Supernatural: Night to Remember (AKA: Sausage Fest in Vegas)
Title: Night to Remember (AKA: Sausage Fest in Vegas)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13, implications of fornication between two men.
Word Count: 4,280
Spoilers: All the way up to 6x01.
Summary: In which Dean thinks a vacation is a good idea, being a victim of date-rape drugs is the equivalent to getting smashed for angels, and Sam just doesn't want his brother to go to Hell again for doing his angel of the Lord. In Vegas.
A/N: First SPN fic done, and I'm just worried that I didn't horribly misinterpret these guys. Here's hoping I at least got their voices down partially well. This is set in an AU where everything is smiling rainbows and they're all just back to hunting and being emo dorks. This was inspired by "The Hangover" but I didn't base anything off of it... I don't think, anyway. Happy reading!
--
“We’re in Vegas, baby!”
Sam shook his head with a smile. Even though he wasn’t as excited as Dean probably was, he still leaned his head forward in the Impala to get a better look at the bright neon lights going by. He chuckled when Dean pointed at the Eiffel Tower replica with enthusiasm.
“Man, and I thought it didn’t get any better than the Grand,” he said with an exhale of breath.
“And I thought you wouldn’t like something like this.” Sam sat back again as the car halted for a stop light, taking in the view from the passenger side as Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight. “You know, big cities, flashing lights…”
“Who, me?” Dean asked with mock peculiarity. “Vegas is all about living in the moment. C’mon, that’s totally me.”
“Really?” Sam asked skeptically. Dean Winchester, who ignored his problems and dwelled on them until he broke down and lost his pride, who couldn’t let go of simple things and who-
“Sammy,” Dean interrupted his thought process, looking him straight in the eye. “Live in the moment.”
Sam gave him a worried frown before he shrugged it off and let Dean win that one. Dean smiled and continued to watch every passing thing, pointing and whooping like the good-natured person Sam knew him to be. And if Dean couldn’t keep a smile off his face, Sam knew he was doing something right. That’s when they stopped in a parking lot next to one of the most massive hotels he’d ever seen and Dean turned in to a stall, Sam didn’t try to stop him. When he got to the counter and asked what room was second to nicest they had, Sam just grinned and caught the golden key Dean tossed his way. After everything in their lives, they deserved this, even if Dean never admitted it to himself. Sam thought this to be a step in the right direction, even if they were on the trail of a hunt and that was the reason for all this. According to Dean, there was no such thing as inexpensive hotels in Vegas, so they might as well live it up.
When they got to the room, Dean went straight for the beers, all grins as he inspected the room with devouring eyes. Sam had to admit, he’d never seen anything like it. An entire outer wall made completely of glass and steel, a small strip of kitchen with a bar making up one of its walls, a huge living room with a half-circle black leather couch, LED widescreen equipped, and two huge bedrooms to top it off with king sized beds. Sam didn’t think he needed to mention the pristine white carpet, the Bose surround system that lined the entire room, or the Jacuzzi. More than likely they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the latter since they were, in fact, tailing something.
“So, about those vampires,” Sam started, sitting down on the couch and pulling out his laptop. “We got any leads?”
Dean sipped at his bear, teetering on his heels for a moment before tilting his beer forward in a gesture toward Sam. “Not a thing.”
Sam glared. “Dean.”
“Hey, put that thing away,” he said pointedly at the laptop. Dean took another sip, walking to the window in an impression that looked to be from a movie. Sam never thought he’d see his brother looking over Las Vegas in what had to be the biggest hotel in the city. It just didn’t seem all that right. “I’ll tell you what; let’s enjoy a night here. You know, have a few beers, go to a few bars, maybe hustle some pool… the whole nine. And then we’ll get on those vamps.”
“Dean, innocent people cou-”
“Sammy,” Dean said in a warning tone. “Let’s just… relax, alright?” He looked over his shoulder, a serious look in his eye.
That was when Sam realized it was all a hoax. There were no vampires, never were. The call from Bobby had probably been a lie, too, or Dean made up his own details, maybe they’d been plotting this the entire time. Sam looked at his brother, beer in hand, the other in the pocket of his worn jeans that had a few fading stains on them, slack shoulders and all too serious expression for a man standing over all of Vegas. “Alright, you win.”
Dean opened him a victory beer and they started on their night to remember.
