liptonrm_fic: (fanficauthor)
liptonrm_fic ([personal profile] liptonrm_fic) wrote2012-08-30 11:59 am
Entry tags:

One With the Sun

Title: One With the Sun
Fandom: CWRPF
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: No money has been or is being made in the writing or distribution of this story. It's all fiction, pure fiction.
Summary: I sing the body electric/I celebrate the me yet to come.
Notes: This is one part high school AU and one part Fame (1980) movie fusion. And all parts [ profile] dodger_sister fault, because that’s how she rolls.

Part One

The only time Misha felt like himself was in front of a crowd, another person's words in his mouth. That's why he was there, sitting outside of a classroom, just another pimply face in a teeming sea of teenagers, waiting to go inside. He'd never been nervous before, not like this, heart beating a desperate tango, right leg jittering uncontrollably. He knew his lines, knew his part, could have done this part in his sleep (and had in dream after dream the night before) but all of the work hadn't prepared him for being here right on the edge and knowing that somehow, someway, he was going to screw it all up.

He jerked, startled, when someone sat down in the chair next to him. A quick, distracted glance caught him a glimpse of clean-cut, nice clothes, shy smile. An extra spike of tension ratcheted down his spine, all of the nervous energy finally spilling up and over and out through his mouth.

“I can't believe I'm this nervous. This is nothing, just a show. And look at that,” he gestured at his still bouncing knee. “I'm falling to pieces and you're just sitting over there, cool as a cucumber. I bet you do this all the time, doesn't even faze you, am I right?”

The other guy, Misha's new partner-in-crime, shrugged. “This is kind of a big deal.”

“I know, I know,” Misha continued, words flooding out of him. “We're going to walk into that room and there they'll be, the teachers waiting to judge us. What if I forget my lines? What if I break character? What if I have a nervous breakdown and I just can't stop laughing? Then that's it, game over, I'm screwed and out of here and I'm not going to get this chance again. I know I won't, of course I won't.” His stomach twisted. “I'm so glad I didn't eat breakfast this morning.”

“Oh my god,” his neighbor muttered and Misha glanced away from the Inquisition's door in time to catch the guy bolt into the little boys' room, one hand over his mouth, the other on his stomach.

Misha grinned and his leg stilled. Weirdly, knowing that he wasn't the only one freaking out made him feel a whole lot better.


“All right, that's enough.” Ms. Ferris's voice slashed through the noise of stamping feet and flying limbs, cutting the music off mid-note. “Next group up.”

Jared jumped up from where he had slumped down against the wall. This was it. He twisted his shoulders and back, releasing kinks that had crept in while he waited. Not nearly enough of his competition had sucked as much as he'd hoped they would.

He moved into line, picking a place near the back. He'd jumped up almost half-a-foot over the summer and he was still working out how to move his newly lengthened limbs. He didn't want to be the guy who knocked into someone and sent the whole group of dancers tumbling to the floor like dominoes.

He breathed in and out, shoulders loose, back straight. He could do this. He hadn't come all this way for nothing.

“All right everyone,” Ms. Ferris called. “One, two, three…” The music started and Jared lost track of everything else. His focus narrowed and all he knew was the beat of the music and the movement of his body, the way the music pulled him, muscles stretching and releasing in time with every note. The group routine they'd practiced before coming in to the audition room wasn't difficult but it was intense, requiring every ounce of attention he had. He didn't notice the instructors going by, tapping dancers out, he hardly noticed the other dancers, which was a bonus – nothing could mess him up more than his own inner monologue telling him that everyone else was doing a better job than him.

Ms. Ferris's voice broke in before the routine was even half done. Jared stilled, energy still thrumming through his muscles. He moved off to the side of the room and scooped up his stuff, brushing sweat out of his eyes. He started pulling off his dance shoes while the next group lined up.

“Dude, that was awesome!” A hand clapped him hard on the shoulder before a skinny blond kid popped up in front of him. “You're in for sure.”

