Castiel and the Phantom of the Opera [Destiel]

Chapter 1: Castiel Could Sing It, Sir!

Paris, 1870

          The opera house was full of life – of color. People bustled about the stage with purpose. There were things that needed doing. After all, the show was that evening. Everyone had jobs to do; everyone had to prepare in one way or another, even young Castiel Novak. He wasn’t a particularly important part of the show – he was just a background dancer – he still had to practice. Monsieur Winchester, the choreographer and mentor to all the male dancers, had them on a rigorous schedule.

          Castiel could hear rehearsal going on out on the main stage. The tell-tale voice of the theatre’s leading male singer, Meta Tronne, could be heard clearly. With graying hair and even balding spots, Meta Tronne was aging faster than he’d like. His voice was also beginning to suffer from the effect of age. It was only a matter of time before he retired, and it would be sooner than later.

          “He gets worse every time I hear the old bastard,” Balthazar, another dancer and Castiel’s good friend, muttered. Balthazar was older than Castiel with short, blond hair and stubble on his chin, jaw, and upper lip. The two stood backstage with the other male dancers as they prepared to go out on stage for the ballet that would take place the moment Meta Tronne finished his solo.

          Castiel smiled at his friend’s comment, but said nothing. He wasn’t the kind of person to say such things – Castiel’s father had always taught him to treat others with kindness no matter what. He told Castiel that you should only judge someone once you got to know them However, Castiel had no desire whatsoever to get to know Meta Tronne. The older man was nothing short of a diva. He was demanding, loud, occasionally vulgar, and all around disgusting. The only reason Meta Tronne was even at the opera house to begin with was because of his voice. It was his only redeeming quality, and even then it wasn’t anything miraculous.

          “You could sing better than that, Cassie,” Balthazar joked. At last, Meta Tronne’s shrill voice was overshadowed by the booming roar of the chorus. Monsieur Winchester strode toward his dancers and began to direct them toward the stage, his face unreadable. Castiel locked eyes with his mentor before walking along, filing behind his fellow dancers. Almost everyone hated, respected, or feared Monsieur Winchester, but not Castiel. Castiel liked him. Not only that, but Monsieur Winchester seemed to like him as well. In fact, they were on a first name basis with each other. Castiel was the only person in the opera house that was allowed to call Monsieur Winchester by his first name: Sam. Everyone else had to stick to the strict formalities. And of course the only reason Castiel and Sam were so close – the only reason why Castiel could call Sam friend – was him.

          Castiel let out a breath before stepping out on the stage. The moment his foot touched the stage floor, he wore a smile on his face. He began to leap and twirl in synchronization with the other male dancers. Balthazar performed next to him, not wearing a smile and not moving with a bounce in his step the way Castiel did. He did not dance with the same vigor his younger friend did.

          Dancing was not Castiel’s favorite thing – singing was – but he still performed to the best of his ability. He moved, flowing with the music. As he danced, he began to feel the distinct burn in his calves. He had long ago gotten used to that feeling and now took relish in it. It made him feel oddly good. He felt as if he was accomplishing something – it was the idea that hard work led to great things. Castiel enjoyed the fact that the burn meant that he was working – that he was doing well.

          To Castiel, all seemed to be going so well. The chorus kept singing in the background – their voices projecting out into the theatre. And then, he heard the maestro’s voice shouting above the voices of the chorus. “NO, NO, NO!” Everything – the singing, the dancing, and the orchestration came to a halt.  “Chorus, you’re off pitch! And Raphael, can you really not pronounce Rome correctly? Honestly! It’s like working with imbeciles!”