A/N: This is an angsty one!

WARNING: This chapter contains alcoholism, violence, and mentions of abuse.

"Though the sounds of someday / May be home! / Though the sounds of someday / May be be home, ay!"

Sweat glistening on his skin, but not ruining the various bronzers that had been put on him, Dean brought his running, and his dancing to a stop, and he stood, blocking out the crowd, just listening to the guitar as he strummed, just waiting for the right moment. His soul seemed like it could fly, and he was on top of the world, and as he took in the breath to finish this song, he knew that he was high on life. It could take him anywhere.

"And though the sounds of someday / May be home, ooh!"

Dean let the last notes hang in the air, simply mesmerized with the tune of his own song, with the depth and lightness of his voice.

Finally, he finished the concert, and the fans went wild. Dean came back to himself, beaming, still feeling as though music was pounding through his body.

"Thank you, everybody!" he screamed. "You've been a great crowd! Whoo! Kansas City!"

After more moments of adoration, Dean's handlers were behind the curtain, beckoning him to come off the stage.

He left, body exhausted, but made sure he seemed to have as much energy as he had upon entering the stage.

An assistant took his guitar, and the sounds of the crowd faded as he was led down stairs, and through various halls of the stadium, to a green room.

Dean skipped the water on the table as he passed by, and grabbed a beer.

Sam was waiting for him in the green room, having been allowed in because he was his brother. Crowley was there as well, and unfortunately, so was a man he'd had a few dealings with and rather didn't like: Zachariah. He was the executive of the record label Dean was contracted with, Heaven's Records. Usually execs didn't come out to concerts and they left that business to representatives, so this had to be big.

Great.

He suppressed rolling his eyes, popped the tab on his beer, and took a sip.

"That was excellent!" Crowley told him, standing to embrace him. He pointed to a screen that was in the green room, which was now showing the crowd departing. "Caught the whole thing."

Dean nodded, then addressed his brother, "Sam, you like it?"

Sammy beamed, and also got up to congratulate him with physical affection, clapping his shoulder. "Hell yeah, man!"

Dean got himself a seat across from the exec, and bluntly asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Just enjoying the show, Dean."

Another sip of his beer.

"Uh huh."

Zach gave him an uneasy smile, hands clasped before him, leaning forward. "Look, we want to change your contract. Nothing big. Just add a couple more zeros to the paycheck, and with it you gotta make a music video, along with cooperating in some other areas."

Dean sighed. "Ain't music videos more the pop industry type deal?"

"You've turned rock into the new pop, Dean."

"Yep, and what's the catch? You're not just gonna give me more money for a single music video."

"We want you to tour. Europe, UK."

"But?" he prompted, sensing a but.

"But, you have to behave." Zach stood, taking the beer out of his hands as Dean had been about to drink a great amount of it. He held it up, shaking it. "No more of this."

"But—"

And now he held out his phone, showing paparazzi photos of Dean making out with a woman on the street. Who was she? Was that that girl Cassie, the one who had a tattoo of his name somewhere, well, interesting?

"No more of this. Crowley's already told me he's been working with you on it."

"What, so I can't have fun?"

"No," Zachariah simply stated. "You can't have fun, Dean. Your kind of fun can lead to mishaps, mistakes, bad press. You're a label, someone to be marketed. You want to market the bad boy who gets too drunk and punches a reporter?"

"I haven't done that," he argued.

"Yet. You want to be the bad boy who sleeps with a fan lying about her age?"

"Or him," Dean interjected.

"Excuse me?"

Dean stood, getting right in his face. "I'm a person," Dean yelled. " A person, you got that? I have vices, and flaws, and wants, and needs."

"A person, huh?"

Dean glanced around the room, at Sam, at Crowley, eyes big, pleading for help. Sam seemed just as caught off guard and helpless as he was. The best he seemed able to do was to start shouting "objection!" but they both knew he wasn't going to do that.

"What if I say no?"

"We drop you."

Dean clenched his jaw, and felt his hands curling into fists. God, was that wall close enough to punch? Soon it didn't matter because he'd brushed past Zach, and, vision going red, he swept plates of food and bottles of drinks off the table, and then there was a loud noise, numb pressure exploding in his knuckles.

Cheeks flushed, he pulled his hand from the hole in the wall.

"Fuck you!" Dean cried, pointing a finger at him.

"Now, now, Dean, don't—"

"Don't what?" he asked, getting in his face again. Now Sam was up, arms around Dean to hold him back. Dean didn't bother fighting him. "Don't what?"

"Tantrums will get you nowhere."

"So I quit drinking just like that?" he asked. "And I don't see people anymore? No dating?"

"None."

"What about free time, my established relationships, family? Is Sammy getting swept aside with this deal too, huh?"

"Dean," Sam intoned, voice soothing in his ear.

"What about Lisa and Ben?"

"We won't touch them if you do what we say. Look, I don't like to do this, Dean, pretend you're not someone, but well… you're not. Who you are doesn't matter to us. It's what you can sell. And we want to sell you off as a worshipful, immaculate being, having you ascend above the rockstar stereotypes. Your popularity will burst through the roof. So, you clean up your act, you stay away from fans, you do as we say, and we won't have a problem."

Dean shrugged out of Sam's grip, and went over to Crowley, pointing an accusing finger. "You knew about this."

"Dean—"

"You knew," he breathed, voice low, but gritty with emotion. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

"I warned you."

"Well, nice warning, fuckwad."

"Dean, I will quit if you keep this up."

Dean stood back, laughing.

Was this really happening? Where had his freedom gone? He just wanted to make music, wanted to make people happy. He didn't want any of this bullshit. And why all the changes, and why so soon, so fast?

Zachariah set Dean's beer bottle down, but Dean ignored it, grabbing another one, and drank as much as he could, feeling liquid dribble down his chin. Oh god, that stuff was good. It wasn't enough to get him buzzing or even numb though. And was blood dripping down his knuckles? They were starting to swell, right hand red, maybe turning a little purple.

Dean finished off half the bottle, and spluttered through his drink.

"Dean, I think you need to sit down," Sam said, taking him by the shoulders and attempting to maneuver him to a seat.

"Sammy, can they do this?" he asked.

"Of course I can," Zachariah said, all self-important and pleased. "Paired with a new exec. Michael Edlund."

Oh god, Dean had heard of him, the fucking Archangel of Music as celebrity fans liked to call him. The bastard didn't care about people, just cared about stats, and marketing, and money, and having people act to his every whim. Dean wouldn't even be surprised if there were sex scandals wrapped up in there, kept hidden away since he was oh so clean and immaculate.

But maybe the worst for Dean was that Michael forced himself to live through his artists, took them over.

Dean let Sam drag him into a chair at that.

He raised his bottle at Crowley, and Zachariah, smiling. "Well, here's to fucking up my life. Maybe you own me, but I'm gonna fight tooth and nail the whole time. So I agree to this new, fucking stupid contract. Drop off the papers with my assistant, and I'll even sign with a god damn golden pen. How's that? I'll do what you want, but you better believe I'm gonna test the limit."

Sam pat a comforting hand against Dean's chest as he continued drinking, feeling angered, embittered tears built up in his eyes.

So long, Dean Winchester, he thought. Here's to life as an angel condom. May you rest in peace, you son of a bitch.

So he wasn't out of being controlled. His dad, John was probably smiling up from Hell at that.

He'd better have a good seat down there.

Dean wondered if he would too.

A/N: So! Who wants to get together and kill Zachariah with me?