling with her skirt. The new costume suited her, tight in the torso but feathered at the shoulders and flared at the hips. The shiny pattern on Dean’s own shirt was mirrored in hers.
She sighed, watching Sam go. “I love that he named the dog after chocolate. It’s so cute.”
Dean smirked and silently sent some love into the cosmos for his hippy brother, who (almost) always learned from his mistakes.
Jess took a deep breath. “You nervous?”
“Nah. This ain’t my first rodeo.” His smile felt fake as hell but he didn’t think Jess knew him well enough to tell.
“Good. I trust you, Dean. Just – Don’t kill me, okay?”
His smile got a little more real, a little more relieved, and he pulled her in for a one-armed kiss on the head. She relaxed in his arms. (Sam was a lucky, lucky guy.)
A long drum roll and Crowley’s introduction interrupted their moment – that was their cue. They ran out into the center ring, passing the ring crew as they left, everything arranged perfectly in the dark of the tent. Dean positioned himself next to the knife table, Jess at his side, Castiel’s knives in easy grabbing distance. He took a deep breath and counted to three.
“… the master of blades, Dean Winchester, and his lovely assistant, Jessica!”
When the houselights rose Dean was in full juggle, three of the larger blades sending reflections of the spotlights into the audience. Jess raised her arms, smiling all the way up to the nosebleed seats. He tossed the knives while she pranced to the music around the ring, blowing up a large balloon. Dean dropped the knives into the sawdust blade first - one, two - then threw the third toward the target board without looking, trusting the timing was right and Jessica had been where she was supposed to be. The balloon burst with a pop in her hand and a gasp from the audience, the knife sailing harmlessly into the wood behind her. She smiled and saluted him with a tilt of the head and a demure flick of wrist. He nodded back, grinning his devil-may-care smile.
They moved on to their next trick, Jessica arranging herself carefully on the block - arms raised above her head, leg tilted just so, coquettishly - and Dean sank the small knives into the scarf just over her shoulders. With a blast of trumpets she twirled downward, landing on her hands with her toe pointed outward, sans scarf. (Jess had taken ballet lessons as a little girl until her height came upon her; it was amazing what the body remembered after a little practice.) He helped her up from the sawdust, holding her hand high in the air. They bowed, quickly, to the cheers of the audience.
Things were simple for a few turns after that, Jessica dancing across the stage while Dean threw knives at her, barely missing her kicks and turns, ruffling the feathers along the small of her back as the blades flew harmlessly into targets behind her. The ring crew worked feverishly behind them the entire time, mounting the finale board and clearing away the other targets as they used them. When everything was ready, a drum roll drowned out the rest of the band.
Dean made his way over to the knife table, very aware his footing had to be exactly in alignment with it. A couple tent bunnies strapped Jessica down to the board and set it to spin slowly. Then they put up the paper screen.
Crowley’s voice echoed through the tent. “Ladies and gentlemen, the act you are about to witness has only been successfully accomplished by three other performers throughout the world. It is the epitome of courage and danger. Those of you with delicate constitutions may wish to avoid your eyes. For all others: silence in the arena, please.”
In the quiet the drum roll was loud, almost as loud as the pumping of Dean’s heart in his ears. He closed his eyes, counting the number of revolutions in his head, thinking about how quickly the wheel revolved, listening for the small clicks with each quarter turn. They’d discovered that timing and force were the keys to countering the drag of the knives through the screen.
The other moves had been mastered years ago at one point or another; he simply needed to remind his body and brain how to move. But this, this they’d practiced until his arms wanted to fall apart and his hands were bleeding from the knives. He focused inward, trying to drown out the noise of his heartbeat and the watchful gaze of four hundred people.
He raised his arm – one – counted the beats – two – and let fly – three. The crowd gasped, someone may even have screamed. Cymbals crashed and the drum rolled on. Another knife - one, two, three - and another still.
The drum roll stopped. Dean opened his eyes to see a tent bunny pulling back the paper, torn in three places, to reveal Jessica spinning serenely on, grinning fit to burst. The knives quivered in the wood on either side of her chest and between her lovely thighs.
Dean had never heard so much applause for a single trick in all his life.
He exhaled a huge breath, legs like jelly beneath him after the zen of the throw. Jess stepped forward, assisted off the wheel by the bunnies, and grabbed his hand tightly. They bowed three times together, turning in a half circle.
The crowd was still going insane when they made their exit, cheering, throwing popcorn in the air. (Dean didn’t envy the cleaning crew after tonight.) The alley was full of equally excited circus folk congratulating them with back slaps, hugs, even a few damn-near-gave-me-a-heartattacks.