--
For once, Castiel had answered their callings and arrived. Sam had no idea, of course, but apparently Dean had been screaming at him from some random barn the other night and had suddenly appeared in the bathroom of their hotel when Dean was showering. A few shouts and embarrassed minutes later, they were all in the living room with Dean cursing.
“Dammit, Cas, what the Hell?”
“Now’s not the time for Hell, Dean,” he said seriously, gaze as intimidating as Sam had ever remembered. Familiar or not, Castiel was still an angel of the Lord. Now that his angel mojo was back, he hadn’t been around as much. “Why have you called me?”
“Oh, that,” Dean said, relaxing a little, though not forgetting their little trip-up a few minutes ago. “First of all, you don’t just disappear for months and then decide to pop up in a guy’s bathroom. S’not right.”
“It belongs to the hotel, I believe,” Castiel deadpanned. If he hadn’t known better, Sam would think he was retorting.
“Secondly, you’re late, but screw it. Cas, we’re on vacation.” Dean grinned, obviously pleased enough with his big reveal to not mind the interruption and suspected retort, arms spread wide to gesture the entire room, and probably all of Vegas.
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Since when?” he asked, skeptical.
Dean gave him a clueless look, and sounded as if it should be obvious, “Since now, and Cas is invited.”
“I am?” Castiel seemed confused, but somewhat inexplicably pleased. Then, as if catching himself and realizing why he had come, he spoke with tenacity, “Dean, I cannot simply go on a vacation with you and Sam whenever I please. I have duties, responsibilities.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waved it off. “I’m sure you’ve done one helluvah job, too. Just trust me; you could use the R&R.” He gave him a once-over, pointedly looking at the loose tie, worn-down trench coat and suit. When Sam blinked, however, everything was newly pressed and crisp. The tie was still loose though. For a moment Dean looked like he wanted to walk over and correct the angel’s mess-up, but he refrained and went on. “So I’m dragging you and Sam out for a night on the town.”
They both stared at the newly christened lunatic in the room.
Dean chuckled darkly and corrected his tone to match his seriousness. “Alright, humor me then. Just one night.”
Sam and Castiel exchanged looks, but it was obvious who had won here, even though Castiel was the most likely to deny Dean. He had duties, just like he said, that were more important than a simple night of enjoyment for no apparent reason. Neither of them had a planned date of demise, though it was certainly inevitable, there were hunts they needed to get on, people they needed to save and even though they did deserve it…
“Alright, Dean. As you wish, one night,” Castiel said, looking straight on to the flashing lights below their room, maybe to hide the fact that his eyes were shining at the way Dean grinned with the reflection from the streets. Sam suspected something, but he wasn’t too keen on pointing it out and getting smote for it. He let it go and went to prepare himself, leaving Dean and Castiel to do whatever they needed to do. Dean would probably teach him the proper way to play Black Jack, since his poker face was apparently perfected already. Only his brother would think of using an angel to gamble.
When Sam came out he was wearing his least stained pants, ones he remembered wearing practically every chance he got before Dean pulled him back in to hunting, and Dean was adorned with a red jacket, his usual T-shirt and jeans. Castiel had been stripped of his trench coat, since Dean deemed it inappropriate for Vegas, and took everything off including the tie that looked suspiciously straighter than Sam had last seen, and then ended up just sending him off with a shirt and jeans to change into. Castiel looked uncomfortable in them, but he did what Dean said and humored him.
Sam had to wonder why Castiel was so willing to give in to Dean, when the possibility that he would lose everything he’d just gained back existed more closely than ever. It was obvious Dean was happier with more company than just his lame little brother, but was it really worth it to an angel? Castiel had been through a lot with them, but were they worth risking everything for? But who knew, maybe Castiel had gone up a few levels from the battle drone he obviously was before. Sam wasn’t sure about angel rankings, though.
Still, Sam seriously wondered.
--
They started the night slow, going to the casino was almost last on their list, since it would be close enough to the hotel for them to grab something to eat afterwards, if they’d be able to eat at all. Dean pointedly told them to forget about money, since it wasn’t theirs anyway. Sam again ignored the obvious wrongness of that, but then reminded himself that they had saved several lives along with the entire world. It wasn’t as if they could work normal, well paying jobs like the rest of the workers of America, right?
