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Mister Undercover

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-Chapter 1-

 


 

„We do not know it really is the same suspect.”

“The style is identical. Look here. Phrasing and writing are correct. What…you thinking of a copycat?”

 Agent Sweets watched the wall on which the pictures with the letters, published on several forums on the internet, was projected. He eyed the handwriting suspiciously.

 “I can’t tell you what it is. But there is something off with this one. Call it gut-feeling. I seriously don’t know,” Sweets told the other agents in the room. Agent Sherley , Chief investigator of the “Abaddon Case” ,nodded consenting to the statement.  He had read every letter, every statement the terrorist Abaddon had published in the last six months. 

So far the criminal mind behind Abaddon always had followed the same pattern:  They had threatened an in their words “unworthy” or “sinful” human or organization, then a they gave them time to do penance and then they “punished” them in the name “of THE LORD”. The punishment always was a bit different. In two cases there had been hidden bombs, in three cases they had used poison in letters sent to the victims. The result of the attacks so far: Five victims dead, ten severely injured and financial and physiological damage to an extend that still was increasing from day to day.

 It was a unbearable situation, not only because of the many victims that had not been protected in time, but also for the image of the authorities, because the press already had gotten wind of the potential behind a terrorist threatening LGTBQ people to a great extent.

With furious government personalities and the press on their heel, the FBI stood under a great pressure to solve this case as fast as possible.

They could not afford further attacks to happen, more people to get injured or murdered because of one religious and delusional fanatic.

 They still were not hundred percent sure if the Abaddon was a single player in this game or if in fact an organization was behind all this. There were too many open questions about a lot of things and so everything they were doing so far was like searching for a needle in a room filled with hay with no light to their disposal. It was frustrating to no end and all agents working on this case were dearly in need for a win.

 Agent Gabriel Sweets put the red Lollipop he currently was chewing on back in his mouth and scratched his chin, absorbed in thoughts. Chuck watched him without saying word. He knew that expression. It meant that a plan was forming in that head of his best agent and he had no intention to disturb him. Charlie, the technician and digital sorceress of the team also remained quiet. If anybody could form something like a plan on this, it was Gabriel. They called him “the trickster” in this department and his reputation was remarkable. Nearly every time when something in the bureau came to an halt and nobody had any idea of how to proceed, Agent Sweets presented himself as the knight in white armor, with ideas so absurd and tricky, they worked because of their sheer unpredictability.

 When the Lollipop came out of his mouth with a loud plop, the rest of the team knew, that it was time to face whatever crazy idea would be presented to them.

 “Well?” Chuck urged Gabriel to speak. He needed something. Anything. No matter how crazy!

 “You know what the problem with all the former cases has been?”

“Not enough information to prevent the attack. A lack of intern insight. We were one step beneath that asshole every damn time, that’s what.”

“Exactly. And perhaps we should try to change that. Get an intern inside and be there, where the action is.”

Chuck thought about that. An intern could be a good thing. Someone searching inside, looking out for strange activity. Perhaps find out how the Abaddon would try to strike and prevent it from happening.

 “Surely they need technicians and catering at this event. We could plant an agent into that. So we would have eyes and ears at the event without someone recognizing.”

Gabriel shook is head. Chuck looked at him wondering what the trickster had in mind.

 “The “Mister Pride” competition is like any other beauty-contest. There ‘re areas where catering or technicians cannot go and it would be suspicious for our agents to do otherwise. No, we need someone to be able to access every sector of this contest and someone who can speak to the participants of the contest as well.”

“What do you suggest?” Chuck really was curious what was about to come out of Gabriel’s mouth. The smirk on the angent’s face made him groan internally. He knew THAT particular expression even better than the previous one. It meat filling out forms he didn’t know exist and explaining things to persons he’d rather would not speak to.

 “Only contestants can visit every part of this contest such as the hotel, the challenge areas and the changing and training rooms. We need someone of our agent to go undercover as contestant of the “Mister Pride” Beauty contest.”

 Chuck was very sure that the grin on Gabriel’s face could not get any wider. He seemed far too pleased with himself and the worst thing in all this was, that he had made an absolute reasonable suggestion. It was the only logical option to visit every place and talk to everybody on the area without being suspicious.

 Chuck sighed audibly and Charlie smirked. If it had been a “Miss Pride” contest, she had already volunteered to do the job. Together with lots of hot girls, all gay or bi…what a sweet thought. But it was a “Mister” contest and unfortunately, she was in the wrong gender section for this one.

 “So, Gabe, you wanna do it? “ Charlie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Gabriel. She knew he was someone open minded, though he never really had discussed his sexuality at the job.

Gabriel just laughed and waved at her dismissingly.

“I wish! No. I am for one…”

“Not gay?” Chuck suggested?

“What? OH, that is not the problem. I am open in any direction…pun not intended, BUT what I was going to say: I do not fit the standards.”

 Chuck raised his eyebrows at that: “What standards might that be?”

 It was not that Gabriel was not attractive. He and his  sandy-brown hair, a feisty smirk, and certain charm. Chuck could imagine him standing on a stage, charming the audience into voting for him.

 Gabriel chuckled: “I am flattered that you think I am pretty enough to go there, but I am too short and someone has to oversee the operation together with the local police department.  We need someone pretty enough to get into the finals and experienced and tough enough to not panic if the chance araises to catch Abaddon or someone of their middlemen.”

 “The look on your face tells me that you already have someone in mind, don’t you?”

 “Chuck, Chuck, Chuck…of course I already have someone in mind. Broad shoulders,hipbones to slice meat, nice tanned skin, stubble and morning hair like a someone after a good morning fuck…deep voice, baby-blue eyes…”

To underline his description he set up a silly face with a overdramatic pouting mouth and he began to wink like a hustler, trying to charm a patron to have sex with him for 500 Dollars straight.

 “Novak? Are you serious? I give you that: he is a great agent with an crazy amount of field experience, but can you imagine him in a beauty contest? Because I can’t.  He’d have to speak to actual people. In a charming way. I try to imagine that…but I’m afraid that even my fantasy as an hobby-writer does not reach that far.”

“Of course I thought of that. What do you think I am? An amateur? He has to get a trainer to show him how to act at such an event. How to speak, what to talk about, how to move.”

 Chuck still wasn’t able to imagine social awkward as fuck Agent Castiel Novak in between a bunch of mostly gay and more likely than not cheerful people. He could not remember to ever have seen him actually smile!

For once Charlie as well was out of fantasy for that. And she had an additional concern to bring up: “I hate to break it to you, but I agree to what Chuck said: Novak is a great agent, really, but I don’t think he brings the qualities that are required for this sort of job. And I don’t think he is gay either. Hell, I don’t know if he has sexual interest in anything at all. I’ve never heard him talking about a girl- or boyfriend or a date or anything like that.”

 Gabriel continued licking his Lollipop.

“His actual sexual orientation is completely irrelevant to the job. He does not have to have sex with anybody, or flirt. He can act like a total asshole, for all it’s worth. He does not need to make friends there either. But we have at least to speak to the organizers of the event to give him a place and to guarantee that he will make it into the finals, when necessary.”

 Chuck was about to cry: “But NOVAK…!”

 “Quit whining, will you already? He is the best man for the job! Do you want to go yourself? I thought so! By the way: you are to old anyways. And who else is there you can trust and who looks good enough to be a authentic candidate? Hm? Zachariah? Garth? Novak is the only one with the looks and the brains to do this. And he is, despite his bad temper, a professional. If this will help to save people from being killed, he will do it.”

 “You sure about that?”

 “Of course, I am.”

 “Then it will be your honor to tell him about his newest mission. I’m sure he will be delighted.”

 Being the leader of an operation had it’s perks, Chuck thought happily. At least he could order other people to do the dirty work. Although this way he would miss the undoubted hilarious face expression of Novak, when Sweets would tell him about the new case and his role in it.

 


 

“No.”

 

Of course.

Of course this had to be difficult.

Because when ever was something easy for him?

His plan was flawless. He had thought of everything except one: Novak’s temper. And his stubbornness. And everything that was his personality in general.

 “Cas….Castiel…friend: you’re the only chance we have to catch that murderer. Why would you say no to an undercover job? Huh?  It is a great chance to catch a big bad guy. You like catching bad guys!”

 Novak glanced at him with dangerous eyes: “If it is such a great opportunity, why don’t you do it?”

 He hated to explain it again, but nonetheless did it: “Because….my dear colleague, I am big in character, but not in high. And because you’ll need me and Charlie with operation overseeing and technique in the field and to be in contact with the local police station.”

 “There are other agents qualified for an undercover-operation. Why don’t you ask one of them?”

 “You know damn well whey, Novak! You have the ass and the face to do it! There is nobody with the body to go there and be presented as believable candidate. I hate to break it to you: but you are the chosen one.”

 Gabriel was no expert in bomb-disarming, but he realized one that was about to explode. And Novak was only seconds away to totally snap. Gabe had no idea why the agent made such a fuss about this. It was a normal job.

It couldn’t be that Novak was prude…or worse, a bigoted asshole about the event, was he? Gabriel had to know because, that actually could become a problem at some point.

 “Are you homophobe or something? Is that the reason why you want to refuse to do your damn job?” Gabriel’s voice had gotten an angry note. He could to tolerate a lot of shit. Everyone should live his life after their own gusto, but intolerance was something he didn’t like at all. So far he hadn’t expected Novak to be an asshole. A grumpy antisocial, maybe. A grim hermit, of fucking course. But bigoted? Not really.

 Novak at least had the decency to appear abashed by the thought. He looked at Gabriel with is eyebrows lifted:  “ I am not a homophobic person, Agent Sweets. I simply feel uncomfortable to place myself between contestants of a beauty challenge that is all about physical appearance and standards of an industry I have not the slightest clue about.  How can you expect me to act credible under said circumstances?”

 Novak had a point. The only valid one. But he was the only card in their deck, to play against Abaddon. Gabriel knew the order for Novak to go on that mission was already in the making, so it was not that he really had the chance to refuse, but he would be useless if he did it against his own will. He would not able to perform correctly. Gabriel knew that facing it was no option in this. He had to get Novak into the mission out of his own free will.

 “Listen, Novak, I know what you mean. It is superficial and stupid and it is maybe even a bit silly, but that are actual people out there and they’re in danger to be killed. I cannot fill out any more reports for body-parts I found on a crime scene this year. I simply can’t. We have to catch this asshole and show him what justice really means. And it is sure as hell not what they’re doing to people who life a life they don’t approve. Are you on board with me about that?”

 The lines in Novak’s face had gotten smoother while Gabriel had spoken. Gabe knew that Cas would not be able to disagree with him on that.

 “Of course. It’s just…”

 “Cas. Really. I have thought about this. I went through our personal date files up and down the last hour. I really tried to find several people fitting all the criteria we need for this job. But there are none. You’re the only one who will not raise suspicion. Abaddon must know that we will have an eye on this event and that we’ll talk to the people there. They will wait for that. But besides that…we need someone inside to really have a look into all this. Find the person who will carry the punishment inside. It is a television and internet phenomenon.  Lot of people will watch this on TV and online. It is the perfect opportunity for Abaddon to give a real big show of what he wants to tell people. We cannot let him have that.”

 Castiel had gone quiet and had begun to fidget with his fingers on his desk. Gabriel could see that he had caught him. He knew he would. Castiel Novak was in this job because he wanted to help people. Because he WAS the job with every fiber of his very being.  He identified with it like nobody else Gabriel knew. He would give his best, of that Gabriel was sure.

 “Say I would accept the job…how am I supposed to prepare? Watching beauty-contest videos and hope for the best?”

 “Actually no. I thought that you might be in need of some assistance. Even the professionals have trainers to prepare and attend them during the contest. “

 Saying that earned Gabriel a more than skeptical look from Castiel.

“There are actually trainers for this sort of thing?”

 Oh dear. This would be long four weeks. Gabriel was not sure is patience would suffice for this sort of task.

 “There are and I already  found you someone who will fit perfectly. He was winner is some majorly important contests but for unknown reasons stopped doing them. But my research showed, that he was a pro at this “sort of thing” and he should be the perfect man for the job.”

 “Don’t say you already contacted him..!”

 “And of course, because we only have four weeks to make a queen out of you, I already contacted him.”

 Castiel looked like he wanted to facepalm himself like some cartoon character but simply refused to show how utterly unhappy he was with all of this.

On Novaks Computer screen appeared a little eMail symbol. He raised his eyebrows and read the origin. It was an order from the headquarter with his assignment to the investigation team of Agent Sherley.

“I did not really have a choice in this,” Castiel asked sourly when he looked back at Gabriel.

 “Not really. But I am happy you made the right choice anyway, “Gabriel grinned.

 “I wish I could be so enthusiastic about this like you. If that ends in a disaster I will come for you and you will hear my “I told you so”.”

 “But you’ll try your best?”

Castiel stood up and stared the other agent in the eye. That was something Novak was famous for. His stare. Rumor had it, that he could stare a whole in a wall if he set his mind to it. Gabriel had not doubt that this was absolutely true. He never wished to be at the wrong end of this stare when Novak actually was angry. Or had any other strong emotion.

A lesser man could melt under that.

 With that deep, serious voice of his he told Gabriel: “Of course I will do my best. I always give all I have on the mission. You know that.”

Gabriel lowered his hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“I know. And because of that, beside of your face and, let’s face it, impudently attractive shaped body, you’re the best man for this. If anybody can impress them and make them open up because they think you’re one of them, it is you. Besides: convincing them that you’re a diva should be easy for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Chapter Text

                                                                 

 


 

“Sam, I’m heading out! Want me to bring something when I get back?”

From the bathroom came a muffled answer: “No. Thanks! See ya in the evening.”

“Don’t you have a Date with Jessica today?”

