Chapter Text
Part I: 2008
Prologue
Teen Dream, August 2008 Issue
Exclusive: Interview with Castiel Novak, 19 — Dean Show’s New Teen Heartthrob
You may know Castiel Novak from guest stints on shows like One Tree Hill and The OC, where he impressed us with both his acting skills and dreamy looks. Now Castiel has landed his first role as a series regular, on long-running reality hit The Dean Show. We got the low-down on what to expect and how this teen dreamboat feels about his big break.
Teen Dream: Being cast on a big show like this is such an exciting opportunity. And in the role of Dean’s new best friend too! Is this a dream come true for you?
Castiel: The funny thing is that I didn’t grow up watching much TV. But when my agent said he could get me an audition for a TV show that has been on the air since 1991, I jumped at the chance. I guess the producers liked what they saw.
Teen Dream: And so do we! How does it feel to know that your poster is about to be on bedroom walls all over America, right next to Dean’s?
Castiel: I don’t know. A little strange maybe? I’m just hoping to deliver a good performance.
Teen Dream: I’ll say! If you do well on The Dean Show, you’re guaranteed an acting job for the rest of your life.
Castiel: Yes. Or the rest of Dean’s life, I suppose.
Teen Dream: Totally! Just between the two of us, can you give us a little sneak peak of your character and how the show is planning to introduce you?
Castiel: I think that’s fine. Like most of the actors on the show, I’ll be using my real name. I’m going to be introduced as a new student who just moved to town from Chicago.
And there you have it! Remember, The Dean Show airs on the American Broadcast Network and select local affiliates. Castiel Novak’s debut is set for September 18.
***
Lawrence, Kansas
September 15, 2008
“Mom? Mom!”
The voice behind Mary registers as nothing but distant white noise. Mary’s eyes are glued to the TV screen, where a seventeen-year-old boy named Dean has just walked into a pristine, picture-perfect school building, nodding slightly bored greetings at people in the spotless hallway.
A camera mounted somewhere near the ceiling tracks his approach, keeping a watchful eye on him while he passes a group of boys in letterman jackets. They wave a friendly hello at him and Dean waves back, but nobody invites him over to talk. According to the fan sites that Mary can’t help scrolling through sometimes, only the actors who have been specifically cast as Dean’s friends, love interests or neighbors are allowed to exchange more than small talk with him.
As Dean comes to a stop in front of his locker, the camera feed switches to a perspective that looks down from the wall just above the lockers.
Dean whistles tunelessly to himself as he turns the lock, then tugs and tugs until the door reluctantly opens. (It always sticks a little.)
The feed changes again, this time to the camera at the back of the locker. Its view is partially obscured by Dean’s textbooks, which are piled willy-nilly into the small space. Dean withdraws them, clearing the view of his face as he stuffs the books into his bag.
Mary’s knees are beginning to ache. She didn’t realize she’d slipped off the couch and onto the floor in front of the TV set again. She sometimes gets so lost in the show that she forgets all about the world around her. Once, the house almost caught fire because she was so focused on watching Dean get ready for his first date that she forgot about dinner cooking on the stove. (The girl he went out with was named Jamie, and Mary didn’t care for her. After two more dates, neither did Dean. She was written off the show three weeks later.)
“Mom!”
Mary sighs at the sound of footsteps descending from upstairs, followed moments later by the unmistakably sulky shuffle of a thirteen-year-old coming into the living room.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sam demands. “I called you like five times.”
Reluctantly, Mary turns her attention from the screen. As always, the act of looking away causes an ache in her chest; a tug telling her to turn back. Look again. Make sure he’s still there, still alive, still okay.
Sam stands right in front of her, his father’s dark-brown hair falling into his eyes and his pants an inch too short. He must’ve had another growth spurt recently.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mary says. In the background, she can still hear Dean’s voice, chatting with one of his classmates (Asa, Mary thinks his name is) as he walks to his homeroom. “Now what’s this pressing problem that you couldn’t possibly solve yourself?”
“I’m going to Brady’s for dinner tonight, and I don’t have anything to wear.”
Mary gives her son the wry look that statement deserves. “Really? Not anything?”
Sam shrugs morosely.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Brady’s parents live in a massive McMansion and you’re trying to impress them, would it?”
Sam shrugs again, with a side of uncomfortable squirming. “Just don’t like being poor, I guess.”
Mary pulls a smile past the ache in her chest as she ruffles Sam’s hair. “Well, stay in school, kid.”
“Whatever, Mom.” Sam squirms away, and Mary sighs as she remembers the affectionate little toddler he used to be, once upon a time. Now he’s all knees and elbows. Where did all that time go? “Can you just, like, help me pick out something to wear?”
“Sure,” Mary says. From the TV set's speakers, the sound of the school bell rings out, followed by the voice of Dean's homeroom teacher, Mr. Adler, calling the students to attention. “Gimme just a minute, huh?”
Sam rolls his eyes at her. “But actually just a minute. Don’t get distracted watching TV again. You’re obsessed with that stupid show.”
Mary swallows past a sudden lump in her throat. “It’s a good show.”
“It’s stupid. And unethical!” Sam’s eyes widen; he’s clearly winding up to a lengthy speech. “This guy has been on TV since he was born and he doesn’t even know it! I can’t believe nobody’s told him in seventeen years.”
Mary cuts him off, because it’s the only way she’ll get a word in edgewise once Sam gets going. “Alright, alright, just head on up there and I’ll be right with you.”
“Fine.” Sam wanders off, back up the stairs.
Mary watches him go, then turns to the TV again for just a moment, squatting down until her face is at the same height as the screen. Dean’s face is shown in profile. There must be a camera somewhere on the shirt of the kid sitting next to him. Maybe inside one of the buttons.
Slowly, Mary lifts a hand and reaches for the screen until her fingertips touch Dean’s cheek. Carefully. Reverently.
He’s grown up to be so handsome. It’s hard to believe he used to be the tiny, red-faced, squalling newborn she held in her arms. She watched him grow older just as Sam did, but always through the barrier of a screen, heartbroken by the knowledge that she had no claim on him. Not anymore. When Chuck Shurley’s people took him away, they let him keep the first name Mary gave him, but they gave him a new last name: Smith. The most common name there is. Just like that, they turned her son into an everyman for the audience to relate to. Now, only a very few people know that he started out in life as Dean Winchester.
“My boy,” she whispers as Dean turns away from the camera; away from her touch. “My poor, beautiful boy.”