Castiel looked at everything either in acute fascination or extreme distaste. The alcohol, the women whom he could easily read their life’s stories and the men with awful intentions, Castiel could see it all and Sam did not forget that. It was amazing to him, that with every tainted soul that existed in this one city alone that an angel could still see them as God’s wonderful children, all of them blessed and worth forgiving. Sam believed the same thing, but it was because he was also full of faults and a past he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He could relate.
He guessed that was what was divine about angels. They didn’t question their Father, they simply believed in Him.
Which was why, in those small slip-ups at the strip club Dean stopped at, Sam couldn’t laugh along with Dean when Castiel insulted yet another of the girls there, albeit unintentionally. Sam sipped at his drink, smiling when appropriate and watching the girls without much vigor. Instead, he counted how many times Dean managed to touch Castiel and how many smiles from Castiel accompanied them.
“Hey there,” a sassy blonde said as she settled in Castiel’s lap, face close and personal. “What can I do for you?”
Sam also made a list of how many times he’d heard that tonight. Dean smirked, leaning back and watching the show, his own lovely brunette beside him between him and Sam.
Castiel had obviously gotten used to the idea of the bar scene surprisingly fast, morphing from wide-eyed teenager to expressionless angel in an half an hour and two girls later. His head tilted, blue eyes intense as he stared at her. “I’m sorry…” he said gravely, “for the mishap on your bosom. The doctor really should have checked.”
Dean was bursting into giggles before she’d even had the chance to gape in insult, getting up with a scowl and a disbelieving look. Sam did chuckle at that, hiding it in his drink by blowing bubbles in it. Castiel again was left with a confused look, watching her go and not really understanding. The girl on Dean’s arm frowned, and Sam apologized for Castiel, explaining that he really didn’t know what he was doing. She seemed happy enough to ignore it, getting particularly happy about Castiel’s unintended insult to a redhead who gave the brunette a nasty glare before she had even approached the table.
“Aw, man, I love you,” Dean said offhandedly after she ran off. Sam was sure it was the alcohol talking, but Castiel apparently didn’t and Sam didn’t miss his serene smile.
Sam deemed himself designated driver, since Dean was already too intoxicated to not cause an accident or two and Castiel wasn’t at all ready to drive Dean’s baby. They went barhopping, going to several taverns (one which Dean had called a “sausage fest” before they all noticed the very distinct lack of the female populous at all), passing tons of wedding chapels, several of them Elvis-themed, and they even went to a magic show that Dean sat unhappily through, though Castiel was watching intently the entire time.
“Are they witches?” Castiel asked, giving Dean a hard look. Dean swerved a little, right into Castiel’s shoulder and remained there, using him as a makeshift wall. Castiel didn’t seem to mind.
“No, they use optical illusions,” Sam supplied for him. It was funny, because he could have sworn Castiel knew about magicians. It wasn’t until the angel was swaying right along Dean that Sam knew something was definitely wrong. He helped Castiel in the car, propping him up on seat and checking his eyes. They were dilated and he looked positively smashed, or perhaps high. “Cas, did anyone offer you any drinks besides Dean and I?”
Castiel concentrated, humming low in his throat for a moment before rolling his head to the side and answering him lowly, “Yes, a nice man wearing strangely fitting pants.”
Sam cursed, pulling Dean from trying to get into the driver’s seat and pushed him in the back with Castiel. “Watch him,” he instructed firmly. “I think someone might have slipped him something.”
Dean laughed, body falling on Castiel’s in his imbalance. “Cas, Cas, Cas,” he slurred out, trying to gain footing even for his tongue, it seemed. “It takes date rape drugs to get you half as smashed as me. Pfft.”
“This is serious,” Sam warned, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car up. “We have to get him to a hospital. Right now.”
“Woah, woah,” Dean tried to sit up, but then thought better of it and leaned back again. “Dude, he’s an angel of the friggin’ Lord. He’ll be fine.”
Castiel groaned, but otherwise agreed with Dean, even going as far as to lay his head on his broad shoulder. “We should continue… maybe, I’m thinking.” Even Castiel looked confused by his sentence, and reiterated. “We should defi… define…” Castiel tried many times, but failed to get his sentence out.
Sam looked at both of them firmly. “We had fun, you two are too drunk to get any gambling done, we’re going back to the hotel and letting you both sleep this off.”
“Party pooper,” Dean complained.