The man addressed as Sam poked his head out of the bathroom door, shock written on his face: “Oh shit, thanks Dean. I’d totally forgot ‘bout that. She’d have killed me.”

Dean laughed a deep, rumbling laughter and shook his head: “One day you’ll forget ya head somewhere, Sammy. Will you stay the night?”

 Sam grinned: “I hope so. We’ll see each other tomorrow then.”

 “Nobody mocking me while doing my Dr. Sexy Marathon later? How will I survive?”

“Bitch!”

“Jerk!”

 Both brothers laughed and Dean headed out the door after grabbing his keys. He went down the stairs and rounded the corner of the mulit-store-house in which he and his brother were living. When he arrived at the parking lot, he smiled happily: “Missed me, Baby? Yeah, missed you too!”

After all these years his eyes were still glowing when he saw her classic black, chassis. Her elegant form. The soul that lived within her.

He felt all the hours he and his dad had put in keeping her in the top condition she was in. All the hours on the road. He and Dad and Sammy.

He opened the door to black, 67 Chevy Impala and turned on the music. With classic rock as his morning soundtrack he started  his drive to work.

 He loved the drive, even if it was only 20 minutes long, but every minute alone in his car, the motor purring, his seat shivering under the trembling of the machine, rock playing out of baby’s boxes, he felt content. It was peaceful and he could not imagine any place he’d rather be.

 When he arrived at his hospital’s place, he was in a bright mood. The little private practice for physical therapy was located at the outer area of Laurence. It was a good place to work at.

When he walked in he was greeted by Lisa, one of his co-workers and also physical-therapist, like himself.

“Mrs. Wood is already in room 3. She can’t wait for you to bend her in all the right ways,”

Lisa teased him.

Mrs. Wood was a nice old lady with a new knee and in therapy after surgery for over 6 weeks now. Dean already had had several appointments with her. She was a nice old lady but also a bit handsy sometimes . He didn’t mind as long as her greedy long fingers stayed away from some of his more private parts. Most of the time he just reprimanded her in the most charming way he was able to manage and she stopped. He hadn’t told his bosses about her inappropriate behavior.

Most of the time she was just a sweet old widow missing her husband. And sometimes she was a whee bid strange in her mind. But at her age, in Dean’s opinion, it was pretty normal to be at least a bit special.

If she ever would overstep a boundary he felt uncomfortable with, he would call her out on it and would try to schedule her appointments to another therapist.

But he honestly doubted this would become necessary. He had seen worse in his life.

 Much worse.

He tried to stop thinking back to that. His day had started so wonderfully and he was not willing to let old nightmares change that. He had worked so hard to forget about all this.

 This day Mrs. Wood stayed well behaved and there were no problems. Dean’s mood got better again and finally he had some minutes to check his emails.

What he did not expect was an email with the header of the FBI on it. His first impulse was to delete it because it sure as hell was more likely some sort of spam than an actual email from the actual FBI.

But the subject caught his eye and he hesitated long enough to wonder if he really could risk it to delete a mail that could in fact be sent by someone from the Federal bureau of investigation.

If this was a virus of some sort he would be royally pissed because of this.

He clicked on the mail and for a second couldn’t believe what he was reading there. This was not a scam. But they could not be serious as well.

The letter was signed by some Agent G.Sweets and a phone number and the request to call him in his office as soon as possible were also added at the end of the letter. He still had 10 more minutes until his next patient. He might as well find out if this was a bad joke or a real thing. Because if it was…he had no idea what to think of this.

 

He dialed the number and waited for someone to answer his call. When he was close to stop the call a voice could be heard: “Hello, this is the phone of Agent Sweets.”

 “Uhm…Hello. Dean Winchester here. I read your email just a minute ago and well…”

“Mr.Winchester! Wonderful that you managed to call me so instantly! Time is a heavy factor in all of this. The contest is in four weeks and there is so much to organize and I have to brief you and…”

“Moment…stop! Agent Sweets…you’re serious about this? You want me to train one of your agents to become a beauty-competition contestant? This is for real? Excuse my skeptical question about this, but this sounds sort of…more of thing right out of some stupid movie, ya know?”

 A sigh at the other end of the call could be heard before Agent Sweets started to speak again: “ I have to admit this request is rather unusual for someone like you, but believe me when I say: this is not even the strangest thing I had to do in my career. We really need the help of an insider in this but someone with a good reputation. And someone who is not in this contest and not involved in another actively and someone who is not already in training with somebody else. Which lead me to you.  Your reputation in this is quite impressive. And  in all of things I read about you I also learned that you might have the attitude we need in this case.”

 “Which is?”

“Well…the agent that will go undercover is not exactly the …how can I say it…social type. He is a top agent and he has every physical aspect needed in this sort of thing, but he lacks a certain esprit in behavior and charme, if you know what I mean. And he is a very, let’s say, strong personality that needs a strong character to handle him in this sort of thing.”

 “That bad, huh?”

 “Oh, you have no idea. You will see it for yourself.  But besides his personality that can be quite difficult sometimes, he is first and foremost a professional in what he’s doing. He will do everything possible to get the job done. And if that means going on stage and dance while wearing a bikini, then he will do that too.”

 Dean snorted. What did these people think male beauty contests looked like?

 “I doubt that he has to wear a bikini, Agent Sweets.”

 “Don’t be so sure about that, son.”

 What?

 “What sort of competition is that again, we’re talking about?” he asked warily.

 “Oh, we didn’t. I can’t tell you the details yet. Not before you’ve been completely backround-checked and after you signed the contract with us. But even without that contract…you know that you cannot talk about anything I told you so far, don’t you? This is highly confidential stuff we’re in here and I cannot stress enough that lives can depend on the fact that it stays that way. Do you understand that?”

 Dean did not understand how the training of an agent of the FBI could possibly safe lives but he didn’t tell agent Sweets that.

 “And don’t worry about your actual job. We will take care that you will still have it after all this. And we will talk about your payment when you arrive at our bureau and meet the agent in question. You will find it sufficient for your time and effort, I can promise you that much.”

 “I didn’t agree yet, Agent Sweets.”

“Oh c’mon! You wanna tell me that you’re not at least a little bit curious about this? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to be part of something special. You don’t understand that just now, but you might be involved in something changing the world for the better.  Saving people, hunting the monsters out there. “

 Dean would never tell the agent, but he actually was very much tempted to jump out of his nice, but normal life to do something new. Even if it only was for a while. Something like the road-trips his father used to bring Sam and himself along with. And with that in mind he just tried to imagine himself a few years later. Would he regret to have said no? The more he thought about it, the more he could admit that in fact he would.

 “OK. I will agree to the meeting and decide then. I have to give it to you, that you made me rather curious about this.”

“Perfect. I’ll send you tickets and schedule for our meeting. You send me contact data of your actual employer and I will do the rest.  You have any family to be looked after?”

“No, besides my job there are no current responsibilities to look after. “

“Great. I see you in a few days. Have a nice day, Mister Winchester!”

“Have a nice day.”

 Slightly perplex Dean lay the phone aside. Did he just sign in as trainer in a obviously secret FBI Mission? He could not wait to tell Sam about that.

Wait…he couldn’t tell Sam about that! 

One time in his life something extraordinary was happening, and he couldn’t even tease his brother with it?

If that was not unfair, he did not know what was.

 At the end of his working day he received the email with date and daytime of the appointment and with tickets booked on his name already. Also a list with things that he might need and how long his stay would approximately be. The mail said it would be about five weeks.

 

Although the agent had told him, that they’d arrange everything according to his job, he decided that it would be for the best, if he would tell the company about his planed absence himself first. It was a pity when they would receive the eMail from the FBI with a confirmation about all this.

He could vividly imagine their perplexed faces and gaping mouths.

 


 A few days later…

 

 

An Agent will pick you up at the airport and bring you to the bureau immediately, “Agent Sweets had said.

And so it was, that Dean Winchester was currently standing in the waiting area in front of the airport and waiting for a big, black car with dark windows to bring him to  some secret FBI headquater.

Or so he thought.

 In fact there was a rather unusual car coming to a halt right in front of him. A yellow beetle with a dancing flower on the dashboard and a wide grinning red haired women sitting behind the wheel.

She wind down the shotgun window and smiled at Dean happily.

At first he thought that she mistook him for someone else.

 “Can I help you, Miss,” he asked the woman politely while leaning forward to look at her through the window.  Her smile only grew wider: “ If you are in fact Mister Dean Winchester, you could throw your case in the trunk and take a seat.”

“You wanna tell me that…you…this is an FBI car?”

 She outright laughed at him but not in a malice way. He found it rather endearing that her front teeth began to show while doing that.  She really was a sweet thing.

“No, dummy. This is my car. But I had to get something for lunch anyway and we thought, why not catch two flies with one beetle.”

He smirked.

“I’m pretty sure this is not how this saying goes. But sure. This already is some crazy adventure. Why not start it properly with driving to the FBI in a yellow Beetle?”

“For this particular mission I find it rather fitting, “ Dean heard her saying, while he put his things in the little trunk of the beetle.

When he sat down beside the woman she outstretched her hand to him in greeting: “ My name is agent Charlie Bradburry.”

He took her hand and smiled at her: “ Not-Agent Dean Winchestr. It’s a pleasure to meet you”

 She started the car and they began their journey through the city.  Once in a while Dean turned his head to look at Agent Bradbury. If he thought he was being subtle about it, he was wrong.

 “What,” the Agent asked him with an amused tone in her voice.

“It’s just…I hope that doesn’t sound impudently, but you’re not exactly what I was visualizing when I thought of an FBI Agent.”

 She chuckled. Dean was relieved to see, that he hadn’t overstepped. Perhaps she just was a very chill person. Her car surely told such a story with all the sweet and geeky stuff sticking on every surface.

“I hear that often. But most people have a completely absurd imagination of what we do, how we do it and how the people look like, doing it. But I don’t blame you for that. I was the same when I started my training. I blame TV shows for that, actually. You really would be rather surprised about the mixture of people in our agency. Especially the profiling units like us. We rarely need the muscles in our arms, rather those in our brains.”

“So you’re like the “Criminal Minds” Guys?”

A sound between a laugh and a giggle came from Charlie and she nodded: “You could say that. And I’m Penelope.”

Dean grinned at that because she was radiating that energy in waves.

“And the rest of the team?”

“Oh…Agent Sweets would be closest to Jason I think, but he is a phenomenon you cannot really compare to someone else. Agent Sherley….hmmm…let me think…maybe something between Hotch and Rossi.”

“And who of them is the lucky one I will get to work with?”

“Oh…I didn’t mention him yet. He just had been assigned to our team a week ago. His name is Agent Novak.”

“And what character would describe him the best?”

Charlie frowned and chewed on her lip.

“That is difficult. I don’t know him very well. Maybe a symbiosis between Spencer and Spock.”

“Spock as in Star Trek?”

Her smile grew again and she beamed at him: “I already like you. If you are familiar with the wonder that is Star Trek, I can better describe him to you then: He would be Bones. Totally Bones. Grumpiness of Bones with the humor of Spock. I think that’d be a rather accurate description of him.”

 “Sounds like fun,” Dean lied.

 Sounded like damn hard five weeks lay in front of him.

 


 The bureau complex was not as impressive as Dean had anticipated. And the people going in and coming out weren’t either.  Dean had no idea why he had expected to enter some sort of MIB-headquarter. From his experiences with Dr. Sexy in comparison to real hospitals he should have known, how inaccurate TV shows were in their portrayal of such facilities.

 The elevator brought them to the third floor, after he had received a visitor’s card at the entrance. At least this was true. Charlie had told him to wear it in a way that everybody could see that he was not an intruder, but a guest with permission to be here. Dean had no urge to find out what would happen if he’d act otherwise.

A lot of people had weapons visibly at their belts and looked up from their desks at him grimly. He didn’t want to find out if profilers were good shots as well.

 Charlie led him to a conference-room with glass-walls and Dean could see that other agents were already waiting inside. He had no idea why he began to get nervous all of a sudden, but his hands had begun to get clammy and they trembled, just a little, too. He willed himself to appear calm and confident, by straightening his back and dipping up his chin a bit.

Charlie leant over and whispered encouraging: “No worries. This will be a milk run. They’re cool.”

Then she winked at him and opened the door.

 A man a little bit smaller than the rest of the mates, with sand-brown hair and a mischievous grin sitting on his lips strode closer. And was that a fucking Lollipop in his mouth? Dean tried not to stare at the white little stick that was moving in the face of the grinning agent.

The agent held out his hand and Dean took it, still not saying a word. Still focused on the moving Lolli.

“I’m Agent Gabriel Sweets. Great to have you here, Mr. Winchester. You already met Agent Charlie Bradburry. The nice gent over there is the head of our operation, Agent Chuck Sherley. This is Agent Rufus Turner and the handsome fella over there is your charge: Agent Castiel Novak.”

 Dean had followed the hands of Agent Sweets pointing for every Person and he had nodded in greeting to everybody. He stopped dead in his tracks the moment Agent Novak came in sight. So far Dean had been too nervous to really look at the people in the room, despite the fact that everybody was looking at him.

Now he was happy about the fact, that he hadn’t taken notice of Novak the moment he had entered the room. Because, damn was that guy hot. Dean all of a sudden could understand why they had chosen him for a beauty contest.

 The hard and sharp lines of his stern face were sexy as hell in combination with a two days’ worth of stubble going on in it. His steal blue eyes currently pierced right through Dean’s skull, sending a shiver down his spine. The dark brown hair was wildly arranged and from what Dean could see of his body , said one was shaped athletic and muscular. His shoulders were broad and manly, his hipbones sharp. Thighs thick and well-formed as well. Even his slacks were not able to hide that.

Someone beside him cleared his throat audibly and startled him out of his thoughts. Just now he saw the questioning and frowning expression on Novak’s face.

