"When's she gonna come back?" Dean whines. "I want ice cream."

"You sounds like a five-year-old," Castiel says.

Dean shrugs. "I'm young at heart."

"Okay, but what you're not going to do is annoy the waitress —" Castiel begins, but Dean cuts him off.

"Well, duh," Dean says. "I'm gonna complain to you, not her. She's just doing her job."

"Good Dean," Castiel says, patting his leg like a dog. He would have patted his head, which would make more sense, but people keep looking at them, and he doesn't want to be weird.

"Yes I am good Dean," he says with some weird accent that Castiel can't place. "Do you want to go skateboards?"

Castiel just stares at him blankly.

Dean sighs dramatically. "It's TomSka, Cas."

"I don't know what that is," Castiel tells him. The name sounds familiar, though, so either Dean or Lucifer has probably mentioned it before.

"Then I'll make you watch all his videos when we get home," Dean says.

"No," Castiel says quickly. "Anything but that."

"Okay, I'll make you watch the rest of the Marvel movies when we get home instead," Dean says with a satisfied smirk.

"Okay," Castiel says, much to Dean's surprise.

"Wait, seriously?"

Castiel shrugs. "Sure. I mean, I liked Loki, and Captain America's kinda hot."

"'Kinda'?" Dean repeats. "Steve is the hottest character of the Marvel movies — but that's really the only thing he's good for. He's actually really boring, but his movies are good."

"I liked him," Castiel says.

"Cas, I'm sorry to break it to you," Dean says, looking very sympathetic, "but that means you're boring, too."

Castiel chuckles. "I mean, you're not wrong." He jerks his head towards the waitress, walking their way. "I think you're getting your dessert now."

"Oh, thank god," Dean says. "I need sugar."

"You're turning into Gabriel," Castiel says, amused.

Dean gasps, acting insulted. "Cas, don't compare me to that thing."

Castiel just shakes his head in amusement.

"Want to split an ice cream sundae?" Dean asks.

"Are you capable of sharing food?" Castiel counters.

"Usually no, but they have really big sundaes here," Dean says. "And I'll eat anything you don't want to."

"Then sure," Castiel says.

They come to that conclusion just as the waitress brings the dessert menus over, but Dean waves them off, just ordering their sundae instead.

"Is there a point in being all gentlemanly and offering to pay when we're going to get married pretty soon and share our money anyway?" Dean asks.

"Probably not," Castiel says. "I don't know. You be you."

"I'm gonna do it anyway just to feel like a good person," Dean says.

"Welp, less work for me," Castiel says with a shrug.

The waitress brings their ice cream sundae over, placing the large glass bowl on the table between them. They both thank her before she walks away, and they can dig in.

"How did you do that?" Castiel asks when they're finished with the ice cream, after Dean ate the majority of it.

"Do what?" Dean asks, seeing genuinely clueless.

"Eat all that," Castiel says. "And a burger, and fries?"

Dean just shrugs. "I can't play football anymore. Eating is the one joy in life I have left."

"That's so depressing but you sounded so happy," Castiel says.

"Uh, yeah, because ice cream," Dean says. "But, unfortunately, my binge eating is over. Check time?"

"It would appear so," Castiel says.

"How much do you usually tip?" Dean asks. "Cuz when I go out and no one's gonna judge me, I go with, like, five k, just 'cause I can, but I don't know if you usually tip more just 'cause you're super rich."

Castiel gapes at him. "Five thousand dollars? Do you even make enough money for that?"

"Do I make enough money playing professional football every day for six months to spend five thousand dollars on the extremely rare occasion that I go out to eat by myself?" Dean nods. "Yes, I think it's safe to say I do — or did, when I could still play."

Castiel just stares at him in disbelief for a few moments before saying, "Well, I mean, I'm not going to say no to be generous. I'll chip in the same amount so I don't feel bad about myself."

"So 10 k?" Dean surmises.

So that's what they do. It's sure to make her day when she sees it. After a few minutes, they're ready to go. Castiel slides out of the booth with ease, and Dean does the same but slower and more careful.

"This whole 'two working legs' thing is weird," Dean says, earning a small smile from Castiel.

"Castiel?" the boy wearing his album cover shirt says hesitantly as the two boys are starting to leave, and he's morally obligated to stop and talk, just because he's wearing the merch.

"Hi," Castiel says with a fake but realistically friendly smile.

