A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Too many things have been going on in my life. But I'm so excited to share this chapter with you!

WARNING: This chapter contains abuse from the industry.

Castiel didn't go hide in the closet. No, he was not going to do that. He wasn't some teenage boy who'd snuck into his boyfriend's room and now had to hide because their dad was checking up on them. And he certainly wasn't going to treat the situation that way.

But Dean was anxious. He had had a slight flush to his cheeks, had seemed to be breathing with his mouth open a bit more.

So Castiel listened to him for now until things could get explained.

He stayed in the bedroom, away from the doors in case his silhouette would be seen. But he stayed close enough to listen in.

Castiel didn't even stop to ask himself why he was listening in, or if he actually wanted to stick around after to figure out just what the hell Dean Winchester had gotten himself into.

He just listened.

"Michael, wow," Dean's voice came from the other side of the door, growing quieter as he walked away. "I can't believe I actually get to meet you, the Archangel of Music."

An easy laugh left the other man, and Castiel decided he did not like it. It wasn't dread that he felt, knowing this wasn't his situation to deal with, but there was something off about that laugh, like it had been practiced. What kind of person needed to practice a laugh? In Castiel's mind, that just spoke of someone being either nervous or maliciously in power. He knew it wasn't the first option.

"Can't believe they call me that," he said. "No need for any of that here. I just wanted to see you with my own eyes. I've heard about you non-stop since I joined with Zachariah. You wouldn't believe the praise he has for you."

Dean sounded cautious and disbelieving when he said, "Oh, really?"

"Now that I see you, it's like you're practically made for me."

"Excuse me?"

"To work for me. Perfect rock star image, and your music is just genius."

"Oh, uh… thank you."

Sam cleared his throat — he seemed to do that a lot when he was uncomfortable — and then asked, "Uh, can we get you anything? A drink?"

"No need. I sent my assistant out to get me a cucumber mint lemonade. All the rage a few months ago with some of my other friends, and I still just can't get enough."

The way Michael had said other friends made it sound as if Dean was already his friend too. There was a sense of forced ownership there. Listening to it made Castiel feel uneasy. This was bordering on abuse. Maybe it already was and he just didn't know how deep it went.

Did all celebrities live like this? Were they all abused by the industry?

God, it'd make sense.

"Oh, those are good," Sam said, breaking the silence that Dean had seemed expected to fill. "You try any of those kale smoothies?"

There was a quiet sound of displeasure. "Kale's uneasy on my stomach. You get me, right, Dean?"

"Uh… um… yeah. Yeah. So that the contract?" he asked.

"Sure is. Details what you can do and what you can't do, what work we expect from you, and your increased pay."

There was a shuffling of papers.

"So you're saying I actually can do stuff?"

"Of course," Michael replied, his tone suggesting Dean's question had been absurd. Castiel didn't buy it. "I don't know what Zachariah told you—"

Dean's tone was low, dangerous, as he said, "Oh, he told me plenty."

There was silence, but it was dripping with tension. Castiel wished he could peek his head out the door and see what was happening, observe the body language.

"I don't know what kind of sick fetish you have," Dean went on, "but I'm not one of your other toys. You don't own me."

"So you won't sign it?" That laugh again. "Come now, Dean, you're not a toy. Think of it as you being my vessel. I use you to give the people what they want. I reside over them as an… archangel. You get it?"

"So you're gonna use me and live through me?"

"That's a harsh way of putting it."

"It's a harsh way to do business."

"Fine. Then you don't want to make music?"

"You know that's not what—"

"He'll sign it," Sam said, cutting Dean off.

"He telling the truth?" Michael asked. "You want to sign it, or is that just him speaking for you?"

Dean's voice was a rough growl as he said, resigned, "I'll sign it."

"Excellent. End of the day, alright, Dean?"

There was a noise, a grumbling of assent, and then Michael was making his farewells.

After the door closed something banged against it. That might've either been Dean's fist or his head.

"How is this legal?" he asked.

Sam offered, "You want me to do some digging?"

"I don't know. Whatever." Then he called, "Cas, it's safe to come out! The evil overlord is gone."

Castiel tentatively left the bedroom, feeling as if there'd been a weight against the doors. The air out there seemed heavier, laced with tension. A part of him hadn't wanted to come out. But he did.

Dean slammed a packet of papers down on the counter.

"Cas, come on. We're going for a drive."

"Is that really a good idea?" Sam countered.

Dean brushed past Castiel to go into his room and get his keys.

When Castiel looked back at him, he was shrugging.

"I don't know," Castiel said. "Maybe I should get back."

"No, I got you into this mess, I can at least try and make up for it. Come on, we can do whatever you want: stop for lunch, get some drinks, uh… whatever else people like to do for fun."

"Dean—"

"Calm down, Sam. We'll both wear hats and sunglasses. No one will know."

Dean shuffled through a drawer, put a hat and sunglasses on, and then came over to do the same to Cas. A darkly-tinted Dean beamed at him as Castiel pushed the sunglasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

Castiel strangely found himself wanting to agree to all this. He even wanted to find out more about him, what made him tick, what the contract was about, who Michael was, why Sam was trying to have him be careful.