They were one or two blocks away from the hotel when Sam looked in the rearview mirror and almost swerved into the other lane. Luckily, he wasn’t going nearly fast enough in the traffic to receive any real damage, but his brain certainly had.
In the back, Dean’s hands were busy in Castiel’s hair and Castiel’s tongue was busy in Dean’s mouth. Though they quickly switched places soon enough and had Sam gagging and praying for his brother all over again.
“Dean!” he yelled. Again, he winced when his brother pulled away, a string of saliva connecting them together and a pop of their lips breaking them apart.
“Waddya want?” he asked grumpily.
Sam spluttered, baffled with how his brother could have possibly wondered that at all. “Your tongue out of the angel’s mouth.”
“Oh,” Dean said bluntly, looking back at Castiel before staring back at Sam. “He doesn’t mind.”
“That’s not the point!”
Dean adorned the frustrated look of a child before he beckoned Castiel with his finger, and Castiel once again had his tongue down Dean’s throat, happily moaning.
Sam clutched the steering wheel, knowing that he would have crashed if he had clutched his head in distress like he wanted to. “Not what I meant.”
All Sam wanted was his brother to not go to Hell again, you know? He was sure deflowering an angel was the surest path to getting there again, but no matter how many times he tried to get their attention, tried to barge in between the two of them (he earned several Grace-filled glares from Castiel before finally backing off), they wouldn’t stop licking each other. Or groping each other. Or oh God what are you doing in front of me stop it stop it stop it.
He had to apologize several times to poor old ladies and the bellhop, who’d unfortunately gotten in the way of their path of sexual destruction as Sam tried to maneuver them to their room. It wasn’t as hard as it had been when they realized where he was trying to get them, and he wasn’t sure if that was all too good for him, but at least it would stop them from simply dropping in front of Caesar’s fountain and disturbing several other people before getting thrown out.
It wasn’t until the elevator that Sam noticed something else entirely different, like the fact that he could feel Castiel when he was all the way on the other side of the elevator. He spat out something that felt particularly feathery (and if it even had a texture, which he was sure it wasn’t supposed to, light) and hoped and prayed no one was going up. He forgot to be amazed that he actually got to feel an angel’s wings, let alone taste them (they tasted strangely like something stuffed with apple, and Sam was left to wonder yet again about Castiel’s intentions). When they reached their floor, yet another problem arose and he was all but crying out in frustration.
He didn’t bother explaining that he was just trying to get the room key from Dean’s back pocket, since he would be ignored anyway. He yelped when a hand groped his ass, and Castiel complained about him being in the way. Sam shoved the keys in before shoving them into the room, pleased when he heard them hit the floor. However, they were not deterred.
Stepping over the both of them, trying to block out Castiel’s desperate repeating of his brother’s name, as if reverent of it, Sam stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a drink before he headed for his bed, noting that the other two were currently trying to reach that destination with difficulty. When the clothes started flying, Sam bolted behind the safety of a large wooden door.
Sam spent the rest of the night in his room, eyebrows pulled down in frustration and bottom lip worried ceaselessly as he thought of all the possible bad outcomes of this situation. Slept evaded him and even if it didn’t, he would still be able to hear the moans from the other side of the room, thick walls be damned, and luxury suit or not the beds still hit the wall pretty hard with every rhythmic thrust he had no choice but to keep up with. Occasionally, the beating of wings echoed throughout the floor, and Sam would groan because of all the things his brother ever did, this was decidedly the worst. Of course, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before, but with Anna she was completely human at the time. Castiel was full-blown angel, wings and everything. Even if he did scream out Dean’s name the same as any other lay he’d ever had, though by the time half the night was over, Sam was sure he hadn’t heard it the other way around before. He worried if he’d ever be able to hear his brother scream Castiel’s name out again without reliving this night over and over again.
But of all the things he was melancholic about, the fact that he couldn’t enjoy his king-sized bed to its fullest was the most saddening.
--
Sam was surprised when he woke up, because after a night like that he was sure he’d never be getting up again. He lingered in his bed, hands smoothing the soft covers and trying to relax into sleep again, but it didn’t come. A half an hour later he got up and decided he wanted some coffee, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he grabbed the pot and poured himself a glass slowly, watching the brew bubble and fill the perfect-sized mug. It was like heaven going down and stayed warm in his stomach like the light warming over everything outside. Glad that he hadn’t drank enough to earn himself a hangover, Sam blanked out all of the night before and simply watched the streets outside of his perfect little world.
