#castiel would be a popstar fight me

[novaks-have-more-fun]

on my spn!au that lives rent free in my head, cas is a soloist popstar (and his stage name is castiel, just castiel, like fucking beyoncé) who makes songs like xs - rina sawayama (criticizing capitalism and always talking about social issues) because he went to college and is super smart but also has the voice of an angel and is cute as hell so, yeah, he's famous.

teen!sam is obsessed with cas, so he makes dean take him to one of his concerts. dean do not care about pop songs thank you very much, even less about some stupid popstar, but castiels music really is quite interesting (and, fuck, he looks hot while performing all sweaty).

[thekingslover]

(popstar!cas/fanboy!dean part 6/7; read parts 1/2/3/4/5 or on ao3)

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, much much later, when they are next to each other in bed. The lights are off, the sun’s setting over the trees through the window, and the warm glow of dusk sparkles in Cas’s eyes.

Dean’s blissed out and exhausted. They’d talked about this, and he planned. But nothing in his wildest imagination prepared him for the real thing. The real incredible joy of having this perfect man in his bed.

Still, he fights off sleep, heart squeezing, remembering the last time Cas was here. He’d promised he wouldn’t just leave again, no matter how cute Dean looks asleep, but a curl of dread lingers in his bones. Remembering. Always, remembering.

“I love you,” Cas whispers.

Dean has his head on Cas’s chest. He’s counting the strong steady heartbeats beneath his ear. Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing.

Stay awake, he commands himself, as his eyes drift closed.

When he opens them again, the sun is bright and the bed beside him is empty.

“Cas?” Dean says. Then louder, “Cas?”

He crawls out of bed and throws on a pair of boxers. He’s in the hall, around the corner. Is there a taxi? Maybe Dean can catch him this time. He has the front door half open when -

Behind him.

Soft talking.

Dean closes the door. He swivels on his bare heels and storms toward the kitchen.

Sam’s leaning against the counter, holding a bowl of cereal, spoon lifted halfway to his mouth.

Across from him, near the fridge, stands Cas in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a pair of soft pajama pants. The coffee mug in his hands reads World’s Best Brother.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” Cas gives him a soft, secret smile that makes Dean warm all over.

He didn’t leave. He’s here. He’s in the kitchen. Talking to Sam.

And everything’s okay.

Sam stares at the ceiling. “Dean. Could you please put on some pants?”

They have a great visit. And when Cas has to go to the airport, Dean drives him, helps get his luggage out of the car, and then kisses him goodbye.

Dean rides the high of their visit for a full two days. Then they run out of milk. Dean stops on the way home from the garage to get a jug and a few other groceries. Only one checkout line is open, and the lady in front of him decides to pay with a check.

It’s okay. He’s not in any real hurry.

In boredom, he scans over the magazines in the checkout aisle.

He drops the milk.

WHO IS CASTIEL’S SECRET HOOKUP? the headline reads, on one of the tabloid magazines. And there, right beneath it, is a close up of Dean’s face. It’s fuzzy, like taken from a distance and blown up. A smaller picture beside it shows Dean and Cas in Dean’s front yard, arms around each other, deep in their kiss.

It’s fine, he reasons, as he grabs the whole stack so no one else will see. Except the cashier who looks at the magazine, and then up at Dean. “No way,” she says, and Dean leaves it, leaves everything. He goes to his car and drives home.

“You get the milk?” Sam asks when Dean walks through the door. He looks up, sees Dean, and concern etches across his face. “Dean? What happened?”

“I...” He can’t explain it, really. He knew it would happen, someday. Cas was ultra famous. They couldn’t be together without Dean being pulled into the limelight at least once. But he thought it would be under different circumstances. Controlled, somehow. They’d talked about it. Cas was going to take him to an awards show. They’d wear suits and hold hands.

“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas would say. “My boyfriend.”

They didn’t talk about this.

“Sit down.” Sam guides Dean to the couch. “What happened?”

“I don’t...”

“Breathe,” Sam urges.

Dean tries. “They got my picture.”

Only it’s worse. Because later, after watching the news - “Something to distract you,” Sam says - Sam goes to the bathroom and the celebrity gossip show comes on. The top story?

“We’ve got the scoop from an inside source,” says the host. “All you could ever want to know about pop star Castiel’s new secret lover, Dean Winchester.”

Inside source?

Sam comes back from the bathroom, sees the show, whitens, and rushes for remote to change the channel.

“Leave it,” Dean says, because whoever is talking to these shows about his life, he wants to know.

Their “source” if a fifty year old guy with a British accent who Dean has never seen before in his life. He gives a list of Dean’s personal details - his birthday, his sign, his job. Too much time is spent describing his appearance.

“Who is that?” Sam asks. Dean shrugs.

“Honestly, he works hard,” this guy says. “But he’s a lousy mechanic.”

“Hey!” Dean hops to his feet.

The guy’s expression turns grim. “I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel. But I’m sure Castiel sees that too. We have no reason to assume this is more than a fling.”

Anger turns to ice, and Dean sits back down.

Sam flips off the television. “Don’t listen to a word of that garbage.”

Dean nods.

When Cas calls that night, before he even says, Hello, he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says.

“We wanted to do this differently. They must have followed me.”

“I was surprised,” Dean says. “But...” For Cas, he’d do anything. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel.

“We will figure it out. Together,” Cas says, and Dean lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he held. “I love you, Dean.”

“I... I know, Cas.”

The next day is worse. Strangers come up to him on the street. Most of them are okay, asking if he’s really that guy, if he really knows Cas. Dean gives them vague answers. Some ask for selfies. Dean shies away. Only a few say he’s not good enough for Cas. Dean walks away without a word.

But its those few he remembers.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, later on the phone.

“I’m fine,” Dean lies. Even he can hear the rattle in his breath.

Cas is quiet for a while, so long Dean thinks he might have hung up. But then he says, “I have an idea. If you want.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s set the record straight.”

A few days later, Dean is backstage at an amphitheater. Cas is onstage in tight pants and a white t-shirt with black wings on the back - the same as when they met. He’s halfway through the show. The crowd is roaring, singing, cheering.

They love him. Dean loves him too.

Between songs, Cas is sweaty and smiley and breathy as he says, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cas looks over, the bright lights behind him, glowing around his dark hair like a halo.

Dean, helpless against those blue eyes and that smile and the wave of his hand, starts moving forward without really thinking.

When Dean gets close enough, Cas takes his hand and brings it to his lips. Dean steps closer. It’s warm under the lights and his skin tingles.

“This is my boyfriend, Dean,” Cas says, and though there is a microphone between them, it’s Dean he’s speaking to. “And I love him.”

This is how it should be. Them, and the fans. Their terms. That smile. 

“I love you, too, Cas.”

And they kiss.

And the crowd cheers on and on.

Three months later, they do attend that awards show. Both wear tuxes and smiles, and Dean holds Cas’s hand like a lifeline because he’s never seen so many cameras or had so many flashes go off in front of his eyes before.

Then they get to the interviewer, who asks about Dean.

“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas says, just like they talked about. “My fiance.”