Sam spun Jessica into a hug, sore arm be damned. He kissed her full on the mouth - a first, Dean knew, despite all his ribbing when Sam had first introduced him to Jessica. Hershey was jumping at their feet, barking excitedly. Sam eventually put Jess down and picked Dean up; even though it was just a few inches, his feet distinctly left the ground. “You! I can’t believe you had your eyes closed the whole time, you son of a bitch!”
Dean leaned against his brother’s side, grinning, until he noticed the band was playing ‘Stars And Stripes’ (code for cutting a show short) and that the closing parade was rushing to head out around them. Crowley made his farewell speech, thanking people for coming and encouraging them to enjoy the midway on their way out.
“What’s going on? Aren’t the Angels on deck still?”
Victor stopped long enough to punch Dean on the shoulder – not an easy thing to do while on horseback. “Turns out you’re the finale tonight, cupcake. Angels up and quit, voided their contract this morning. Bobby’s fit to spit.”
“What?” He grabbed Sam’s good arm, pulling him away from where he was making disgusting baby talk with Jessica. “The Flying Angels quit?”
“Well, yeah. Cas said they made a deal with Barnum.” Sam must have seen something in Dean’s eyes, because the happiness fell from his expression. He leaned close to be heard over the noise. “Oh, Dean. Didn’t you know? Cas-“
But Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He was running through the parking lot of trailers, dodging tent stakes and townies, looking for a shiny set of trailers.
Cas was gone.
Okay.
Okay, so. So Cas was gone. Without saying goodbye or anything but, still, it wasn’t like he and Dean had been particularly friendly to one another lately. The knives were just a going-away present or something.
And yeah, maybe they’d kissed a couple times, big deal. They were just kisses. The fact that Cas was a guy didn’t mean anything, or that Dean liked hanging out with him, or showing him how to do things on the lot. That Dean could talk to him about stuff and Cas didn’t think it was weird or tell him he was wrong for thinking what he did. It didn’t matter that Cas was his closest friend since Sammy was a baby. That Cas had saved his life in the war.
It didn’t matter. Right? Right.
Okay.
Fuck.
Dean never got to say goodbye.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the damp ground where the trailer used to be, staring at the flattened bits of grass the tires had pushed down, but the chill had seeped all the way through his costume pants by the time he mustered enough guts to pull himself together. The show must go on and all that crap, right? Cas and his brothers (the dicks) would make it big at Big Bertha and Dean would stay at the Circadia, cutting through the crowds and the bullshit all by himself.
(Well, Sam was there now but if Jess stuck around Dean had a feeling he’d be offering them Mom’s wedding band from where he’d hidden it in the Airstream and then where would he be? Third wheel to his baby brother? No, thank you.)
Christ, he needed a drink. And fuck it, not like there was anyone left to stop him from having one was there?
He took off for the piecar, intent on his destination and all the booze he could drink, but found himself sidetracked when he tried to shortcut through the midway. Townies were pouring through the narrow gaps between tents and for a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no - someone was sitting on top of the cotton candy booth, legs swinging like a four year old over the edge of the awning.
The girl working the booth didn’t seem bothered by him, even slipping a cone of spun sugar his way. And as Dean drew closer he could see why.
It was Gabriel.
The Flying Angel happily tucked into his cotton candy, grinning with pink teeth when Dean stuttered to a halt at his feet. “Deano! Long time no see, man. Heard the knife thing went great, good for you!”
“Gabe, what – what the hell are you doing here? I thought the Angels left.”
“They did. Well, Michael left and Raphael followed him, chickenshit that he is. I like it here, personally. That trapeze thing was getting dull as hell. I’m putting together my own aerial comedy act, it’s gonna be kickass. Plus the free candy is definitely a factor.” He kicked the side of the booth. “Keep it comin’, gorgeous!” The girl punched upward, hitting him strategically right in the ass. “Ooh, she’s feisty. I like that. Besides, since Cas is staying, too, I figured—”
“Wait, wait, Cas? Cas is still here?”
“Yeah, I know, right? What does that guy know about comedy? But I figure he’ll make a great straight man. Oh, don’t look so surprised, it was his idea. Well, not the act - that brilliance was all mine – but the staying thing was. Said he wasn’t going to back out of our contract. Even called Michael an ass. I’ve never been prouder.”
Dean couldn’t keep things straight in his head. “But your camper’s gone.”
“Yeah, it belonged to Michael. I doubt he planned to leave anything behind, except maybe us. Good thing I moved into clown alley weeks ago.”
For the first time it occurred to Dean that Gabriel had been left behind by his family, too. “I’m sorry your brothers suck.”