 Just peachy! He had already made a terrible first impression. Staring at the guy like a horny teenager. But he had an excuse for his focused attention, he lied to himself. Suddenly he thought it to be a good idea to let the rest of the room know as well, that he was not some creep staring at people!

 “I see how working with Agent Novak might be the best choice. He quite has some features in his visual nature that could convince a jury. I’m able to work with that.”

 Phew. Great!

 Now he just seemed like a dick, not like a creep. Judging that man like a damn price horse at an auction.

Really smooth, Winchester!

 Sweets seemed to be very pleased with himself and didn’t dignify Novak’s sour face expression with any comment. Instead he turned around to look at Agent Sherley with a delighted grin on his face: “See! I told you so! He’s perfect! A diamond in the rough, so to speak.”

And back at Dean he asked: “So if I told you, you  have three weeks to make a beauty prince out of him, swaying hips, slaying charm and all: you think you could do it?”

 Dean sighed and looked at Novak again. If anything, his expression had soured even more.

Bones indeed.

“Well. It isn’t that simple. Every contest has a different focus. For to say for sure if I can do it, I have to know which contest we’re talking about. “

Sherley took a step forward and clicked something on the laptop that was standing in front of him. Behind him a big commercial appeared and Dean’s chin was in danger to hit the ground.

Sherley watched him warily, Sweets’ grin was now covering his whole face and Novak looked as if he wished to be somewhere else entirely, preferably dead.

 “Are you serious? The “Mister Pride” Contest in Lawrence?”

“Yep, “ Agent Sweets chirped happily.

“A contest for gay men?”

“And bisexual men, “ Gabriel added very seriously. “Is that a problem?”

Dean had no idea if that was a problem. He had never attended such a special contest.

 “Well, I’ve never really been to such a contest. I don’t think it is so different from the expectations the audience and the judges have for the contestants. But there is a certain vibe to these sorts of special contests for a special audience one has to count into the effort.”

 Sweets licked his Lollipop thoughtfully and wanted to know exactly what Dean was referring to.

 “I mean, “Dean tried,” The general beauty standards are mostly the same, but the taste might differ. When men go into contests not specially made for a male audience, it is mostly a thing that the common female taste in the main audience sets the standards the contestants have to perform. But the ideas of what is “beautiful” in the average gay audience might differ to that. But I don’t know for sure. Do you have material from older contests for the Mister Pride competition?”

 As if he had awaited that question, Chuck reached for a data-stick and gave it to Dean.

“We have in fact collected all we could find about this contest online and on TV. You can watch the material in your hotel before we meet again tomorrow. You might find it helpful.

 “Just tell me I don’t have to dress up as drag or something like that,” a dark voice rumbled behind Dean, while he was looking at Sherley. The sound and its vibrations made a detour over Dean’s crotch before reaching his brain and circuit there. Dean very slowly turned around to look at Novak again. He tried to keep his expression neutral and his thoughts modest.

Because: if he ever, in his life, had listened to a voice that could be described as “Sex-voice”, it would be the tone Agent Novak was producing with that speaking organ of his.

How was Dean supposed to survive working with that man?

 He knew what the work they were asking him to do, would require from him. He could not be shy around Novak. He would have to talk about his body with him, help him shape it…and, may God have mercy, even touch it! How as he supposed to not hump him at some desperate point because, let’s be honest, it’d been a while since the last time he let some steam out with another body joined at the great parts.

This would be his death.

Why would he do this to himself?

 “This is not a Drag-Queen Contest, Agent Novak. You should not be prejudicing a contest such as this. It is a normal beauty-challenge. The only difference is, that the aimed audience is mostly male and mostly gay and that their tastes matter this time. And contests like this also have often a political element in them. They promote homosexual pride and tolerance and want to open the minds of people to the LGTBQ+ Community. Because the world always is watching this sort of stuff. Not only the friendly and open minded people.”

 While speaking the faces of the Agents had turned very serious again. Dean wondered if he had said something wrong. Agent Sherley showed him, that he had not.

“When speaking of close-minded people: I think we should finally tell you what you’ll get yourself into with this. Why this is important. Have you ever heard of the Abaddon-Terrorist?”

 Dean was not watching much TV besides crappy shows, but everyone had heard of this lunatic. People had died.

Wait…

 „You’re the team that is chasing after the Abaddon-Terrorist?“

Everyone in the room nodded and Sherley continued with his introduction of the case.

“We’re profiling him as good as possible and last week he sent a new blackmail-letter. He threatened the contestants of the “Mister Pride”-Competition. In his opinion acting after gay urges is a sin and sodomy and therefore against Gods Will and therefore to be punished with death.”

 Dean let out a long breath and set down on a chair. His arms felt slack.

A terrorist.

He would be helping catching a terrorist. A killer. Possibly helping to rescue innocent people.

But wouldn’t it be dangerous to attend the contest?

 “Why do you allow the contest to take place, if Abaddon threatened it? Isn’t that too dangerous? What if somebody gets hurt, or killed? Can you take the responsibility for that?”

 Sherley and Sweets changed a knowing and sad look. Then Sweets answered him: “ We already spoke with the organizers of the contest. And it is not that Abaddon was subtle about the blackmail in the world wide web. He wants the people to know about this. He wants the world to watch. So…everybody there knows that there’s danger, but they all outride refused to cancel the thing. And in my opinion they made a valid point: They said, that they don’t want to bow before a terrorist, because then he already had won. And they’re right. If we stop acting like we think is right because of someone like Abaddon…what is next? We have to stop this killer and we have to make sure, that the people can visit and attend such contests or parades without the fear of being killed for who they are, or who they make love with.”

 “And that’s why you agreed to go there, despite the fact that you don’t seem to be a fan of this competition, “ Dean asked, looking at Agent Novak, who nodded.

“That is why I’m going to follow everything you have to teach me, so that I can go there and help finding this monster, or at least a lead to him, and stop this.”

 With a firm look and confidence that came out of his heart Dean stated: “Count me in! Let’s catch this motherfucker and show the world, that this is a free country where people can be proud and show it!”

Chapter Text

 


 

After some more briefing for the case in general and signing tons of papers that probably transferred his soul to the FBI, Dean felt kinda mentally tired.

The flight had not been that long and he had slept well, but this whole thing was heavy stuff and it slowly began to sink in what he had himself gotten into.

 

The agents began to leave the conference room and everybody gave him a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.

Then it was just him and Agent Novak.

The dark haired agent watched some mysterious spot on the table in front of him very thoroughly. Once and a while he poked at it with his index finger.

 Someone had to break the awkward silence, Dean thought to himself. The agent seemed a bit lost as to how to start an private conversation. And talking they had to do, because  what was lying in front of them was a difficult task and it was very possible that lives depended on how good they were able to work together.

How convincing Agent Novak’s performance at the contest would be.

 

Perhaps the agent was really out of his element here. And that made Dean the professional in this case, he mused. And as the person with more experience it would be his duty to start building up a relationship with the man.

He had not forgotten about the warnings from the rest of the team about the special character of Agent Novak. He was pretty certain, that the grumpy looking man was not a bad person, but he was sure as hell the opposite of who normally would take part in such a thing as a beauty contest.

Not because he was not attractive. Because….he was a hot piece of art,…but he didn’t strike Dean for the kinda guy who liked the public attention or to present himself in front of others. And that was something they would have to work on.

Because that was the point of all this.

It was ok to be special and even a bit weird. That made a contestant recognizable. Something poking out of the mass and appearing interesting. But he would have to go out of his shell and present himself confidently.

One may say: With Pride.

And wasn’t that quite fitting?

 

OK, Dean. You can do that!

 “So, Agent Nowak, what are your thoughts about this?”

Novak looked up at him irritated.

“I told you my thoughts,” he told Dean in this deep, sexy voice.

Some other skill they could use to catch the judges.

Dean rolled his eyes and took seat beside the agent, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah. That’s the official version. You’re ‘bout to fulfill your duty and all that. But what da ya think of the contest and how you will perform in it? For real?”

Novak watched him baffled and seemed to try to understand what this man before him was talking about. He told Dean as much.

 

“Look, we have to work on your charisma. And, I’m sorry if that sounds offensive, but like a lot. You radiate that sort of energy humans have, when they’d rather be elsewhere and not so much with people, ya know? And that’s a no-go in such a show. You have to enchant the audience and the judges. Otherwise someone will sooner or later get a wiff that something’s amiss. Ya know what I mean?”

“I really try to…”

 Novak didn’t appear like he really knew what the fuss was about. Dean had to try it from a different ankle:” What is your opinion on beauty contests in general? And of the people taking part in them? And I want an honest statement. What comes to your mind first?”

Novak set back and sighed. Then his blue eyes darted up to stare at Dean with a capturing intention.

“It’s dumb and superficial. No offense.”

 Dean was not surprised. Not really. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that. It still stung a little.

 “Good, “he tried to sound not bothered at all, “It’s important that you’re honest with me. So that I know where to start. I’ve another question for you: do I give you the impression of being dumb or superficial?”

Novak apparently was taken by surprise by this particular question. He watched Dean, who didn’t move. Still smiling.And Dean knew that his smile was something else. Because he had worked on his charme already.

But it didn’t havethe visible effect on the agent, like it had on other people. Which irked Dean to a certain degree, though he didn’t know why.

“Well, “ Novak began cautiously,” I only know what we have in your file, so I cannot say for sure. But from what I’ve seen and heard: no. I wouldn’t say that you fit these descriptions.”

“But you would tell me if it was otherwise?”

“No. That’d be highly unprofessional besides that, it’d be impolite and rude.“

Dean tried to figure out what to make out of this. Was Novak being honest with him, or not?

“Why do you think so badly of people who do that sort of stuff?”

Dean really was curious.

“Look. I have a sister and she was totally into this “sort of stuff,” the guy honest to god had signed the quotation marks with his hands,” and what I got from that was: It is only about appearance. And even that what God had given you is not good enough. They hide themselves under tons of makeup, push their breasts and style their hair to the state of factitiousness that is ridiculous. Also the “shows” are silly. They only show useless skills, ask dumb questions, and every single contestant tells the audience only what they think they want to hear. Everyone is so nice and shiny and wants only World Peace. And when you look them in the eyes you see the enviousness they have for each other. This is all dishonest and humanly disgusting to me.”

Partly Dean could understand the resentment. But he also knew that it was simply not all true. That there was more to it than that.

That there were good people with different reasons as to why they took part in these stuff.

Such as himself. But he didn’t want to talk about his reasons for going into the beauty-world with agent Novak.

Maybe later.

“You are offended now, aren’t you?” Novak stated matter of factly.

“Listen, we are both in this and I will not give you a hard time. I will do as you tell me, to do the job right. But you can’t change my mind about the silliness of Beauty Contests. The only thing I care about is the human lives that are in danger and how to prevent them from being harmed. And If I have to call myself a silly name like Gracy Lou Freebush and tell the people that I like long walks at the beach and dream of World peace, then be it.”

Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest.

“Gracy would be just a bit strange for a dude, wouldn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.” Novak told him with an annoyed tone in his voice.

 

They gave their goodbyes and Dean met Charlie, who brought him to the hotel he would stay the night in. The next day would be the beginning of the training for agent Novak.

This was going to be harder then he thought. He had to find something charming in that grumpy workaholic, something he could show the audience and win them over.

There had to be something.

Or not? 


“You’re kidding me, right?” Castiel grumbled. He glared at Gabriel with deathly blue orbs that were about to kill the agent sitting beside him in the car by only looking at him.

Gabriel lifted his hands in front of himself for defense, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

Castiel shoved the driver’s license and the passport, Gabriel had just given him, right into his self-righteous visage.

“Jimmy Lou Freebush? Are you freeking serious?”

“Calm down, Castiel! Your second name is James, isn’t it? So what is so bad about Jimmy? “

“You talked to Winchester before you did this, didn’t you?”

Gabriel’s grin grew only wider: “Sure. I asked him for recommendations for your alias and he had this great idea. He told me you’d actually suggested it yesterday, and I find it quite catchy.”

“This bastard…” Castiel mumbled.

“What was that?” Gabriel asked innocently.

„Nothing, Sir.“

„I figured as much.“

 

Damn Gabriel, and his mockery! And damn Dean fucking-pretty –face Winchester! Of course the two of them would already get along great enough to make Castiel’s life a living nightmare!

Now he’d have to live with this name for the next weeks and it was sure as the sun moving up the sky each day, that his coworkers would miss no opportunity to rile him up upon that for the next years.

He should have known better as to talk to Winchester so honestly. A mistake he would not repeat. Why had he done that anyway?

But he had to get a grip on himself. Because the job was the job and his feelings had nothing to do with it. He would endure it like everything else he had gone through so far.

And how bad could that first day of training really be?

He actually had no idea what was expected of him today. Gabriel had been somehow mysterious about that. But he would try to find out anyways.

 “So, AGENT Sweets, where are we headed? I’d really like to know what the agenda for today is. You don’t think I need some sort of preparation?”

“You will get preparation, Castiel. That, of all things, you can be sure of.”

“I’ve no idea what’s that supposed to mean!”

“You’ll see. You’ll see.”

Castiel hated the happy smile on agent Sweet’s face. Because if Gabriel was that high-spirited about something, it only could mean that Castiel would be not.

 

After a drive that gave him way too much time to think about what he’d have to endure today, they finally stopped in front of a shabby hangar, close to an old part of the airport.

Gabriel hadn’t told him to pack something. Would they already head to Lebanon?  Why didn’t Gabriel tell him?

But at the second thought Castiel doubted that there was a working plane in that hangar. And if so, he really hoped it was in better shape than the building itself.

 

Gabriel exited the car and signed Castiel to follow him.  And did the other agent just bounce between to steps, or was Castiel seeing things? He seemed to be getting happier and happier.

There was a dreadful feeling settling inside Castiel’s gut. No matter what awaited him behind those doors, he now was sure he would despise it with every fiber of his being.