“Thanks.” Jared shrugged, never really comfortable with compliments from complete strangers.

“He's right, you were great.” The tiny little brunette tying up her shoes beside him smiled up at him. “You knocked that routine dead.”

Jared felt a blush burn at the back of his neck. He couldn't believe that he could still be such a goober.

The blond guy laughed. “Come on, let's go get some grub. I'm starving.”


Jensen's first day at LaGuardia High was, comparatively, a breeze. Auditions had been a blur of horrible but the first day at school was surprisingly normal; class schedules, locker combinations, home rooms, faculty pep talks. Most of the students shared the same, glazed-over look, too much information, still not enough time to process it. He'd also sung and jumped and screamed and met some of the strangest teachers he'd ever had.

Now it was time for lunch. Jensen pushed through the lunch room and for a second he felt like he was six years old again, the new kid at school with a bunch of wrinkled dollars clutched in a sweaty little hand. This room was like that one, everyone grouped up, laughing and talking with their friends, no room for someone like him.

He shrugged his shoulders and let the past slough away. He wasn't that kid anymore and this was exactly where he wanted to be. He grabbed a tray, some food, and slipped into a seat near the back of the room, somewhere a little separated from the crowd. He glanced around the room as he ate, watching the different groups and the few other solitaries. He'd figure out where he fit soon enough.

Without warning a blur of a figure slipped into the seat across from him, blocking Jensen's view of the cafeteria. It was the guy from the auditions, the one he'd been sitting next to right before Jensen'd had to run into the bathroom to throw up. His mouth tightened a little at the memory and his stomach tightened, he didn't need to start off as the laughingstock.

“Hey! I know you,” the guy said with a big, shit-eating grin. “You made it, too.” He took a big bite of his hot dog. “I'm Misha, by the way,” he said around the mush.

Jensen grinned, he couldn't help it. Apparently this guy shat rainbows or something. “Jensen,” he introduced himself in response. “You in the acting program too?”

“You betcha.” Misha swallowed. “I guess that means we'll be seeing a lot of each other.” Before Jensen could respond to that, could even process how he felt about it, Misha gestured around to the rest of the room. “When do you think the musical number's going to start.”

Jensen laughed. “I've got a feeling that only happens in the movies.”

Misha smiled again, eyes sparkling. “I guess we'll have to work on that, then.”


Going to a school where he spent half his day dancing was both totally weird and the awesomest thing ever. Jared spent the whole day with a big stupid grin on his face, even during Principal Singer's super-scary assembly about how difficult going to school there would be and how if they screwed up just once they were going to kick him out on his ass. He didn't care, he got to dance all day, he could be in a Russian gulag and he'd still think it was the best place in the world.

Well, it had been the best day ever until he tripped over his stupid feet and faceplanted right in front of everyone. He'd been doing pliés practically every day of his frigging life and yet he'd still managed to unbalance himself and end up flat on his face.

He looked up, his whole face burning hot, to see Ms. Ferris standing over him. “You okay down there?” she asked, a slight smile on her face. At least she wasn't screaming at him.

“Yeah,” Jared mumbled and pushed himself up off the floor. Everyone was staring at him and while he usually loved being the center of attention this was horrible, awful, he just wanted to disappear.

Ms. Ferris patted him on the shoulder. “It's okay, it happens.” She held onto his arm as she turned to address the rest of the class. “Actually, this reminds me of something I wanted to point out. Everyone in this room is going to make stupid mistakes, is going to rely on their bodies and end up flat on the floor. Especially right now, your bodies are growing and changing and you have to be patient with yourselves while you do it. What matters is getting back up and going back to work.” She pushed Jared back toward his place at the barre. “I'll forgive an honest mistake. What I won't forgive is giving up, not giving it your all. Now, where were we?” She clapped and the metronome started up again.

Jared's hair fell in his face as he went back into position, back straight, chest up. He lifted his leg and began again.


