Fame Crazy (Sequel to Strings Attached)

Chapter 160

Dean grabs his suitcase and tosses it into the trunk of the impala, quickly closing it before the inside of the car can get wet. It's raining pretty hard, and Dean would never willingly hurt Baby like that.

"Well, off I go," Dean observes, glancing at his phone for a relative idea of what time it is.

"Are you sure you can drive in this?" Castiel asks nervously. He tries to glance upwards, but quickly decides against it to keep the water out of his eyes.

"I don't really have a choice," Dean replies. "I probably shouldn't have put this off so long, but hey, live and learn."

Castiel frowns. He wishes Dean would stop with the flippant attitude. The storm is only supposed to get worse, and especially with driving at sixty-plus miles per hour on the highway, it's a recipe for disaster.

"Hey, relax," Dean coos, putting his arms over his boyfriend's shoulders. "I'm gonna be fine. It's just a little rainstorm. I've driven in worse."

"But —" Castiel sighs. "Just call me when you get home, okay?"

"Can do," Dean replies.

"And if the rain gets too bad, go stay the night in a hotel and drive back tomorrow," Castiel adds.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, got it." He gives the boy a brief kiss. "See you soon?"

"Yep."

"Are you still planning on coming up soon?" Dean asks, sounding hopeful.

"In a few weeks, yeah," Castiel says. "I don't know about the whole training camp thingy, but I'm still planning on going to your second game." It's been a while since they informally planned that out, but the reasoning still stands — it will be easier to avoid drawing everyone's attention if he skips the first game, because people will assume he's not going. Hopefully.

"Awesome," Dean replies with a grin. "I think it's a home game, so that'll be nice." He glances at his phone again, unshaded by the drops of water landing on the screen. "Okay, now I actually have to go."

"Call me when you get home," Castiel reminds him.

"Can do." Dean gives him another quick kiss before sliding into the car and rolling the window down. "See you in a few weeks."

"Yep, see you then."

Dean turns the engine on, but before he leaves, he says teasingly, "Heya, Cas, you're all wet. Wonder how that happened."

"Hmm, it couldn't possibly be because a certain someone is procrastinating leaving," Castiel says sarcastically.

"And that certain someone is you?"

"Not a chance," Castiel jokes. "I would love for you to leave."

Dean gasps in mock offense. "Cas! I thought our love meant something to you!"

Castiel chuckles. "Not as much as staying dry. Seriously, get going. At this rate, you're not gonna get home 'til ten tonight."

"You might want to rethink that math," Dean replies. As he rolls the window back up, he says a very long, "Bye!" until his voice is blocked out by the pane of glass.

Castiel waves as he drives away, waiting until he's out of sight before going back inside. Now that he's home alone, he really has no shame, so he doesn't think twice before pulling off his soaking wet shirt and wiping the rain off his face. It's more effective than it would sound. The only problem is that now the floor is soaked, but it's not carpet, so it's fine.

Misha trots over to him, looking up at him expectantly. Castiel kneels down next to him, petting his sides in the way he knows his dog loves. Misha lets out a content sigh and lies down on the floor. From far away, he would probably look dead, but as it is, he's just adorable.

Unfortunately, Castiel is too wet to pet a dog. He knows from experience that if he does, he'll be covered in fur for a solid hour, at least. He stands up, leaving Misha alone as he heads up to his bedroom. He tosses his wet shirt in the hamper that sits by the door, then goes to put on a new one, but he pauses as he passes by his bookshelf.

He reaches out and carefully picks up the award resting on top of the bookshelf, a slight smile on his lips. It's the only award that's not in his songwriting room, because it's too special to be grouped in with the rest of them. It was the first award he ever won; a Grammy for the best new artist. It doesn't look like much — though that could be because he has so many of them that they've lost that special quality to them — but it makes him smile a little bit every time he sees it.

He puts it down again and flops down on his bed. He probably shouldn't fall back asleep at ten o'clock in the morning. It will screw up his sleep schedule for a long time. But then again, why would anyone turn down sleep?