Then they entered the hangar and…

He lost all memories of what he’d thought to find in there….because it wasn’ t THAT!

 

The hangar was full to the brim with people! Some men were chattering in one corner besides a barber-chair and some ladies in hospital uniforms were sorting out murderous looking tools on a well lighted table. Castiel saw tables with food, a television, something looking like a cabin and was that a portable shower over there?

And in the middle of all the shabang was Dean Winchester. Choreographing people and stuff and furniture to certain places like he had a plan of what was actually happening here.

 

Castiel stopped for a second to marvel at the guy that was about to form him into to some sort of people-magnet.

Dean Winchester was in all standards that Castiel was aware of, a very beautiful man. His face was smoothly shaped where it needed to be and yet it had a sharp and pleasant masculine looking chin-line. Two days worth of stubble gave him a friendly-rough and youthful look. Not that he was old, but Castiel had seen pictures of him in his early twenties and he truly had looked like a supermodel-boy. Face and skin rosy and smooth. Nearly female, plump lips…

Back then Dean had been without the strong and manly lines that now gave his appearance a certain wave of maturity in beauty. His lips where still full and rosy and his emerald eyes still had this sparkle in them, that, Castiel thought, was something people could easily fall for.

If he was honest with himself: Castiel liked the older Dean Winchester better.

But hell would freeze over before he ever would admit such a thing in public.

Or to himself.

 

He gave a long sigh and looked around in the big hangar.

In one part of the big space he could see some workers putting together a stairwell with a red carpet laying in front of. He really doubted that he wanted to know what he’d have to practice there.

And he also hoped that all these people would disappear before he had to do so. Thank you very much. The thought of all of them staring at him-in the worst case scenario only wearing some silly swim-trunks squeezing his buttocks…no! Just no! The thought alone of presenting himself like that made him nauseous.

But he would never admit that in front of Gabriel, or one of the other team-members. And not in front of Winchester in particular.

 

Dean had spotted him at the entrance and waved at him and Gabriel. Some last words and a friendly shoulder-clap on one of the people he was talking to, and he headed towards the two agents.

From here Castiel could watch his confident walking technique and the slight changes Dean seemed to imbed in it. He started with every step full of energy and vibrancy. Castiel was sure that Dean very well knew of his effect on people around him and he was able to utilize that to show that he was a trustworthy leader. But when he neared Gabriel and himself, the steps grew shorter, the energy level sank and smoothed out, just a bit. His whole appearance now radiated : no danger, friendly, no confrontation.

Castiel wondered if Dean really did this on purpose or if it was just happening. It really would be interesting to know that…and to see, if he could copy that.

That could not only be helpful in this case, but in others as well.

The changes were so subtle, that Castiel was not sure, if Gabriel had even realized them at all.

 “So, the sleeping beauty finally arrived, “ Dean stated cheerfully.  Castiel was not sure if he wanted to offend or just be funny.

“We had to go to the bureau first to get Castiel’s new papers. You will like this,” Gabriel told Winchester and handed him the papers Castiel had thrown at him no hour ago. Castiel crossed his arms in dismay and glared at Dean, who began to grin like an idiot, when he read the name.

“ I like Jimmy. What about you, agent Novak?”

“Why did you have to tell agent Sweets about this name I randomly threw out? Huh? You were perfectly aware of the fact that it sounded silly to me!”

Dean tried to imitate a hurt face expression but failed greatly.

“I…I had no idea,” but then he added, with a very serious glare, “This is your first lesson, agent Novak. You have to be part of something you despise and look down to. And you radiate this arrogance and everybody will be able to sense it. And to start your descent down to the depths of where we normal people live, I thought it would be fitting that you have a name to identify with us. And Lou Freebush was a name that came to your mind when thinking of people in the industry. It’s as simple as that.”

Dean turned around and started walking. Back in his confident self. He never seemed to doubt that the others would follow him.

“You got on thing right here. The industry, and the contests as well, they sell a fantasy. An ideal of something no normal person can achieve. You will not truly be yourself up there. You cannot be yourself. You have to become something different. Better. More ideal. A Fantasy. You got that?”

“Yes.” Castiel didn’t bother to hide that he felt grumpy.

Dean nodded, obviously pleased with the answer. He pointed with his finger to the barber-chair, which was standing in the middle of the hall.

“What you will sell the audience is a form of art. And for that form of art, we have to shape you a bit.”

“Shape me?“

Castiel didn’t like where this was going. What was wrong with his appearance? They didn’t want him to lose weight or something? He was proud to have very healthy eating routine and thought of himself as being in great physical shape, actually. Even if given the chance: he wouldn’t change a thing on himself.

Dean seemed to have picked on on Castiel’s thoughts and placed warm hand on his shoulder.

Castiel tried not to think about what his body’s reaction to that touch was.

Because: what the hell?

Because: he would not fall for this magic of Dean’s.

“Your body, as far as I’ve seen it, is in good enough form. We won’t have to do much there. Just a bit training to pronounce muscles before the actual contests in just the right places. That won’t be much of a problem. But there are some standards that you have to fit in that special contest. And I’m afraid you’ll not gonna like that.”

“Hit me,” Castiel growled, already not liking it, whatever it was.

“Hair.” Dean just told him and pointed to…well, all of him. From head to toe.

“You can’t be serious! It’s a contest for men. Men have…body hair! That is only natural. I am not a snake!”

“If you had some serious mojo going on, like Tom Selleck level mojo, maybe we could sell that, but with just the normal fuzz, it all has to go. And with it, I mean absolute everything but what grows on your head. Wait…that isn’t correct either. Keywords: nose, ears..and parts of your brows maybe. We’ll have to see about that.”

“You will NOT just freaking shave me like a sheep!”

Dean’s grin was now smug and there was no way it could get any bigger with amusement.

“You’re absolutely right, that I won’t. They will!” And with that he showed Castiel four workers, who were looking at him expectantly, albeit slightly nervous.

Castiel desperately searched for help in form of Gabriel: “Agent Sweets, may I have a word with you?”

“Is it about the body modifications, Castiel?”

“Sir, I…“

„So it’s about them. Well, you can spare your time. There is two options here, agent: you’re in for the job and do what is asked of you. Or you don’t and we’ve to find someone else, who will. It’s as simple as that. Dean told me that this is necessary for your cover. So you’ll have to do it.”

When Castiel wanted to start again, Gabriel just raised his finger warningly.

“This is not negotiable, agent Novak!”

All the air Castiel had collected to talk some sense into Gabriel slowly oozed out of his lungs with a deep sigh.

And the worst part was, that Gabriel was fucking right. This was for the job. He had to change his appearance before. Why should this be any different?

If only Winchester would not watch him with this sly expression in his eyes. He visibly enjoyed this and Castiel promised himself, that he would not give Dean the satisfaction to whine like a child over some little inconveniences. If they wanted to unhair him for some ridiculous reason, they shall have their fun! At least this would not be something permanent.

It would grow back after all this madness was finished!

“Fine! Then shave me all you want. Women do it all the time. How bad can that be? Perhaps I’ll even like it? Huh, Gabriel, what would you say if I came to work, slick as an eel from now on?”

Gabriel made a disgusted face to that.

“First: Don’t put the words slick and eel in one sentence that is not about sex, and second: I really, really doubt, that you’ll like the procedure.”

 

With a rumbled harumpf on his lips and dead serious determination in his eyes he took seat in the chair and looked at Gabriel and Dean defiantly. Then he lay back as if it was something he did every day.

“Sir, you have to change first,”a female voice cautiously told him.

Of course he had to change first. How were they supposed to shave his legs with his trousers still on? Stupid.

With all the dramatic effect destroyed he looked at the friendly lady behind him.

“Where can I change and how much do I have to take off?”

The woman looked at Dean helpless.

“Everything, agent Novak,” Dean told him nonchalant.

“You don’t expect me to sit here buck-naked, do you?”

“No. There are black shorts you can wear and also a bathrobe, so you don’t freeze yourself to death between the treatments.”

“There is more of this?”

Dean smiled at him with pity.

“I doubt that you will make this in one go. You’ll want to have breaks. Believe me!”

 

Castiel thought that Dean might be a major ass, but didn’t say anything. Instead he went to the cabin he had seen earlier and peeled himself out of his suit. The briefs, they’d given him, where, well, tight. And they really let nothing to imagination according to the shape of his…his everything.

He didn’t like it. Despite having technically clothes on, he felt utterly naked. The robe only helped that much because he knew he would have to take it off later.

When he came back and sat on the chair, agent Sweets had already left and only Dean had remained.

Dean watched the woman work behind Castiel and then looked back at the agent.

“Where do you want us to start? From bad to really bad or the other way around?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Shall we start were it hurts most or just somewhere not so sensible so you can get accustomed to it?”

“What the f…just start already, so we can get this over with,” Castiel demanded angrily.

“Let’s start with the legs.”

Before Castiel could say anything to that, the nice lady came around the chair, a piece of paper in her hand with a greenish substance on it. She stuck it to Castiel’s leg and pressed and rubbed it firmly to his skin. It was hot, but not unbearable. But that was not the most pressing problem here.

All the color drained out of Castiel’s face as she proceeded.

“Waxing? You want to depilate my body-hair with hot wax? Are you insane?”

“What? Can a badass agent of the FBI not stand the pain petite woman and some dumb men go through when loosing nasty body hair? You need a sedative or something?”

How dare he?!

“Why not just shave?” Castiel tried not to sound desperate.

“Because the hair will grow back too fast and it looks smoother this way. You have dark hair. We have to prevent a little hedgehog situation here.”

“Ready,” the woman asked.

“No? No, seriously…nononoooaaaaAAAAAh…!”

It hurt so bad, that this devilish woman might as well have torn his skin away along with the hair. And Winchester, this unnerving dipshit, just stand there and outright laughed his ass off!

“Now, was that so bad?”

Castiel tried to find his voice to answer this. He would deny it until his last day on earth but he actually screeched his next words, breathing hard, not giving a flying fuck who would hear him:

“Winchester! You assbutt!”

Chapter Text

                                                              

 


 

Castiel was dying. He was very sure of it.

Never in his life had he felt that sort of pain and simultaneously had felt so utterly humiliated.

Winchester had suggested he should take the ordeal of being unhaired by waxing in separate steps with some breaks in between. But of course Castiel had to play “big boy” and tell that pain in the ass that he wouldn’t need breaks like a little girl.

And when he realized he’d better kept his big mouth shut because…HELL HAD HE NEEDED A BREAK…it was too late. Had he given in his weakness he’d just given Dean the satisfaction of winning this round. And he would sure as hell not do that.

So he stayed as silent as possible while feeling like being skinned alive.

 The worst part was when the friendly woman began to get closer to his delicate parts and he had the slight feeling that waxing his inner thigh area would be one of the worst experiences in his entire life…right before getting shot.

And yes on a scale from one to ten he settled being shot in the leg on a 7, while waxing his inner, upper thigh area was a straight eleven.

Winchester not once said a word and gave away what his feelings were about all this. He didn’t laugh either. He just watched somewhat curious. Castiel really wished to know what he should make from this behavior. He had expected Winchester to at least make some fun of him for the water in his eyes, that he couldn’t stop collecting at some points.

 When the woman was done with the hair on the front side and the legs, she put some sticks with wax tips in his nose and forcefully pulled out every single hair in his nostrils. It stung like hell and Castiel felt some tears run down his cheek. He knew that it only was a bodily reaction to the sensation in the nose, but it nonetheless was humiliating to be displayed on this chair to people he didn’t really know and let them see him sort of cry.

He couldn’t really remember when the last time was, anybody had seen him cry. Not even in his childhood.

Especially not in his childhood.

His ears were not better off and when he finally felt like a lobster freshly cooked and served for dinner the woman watched him expectantly.

“What?” he asked her, oblivious to what she wanted him to do.

“Seriously…what? I’m naked like the day I was born. What else could you want from me, woman?”

He knew it was not fair to snap at her like this. She was only doing her job. Castiel heaved a sigh.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Please turn around, sir.”

“Around?”

Dean appeared in his sight and there was this mischievous grin again, that he had NOT missed the last hour.

“Scruff is ok on your upper cheeks, sweet-cheeks, but downstairs: not so much. I want that butt of yours to shine like a bowling-bowl until I can see my face in it.”

 Castiel was seconds away from throwing that asshole on this chair and beat the shit out of him. How dare he!

“You’re serious,” Castiel stated calmly but noticeable pissed. Dean nodded.

“Listen: I’m not making the rules. But that’s simply the standards we have to live up to. You managed to go through the worst already. This is a walk in the park and after that we all should take a break. I could use one.”

“From watching me suffer? Did that take that much out of you?”

Dean leaned forward and smiled at Castiel with this slightly sarcastic undertone in his expression.

“No, but trying not to laugh my ass off watching you trying to hide how much the last hour sucked and how badly you wished to run out of that door over there, surely did.”

 Castiel really wished that he had some snarky comment to that ready in his mind. But he hadn’t. He simply glared Dean in the green eyes and breathed in and out.

Giving away how much it irked him that Dean had perceived Castiel’s inner struggle would only profit Winchester. Instead the agent nodded to the woman and she pushed some buttons that made the chair go down with his backrest into a position that gave Castiel the possibility to lay down flat on his stomach.

Castiel contemplated for a second to only pull the fabric of the tight shorts between his ass-cheeks to give the woman access to the skin, but he knew how ridiculous that would look and he as well could start to loosen up on his prude behavior now.

When it only was to surprise Dean Winchester, it was enough of a reason.

One exhale later, Castiel shoved the shorts down his ass so that the buttocks were free to be treated.

He could have been wrong, but he might have heard a short gasp from Winchester. Maybe his imagination was running wild.

Surely that was not the first naked butt this man had seen. It itched Castiel to look at Dean but he didn’t want to give away, that he’d heard the sharp inhale and that he was curious about it.