“We should put on a musical revue,” Misha said, out of nowhere, in the middle of the daily breathing exercise that had them all laid out in a circle on the floor. Mr. Morgan had just stepped out for some unknown, teacher reason, which apparently gave Misha permission to flap his yap. Not that Misha needed any permission.

Alona flapped her hand at him from where she was laying on Misha's other side. “Problem there, buddy, we're not musicians.”

Jensen didn't have to turn his head to know that Misha was grinning that big, trouble-causing grin of his. “That's the method to my madness, if we build it, they will come.”

“So what, we hold auditions or something?” Jensen asked because he knew himself well enough to know that he'd be involved, he wouldn't be able to help it.

“Nothing so droll,” Misha replied, because that's just the way that Misha rolled. He hummed for a minute, a buzzing under the sound of the class breathing. “Though we might want to broaden our social horizons.”

“You could check out that dancer's party tonight,” Malik said from the other side of the circle. “You know, that blonde one with the rich aunt? I hear she's throwing it at her penthouse this weekend. It's supposed to be huge.”

Misha jostled his shoulder against Jensen's. “Then a'partying we shall go.”

Jensen chuckled. “I guess so.”

The doorknob turned and everyone went quiet. Jensen took a deep breath and felt his lungs expand, listened to his heart beat in his ears, a moment of peace before the world started again.


“This is going to be awesome!” Chad crowed as they walked up to the apartment building's door. Jared laughed and grabbed him into a headlock. “Dude!” Chad squawked, face somewhere close to Jared's armpit.

Danneel linked her arm through Chad's and pulled him away from Jared. “Not if you dweeb the place up, doofus.”

“Whatevs,” Chad shrugged, unabashed. He pulled his jacket straight. “We all know the party don't start till I walk in.”

“Where have you guys been?” Genevieve stepped out of the shadows by the door, as if on cue, hands on her hips. “I've been waiting forever.”

Danneel's reply was lost under the blood thundering in Jared's ears. He flushed for a second, a flash of hot then cold that he felt all through his body. Genevieve was amazing, dark hair, dark eyes, and the way she danced—he swallowed at the memory. He watched as she walked past the doorman and into through the building, head bent close to Danneel's.

He jumped when Chad came up and punched him in the shoulder. “You ready to party, stud?”

“No, that's just, no. Never say that to me again,” Jared said, voice pained.

Chad chortled. “Come on, you pansy. The ladies are waiting.”

“As long as you don't scare them away.” The elevator closed to the sound of Chad's manic laughter.


Misha had always wondered how the other half, or one percent, lived. Oh, he had an idea, fueled by tabloids glimpsed at the grocery check-out and chatter on the internet, but he'd never had the chance to experience it for himself. Now that he was there, standing in the middle of a throng of people high up in the penthouse of a Park Ave. building all he knew was that booze was awesome and music was even better.

Okay, so he might be a little tipsy.

“How's the master plan going?” Jensen shouted from behind him, voice a little hoarse from a night spent shouting over the beat of the music and the din of rambunctious teenage voices.

“As I have foreseen,” Misha called back. He didn't get the chance to hear the reply because right at that second someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back out onto the makeshift dance floor. Or perhaps not so makeshift, given who was throwing the party.

Misha threw himself into the music. He didn't care that he was the amateur, that everyone around him was able to do things with their bodies that Misha couldn't even attempt, it was the music that mattered. The music, and the plan. He wasn't drunk enough to forget the plan.

He moved up close to the nearest person, their bodies moving in time. While his prey was distracted, focused on every other part of his body, Misha slipped a folded up flyer from his pocket into theirs. That was the beauty of the plan, he was roping them in and they wouldn't even realize it until they went through their pockets the next morning. He'd catch more people through curiosity than he ever would have doing it the normal way. Unique, eccentric, crazy, were better than normal any day.