But Meg…

He'd gone with her to Kansas City. He couldn't possibly go traipsing around it while knowing she was on her own. What kind of friend would that make him?

"I'll have to talk to my friend," Castiel said. Dean's face began to fall and he added on, "Before we go out. Besides, you promised me a new phone."

He'd meant the last sentence to be joking, if it needed to be, but Dean took it in stride.

"I sure did."

Dean took Castiel by the elbow, which startled Cas, but after last night, he supposed their barrier for intimacy had already come down. He had Cas start walking with him to the door.

"Dean, I don't know what I can do if Crowley or Zach hear about this."

Dean said to his brother, "Then do something now. Go figure out what the hell is up with that thing they want signed with my blood. Alright, Cas. Let's go."

Tension seemed to bleed out of Dean once they left the room, and the celebrity just stood there, taking a few deep breaths.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked, not sure what he would even do if Dean was honest with his answer. What could he do? What was even appropriate?

Dean ignored him, just started talking about their plans. Castiel let him do it for now, knowing that Dean Winchester wasn't a good person to push. Besides, if Castiel was in a situation that seemed as abusive as that, he wouldn't want to open up to some stranger he'd met the night before.

"So, how about I get you that new phone, then we check on the car, maybe get some lunch after."

Castiel just looked at him, questioning, wondering. Why was Dean doing this for him? Was it a sense of guilt? Should Castiel just decide to not go through with this?

Was he just a distraction?

The answer to that was something that would probably hurt under deeper scrutiny, but he decided to ignore it, his curiosity and need to help getting the best of him. Besides, Castiel was interested in other people and how their minds worked. Seeing the mind of a celebrity was something any mental health professional would surely kill for. There weren't any books for this stuff. It was new territory, and territory that his field certainly didn't talk about.

Besides, it wasn't every day that a cute guy asked him out to lunch.

Really? he chided himself. That's what's important to you?

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, noting Cas' silence as they walked through the halls to the elevator towards the back of the building.

"Nothing," Castiel lied.

He wasn't about to tell Dean his thoughts, even if they had talked so openly the night before. Why should he tell Dean his thoughts? It wasn't as if he wasn't ignoring Cas' questions either.

Once they were in the elevator, Castiel asked, "Do you usually do this?" Dean just raised his eyebrows in question, and Cas swallowed roughly at that look. He suddenly regretted asking him that while they were in an elevator. It was large, as far as elevators went, but it still managed to keep them close to each other. Maybe too close.. "Go out with fans," he eventually clarified after clearing his throat.

Dean grinned, and there was a rogue-ish light in his apple green eyes, matching his smile.

"Are you admitting you're a fan?"

"No." Dean chuckled at Castiel's words. "Definitely not," Castiel went on.

"Denial!" Dean sang.

Castiel just blushed, not sure how to handle this situation.

"I'm gonna make you a fan," Dean said.

The elevator dinged! They were on the ground floor. The doors slid open with hardly a sound, and then Dean was taking Castiel out through one of the back doors to the parking garage.

"Why is me being a fan so important to you?"

Dean just turned, studying him. Their eyes met, and Castiel tried to read what was in those beautiful green depths. But he couldn't. Dean wasn't an open book, and though Castiel knew people from an outside perspective, he wasn't sure what was going on here.

One side of Dean's mouth turned down in a frown.

"I don't know," he eventually responded. "Come on. We should hurry. I don't want to be seen."

"What'll happen if you are?"

"You really want to talk about that?"

"Do you want to talk about it? You seem incredibly on edge, stressed…"

"Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Phil."

They hurried through the dark shadows of the garage, and Castiel was wondering how the hell Dean was fine seeing with those dark sunglasses on. He nearly tripped over his own feet, yet Dean was walking as smoothly as ever.

They made it to his Impala, and Castiel stared at the vehicle before getting in. Anger began to boil in his stomach at the fact that Dean's car was fine, and Castiel's wasn't. They'd have to pick up his car, make sure it got the repairs it needed.

Castiel slid into the passenger's side, Dean already in the driver's seat. He put the key in the ignition, and twisted it. The Impala started purring and rumbling beneath them. As far as the sounds cars made were concerned, this one could almost be described as soothing.

"You won't be spotted in this?" Castiel asked as Dean started pulling out of the parking space.

"Only the rabid fans know I drive it," Dean said.

"And what about…" Castiel didn't know how to ask, so he trailed off.

They were making their way out onto the busy streets.

"What about what? Spit it out, Cas."

"Michael, that man he mentioned, Zachariah — I'm assuming they know what kind of car you drive. And Michael sounded… pretty serious" — nice understatement, Cas — "so I just want to know if you'll be okay. You didn't take your bodyguard with you either."

Dean sighed, as if he didn't really want to talk about it, but then he opened his mouth to explain, "I didn't take Clif with me because then my manager, or whoever else has their ears to the ground, will know for sure that I'm out and about."

"You make it sound as if they intend to keep you as a prisoner."

Dean shook his head, face furrowing, growing serious. His jaw clenched. "It sure as hell feels that way."