So Castiel simply gave the woman a sign that he was ready and braced himself for the pain.

It wasn’t that bad. And even less on his back.

He knew he was one of the lucky guys with not so much back-hair to worry about.

After he was finished he pulled up his shorts before turning around and looked at Winchester.

Again he thought he might be mistaken, but Dean’s cheeks appeared a bit flushed, while it wasn’t really hot in the hangar.

Well. Interesting.

 

„You said something about a break? I could use a coffee right now.”

“No coffee.”

„Now you’re kidding, right?”

Dean sighed: “Actually not. Coffee stains teeth. You will get a whitener on later. Your teeth may look fine now, but on camera: I can tell one will see every little discoloration. We cannot erase what damage you did to them in the past years, but we can try to hide it and lighten them up at least two to three notches. But you have to stay away from brew or food that can stain them. Such as coffee and black tea for the time being.”

Castiel was not sure how he was going to survive the denial of coffee.

That was basically the only thing that made him running in the morning.

A friendly clap on the shoulders from Dean put him out of his thoughts.

“I know it sucks. Coffee was one of the things I really missed the most while I was still in the business. Today…I could not stand up and face the world without a good cup. So…I feel you in that. We have some other good stuff here. Some really freaking nice tea, you might like. Even some with caffeine in it.”

Castiel looked at Dean with a desperate expression.

“I begin to see that saying yes to this will really take me to my limits. No coffee…I tell you: if I look like a zombie tomorrow…it isn’t my fault.”

 

Winchester began to lead Castiel away from rack he had been tortured on and smiled one honest looking smile that made something with Castiel that the agent didn’t understand.

He was surprised about himself at this point. On the one hand he really wanted to dislike Winchester, because he enjoyed being on top in this phase of the project way too much, but at the other hand, he could not really sense any malice in the behavior of the other man.

Perhaps he was taking some of the things Dean said a bit too seriously. Perhaps Winchester only wanted to make this whole situation a bit lighter.

Perhaps Castiel should try to get on this from his perspective to make it easier for the both of them.

 When they reached the buffet-table Castiel grabbed for a donut and he really had forgotten that he didn’t have breakfast this morning, and…

Dean snatched the delicious pastry away from him and instead placed a green celery in the empty hand of a very baffled agent.

 “Uh-uh. We do not want your belly to blow up. You’re on diet now for until the contest is over.”

“I am not an unhealthy eater, Winchester! This is ONE donut. I think I deserve that after what you did to me.”

“Nip it in the bud, agent Novak. One donat now, cheese later. I’ll take no risks. You have to look so badass and stunning that the judges wish the show to be over to finally try to coax a date out of you. That is our goal. Nothing less. In for a penny, in for a pound, agent novak.”

But then again, perhaps Dean was just a dick.

 


 

Dean was beat. And today only had been beauty treatment-day.

He knew that he technically had been a bit of a jerk today. But he couldn’t help it. It had been too hilarious to watch agent Novak’s walls crumble and fall at the waxing process.

Dean knew well how that could hurt and though it had been something he’d gotten used to, he never had liked it.

After Novak had gotten out of the cabin, and had taken seat on the chair, only wearing these black, tight shorts, Dean had forgotten how to breathe for a second.

He personally hadn’t mind to let each and every hair on that art piece of a body in front of him. Now, that he’d seen the agent nearly naked, he was sure that they had true chances to get some serious great votes in certain parts of the contest.

He had assumed as much, when he’d seen the agent in the bureau, but he hadn’t taken Novak for someone in such good muscle-shape. He didn’t appear so well build in his suit, but gosh had he some Daddy-vibes going on! Broad shoulders, tan and smooth skin. A wide and well-shaped chest with enough dark hair to appear manly without looking like a nasty neanderthal. Sharp hipbones that stretched his skin delicately towards his groin. A dark happy trail that elegantly and promising vanished into the waistband of the shorts.

Thick and well trained thighs and calves.

 Dean had to watch his reactions before he might’ve started to drool all over the place. So he had kept quiet as long as possible to not give away how much he liked what he saw.

He’d been able to hold it together really well, he had to give himself that much credit, but then Novak had turned around and had, very unceremoniously, pulled his ass free and that had been it.

Dean hadn’t been able to hold a sharp intake of breath back, when the perfect, muscular and very attractive rear-area of this goddamn motherfucking grumpy agent of the fucking FBI had come to his attention. And hell did he want to smack that cheeks and watch them vibrate beneath his fingers!

He wasn’t sure if Novak had sensed something, though he thought he had seen him tense a bit. But surely he had seen that wrong.

He really hoped that Novak hadn’t picked up the vibes of a slight arousal that had screamed though the hangar then and there.
Lucky for Dean, that waxing someone’s backside was not exactly something erotic and he had been able to calm down a bit before he had to look Novak in the eyes again.

 And of course he had to ruin any upcoming positive mood by being his sassy self to pretend that he was cool as shit about this whole naked situation and that the appearance of the agent didn’t affect him in any way.

  

After a snack and some of this hippie tea he’d ordered to compensate for the lack of coffee the agent would’ve to endure, Dean had led Novak through some more beauty ordeals such us bleaching his teeth, pedicure and manicure, moisture-treatment and face-skin cleansing procedures and a proper haircut.

 

With a loud thud Dean let himself fall on the bed in his hotel room and he groaned loud into the mattress while remembering how the last thing he’d told Novak had been, that he had to shave his balls himself so that no peak-outs could happen during the swim-wear contest.

 What a way to make new friends.

After the infuriated stare the last suggestion had earned him he was sure, that he had managed that after only one day Novak hated him deep down to his guts. And he couldn’t even blame him for that.

 

The muffled noise of “eye of the tiger” pulled him out of his misery and he searched for his phone.

“Heya, Sammy.”

“Hey! How’re you doing?” his brother asked

“Ya know. It was a long day. I could use a beer or two and I’m happy to get some  z’s in a few…and maybe a shower.”

“Already met some hot nurses?”

What? Nurse? Oh right!

He’d told his brother that his clinic had sent him on a seminar last minute after the colleague who should’ve gone there, had fallen ill.  Dean hated lying to his brother, but he had a contract and he honest to god didn’t want to tell his Sam what he really was involved in. He would get crazy because he’d worry so much.

“No. Not really. Today was all work. We had some hairy situations going on, dude! This is so much new stuff. I never thought I’d have to pay that much attention. I took notes, Sammy! Me! Can you imagine that?”

Sam chuckled at the other end of the line. He knew how much Dean hated all this theoretical stuff. Dean had always been a man of handiwork.

He liked working with his body, with his hands…see an outcome right away. He wasn’t a researcher and not a scholar. Sam knew that this didn’t mean Dean was dumb by any means. He could do it, if he put his mind to it, but he simply didn’t like it.

“No way. You remembered how to write?”

“Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

The brothers laughed and the line got quite.

“Hey…Sam…could you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

Dean hesitated. He didn’t want his brother to suspect that something was wrong, but he really wanted to start the next day better than it had ended. He could do this.

Just be smooth, Winchester!

“You remember that vegan sandwich recipe you brought home once…the one I liked?”

“How could I possibly forget that one vegan dish you ever ate without being forced to with gun-power?”

“Could you send it to me?”

There was a pause again.

“You’re not dying, are you,” Sam asked suspiciously.

Not yet, Dean thought. Not until Novak would be able to get him alone in a dark corner tomorrow and skin him alive.

“No, Yerk, but there is one workshop about how healthy meals benefit the physical therapy. I’d like to prepare for that and not be the only idiot that has nothing to contribute and make a fool out of himself.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage that quite fine without showing that you only live from Burgers and beer, Dean.”

“Ha..ha…just send me the recipe and leave me be.”

Sam gave away with a last chuckle that this all amused him to no end and that of course he would send Dean what he needed, like the good little brother he was.

“Night Dean.”

“Night Sam. Say Jess G’night from me too.”

“What…?”

“Night Dean,” purred a female voice before Sam could say anything else.

Dean grinned but forgot to tell, how proud of his little brother he was for sneaking his girlfriend in the first moment he had the flat to himself.

 

After the call he felt a little lonely. He considered a visit at the hotel-bar but decided against it.

He would have to hit the sack early when he really wanted to make good on the promise to himself, to make a peace offer to agent Novak the next day.

Because that entailed to get up early and get a few things.

 

While he showered, a message from Sam had arrived with a picture of the recipe and a stinky finger emoji.

Very mature Sammy, Dean thought amused.

Tomorrow Dean would have to start on Castiel’s performance training. He really hoped the sandwich would do any good, because if Novak didn’t already despise him now, he would surely do so after the following day.

Because Dean had watched the other contestants and they were good. They all had some big gay energy going on. Most of them were performing great stuff and had great bodies as well.

He had to find something to bring them to their knees.

He had to bring all that Novak had to give into the best view. And he already had talked to Sweets about potential skills Novak could provide that he could use.

And he’d found something.

But he was entirely sure that Novak would not like the idea.

 


 

Castiel hated himself. Hated his job. Hated his boss.

And most of all he hated Dean fucking Winchester!

He’d made a beauty doll out of him! As if something was wrong with the way he looked! He damn well knew that he had to fit in, but not only had he been told, that his body was too hairy, his teeth were to yellow, and his stomach not flat and not muscular enough, he also had been given a new  color and haircut and the stylist had shortened the hair at his temples to a undercut that gave him some sort of boytoy appearance.

He’d liked the way his hair had been. It would take months to get it back to his original length.

It wasn’t that he looked particularly bad with the cut, but he didn’t like that it made him appear younger. Why would he want that?

He searched for the gray strands that normally peered out at his temples. Signs of his age and the years he had earned them for.

But they weren’t there anymore. Erased. The stylist had darkened his hair to a point where it nearly seemed to be black. To bring out the blue of his eyes even more, the man had said.

Maybe Castiel liked the dark color itself, but he didn’t like how it hid who he was in some way.

He had worked hard to be the person he was.

He had worked hard to be in peace with who he wanted to be and how he interacted with the world around him. He knew he could appear strange to other people sometimes. Especially people who didn’t know him very well, but that was ok. He had given up to pretend to be someone he wasn’t and maybe that was the main point why he despised this contest idea in general so much.

 

Castiel sighed. He would deal with all of this, because it was his job, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He knew that he would have to perform like the exact opposite was the case. He knew that this would be the hardest part.

Not the performance for the judges or searching for a potential serial killer. It was the time he would be alone with the other contestants behind the curtains and at the hotel. He would have to slip into the role of Jimmy like it was his own skin. And he had no clue how to do this.

For all they knew the killer could be one of the men who took part in the contest. Perhaps Abaddon had managed to infiltrate the contest in some other way.

At this point of the investigation they had no idea what was going on and where to look.

Right now all of the success for the operation might depend on how well Castiel was able to blend in and to talk to everyone on set.

 

He swore to himself, that whatever Winchester would throw at him the next day, he would do an excellent job and surprise this beauty king with what he was capable of.

Because he was a pro.

Because he could do this.

 


 

“I will not do this.”

 

Why had Dean thought this could be easy?

Why had he assumed he could convince Novak the nice way?

Why had he gotten up this morning at fuck o’clock to be nice to this bastard?

The answers were:

1.: Because of the “I want to believe” poster in his office.

2.: Because he thought Novak had gotten a grip on himself in the past night.

3.: Because he was an idiot.

 

“He told you about me doing Yoga and THAT is what you came up with?”

Fan-friggin-tastic.

 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

                                                                  

 


 

Castiel was seconds away from quitting this nonsense altogether. Had Winchester really thought that bribing him with a Vegan Sandwich, albeit a delicious one, would be enough to make him wear THAT? He had no idea if Gabriel had had a hand in this, though he could imagine, that the other agent was currently laughing his ass off in that nasty bureau of his.

What had caused Castiel’s severe reaction to the progress in this mission, was the outfit that lay outspread before him on the table. And of course what Winchester had told him to do with that.

There was no way that they would honest to God think he would to this! That he would even consider to do this.

On stage.

Where people could see him doing it.

And probably cameras filming it.

Not to speak of the agents in the audience with their recording devices.

He’d be the laugh of the agency forever!

 

“Agent Novak…Castiel…” Winchester started soothingly, but Castiel wasn’t having any of this.

“I said: NO! You might feel comfortable wearing stuff like that, bit I don’t! I cannot walk out like this, less do what you suggest I do!”

“Cas…” Dean tried again.

“Castiel! Agent Novak for you! No! Find something else. I don’t care if I have to juggle kittens or make music on glases or shit like that, but I will not dance. And that is final!”

Winchester took a very long, and deep breath. He seemed rather stressed about this. Castiel was not sure if it was because of his reaction or all of the mission.

Good! He could have a hard time too. Castiel was not stranger to gloating at the misery of people who made his life a living nightmare right now.

“Listen, Agent Novak, “Winchester tried a third time, pinching his nose, “ I know that this seems like a joke to you, but this sort of dance is difficult, and it rocks the audience and your fitness and experience and training with Yoga poses can actually help a lot to master a decent choreography and some movements that woo the judges out of their minds! I watched the performance skills of the others and I tried to find something no-one of the others has. And luckily I found out, that nobody of this year’s run has skill with pole-dance. This is a very lucky coincidence, I can tell you that much, ‘cause some of them come out of showbiz and dancing at the pole is sort of a basic skill.

Plus: not to harass ya or somethin like that, but you have a quite well trained ass. We should try to show off your assets the best we can, and that is one of them. Beside your eyes, but that is not something for the performance part in this contest, but more for the fotoshoot.

 

Castiel really wanted to snap at Dean for just talking about him like he was some meat-piece, but the comment about his eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. Dean hadn’t even looked at him, while complementing his eyes. And wasn’t that something quite strange to say to another guy anyways. Kinda schmoopy. Not that this was the first occation someone had told him he had nice eyes.