Minutes passed, songs changed and Misha lost track of everything else. This was what life was about, moving, heart beating, music pounding. For once Misha was outside of his own head, his neverending internal commentary dulled to hardly a whisper. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Without warning a hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him off the floor and out through the balcony doors. The night air, cool and clear in a way that promised of winter, shocked him like a bucket of water tossed on is head. He gasped and stumbled, falling forward until his hands hit the bar at the edge of the patio, the only thing between him and tumbling down thirty-some stories to the bustling street below.

“What was that about?” Misha demanded, suddenly much more sober than he wanted to be.

Jensen stepped up from the door to stand next to him, hands wrapped loosely around the bar in a hazy mimic of Misha's white-gripped clench. He shrugged, the dim light enough for Misha to pick out the emotions that skittered across his face. In the few weeks of their acquaintance Jensen had seemed like a sturdy, sardonic rock. Besides the occasional flush of embarrassment at some of Mr. Morgan's more bizarre acting exercises, he seemed to only have one setting, always responding to Misha with a dry quip or a pointed eyebrow lift. But now he only shrugged and ducked his head, maybe trying to hide what Misha might see.

“I was worried about you.” Jensen nudged him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I was having fun. You do know what fun is, don't you?” Misha bit out, tone sharp. He had been having fun, damnit. He could look after himself.

“You sure were.” Jensen shot right back. Misha blinked slowly, shocked into silence for a moment. He hadn't expected Jensen had that kind of anger and pure bitterness in him.

He shook his head, filing the information away for later dissemination. “You're not my parent, Jensen. You don't get to police my behavior.”

Misha's own anger burned through him and then out, leaving him feeling strangely light, almost weightless. He felt more than heard Jensen's responding shrug and mumbled “Sorry.” He draped his arm over Jensen and dropped his head onto his shoulder. “You're forgiven,” he replied in the same quiet voice.

They stood there and watched Manhattan dance beneath them.


Jared had only had the one beer that Chad had shoved into his hands so he couldn't really blame the booze for his current situation. He'd been so sure that this was the door to the bathroom, but instead of a sink and a tub he'd walked in on a very enthusiastic couple necking on a loveseat.

Before Jared could start to stutter out an apology the blonde girl, the senior who was throwing the party, launched herself out of her partner's lap and threw herself at Jared with all of the grace and strength of a dancer born and bred. He caught her just in time and she squealed, arms circling around his neck.

“Just what I ordered,” she said before attaching her face to Jared's lips. He kissed back reflexively, dazed. It wasn't until she pushed her tongue literally down his throat that he snapped back to himself and pushed her away. He set her back down on her feet.

“Wo, I-” he stuttered. He couldn't make his higher brain functions connect.

She was just about to throw herself back at him when a familiar figure cut in between them.

“Hands off. This one's mine.” And, oh my god, Jared didn't know which kind of embarrassment was going to kill him first, the fact that it was Genevieve, of all people, who had stepped in to save him or the sudden awareness of his very inappropriate erection.

The girls glared at each other. The blonde—was her name Abby? Amy?—broke first. “Whatevs,” she said, flippant, and went back to her previous companion. Genevieve grinned up at Jared and pulled him away.

“You're my hero,” he said, voice more earnest than he'd meant it to be.

Genevieve chuckled. “I can't take you anywhere, Padalecki.” She grabbed his arm and started to drag him down the hall. “Come on, you owe me a dance.”


Misha drove Jensen crazy. He glanced at him as they walked down the dark streets toward the subway station. He just never knew exactly where he stood with the guy, sometimes he felt like Misha was just putting up with him until someone cooler, more Misha showed up to take his place. The problem was that he genuinely liked the guy, liked how Misha changed his life, made it more exciting simply by existing. It seemed so fragile, this thing they had. Jensen was always afraid that it was all going to crumble and fly away.

They pushed their way through the turnstiles and Jensen knew they had to get on separate trains to go to their separate houses and lives but he had to stand there for a second and stare at Misha and his stupid hair and those eyes that cut right through all of Jensen's bullshit.

Misha smiled at him, blinding, and clapped Jensen on the shoulder. “See you on Monday.” And just like that he was gone.

Jensen turned to find his own way home.