Gabe shrugged, picking at the glue holding the empty paper tube together. “Eh, what are you gonna do? Michael’s been a pain in the ass since he won gold. Honestly? Things have been falling apart since Father left.”
“Your father left you?” And apparently Dean was doomed to constantly repeat everything other people said tonight. It seemed all his brain was capable of at the moment.
“Yeah, while we were touring Europe a few years ago. Think he got a craving for the motherland or something.” Gabe’s voice slipped into an accent on the last part, though Dean couldn’t quite place its origin. “Father didn’t like speaking English and didn’t bother to teach us; we learned it as we went along. Seemed necessary to blend in after awhile. I guess Castiel never felt that way. Combine that with his injury and I suppose it makes him a little more… deliberate in what he says. Always was a serious little flyer, though; that’s why the ass thing was so phenomenal.”
”Injury?”
“Yeah, he hurt his throat in the war. Inhaled too much smoke saving some guy. Won the Medal of Honor for it and everything, he’s real proud of it. Seriously, don’t you people listen to me when I talk? I told you all this months ago when you gave us that crappy tour.”
Dean supposed there were some secrets in a circus, after all.
Gabriel was looking at him slyly through his bangs, feigning innocence. He didn’t do it well. “Castiel never really fit in at home, Dean. I wonder what made him want to stay here.”
“Because.” Dean shook his head, realizing that for all the time spent together he barely knew Cas at all. “You run away to the circus when you don’t have anywhere else to go. That’s why the circus exists.”
It wasn’t exactly an epiphany or anything academics would recognize and label. Lightning didn’t strike his brain and the world wasn’t suddenly made clear. If anything, Dean was just as confused as before but at that moment he knew – for the first time and with crystal clarity – that he didn’t give a shit what anyone else had to say about him.
That he was circus and that meant he was free. Free to do whatever the hell made him happiest… or whoever made him happiest.
And he had a strong suspicion he knew exactly whom that would be.
Dean ran off toward the backyard for the second time that night, determined to find Castiel wherever he was hiding. Gabe called after him: “That’s all right, no need to thank me! Nobody ever thanks me. Ah, fuck it, let’s get this show on the road. COTTON CANDY, FOLKS, STEP RIGHT UP! THE MOST SPECTACULAR THING YOU’LL EVER PUT INTO YOUR MOUTH. YES, MA’AM, EVEN YOU WITH THE PRETTY BOYFRIEND! EACH MOUTHFULL A BONEFIDE SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE! GET IT WHILE IT’S FRESH AND PINK, COTTON CAAAAANDY!"
It took him awhile but Dean eventually found Cas loitering in the space next to his own goddamn trailer. It looked like he was attempting to clear a path through the beer cans at Ash’s place to set down his suitcase.
Dean staggered when he stopped, hunching over to catch his breath. “You’re really here. I thought – I thought you’d left.”
Cas looked up, expression thunderous. “They expected me to, but they never really needed me. I found what I was looking for here.”
“But… It’s Ringling, Cas. The Big Show. You could be so much more there--“
“I can be more here. I know what I want, Dean, and it isn’t notoriety. I want to belong somewhere. I want peace and freedom. I can’t have that flying with the Angels. I can have it with… with you, you stupid ass, and Sam, and Bobby, and Isaac, and Tamara, and even that stupid dog. You’ve ruined me for this, you see? I ran away from the circus to my family.”
Dean just breathed, taking a moment to watch Cas pace back and forth. “Yeah, I see, Cas. But… Ash’s place?”
“He is the only on with space available on such short notice. I admit, his housekeeping is a little…” he looked around at all the wires, at the window held together by duct tape. “…eccentric, but I am assured there is a bed here. Somewhere. Among the ruin.”
Dean thought fast, going through his options. “You know, Sam’s a terrible roommate. He talks in his sleep. And then there’s the gas. Anyway, he’s been thinking about moving in with Jess once the bandages come off. Assuming she’ll say yes.”
Cas slowed to a stop. “She will. Sam is a very lucky man.”
“Yeah. He’s smart, too. Seems to think a lot of our troubles come from being too close to each other all the time. He wants to park a trailer next door and be neighbors. Practically Leave it to Beaver.”
“That’s… good, Dean. It will help the two of you keep boundaries.”
“Thing is, he’s expanded a bit since he fell out with Catwoman. His books take up way too much space. I don’t have enough stuff to fill the trailer without him anymore and I can’t abide all that empty space.”
Cas looked at him, frowning.
“And the Airstream’s bigger than it looks on the outside. You’ve been there, you know that.”
“Dean, are you… What are you asking me?”