But to hear it out of Winchester’s mouth was…strange.

And Castiel couldn’t even tell why. Because the guy was only making a plan to win a beauty contest. Of course he would assess the situation and the contestant as best as he could.

But that didn’t mean that Castiel was any closer to saying “yes” to that pole-dance idea.

 

“Can I ask you something, agent?”

Castiel wished he wouldn’t but what could he do? He had to find a solution for this.

“Shoot,” he prompted grumpily, still staring the costume on the table down to a degree that made him sure it must begin to burn any second.

“What is your problem with this? Is it the dancing part or the costume? Would you feel better with another theme?”

Castiel harrumphed loudly. He couldn’t really tell if another costume would make it better.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mister Winchester, but this clothing lacks some fabric in areas that normally should provide at least some barrier between my skin and the eyes of others.”

With that he grabbed for the brown chaps on the table and waggled them in the air for Winchester to see. Not that the man needed to be reminded, that this sort-of-trousers allowed a way to generous look on his ass cheeks when wearing it. Because he had brought them.

For only a second Castiel had a fleeing thought if that perhaps was some of Dean’s old clothing from old contests. If Winchester had worn this in the past, his probably tight ass poking out above that leather for all to watch it.

He didn’t know how long he truly had zooned out thinking about that, but when he came to, he had stopped waggling and was staring at some distant, not existing point in the far corner of the room. Winchester was looking at him strangely and also a bit worried.

Pheww…obviously Winchester had interpreted his out-zooning completely wrong  and had taken it for some sign of a high grade of discomfort.

“If it is really that uncomfortable for you, we can perhaps find something else, but you have to take in count, that it has to be something you can show. That shows not only your body, but also your flexibility and your fitness. It should be something that shows you in attractive way…so…I think doing some polka on glasses would not do the trick. And I can assure you, that pole-dancing is not as bad as it’s reputation.”

“It is something whores do in bars, Winchester. I’m not a whore!”

Dean seemed taken aback from this. His face expression changed into something unsmiling and serious. His straightened his posture to his full high. Which was impressive given that he was slightly taller than Castiel and a bit broader too. Not much, but enough to feel intimidating to a lesser man, than Castiel, a well trained agent of the FBI.

“Do I look like a whore to you,” Dean growled.

“What?”

“You heard me! But I will repeat myself: Do I look like a whore to you?”

Ok. Now Winchester looked downright angry and Castiel was actually a little bit intimidated by the dark glow in his emerald eyes.

“I wasn’t…” Castiel started defensively. Whatever nerve he’d just hit, he hadn’t intended to do it.

“Yes you were! From the start you were so high above everything in this contest and the people taking part in those! You know nothing about the industry, yet you’re quick to judge the people working in it! Get back down to earth, angel, and do your job and start respecting me doing mine!  Perhaps you start by getting yourself comfortable with wearing this damn costume and learning how to swing your fine ass up that pole so that we can blend you into this contest? Huh? How ‘bout that? I learned to do it and I’m not a whore. And even if I was…that’s none of your business and you have no right to rank yourself higher in worth than people earning their mone,y for reasons you don’t know, as sex-workers in any shape or form!”

Dean had stepped towards Castiel and had started poking his finger against his chest. And not in a nice, gentle manor, but hard. Castiel could tell, that Dean had to hold back not to hit him straight in the face, when the look on his face was any indication of his feelings. Dean was breathing hard and his brows were pinched together, darkening his eyes even further with shadow.

Castiel made himself an internal memo to get Dean’s files sooner or later to take a closer look.

Perhaps there was a note in his vita, something in his past, that made him react to this so strong.

Castiel had been angry when Dean had shown him the costume and told him he’d have to pole-dance, but strangely some of his anger had miraculously vanished into thin air. As if Dean’s fit had sucked it up in some way.

Castiel had the strong urge to counter the aggressive atmosphere with the opposite energy. To soothe Dean.

“I’m sorry if I was being rude. That wasn’t my intention. Perhaps…perhaps we can talk about what you have in mind with that dance of yours…you show me and we talk about a possible costume alternative later? How about that?”

Dean deflated a bit. Thought one could tell, he wasn’t fully convinced Castiel would earnest to God try and finally go along with his idea, but he accepted the agents offer for truce.

“OK. I already set up some vid’s we can watch. “

They started to walk to the corner with Dean’s stuff on it, including his Laptop. While walking Dean sighed.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have yelled at you. That…that was uncalled for.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve insulted you in any way. I didn’t intent to.”

“I know.”

 


 

 

Castiel tried to deal with this like the professional he was. And while watching some Pole-dance performance videos as well as some teaching videos on youtube Dean had found helpful, Castiel tried to imagine himself doing this. But he couldn’t.  He had never been someone to present himself like this and from what he had already gathered, looking at the material, that was an essential part of this form of dance. Well…any form of dance actually.

One reason why Castiel never danced.

Dean leaned back in his chair and looked at him expectantly.

During their session Dean had tried to point out some poses and moves that he thought he could bring into a performance Castiel would be able to learn quickly enough to present it at the contest.

 

“As I said, the performance time is one to three minutes. The contestants are free to show what they have as long as it stays G-rated, y’know. So…showing of your body is definitely a yes: being inappropriate a no-no.”

“I don’t know if I could do half the poses I saw there, Dean. How am I supposed to learn this in such a short amount of time anyways? You say it usually needs months of training…”

Dean cut it: “For someone untrained: yes. But if you really have been training in Yoga and some martial arts already, the muscle areas we need to be build up are already formed and I think you might be able to hold the poses I have in mind. The performance I create for you will be nothing too complicated. You have to make up with body and charisma for that. First we should access your abilities for certain moves. When I see how you do, I can put the chorography together.”

“Ok. That sounds reasonable. Who will come to train me?”

Castiel might’ve imagined this, but he could swear that Dean had just turned a shade darker in his cheeks. His eyes traveled to the side and back to look at the agent again.

“Uh…I’ll train you. It’s been a while and I might not be as gracious as I once have been doing this, but I think it’ll be enough to show you the ropes.”

Castiel’s eys went wide. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Dean wearing the cowboy costume with the black leather chaps that didn’t cover shit when it came to the buttocks of the person wearing it, the white hat and the too tiny waistcoat and it’s fringe swinging around his biceps when he twisted his freckled body around the pole.

Castiel had seen pictures of former contests Dean had taken part in. And also some of his model portfolios. And though Castiel prefered the matured body of Winchester over his younger self, Dean had always been a stunningly good looking guy.

“Uh, Castiel?” Deans voice dragged Castiel’s focus back to the presence and to the realization that he, again, had zooned out imagining the other man like some spank bank material. Castiel hated that Dean could do this to him and he also was at least a little bit ashamed about it too. It had been a long time that someone had inspired him on the carnal level in that way. The faster he learned to accept the fact that he was highly attracted to Winchester, the faster he could start to control it at getting a fucking grip on himself. Because this was unprofessional.

They already had forgone to call each other with their Surnames over the last two hours because it was silly to do that when being around each other that much. Castiel still refused to let Dean call him any short names, because there had to be a little rest of distance and he didn’t want to get too close to Dean. If he was not totally mistaken, Dean might have shown at least some signs of interest on a biological level too and Castiel didn’t want to think about that too.

 

“They installed to poles in the training area already. I wished we could do this in a normal studio instead of here, but this has to do. Follow me, “ Dean told Castiel and raised from his chair.

Castiel followed Winchester to the training area. At least they were alone here. In contrary to the first day, there were only few staff members in the hangar and the beauty team, as Dean called it so nicely, would not be back until shortly before the contest.

“You have your sport attire with you?”

“Sure, “Castiel answered the question without hesitation. He had gotten a list with things to bring along yesterday so he’d be prepared for today’ss training lesson. Little had he known about the nature of the training.

“Perfect. Then, let’s change real quick and start. “

They sat down and both changed into their training shorts and muscle shirts. This was the first time Castiel was able to get a really good look at Dean’s body and he had to avoid looking closer before he would not be able to concentrate on this at all. Though Dean had said he wasn’t in the shape he’d used to be, his shape was in no way a bad one. He had pretty nicely built up upper arm and chest muscle and his stomach was filled with a still visible six pack, albeit a bit hidden beneath a sweet soft layer of belly-fat. Castiel thought it was the perfect mixture of being trained but not in an artificial way. What he had seen of Dean’s eating habits: he wasn’t looking out too much for what he was eating as long as he liked it. Castiel had never understood how people could starve themselve and adjust their whole daily routine around the way they wanted their body too look. Being so obsessed with ones look was something Castiel could not really wrap his head around. And the more he got to know Winchester, the less he could see him fitting into this whole scheme.

 

“So, first thing is: learning to climb the pole.”

“That is easy, “Castiel started grabbing for the metal, but Dean stopped him right away.

“It IS easy to climb a pole in general, but we want to do it…gracefully. Everything about Pole-dancing is about grace and that things that are actually hard to perform look like they’re not.”

“You mean I shall climb that thing in a sexy way?” Castiel didn’t like that. Dean looked at him dumbfounded.

“Who on earth planted that idea in your head that pole-dance is about being sexy all the time? Because it’s not! It can be, don’t get me wrong. If you do it seductively it can be hellova sex thing, but stripped down to the meaning of the sport itself it is just that: it is a sport, an art-form. Perhaps you try to look at it that way: It is just Yoga…with a pole and the moves strung together instead of doing them alone and stop in poses.”

“Ok,” Castiel tried to sound as if he had understood a single thing Dean was saying. Dean sighed.

“Look…let’s…show me how you would climb up there!”

That Castiel could do. He again grabbed for the cold metal and wrapped his hands around it. It was a bit slippery, but not too bad. He started climbing up the pole and stopped when he reached the upper end, then glided down and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean smiled a knowing smile. Then shook his head and smirked.

“Ok. That was “soldier climbs pole in a parcours” style. So not what we want to achieve. Watch me!”

And with that, Dean approached the pole. He rounded it one time, one hand gripping it tight, his posture strong and craned and his leg swinging around. When he arrived where he’d started he gripped with the other hand above and caught the pole between his strong thighs. Like an acrobat he started to squad up and it looked like the easiest thing in the world. No part of his body was out of his control, not one move unintended. When he reached the end, one hand left the pole, outstretched and he started gliding down slowly but deliberately.

Castiel had gasped. He’d forgotten to breathe when Dean had started to swirl around that metal in front of him as if he owned it. As if he owned to whole fucking hangar. Castiel’s mouth was dry as sandpaper. And he had the sudden and terrible impression, that he was not gonna survive this damn pole-dancing thing for a complete different reason than humiliation. Dean had done nothing but climbing that stake, and Castiel could already not stop thinking about his body and how nicely every visible muscle had played under his skin to get the man up there.

He was doomed, he as sure of it.

Chapter Text


 

                                                         Header

 

                                                                                                              -Chapter 6-


Wow, that had been more difficult than anticipated! It had been years since Dean had properly danced at a pole. His education as physiologist had taken all of his time for a while and after that he had simply not thought of starting it again and instead only hit the gym once in a while.

If he’d known that he had to do this in the near future, he’d trained for this beforehand. It wasn’t that he was not in shape in general, he was, but pole-dancing required more strength in the hands and arms and other parts of his body, that he had neglected in the gym.

He knew that he mustn’t show that in front of Novak of course, but after today’s training lesson, he knew he would be sore like a bitch tomorrow.

 

He’d shown Castiel how the technique was he’d used to climb up and the agent had picked up on it quickly, but Dean could tell, that Novak didn’t feel comfortable at the pole. If he wouldn’t be able to exchange his sour and dead concentrated look into something else, they were screwed. Obviously Castiel was not a person comfortable with displaying himself in front of other people, even less showing himself off and moving for others to judge.

Dean had to loosen him up no matter what the cost. He thought about what made him relax and came up with something simple. Should work.

“Ya know what, Castiel? I hate the atmosphere in this hangar. How can someone learn how to do a good dance in this? Mind if I put on some music?”

“Sure. Suit yourself, “Castiel answered and took a sip out of his water bottle.

Dean walked over to his bag and retrieved his smartphone and his little speaker. He was relieved that he had thought to bring it today, though it had been to listen to possible performance songs together with Castiel later.

The music he was about to put on was nothing fitting a contest dance, but it’d be something to get his spirits up. Something he also used to get some fire into his bones when he was jogging or at the gym and not really in the mood for training.

Novak watched him expectantly and Dean hit Play.

 

The intro of the first song worked it’s way out of the speakers and straight into his body and heart. It got hold of him like it always did. No matter how old the song was or how often he’d listened to it.

 

“Risin' up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances

…”

 

The lyrics started and Castiel honest to god had pulled one corner of his mouth up in a smirk.

 

“Isn’t that a bit of a cliché to play that in a sports lesson, Winchester?”

 

“….Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past…”

 

Dean smirked back. Oh, Castiel had no idea! This was simply the best song to get in the moods for sport or dance or nearly anything! Dean felt his hips move and his shoulders straighten.

He knew well he, more accurate his muscles, would regret this next few minutes tomorrow, but he didn’t care.

He would wipe that sarcastic, smile out of Novak’s face and he had a good idea how to do that.

 

Of course he had held the agent a long lecture about why Pole-dance was not necessarily something sexy. How it could be a dance like every other else.

But like nearly every other dance-form…it WAS ABLE to be transformed into a swirl of seducing movements with the purpose to capture your audience’s attention on a very primal level. Show what your body is capable of. How it can bend and float around that stake, how your muscles work and pump under glistening skin, how tight your hands can grip something round and solid. 

Dean was at least 80 percent sure that Novak, at some level, was interested in him in more than a professional way. He had no idea what sexual orientation Novak had, but he could swear, that there had been some looks in his direction that he hardly could’ve mistaken.

