Standing Together

Chapter 92

A/N Just spend two hours watching videos of Pete Davidson on YouTube and I think I'm obsessed

"He's following us," Castiel says quietly.

"Who now?" Dean asks.

"The pap," Castiel says. "He's in the car behind us."

"How do you know?" Dean asks. "There's no way you can see him in there."

"I saw him in his car on the highway," Castiel explains. "He snapped a picture. I thought that's what he meant by seeing us on public property, but no, that's his car behind us. He's following us home."

"I'm sorry, did you just say he took a picture on the highway?" Dean asks, incredulous. "I was pushing 90 the whole time! There's no way he looked away long enough to take a picture."

"Don't underestimate the paparazzi," Castiel says. "It's not the first time they've pulled something like that. Someone died doing it to Justin Bieber once, and I don't even think he was in his car at the time, so this isn't too uncommon."

"I'm beginning to understand why celebrities ride limos with blacked out windows," Dean says.

"If I had a security team I had to wait for, I would do it, too," Castiel says.

"Why don't you have a security team?" Dean asks. "Not that I'm complaining; I like having you to myself."

Castiel shrugs. "It always seemed so high maintenance. I wanted to be able to be alone, and I didn't want to have to wait for a bunch of body guards to leave my house. I figure I can kick someone in the crotch with no problem and I can usually get my fans to go away if I think they're becoming a problem. My only real issue is the paparazzi."

"Seems legit," Dean says. "And would ya look at that? Home, sweet home."

"Paparazzi included," Castiel adds.

"Ready to make a run for it?" Dean asks.

"I'm just going to hide my face," Castiel says. "The pictures lose their value that way."

"So no running?" Dean guesses.

"Not if I want to stay on my feet, no," Castiel says.

Castiel watches in the mirror as the paparazzo parks his car on the street by the house and steps outside, standing just behind the curb with his camera at the ready.

"Alright, let's do this," Dean says.

Dean steps out of the car and quickly heads to the other side, blocking the paparazzo's view as much as he can. He opens Castiel's door, and the boy climbs out, hiding in front of his fiancé.

Dean takes his hand, leading him to the house. He still stands behind Castiel as he unlocks the door, ushering him inside before quickly following, slamming the door shut behind them.

"What the hell?" Dean hisses. "I thought you said he couldn't take pictures of us on private property? My house is very much private property!"

"He can't be on private property," Castiel explains. "It doesn't matter where we are. Someone's taken pictures of me inside my house before, but if they're in the street, they're technically not breaking any laws."

"That's so fucking stupid," Dean says.

"Trust me, I'm aware," Castiel says. "It gets worse when there are a bunch, especially if they don't understand personal space. I've had to physically pushes them away more times than I can count."

"Being famous sucks," Dean says. "Can we go back to high school now?"

Castiel chuckles. "I wish it were that easy."

Dean sighs. "Well, come on. Let's go do something fun, in the privacy of our own home with all the curtains drawn so no dumbass paparazzi person can take pictures of us."

"Lead the way."

~~

"Welp, I'm beat," Dean announces.

"Time for bed?" Castiel guesses.

"It is for me, at least," Dean says.

Dean pulls off his tee shirt, tossing it carelessly on the ground. He has to sit down to take his pants off, carefully sliding them off his previously broken leg. He rolls his ankle out a few times.

"Look, I can move now," Dean says with a grin.

"Is your leg still swollen?" Castiel asks, coming closer to get a closer look.

"Probably," Dean says. "I mean, I broke two bones. My leg wasn't happy."

"But it's been months," Castiel says.

Dean shrugs. "I guess broken bones don't heal very quickly. I don't know. I've never broken a bone before. No one seemed concerned."

"I'm concerned," Castiel says.

"Don't be," Dean says. "It's just a little swollen. Hell, I don't even know if it is swollen." He kicks his leg up and rests it on the bed before lying down. "You coming?"

"Sure."

Castiel pulls off his flannel, tee shirt, and jeans, leaving them all on the floor because he's too lazy to put them away. He lies down next to Dean, but he's on his back, so it looks like spooning it out of the question. Instead, Castiel puts an arm across the boy's stomach, resting his head on his chest. Dean wraps an arm around him, holding him close.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel says quietly.

"'Night, Cas."