He inched his way closer, kicking cans out of the way. This is it Dean, all in. Time to nut up or shut up. “I can do this on my own, Cas, I have before. But I don’t want to. What’s the point of having a safety net if you never leave the ground?” He grabbed onto Cas’s wrists, holding them still. “I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. I want to be with you. Do you still want that?”
Cas frowned, looking down at Dean’s hands holding his arms. His voice was a rough whisper. “I do, Dean. But I don’t want that out of pity, and especially not from you.”
He tried to pull his wrists away and Dean gripped him tight, holding on with his strong fingers. “Wait! I – kissing you…” Dean rearranged their hands, palms sliding together, fingers entwined. They were holding hands for real now and anyone could walk by and see. Dean’s heart was pounding in his ears. “I’m afraid of heights, okay? You gotta give me some time to get used to performing without the mechanical, man. I… I’d like to try flying without a net, but I need someone to catch me when I fall. You know anyone who’s good at that?”
Cas looked at him, confused and (hopefully) tempted. Then he tilted his head to the left, lips quirking in a slow half-smile. “As a matter of fact, I happen to know a catcher in the area who is currently without a troupe. He has a partial commitment for a clown act with his brother but he shouldn’t have any problems fitting something like that in on the side.”
Dean grinned, shoulders sagging with relief. He tugged Cas closer by his hands until their chests brushed together the tiniest bit. Their noses bumped and this time Dean didn’t hesitate – he swooped in , kissing Cas with everything he had, pulling that feeling, that emotion up from his chest and pushing it outward, hoping with everything that Cas would accept it.
And he did. Cas opened to him sweetly, eyes closed, tongue running along Dean’s teeth.
All too soon Dean had to pull away to breathe. “You make me dizzy. Don’t you feel dizzy?”
Cas smiled with his whole mouth, only the second time Dean had ever seen that particular expression. “I hang upside-down all day, I’m used to the blood rushing to my head.” Dean moaned, pressing their bodies together from knee to shoulder and going in for another kiss, openmouthed and dirty, hands sliding up to Cas’s shoulders. Cas shuddered and pulled back, gasping. “Although if you keep doing that…”
“We need to learn how to breathe through our noses. Like swimmers.”
Cas nodded. “Definitely.”
God, Cas felt good in Dean’s arms. Almost too good. He pressed their foreheads together, gathering his courage. “That Hershey thing was just a onetime deal, you know that, right? It was just for the money.”
He was pretty sure Cas sighed, though it was hard to tell when they were sharing the same air. Dean kept his eyes closed, so he wouldn’t have to see Cas’s face.
“Dad broke his leg and the manager was gonna throw us off the lot. We didn’t have money for gas or food or anything so I had to do something. And one of the freak show guys had come down with pneumonia and couldn’t go on so I said I’d do it.”
“Dean, you don’t have to explain.”
Yes, he did. He wanted to. “Turned out the guy did all kinds of kinky shit across the country and the management got a cut so they didn’t say anything. And they expected me to do it, too, only I didn’t want to, I couldn’t do it. I mean, I tried but it didn’t – I didn’t like it.”
“Dean, stop. It’s all right.”
Dean gasped in a deep breath, then another, each one tasting like sawdust and sweat. He tightened his grip on Cas’s shoulders and pressed their lips together one more time for just a quick taste. He was really beginning to enjoy that. “Sam doesn’t know that’s the reason we left Detroit in such a hurry. He thinks it’s just because I was embarrassed about the clothes and stuff but I actually kind of liked them. The fabric was nice. Don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? Shaving my leg was a bitch and it itched way too much to do again, but everything else was okay. It’s just…” Deep breaths, Winchester, count out the beats. “I don’t know if I could do that stuff again if that’s what you want from me. In case you heard that’s what I’m into or something. I’m sorry.”
A feathery touch brushed the hair off his forehead. “Dean, open your eyes.”
After another breath he did, terrified of what he’d see. Cas was looking at him with shiny eyes, moisture beading on the lashes. “I want you. Do you want me?”
Dean hesitated and then nodded, unsure what Cas was getting at.
“Then that’s all we need. I don’t care what kind of wrapper you’re in or what you do, so long as you’re mine.” Dean let go of his death-grip on Cas’s shoulders with one hand, brushing the tears off Cas’s cheek with his thumb. “Is that – is that possible?”
“I think it is, Cas. I think it is.”
Yeah… Dean was still the manliest Winchester. He was even manlier than the adopted ones, except maybe for Bobby. At least he didn’t cry when confessing his undying love like Cas had. And if he hid his own watery eyes by leaning in for another kiss, then so what? Who would ever know?
They stayed that way for what felt like hours, bodies cocooned in one another, mouths sealed, bathed in the electric midway glow. The barkers came and went, the rubes, too, and Dean didn't care.
Notes
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