The boy just stares at him, seemingly at a loss for words, so the girl in flannel steps in with, "That's Steven. He's kinda obsessed, if the shirt didn't give it away."

Steven shoots her a glare.

"Dude, own it," Dean says, but the reminder that Dean's here too just seems to put Steven back in star struck mode.

"Well, it was nice to meet you guys," Castiel says.

When Steven doesn't say anything, the flannel girl steps in again with, "He's been talking about trying to get a picture since he saw you."

"We can do that," Castiel says, even though he really doesn't want to. He gestures for Steven to stand up. "Come on. Don't want the table in the picture."

Steven stands next to him, and flannel girl takes a picture of them.

"So if you're Castiel," flannel girl says, then looks to the other boy, "then you're Dean Winchester, right?"

"No," Dean lies.

"Yes, that's Dean," Castiel says. "He's just antisocial."

"Trust me, I'm aware," she says. In a mocking voice, she adds, "'I'm not going to answer that.'"

"Okay, if the question's irrelevant, I'm not going to answer it," Dean says.

"The questions are usually relevant, but go off," flannel girl says.

Dean crosses his arms. "If you know that I say that a lot, you've got to be a Pats fan, but I've never met one who was this —"

"Disrespectful?" flannel girl finishes. "That's how I feel about you as a Pats player."

Dean doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. He must not be used to people disrespecting him like that. They're not usually this bold in person.

"She's just bitter that Tom Brady's gone," one of the other boys says.

"Not sure what I have to do with that," Dean says. "I may have replaced him, but he retired on his own."

"But Brady was a hundred times better than you," flannel girl says.

"Brady was a hundred times more controversial than me," Dean says. "Four years on the team and I've never once been accused of cheating. Brady wishes he could say the same."

"Brady didn't actually cheat — wait, did he actually cheat?" flannel girl asks.

Dean shrugs. "No clue. It never came up in conversation, and I didn't care enough to ask."

"Uh, Castiel?" Steven asks hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

Steven pauses for a moment, trying to find a way to phrase this. "I just — I want to say I'm sorry about stan Twitter."

"I'm sorry for the people who enjoy stan Twitter," Castiel says. How do they find entertainment in bashing other people?

"I mean, I'm sorry for how they treat you," Steven says. "Especially after the Grammys a few months ago."

Castiel doesn't respond to that with anything other than a nod, because he's sure that whatever he says would come out as some rude variation of "I don't want to talk about that."

"But you and Jack are cute," Steven says.

"He's literally turning 17 today —" Castiel begins.

"No, cute friends," Steven says. "I'm not that weird. But the way he talks about you is just... He really looks up to you."

"Poor kid," Castiel says, much to Steven's surprise. "I hope he changes his mind soon."

"Okay, I officially don't like you," Dean says to flannel girl, getting Castiel's attention.

"I'm surprised it took you this long," flannel girl remarks.

"Honestly, me too," Dean says. "Cas, can we leave? She's disgracing the good name of flannel with every word."

Castiel chuckles. "I think you're being a little dramatic, but it's probably about time to head home anyway." He gives the group a small smile. "It was nice to meet you guys." To Steven specifically, he adds, "And thanks for all your support."

They head out of the restaurant, and instantly, Castiel's blinded by camera flashes. He instantly shields his face from the light, and it only occurs to him as he does it that he gets the added bonus of covering his face. The paparazzi can't usually sell their pictures if they don't get a clear shot of his face. It doesn't make their pictures worthless, because they can use them to get their name out there, but at least they can't really profit off of them.

"Hey, back off," Dean snaps.

He takes Castiel's free hand and leads him back to the car, but the three people waiting for them follow, one walking backwards in front of them. Dean just flips him off. When the guy stands in front of the passenger seat door, Dean physically pushes him away, and he stumbles before catching his balance.

"In, quick," Dean murmurs, helping Castiel in the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel hides his face, ducking down so far that his head is almost in his lap, and all they can see from outside is his hair. Dean swings around the car and takes his seat behind the wheel, but even when the car is on and in drive, he doesn't move.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Castiel asks.

"He's standing in front of the car," Dean says. "I can't move without running him over — which I'm seriously considering."

"Honk the horn, see if he moves," Castiel says.

Dean does just that. "Nothing."

"Start to drive —"

"I will literally run him over if I do that," Dean says.

"Just a few inches," Castiel says. "Try to scare him away."

"No, he's right there," Dean says. "I can't."