80 Percent was enough. He could work with that.

He had worked with less.

 

In one swift motion he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed, now shirtless and only in his tight training shorts, the pole again.

 

“…And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger…”

 

Bring the show on the road, Dean thought and then he pushed his logical thoughts, his consciousness for the past and the future aside. He tried to find into the music and let only the now and here fill his senses. How the rhythm and the vibe of the music was strong and pushing. How it spoke to his inner masculinity that now roared inside him, ready to break free. He felt himself glide into the motion of a tiger, preparing to jump a prey. Elegant and vicious, with purpose and with aim.

He remembered the combos he’d done years ago by heart all of a sudden. His muscles remembered them too. He ignored how it sure as hell didn’t look as graceful as it used to, when he was full in training, but he mustn’t let that thought take over.

He imagined how Novak would look at him with interest. How he would SEE the tiger mending with the pole. Would feel how strong and beautiful Dean was.

Dean had never forgotten how he had learned to dance and how is trainer had taught him:

 

When you are at the pole, you are strong! You. Are. Beautiful! You own your body, every muscle and bone in it. Your skin. You own the pole! It is not of interest what the people around you think. Forget the audience! You are everything you want to be. The pole knows that and it will serve you and your purpose. Make every move, every dance your dance! If you own it, the audience will fall for you, because they will see what you see!”

 

Dip turn...

I am gracefull!

 

Back step-around spin…

I am controlled!

 

Fan kick…

Elegant and powerful

 

Dean went through the motions more and more oblivious for his surroundings.

Or Novak.

                                              Dean pole dancing

 

-XX-

 

 

The sound of “Eye of the tiger” blurted out of the little mobile speaker Dean had brought.

Castiel was a little amused by that and told Dean as much.

 

Then, from one moment to the next, the air was sucked out of his lungs. Winchester had pushed his shirt off and boy…Castiel did not know what to do with his thoughts. Castiel didn’t want to think that way. He really didn’t. He never really had entertained that direction of thoughts for real, but right now…he had no idea how he was gonna survive this sight that was laid out before him.

Winchester might not be still active in contests, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t built.

On the old pictures of his early twenties he’d been a bid on the skinny side. Boyish in his look. Some time later he had built up some more defined muscle-mass, but still had been a slender figure.

But that was not nearly what Castiel saw dancing at the pole right now. That body before him was matured. Broader in every part. The muscles were more naturally build, not so defined, but under a thin layer of body-fat and freckled skin. But that didn’t make it less attractive. A six pack was still visible when Winchester strained that part of his body and his arms had those strong bulges when moved. His thighs were strong and thick and  Castiel caught himself thinking, how they might feel wrapped around his torso. How Winchester’s strong hands would not grip that pole but something else entirely. How his work-calloused fingers would feel scraping over the skin of his back.

 

The song ended and faded into the next rock title, obviously this was some playlist of Dean’s, and Castiel jerked his head up in horror. He had stared! He knew he had. Had ogled Winchester like some meat in a night-club! How could he’ve been so unprofessional?

Had Dean noticed?

 

Castiel tried to even out his breathing and gave himself an inner check-up. For one second he was afraid that he might have popped a boner in front of that man, but luckily he hadn’t. But it had been a close shot. He knew, that he had been able to just from thinking about Dean, if he’d let his mind drift further.

And that was not good.

He didn’t even know what Dean’s orientation was in the matter of choosing his sexual partners. His file had never spoken of any male partners, but had mentioned some girlfriends in high-school times and later. So most likely Winchester was on the straight site of life anyways.

Not that Castiel would count himself on the gay side either.

 

He’d always thought of both, men and women, as beautiful, but mostly he’d been attracted to women and therefore never had felt the real urge to try out how far his admiration for some male bodies would go. Maybe he simply had been afraid to find out something about himself he didn’t like.

But no matter if he was straight or bi or whatever…Winchester was not the man to find out about that. Because this was a serious and dangerous mission and it would  not only be highly unprofessional to engage with a co-worker, but also dangerous for the success of this case.

 

Cool down, Novak, he scolded himself.

When he looked at Winchester, his chest heaving from his heavy breathing, a smug expression on his face he had the strong feeling that Dean at least had got a glimpse of his gaping.

He had to counterpart the impression he’d just given.

Dean snatched his towel and dried himself up. His slightly sweaty hair was standing up in all directions now and it only made him look adorable.

Castiel tried to smile casually.

 

“You can color me impressed, Winchester,” he tried to tell him with a cool voice.

“Didn’t think I can still do it, but I guess I still have the groove,” Dean smirked.

“You liked it?”

Castiel thought about what to say to that. If he tried to play down Dean’s obviously visually appealing performance, he’d come over even more suspicious.  So he decided to go with semi-honest:

“Well…I can now understand why you chose this performance style for me. You’re quite good at it. Even after all these years. I have to give you that. But don’t tell me I have to do something like that exactly, because…I had the impression that was on the sexy site of dancing you just told me Pole is not about.”

Winchester laughed an open and earnest laughter. The skin beside his eyes crinkled nicely while doing that.

“Got me there, “ he admitted,” I just wanted to tease you a bit and then I got carried away.”

He wanted to tease him? Had he caught up on Castiel’s interested gaping? C

“Don’t look so shocked. Better get used to that. You’re going to perform amongst men who will possibly try to hit on a guy like you.”

“A guy like me? What is that supposed to mean?”

Winchester sighed. Rock was still playing in the background.  He lowered the towel he was still holding.

“They chose you for a reason, Castiel. If you weren’t attractive, you would not get through with this cover.”

Castiel spotted his chance for revenge here. Teasing can go both ways, he thought.

 “ So, you consider me attractive, Winchester?”

 

What the hell am I doing?

 

Winchester paused and looked at Castiel in a strange way. Then he furrowed his brows.

“You’re matter-of-factly attractive, Novak. Anybody telling you something else is either blind or has poor taste in humans.”

“You can admit that you find me ho-oot.” Castiel

“Last time I heard that line, I got laid.”

Ok, Winchester was better in that game than he was. He had a very strong impression, that it was better to stop before he went too far. He had to find back to his usual self.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel chuckled.

“I’m not good at this whole thing. I just tried to get into my part, that’s all. How was i?”

Dean walked back to his bag and put his shirt back on. A shame, Castiel thought without intention and slapped himself internally for again walking that direction.

“We’ll get you into full flirt mood in no time, Novak. Lucky you, I get hit on by guys all the time. So…I can tell you a move or two that are often used. “

“Is it so different from flirting with women?”

“Not really, ya know. Men are simple in that matter. Don’t look at me like that again. We are! But that’s a good thing. It’s more the part where they hit on you I’m worried about. There’s no competition without some dirty business and stuff in the background. So you should be prepared for some guys not knowing their limits…or yours. Or they know, but simply decide to ignore them.”

Castiel could not help but wonder, if Dean spoke out of experience. His face had hardened at the end of his little speech and the vibe in his eyes had noticeably cooled down a few degrees.”

But Castiel decided not to ask about it just now. In case that this was a sensitive matter for Dean.

But he memorized it and stored it away for later.

 

“I’m capable of telling someone to go and piss off, if that should occur.”

“I’m sure about that. But be careful: Someone can tell if you are simply not interested in him, or if the thought of a guy hitting on you in general is disgusting to you. We don’t want to blow you cover over something like that.”

Castiel tilted his head.

Huh.

“I’m not disgusted by the thought. If that was the case, I would not have agreed to play that part. I have not offensive opinion about gay men, or the fact that someone of them might flirt with me. So don’t you worry.”

 

Castiel had no idea what Dean’s reaction to that was, because Winchester had turned around and walked towards the pole again.

 

“Well…before we can think about you possibly losing your virginity during that contest, we should first think of getting you through the first rounds. And that means training.  I think we should proceed and start with a first move and perhaps one combo I want to see you doing.

Castiel followed Dean to the pole again an waited for instructions.

 

Dean positioned himself beside the pole. His inner arm was lowered down and the outer arm rose above him. Both hands grabbed the pole in that position. With a swing he kicked his inner leg up and around, followed by his outside leg in a powerful and simultaneously graceful motion.

“Fan kick. Simple. Looks good. Can be combined with a lot of options. Now you do it!”

Castiel tried. First he started with the wrong arm in the higher position. Next time he got the arms right, but started with the wrong leg.

“Again!”

Dean showed no mercy with his clumsy student. Again and again Castiel had to repeat the same motion over and over. When he got it right, the energy was wrong. When he swung with verve, he didn’t execute the motion right.

“Again!”

It was hard, but he was able to manage his teacher’s goal one or two times actually. His hands already got tired just from swinging around that much.

And he felt a bit stupid for not being able to perform such a simple motion right away.

“Don’t sweat about this, Novak. It looks easy, but it ain’t. It is the combination of performing the motion smoothly and with energy that makes it so difficult. That is not gymnastics. It’s a dance. Treat it like you wanna dance.”

“I’ve never danced.”

Dean gaped at him with an open mouth: “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m not comfortable around people I don’t know and I hate loud music. If I don’t have to do it for the job, I eschew such events that include dancing of any sort. I prefer more quiet entertainment.”

“Like?”

“Mr. Winchester….we’re supposed to be working here, not discussing my private life. The next move please!”

Castiel really didn’t want to befriend Dean if he could help it. It was precarious enough already that he was attracted to him physically. If that was accompanied by liking him as person, the quality of the job would suffer from that. On the one site he was happy that Dean seemed to try to get to know him better as person, but on the other site that was simply too dangerous. It could mean to be distracted when he shouldn’t be. He had to avoid that at all costs!

“Ok. All business then. We can try a back-step around spin. That should keep us occupied for the rest of the lesson and afterwards we can look for song-ideas you want to use for the performance. And I think you might have an appointment in the Spa-area later.”

“You mean the torture-dungeon,” Castiel said dryly.

Dean chuckled.

“Don’t be such a Sissi, Castiel.”

 

-XX-

 

The next days Castiel and Dean trained at the pole after Dean had explained the performance to the agent. It wasn’t too complicated for someone who knew what he was doing, but to Castiel it was like someone wanted him to climb Mount Everest. It was actually hard to memorize the combos let alone perform them in a row.

Dean was a patient teacher but Castiel had never felt so stupid in his life. He had now idea how he was supposed to pull this off. He tried hard and even at home he studied the motions and watched videos Dean had given him. Dean had also let him make a short video with his phone in which he had performed the whole sequence for Castiel to memorize.

Castiel was currently lying in his bed, watching said video, listening to Deans voice explaining the turns and dips.

Dean had a nice and soothing voice. Deep and manly,  but not rumbling. When he was concentrated on moving his body around the pole he was all graceful tension and strength. Castiel watched the video again and again. First because he wasn’t able to remember everything and found something he hadn’t noticed beforehand every time. But after a while he recognized that he’d stopped to memorize or learn or only roughly pay attention to what Dean was explaining or what exact moves he was performing. He was just following his swift motions in general, the shape of his body, his face contorting in concentration. His full lips pursed and lively  red from exertion. His brows glistening with fresh pearls of sweat running down his forehead. The sweat running down his neck, his throat, building little pools in his clavicle…

And there it was again. This throbbing he’d felt back in the gym. Deep down in his belly and even further south, if he was honest to himself.

He shortly entertained the thought of putting the phone away and wait it out. But…then again…if he built up this tension he felt inside, he was afraid it might burst out at the worst moment possible. Which was with Winchester around.

Castiel decided he had two options: Risk it and hope for his composure not to falter, or let some of the steam out of his system.

The more he thought about it, the more he preferred the latter option.

 

He set the phone on his nightstand where he still could clearly see it, set the video on repeat and lay down on his bed.  His room was not warm at night and he began to fumble under his sheets without exposing himself to the cold air. Why he felt so shy all of a sudden, he had no idea. As if he was planning to do something he didn’t do most of the other days too. And it was not as if Dean could see him. But a part of Castiel felt slightly watched with Dean looking into the camera of the phone and talking and that part of him got excited because of that.

He shoved his boxers down and kicked them away beneath the blanket.

He was already hard just from thinking about what he was about to do. It felt forbidden. His nimble fingers caressed the silk skin of his shaft and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine that it were the strong fingers of Winchester, touching him. He visualized Dean’s calloused hands, rough from the work he did, from whirling around the pole with their strong grip.

Whirling around and around. Twisting, squeezing. Gripping him tight.

His foreskin retreated, pulled back by his enthusiastic fumbling and the swelling of his shaft, and gave free the sensitive head of his throbbing cock. Already wet with precum he rubbed the crown with tender pressure while embracing his member with a strong hold.

Sometimes he liked to tease himself. Riding close to the high but holding back, going down and picking up the pace again.

But today was no such day. He’d built up this tension for two days now. Had denied himself to think about Dean’s body in that way for half the day. Because he was a professional. But it had to come out.

It hat to come out!

He held himself tighter even and bobbed his hand up and down. His thumb rubbing his cockhead still. He felt so needy to cum that it was unbearable. The whirlwind building up inside his stomach got stronger and stronger and he knew he would not last long.

But lasting long had not been his intention today.

He opened his eyes and watched the screen again. Watched Dean dancing around the pole, straining his muscles. Talking with that voice!

His body tensed and drained itself from all the tension. The need and the agitation that had bothered him floated out of him in hot, white spurts all over his hand and his stomach.

 

Castiel lay on his back, holding his breath, eyes wide.

He had gotten himself off to naughty thoughts of a coworker.

Someone he had to look into his eyes the next day.

He was so screwed.

Chapter Text

                                                            Header

~Chapter 7~

 

The weeks had gone by way too quickly for Castiel’s taste. He didn’t feel halfway were he wanted his pole-dancing skills to be and he began to feel nervous about the case more and more.

So far the team had not gotten any more decent information about Abbadon, since the terrorist had not made an internet appearance since his letter.