And then the door to Dean’s room opened, and the serenity was shattered.
Dean’s was staring at him like he just saw a ghost-well, figuratively speaking. “Dude,” he started, swallowing. “Why the fuck is Cas in my bed, naked?”
“Oh,” Sam cleared his throat, thinking. “You guys…” He stalled more, trying to think if the truth or a lie would be better. It was when Dean started walking funny that he decided the truth would be less troublesome for him in the future, and comprehension filled Dean’s face.
“We didn’t…” Dean trailed off, hoping.
Sam readjusted himself on the table he was leaning on. “You did,” he said sternly, final.
Dean clutched his head, started walking to the kitchen before pausing and probably thinking walking was a bad idea, and lined off so many curses Sam would think he was carrying a list with him and checking them all off one by one.
Dean stopped suddenly, and Sam worried about that. “Holy shit, my ass hurts,” he said, as if it were the biggest epiphany in the world. “I was the bitch.”
Sam refrained from correcting Dean on that derogatory term. It seemed he was doing that a lot lately. “Actually, I think you… switched off.” That particular sentence unearthed a lot of bad memories, and Sam hurriedly shoved them back down before the bile rose up.
Dean’s arms were flailing, probably trying to convey some message even their epic brotherly bond couldn’t translate for Sam. “Sam, Sam, you better tell me what the fuck happened before…”
“Relax,” Sam tried to calm him down. “You two were just really… really wasted last night.”
“How the hell do you get an angel wasted, Sam?” he shouted back, shoulders tensed.
“Well, ah, about that…” Sam trailed off once again as Castiel emerged from the bedroom, bedhead sticking up in every direction and body fully clothed, wrinkle free. It seemed oddly out of place, especially with the loose tie. Sam found his eyes trained on it, wondering why after every time Dean fixed it, Castiel somehow always managed to forget to fix it himself.
“Dean,” Castiel said seriously, though there was a distinct grogginess in there that Sam hadn’t expected, like he was almost human. “We need to talk.”
Dean turned toward Sam. “Explain, now.”
Sam was reluctant to tell the entire truth, but again, Dean would know if he were lying, so he just came out with it and explained everything from the car ride up to the motel. Dean wasn’t paying attention much after Sam had mentioned how exactly Castiel had ended up the way he did. His hands were in his hair, pulling strands tightly.
“I took advantage of you, when you were drugged,” Dean said in the most shameful voice he’d ever heard, directed at himself. Sam wanted to step forward and comfort him, telling him that it wasn’t his fault, but Castiel did instead and he suddenly felt like the odd one out.
“The fault wasn’t yours, Dean,” he said softly. He placed a hand on his shoulder, while Dean glared.
“The fuck if it wasn’t,” he hissed back. “You were drugged, not thinking straight and I took advantage of you.”
This time it was Castiel’s turn to glare as he squared his shoulders. “I was not so inebriated that I couldn’t think for myself. The choice was still mine.”
Dean looked up, eyes forlorn but dawning with another realization. “Oh,” was all he managed to get out. He thought for a minute, never taking his eyes off Castiel’s. That was when Sam knew he shouldn’t be there, and made some excuse they didn’t hear and left for the hotel’s eatery on the main floor.
--
An hour or so later he came back, and all was well within the large suite. Dean even had a smile on his face as he looked down into his coffee mug, fingers tapping on the sides.
“Hey,” Sam greeted, shutting the door behind him. Dean looked up, smile still lingering though he tried to suppress it. Sam was glad he’d caught it in time to see. “So, um, how are things?”
Dean coughed, knowing he wasn’t just asking for the day’s layout. “They’re… they’re good. Made up and all that fluffy shit.”
Sam sighed, glad for that at least. If Dean had even lost an angel as a friend, he wasn’t sure if he’d take it too well, especially since it was Castiel. “So are you guys…”
Dean glared, and Sam knew it was time to shut up. A few minutes later, Dean chuckled, finishing up the last of his coffee.
“But damn, that was one hell of a night.”
--
I'll probably end up doing a companion to this in Castiel's or Dean's POV instead. I DO have a few questions though.
1) Is it "Cas" or "Cass"? I am so horribly confused by this I don't even--
2) Who do you think the man in "strangely fitting pants" was? It could go so many ways. From a cherub to just some random guy wanting to get in poor, oblivious Castiel's pants. Or maybe it was Dean. Who knows.