Castiel sighs. "Fine."

He rolls down his window and sticks his head out. "You can't take pictures in front of my car. It's illegal, and I will not hesitate to call the cops."

"Actually, I can," the man says, and takes a picture as if trying to prove it. "There's no law against it. I know it sucks, but this is a competitive business, and I take what I can get."

"No, you can't take pictures of me here without consent," Castiel insists. "The parking lot is private property, owned by the restaurant."

"Those rules aren't enforced, Castiel," he says.

"They will be if I call the cops," Castiel says. "They will be if I take this to court."

"You wouldn't," he says confidently.

"And I bet a year ago, you wouldn't have expected me to take 10 months to myself," Castiel says. "I might just surprise you."

"I don't buy it," he says.

Castiel rolls his window up so the man can't hear him anymore and pulls out his phone. He calls Lucifer, then puts his phone to his ear.

"Heyo, Cassie, what's up?" Lucifer greats him.

"There's a dick standing in front of my car to take pictures of me so I'm pretending I'm calling the cops," Castiel explains.

"Wait, where did you even go?" Lucifer asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you in your car?" Lucifer specifies. "Well, Dean's car, I'm guessing."

"We went out to eat," Castiel explains. "We're celebrating the return on Dean's left leg."

"Oh, hey, that's today, isn't it?" Lucifer says. "You know what else is today?"

"Jack's birthday?" Castiel guesses.

"No, the BBMAs," Lucifer says. "I think Jack's performing, though. What an awesome birthday present for him, huh?"

"Yeah, really," Castiel agrees. "Do you think this has been long enough for a suitable police phone call?"

"I have no idea," Lucifer says. "I've never had to call the police because some di— some guy was standing in front of my car."

"What, you can't even say 'dick' anymore?" Castiel says, trying to keep his amusement off his face so the paparazzo doesn't know this isn't a cop call.

"Not at the moment, no," Lucifer says. "Alex is tiddle toddling across the floor, and she's getting to the age that I'm afraid she can actually pick up words, so I don't want to say anything I wouldn't want to hear her say."

"How's Alex doing?" Castiel asks.

"Pretty good," Lucifer says. "Ya know, she's childing, per usual. Oh, wait, gotta go. She's gonna go mess with Mark. That's never good. Bye!"

Castiel doesn't even get to say goodbye before Lucifer hangs up, saving his guinea pig from Alex's grasp. Isn't she too short to reach the pig anyway? It's been a while since Castiel has seem the cage, but he's pretty sure it was a foot or two tall. Unless Mark's just running around the floor... which would actually make sense in Lucifer's world. Maybe he shouldn't question it.

"Lucifer?" Dean guesses.

"Of course," Castiel replies. "Who else would I call?"

"I don't know, maybe the cops?" Dean says.

"If he doesn't move, I will," Castiel says. He rolls down his window and calls out to him. "I would say you have five minutes, max, until the cops show up."

The paparazzo just looks at him for a moment, clearly skeptical, but then says, "Fine. I'll see you on public property."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks cautiously.

All he says is, "I'm sorry, Castiel, but a man's gotta eat," before walking away, likely back to his own car.

Castiel rolls his window back up. "Dean, go, now."

"On it," Dean says, already beginning to drive away.

Castiel turns the radio on, deciding against the Led Zeppelin cassette tape already prepared. It's probably a good thing, too, because the first song that comes on is Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive."

"Hell yeah," Castiel says with a grin. "This is my shit."

"Bon Jovi rocks," Dean agrees, then adds, "On occasion."

As if they planned it, they both start singing at once. "'Cause I'm a cowboy! I got the night on my side! Cuz I'm wanted, wanted, dead or alive!"

And, of course, because Castiel is the biggest Bon Jovi fan on the planet, he can't help but start jamming out, and because he's having so much fun jamming out to Bon Jovi, he continues jamming out to the next song — Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Gifted Hands." Dean joins in, of course, because that's what fiancé's are for. It's possibly the best part of his day, honestly.

And then that goddamn paparazzo catches up to them on the highway and snaps a picture through the freaking window.

That kills the mood for Castiel. He can't help but sing along anyway, but he's quiet about it, no longer really enjoying his mini rock concert.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Dean asks, glancing over at him.

"Nothing," Castiel mutters.

"Cas —"

"I'll tell you later," Castiel says. "Now please, for the love of god, will you keep your eyes on the road?"