Castiel and Dean are bombarded by paparazzi almost the instant they get off the plane. Dean's his usual self when he sees them — he tells them to fuck off and then ignores them, with the exception of a few glares at the particularly annoying ones — but Castiel is a bit nicer. He ignores them entirely, acting as if there's no one there. Usually, he'd humor them with at least a smile, but he can't with the new badass thing going on.

It's not until they're in the limo away from the airport that they can start being normal human beings again. The only person who can hear them is the driver, anyway.

"So, how big is your house?" Dean asks. "How many rooms?"

"Hell if I know," Castiel replies. "I don't count the rooms in my house."

"Watch it be, like, fifty."

Castile isn't quite sure how to respond to that. Dean says it like it's an outrageous amount, but that could be about right. It's a much bigger house than most people have, to say the least.

Finally, he just says, "I honestly don't know. You'll see when we get there."

~~

"Holy shit," Dean breathes, staring at the house through the window. "This whole place is yours?"

"Mm," Castiel confirms, sliding out of the car and grabbing Misha.

Dean has a similar reaction to the inside of the house as he did with the outside. He pauses, taking it in. "Cas, this..."

"Is a conversation we can have inside," Castiel finishes. They step inside and close the door so Castiel can let Misha out of his crate. Castiel gestures for Dean to follow him as he walks down the hall to the closet, where he leaves the cage. It barely fits, but the door does close, so it works.

"Wait, is that—?" Dean cuts himself off and walks away without another word.

"Dean?" Castiel says uncertainly, quickly following him with Misha at his heels. He shouldn't be surprised where Dean is going. The boy must have spotted one of his awards, because he made a beeline to Castiel's... well, it doesn't really have a name.

The room in question could probably be referred to as his writing room. It's where all his song notebooks are, piled on the ledge of the large picture window. In the middle of the room is his guitar, placed gently in its stand. He also has a table next to it, which holds a cup full of guitar picks, as well as a few spare strings in case his break. On the other side of the room is the piano that he's still learning to use, the keys covered by the wooden door that flips down to make it look like a fancy piece of furniture.

That's probably not what drew Dean's attention, though. It's probably because of the many, many awards scattered throughout the room. There are awards on shelves he had to screw to the wall, awards on tables, hell, even awards on top of his piano. He's lost count of just how many awards he has, but he could name them all if he tried.

"Cas, this —" Dean looks around the room, finally looking back to Castiel when he finishes, "This is insane. These are all for just making music?"

"Yeah," Castiel replies. "I have a pretty good fanbase. They're always there for me, so that's how this all happened."

"Or because you're a freaking awesome singer and writer," Dean suggests. "Seriously. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you have this many awards. It's not like you don't deserve each and every one of them." He looks around again, then adds, "But damn, that's a lot."

Castiel chuckles, feeling slightly awkward about it. This looks like a lot of awards, sure, but there are artists with many, many more. He really doesn't feel like he deserves all the ones he has, but he wouldn't give them up for the world. Each one means too much to him to lose them.

"Anyway," Castiel says, changing the subject, "wanna see the rest of the house?"

"Hold on," Dean says, walking over to the piano. He reaches out towards the awards on top of it, then asks, "Wait, can I hold one?"

"If you don't drop it, sure," Castiel replies, somewhat hesitantly. He's not quite sure he trusts Dean to hold it safely, but he'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Awesome!" Dean picks up one of the awards, just looking at it for a few moments. He turns back to Castiel, holding the award to his chest, and clears his throat. "I'd like to thank the Academy —"

"You're thinking of Grammys," Castiel interrupts him.

"What?"

"The Academy awards the Grammys," Castiel explains. "This one's fan nominated. The academy had nothing to do with it."

"Well, what's this, then?" Dean asks.

"An EMA award," Castiel replies. His first EMA award, too. Well, from his first EMA awards show. He got three of them that day, and he's not quite sure which is which.

"A what now?"

Castiel chuckles. "An EMA award. It's MTV's award show in Europe." It's the only time he ever uses his passport.

"Right, obviously," Dean replies, making it clear that there's no way he should have known that. "So, which one is a Grammy?"

Castiel leads him away from the EMA awards on the piano and towards one of the shelves. He has to think for a moment, then hands Dean one of his more recent awards. The older ones have too much sentimental value to risk breaking them.

"This is a Grammy?" Dean surmises, turning it around in his hands and admiring it.

"Yep," Castiel replies. "Not as cool as it seems, I know."

"What are you talking about? This is awesome!" Dean laughs. "I'm holding a freaking Grammy, for god's sake. I've never felt this cool!"

Castiel chuckles. Wow, he's easy to impress.

"Now I wanna see the rest of the house," Dean tells him, putting the award back. "If you don't think this is cool, I can only imagine how cool the rest of your house is, and you don't even know."