Thank you for reading!
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13, implications of fornication between two men.
Word Count: 4,280
Spoilers: All the way up to 6x01.
Summary: In which Dean thinks a vacation is a good idea, being a victim of date-rape drugs is the equivalent to getting smashed for angels, and Sam just doesn't want his brother to go to Hell again for doing his angel of the Lord. In Vegas.
A/N: First SPN fic done, and I'm just worried that I didn't horribly misinterpret these guys. Here's hoping I at least got their voices down partially well. This is set in an AU where everything is smiling rainbows and they're all just back to hunting and being emo dorks. This was inspired by "The Hangover" but I didn't base anything off of it... I don't think, anyway. Happy reading!
--
“We’re in Vegas, baby!”
Sam shook his head with a smile. Even though he wasn’t as excited as Dean probably was, he still leaned his head forward in the Impala to get a better look at the bright neon lights going by. He chuckled when Dean pointed at the Eiffel Tower replica with enthusiasm.
“Man, and I thought it didn’t get any better than the Grand,” he said with an exhale of breath.
“And I thought you wouldn’t like something like this.” Sam sat back again as the car halted for a stop light, taking in the view from the passenger side as Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight. “You know, big cities, flashing lights…”
“Who, me?” Dean asked with mock peculiarity. “Vegas is all about living in the moment. C’mon, that’s totally me.”
“Really?” Sam asked skeptically. Dean Winchester, who ignored his problems and dwelled on them until he broke down and lost his pride, who couldn’t let go of simple things and who-
“Sammy,” Dean interrupted his thought process, looking him straight in the eye. “Live in the moment.”
Sam gave him a worried frown before he shrugged it off and let Dean win that one. Dean smiled and continued to watch every passing thing, pointing and whooping like the good-natured person Sam knew him to be. And if Dean couldn’t keep a smile off his face, Sam knew he was doing something right. That’s when they stopped in a parking lot next to one of the most massive hotels he’d ever seen and Dean turned in to a stall, Sam didn’t try to stop him. When he got to the counter and asked what room was second to nicest they had, Sam just grinned and caught the golden key Dean tossed his way. After everything in their lives, they deserved this, even if Dean never admitted it to himself. Sam thought this to be a step in the right direction, even if they were on the trail of a hunt and that was the reason for all this. According to Dean, there was no such thing as inexpensive hotels in Vegas, so they might as well live it up.
When they got to the room, Dean went straight for the beers, all grins as he inspected the room with devouring eyes. Sam had to admit, he’d never seen anything like it. An entire outer wall made completely of glass and steel, a small strip of kitchen with a bar making up one of its walls, a huge living room with a half-circle black leather couch, LED widescreen equipped, and two huge bedrooms to top it off with king sized beds. Sam didn’t think he needed to mention the pristine white carpet, the Bose surround system that lined the entire room, or the Jacuzzi. More than likely they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the latter since they were, in fact, tailing something.
“So, about those vampires,” Sam started, sitting down on the couch and pulling out his laptop. “We got any leads?”
Dean sipped at his bear, teetering on his heels for a moment before tilting his beer forward in a gesture toward Sam. “Not a thing.”
Sam glared. “Dean.”
“Hey, put that thing away,” he said pointedly at the laptop. Dean took another sip, walking to the window in an impression that looked to be from a movie. Sam never thought he’d see his brother looking over Las Vegas in what had to be the biggest hotel in the city. It just didn’t seem all that right. “I’ll tell you what; let’s enjoy a night here. You know, have a few beers, go to a few bars, maybe hustle some pool… the whole nine. And then we’ll get on those vamps.”
“Dean, innocent people cou-”
“Sammy,” Dean said in a warning tone. “Let’s just… relax, alright?” He looked over his shoulder, a serious look in his eye.
That was when Sam realized it was all a hoax. There were no vampires, never were. The call from Bobby had probably been a lie, too, or Dean made up his own details, maybe they’d been plotting this the entire time. Sam looked at his brother, beer in hand, the other in the pocket of his worn jeans that had a few fading stains on them, slack shoulders and all too serious expression for a man standing over all of Vegas. “Alright, you win.”
Dean opened him a victory beer and they started on their night to remember.