As far as it came to inside information they were still at zero and that was frightening.

 

Abbadon had always been careful to not give away anything about his localization, ethnicity or gender. Charlie and the profilers were still working 24/7 to get the most information out of what they had, but with little to no information other than the threatening letters, they could only evaluate that much.

So far they were pretty sure that the suspect was white, male, and that he came from a middle-class family with probably Christian-religious background. It was also suspected that he didn’t have a family on his own but probably living alone and socially shy.

But without any more traces as to at least in what state he had been born, there was no starting point to isolate any individuals. It had been easier if he had acted as member of a group or a cult or sect. Lone wolves were always the most difficult to find and figure out.

 

Also his last letter had proven some new patterns that had yet to be analyzed. If the terrorist was now beginning to change his modus operandi it would be even more difficult to get a clue to the way he was operating.

 

Sweet’s team’s best guess first and foremost was still to go undercover and look for clues and potential helpers and supporters inside the inner staff of the contest itself.

Abbadon had to find a way to get one of his devices into the contest and mostly he did it in a way that had the chance to harm the most people possible to make his stand clear.

 

The FBI and the police would check the audience rooms, check-rooms and restrooms before every  public event for explosive charges of any sort. But backstage it was always difficult to do that. Staff, assistants of the contestants, make-up artists, people from the TV-crew, and many more were going to float in an out of the inner area to get the show running. It was inevitable to let those people pass or the show would not be able to work. All these people were going to bring and take staff with them, so that it would be nearly impossible to control every last bit of it.

 

After the last meeting with the team he felt slightly nervous about how to perform his act between the other contestants.

He knew he was far away from probably every personality that he was going to meet there and he wouldn’t want his lack of social conformance be the straw to shatter is disguise ant the chance to catch Abbadon for that matter.

 

Before he could leave the meeting room, Gabriel and Chuck gave him a nod to stay behind while the rest left.

 

Castiel took seat again and waited for what they could want from him.

 

“So, besides from the official report: How is it going,” Gabriel asked Castiel, watching him intensly.

“As I told you: Dean tells me the performance I have to show is going well enough. The walk training and everything else is going accordingly. I’m getting a bit tired of not being allowed to drink my morning-coffee, but otherwise: I think I’ll manage.”

“So you think you’re prepared?”

Castiel squinted his eyes.

“It is only one week left. How can I not be prepared? I’m as ready as I can be at this point of the investigation. Why you asking me this?”

Chuck took two steps closer to Castiel and leaned on the table. One quick check with Gabriel and he looked at Castiel again.

“It is time to get into your first mission outside of the hangar. First interaction with staff of the contest. Me and Gabriel had a long discussion about if we should at least let the organizers know that you’re in there, but there are more reasons to not do that. We have no control over the information and where it is going where it shouldn’t. I don’t trust civilians.”

“But you trust Dean Winchester?”

Chuck sighed.

“That is different. He is part of our team for this period of time and I really think I can trust him. He has a very close bond to his little brother, as far as our informations can tell us, and if he didn’t tell him so far, I think we can assume that he will not endanger the mission when the hot part will start. Do you trust him?”

Castiel thought about that and found that he did. All differences aside, or how Dean was very different from him, he knew that at heart he was a righteous man. He told Chuck as much:

“I trust him. I think he will play his part and not break out.”

“I hope we’re all right about him. Because his part will be essential if you want to succeed, Novak.”

“What is this first mission you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes. Here,” Gabriel handed over a booklet. It was the information sheet for the contest. He advised Castiel to open the first page.

Castiel did and found a long and cheesy introduction about the importance of the contest, and the hosts holding it this year. Both were apparently some big names in the beauty industry      , but before this case Castiel had never heard of them. So far he had only memorized the names and their general profession, but not who they really were.

“This is Fergus Crowley. You read about him in the reports. He is the main host this year and a big number in the local showbiz industry. He’s well known for shows and owns some clubs as well. You know the whole shebang. His co-host is Naomi Morgan. She’s a former beauty queen and apparently some sort of icon in that world. So…the contestant you will be replacing, with our friendly help and some nicely placed information about his preference for videos he should not watch, was told to inform the jury about the fact that he will not take part in the contest due to health issues.

What a shame,” Gabriel snickered and then continued,” The important part is that you need to present yourself to Crowley and Naomi in order to get the place that is now free. We already gave them your fake-bio and the pictures we took last week and the ones Charlie made. They scheduled an appointment with you tomorrow, since Crowley is in the region for business reasons. “

 

Yeah. The photos.

Castiel still wanted to sink into a hole of darkness ans shame when thinking about them. In order to give him a sort-of-model background, they had begun to take pictures in different settings after the first weeks of shaping his body into form. They had dressed him up like a doll or left him nearly naked, stretching out on beds and sprawling around at pools, water sprayed on his tanned body, sun in his face.

He’d felt never so stupid in his life. A feeling that was on repeat-dial since his training had began.

He felt as if he was made into an object of projection, lust and artificial beauty and he hated it.

Not that the photos did not look fabulous. He was sure he’d never looked so good in his life…but that person looking back at him from these pictures: it was just not him.

 

The absolute shock had been when Charlie had presented her work for all to see.

Because it would have risen suspicion if he’d only brought resent photos in his portfolio, she had photoshoped pictures of “older contests” and from “his youth” and fake model jobs. And damn…her work was so flawless: if Castiel didn’t know he had never done these things in his life, he’d believed they were real.

She only had needed some old pictures from his face, and voila.

 

Dean had hummed approvingly, giggled and then said something along the line of  “baby-Castiel” had been a real “snack”. Castiel’s embarrassment still was palpable whenever someone mentioned the pictures.

But that was part of the job. It was not the first time he saw his face in fake-family pictures and wondered if there was an alternate version of himself living exact this fake  life right now.

 

“Rufus will hand you out the papers you’ll need tomorrow and the outfit Dean chose for the meeting with Crowley. Winchester will meet you here tomorrow, point 8.  Be sure to be prepared for the interview. Crowley has a reputation of being a sneaky bastard. You don’t need to out-charme him, just look pretty. Dean will do the rest. I think he is more experienced in talking to guys like this and come over convincing as you are. Watch and learn. Speak as little as possible. You know the deal.”

“I know. I got this, Gabriel. This is not my first rodeo.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair a smug grin plastered on his face: “Is that so?”

Trenner

“This is obviously highly amusing for you,” Castiel snorted disapprovingly.

Dean didn’t stop looking at him and simultaneously holding his breath, along with the the shits and giggles he had been giving Castiel for the last five minutes straight.

“I don’t know what is so funny. If this outfit qualifies as a reason to make a fool out of me, you shouldn’t have selected it.”

The reaction to this was Dean, doubling over with laughter and holding his stomach. Castiel crossed his arms and waited with a dark glare towards Winchester.

With tears in his eyes Dean tried to compose himself and speak: “It’s not…it’s…pffff…it’s just so not you! I can’t even…,” and then the laughter started all over again.

Castiel sighed and looked out of the window.

He knew exactly what Dean was talking about. This was not him. Not in the slightest.

 

The meeting with Crowley was at 3 pm and a hair stylist and a make-up artist hat waited in the office to get him ready for the interview. They had, in his opinion, messed up his hair, painted him like a whore, though Dean told him, that it was normal even for “masculine” guys to take to the help of beauty products once in a while, and they had clipped some face piercings on him.

His hair was now styled upwards in a spiky fashion that let his newly and very short undercut out. His skin was looking more even than it had when he’d been 12 and his clothes let him look like a 40 year old, who was desperate to fit in with his kids, although he was younger than that.

A dark-white button up with blue hems and a thin sort-of-fashion scarf in the same color was what was the least annoying thing in his new wardrobe. What he hated to his guts was the dark brown trousers with flames (shit-fucking-painted FLAMES) at the lower ends and pink boots.

Pink. Boots.

Where one…anyone, was able to find something like that was a mystery to Castiel.

Why Dean had chosen them was clear: Castiel was sure Dean was his punishment for something he had done severely wrong in this or a former life. There was no other reason than that, he was sure of it.

Beside him in the back of the cap Dean was beginning to control himself back into a civil behavior. The man looked the agent up and down once more and tried for an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Castiel. I really am. Look: I didn’t do this to play you or something.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really! Listen: We talked ‘bout your vibes? How it’s really a piece of work to get you to loosen up? I guessed it’s something so deep ingrained into that brain of yours that it’ll  be really difficult for you to adapt to this alias you have…so I thought it would actually be helpful to give your brain an idea of what you have to display.”

“A sad and painted man in his midlife-crisis?” Castiel asked Dean with a sarcastic undertone.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose:

“No, silly. You’re actually THAT grumpy when you look at people…See? That’s exactly the look I was talking about,” Dean pointed at Castiel’s contorted face, “Anyways: We need to balance that out with extravagance. And that, and only that is the reason why I really went so heavy with the style of your look.”

Castiel hated how that actually made sense and decided to pout a just a little bit longer. He watched out of the window and how the trees passed by while they rushed over the highway.

“Ya Know, it’s not that something is wrong with you, but you act so damn…well…”

“What?”

“You act too straight, goddamnit,” Dean shouted frustrated and threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. Castiel looked at him surprised.

“You know that that is a rather discriminating statement?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know that. I have several friends who’re gay and not everybody of them acts or looks how some small-minded conservatives think them to. We used to say: The gay comes in all shapes and forms.”

(The T-Shirt they had worn on that pride-march had actually said: “The gay cums in all shapes and forms”, but Dean had no intention of telling Castiel THAT.)

Castiel was confused as to how somebody could actually believe that one could see what sexual orientation a person had, by judging their way to talk, or to dress. He’d found out in his career that lots of people were nothing like they looked on the outside. Life was a piece of cake if that be so. Charlie was a good example for someone who looked, for outsiders, nothing like what the preconception of a lesbian was, but Castiel highly doubted he’d ever met a girl gayer for women than her.

Gabriel was another good example. That guy, Castiel knew from reliable sources, was able to jump anything in a consent-able age that belonged to the same species.

 

“You don’t expect me to ‘act gay’,” Castiel signed the quotation marks,” do you? I will not engage in any disrespectful display according to prove that my Alter-Ego is homosexual. Someone running a contest for the LGTBQ+ community should be above such cut and dried opinions.”

“Oh believe me, they know exactly what they’re doing. But it is delusional to think that a contest that attracts masses of hetero folks and general rubbernecks in person and over TV is a display of realistic representation. They show the audience what the audience expects to see. Simple as that. That supplies them with the viewing-figures they need to make money. What they’re actually looking for are men who display their orientation in an offensive way, for everyone to recognize. And if said men go a bit overboard with it: even better. You don’t actually believe they want real representation on TV, do you? I personally think that the government would hate the idea that their old-fashioned electors might live in the fear, that every “normal person” in their neighborhood could be a “gay in disguise”.”

“Don’t you think you paint a rather dark picture of society here?”

“I wish I would. I really do. But that’s reality in show business and we have to make up our act accordingly. And that’s why we give you the image of the introvert, mysterious, extravagant, highly attractive but a bit grumpy Daddy-type, that everybody wants to crack. That way you have something you can use your actual personal skill-set with and we found us a niche that nobody else has filled. Win-win-win.”

“You really thought about that, didn’t you?” Castiel didn’t know if he should be offended or flustered. He really didn’t.

“Of course I did! I was hired to form you and that’s what I do. I’d do a shitty job if I’d not advise you to my best knowledge. Just roll with it! Feel the person we want them to see and go for it! At the very end you do it to catch that bastard that wants to blow up people just because they like themselves some cock.”

Castiel felt his cheeks redden a bit. He remembered the events of the last evening: Lying in bed, touching himself, coming undone while listening to Dean’s voice and imagining his hands on his dick.

He pushed everything back down where it belonged and hoped that he was able to measure up to the expectations his team and Dean had in him.

Trenner  

“Well, isn’t he quite a sight to look at?” the man in the black, probably hand-tailored, suit whistled approvingly with a slight scottish accent. He measured Castiel from top to bottom and a satisfied smile spread in his face. There was something else in his cold and calculating eyes too, but Dean tried not to think about that to closely.

This man before him was a predator. That much was obvious.

Fergus Crowley was some significant inches shorter than Dean or Castiel, but his personality compensated more than enough for the lack of high.

The location of their meeting was the lobby of the expensive hotel Crowley was staying at. Dean didn’t like the atmosphere a bit and felt misplaced. He figured Castiel felt similar.

But the agent was nothing but professional from that moment on, they’d entered the lobby.

He’d altered his way to walk, which was more of a gliding now, and he held himself in a different way that yelled at everyone that dared to look: I’m a fucking diva and you stay the fuck away from me, unless you wanna buy me a drink!

Dean had to admit that he was massively impressed by how fast and accurate Castiel had picked up on the idea of the person he was supposed to show the world.

“Isn’t that quite the point of the whole show, Mr. Crowley?” Dean smiled his best charming smile and reached out with his hand to great Crowley. The man had quite the handshake and they stared each other down for just two seconds and knew instantly, that neither of them had a fool  in front of him.

“I like a man of direct words. Saves a lot of time to get straight to the point instead of dancing around the matter.”

“Then we should get along just fine, “ Dean said approvingly.

 

Castiel watched both of them interested but resigned from giving in his own opinion. He just took hold of Crowley’s offered hand and pressed down firmly. Crowley seemed at least a little bit surprised by the way Castiel showed that he was not some empty-headed doll to be thrown around, but an equal party in the following negotiation, though he hadn’t spoken yet.

“Follow me to my suite. I don’t like to talk business with noisy bystanders around. Let’s get this sorted out like the civilized lads that we are. Shall we?” He opened his arm and pointed to the elevator at the end of the lobby.

Castiel and Dean nodded in confirmation and followed Crowley.

                                                   The interview