--
For once, Castiel had answered their callings and arrived. Sam had no idea, of course, but apparently Dean had been screaming at him from some random barn the other night and had suddenly appeared in the bathroom of their hotel when Dean was showering. A few shouts and embarrassed minutes later, they were all in the living room with Dean cursing.
“Dammit, Cas, what the Hell?”
“Now’s not the time for Hell, Dean,” he said seriously, gaze as intimidating as Sam had ever remembered. Familiar or not, Castiel was still an angel of the Lord. Now that his angel mojo was back, he hadn’t been around as much. “Why have you called me?”
“Oh, that,” Dean said, relaxing a little, though not forgetting their little trip-up a few minutes ago. “First of all, you don’t just disappear for months and then decide to pop up in a guy’s bathroom. S’not right.”
“It belongs to the hotel, I believe,” Castiel deadpanned. If he hadn’t known better, Sam would think he was retorting.
“Secondly, you’re late, but screw it. Cas, we’re on vacation.” Dean grinned, obviously pleased enough with his big reveal to not mind the interruption and suspected retort, arms spread wide to gesture the entire room, and probably all of Vegas.
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Since when?” he asked, skeptical.
Dean gave him a clueless look, and sounded as if it should be obvious, “Since now, and Cas is invited.”
“I am?” Castiel seemed confused, but somewhat inexplicably pleased. Then, as if catching himself and realizing why he had come, he spoke with tenacity, “Dean, I cannot simply go on a vacation with you and Sam whenever I please. I have duties, responsibilities.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waved it off. “I’m sure you’ve done one helluvah job, too. Just trust me; you could use the R&R.” He gave him a once-over, pointedly looking at the loose tie, worn-down trench coat and suit. When Sam blinked, however, everything was newly pressed and crisp. The tie was still loose though. For a moment Dean looked like he wanted to walk over and correct the angel’s mess-up, but he refrained and went on. “So I’m dragging you and Sam out for a night on the town.”
They both stared at the newly christened lunatic in the room.
Dean chuckled darkly and corrected his tone to match his seriousness. “Alright, humor me then. Just one night.”
Sam and Castiel exchanged looks, but it was obvious who had won here, even though Castiel was the most likely to deny Dean. He had duties, just like he said, that were more important than a simple night of enjoyment for no apparent reason. Neither of them had a planned date of demise, though it was certainly inevitable, there were hunts they needed to get on, people they needed to save and even though they did deserve it…
“Alright, Dean. As you wish, one night,” Castiel said, looking straight on to the flashing lights below their room, maybe to hide the fact that his eyes were shining at the way Dean grinned with the reflection from the streets. Sam suspected something, but he wasn’t too keen on pointing it out and getting smote for it. He let it go and went to prepare himself, leaving Dean and Castiel to do whatever they needed to do. Dean would probably teach him the proper way to play Black Jack, since his poker face was apparently perfected already. Only his brother would think of using an angel to gamble.
When Sam came out he was wearing his least stained pants, ones he remembered wearing practically every chance he got before Dean pulled him back in to hunting, and Dean was adorned with a red jacket, his usual T-shirt and jeans. Castiel had been stripped of his trench coat, since Dean deemed it inappropriate for Vegas, and took everything off including the tie that looked suspiciously straighter than Sam had last seen, and then ended up just sending him off with a shirt and jeans to change into. Castiel looked uncomfortable in them, but he did what Dean said and humored him.
Sam had to wonder why Castiel was so willing to give in to Dean, when the possibility that he would lose everything he’d just gained back existed more closely than ever. It was obvious Dean was happier with more company than just his lame little brother, but was it really worth it to an angel? Castiel had been through a lot with them, but were they worth risking everything for? But who knew, maybe Castiel had gone up a few levels from the battle drone he obviously was before. Sam wasn’t sure about angel rankings, though.
Still, Sam seriously wondered.
--
They started the night slow, going to the casino was almost last on their list, since it would be close enough to the hotel for them to grab something to eat afterwards, if they’d be able to eat at all. Dean pointedly told them to forget about money, since it wasn’t theirs anyway. Sam again ignored the obvious wrongness of that, but then reminded himself that they had saved several lives along with the entire world. It wasn’t as if they could work normal, well paying jobs like the rest of the workers of America, right?
Castiel looked at everything either in acute fascination or extreme distaste. The alcohol, the women whom he could easily read their life’s stories and the men with awful intentions, Castiel could see it all and Sam did not forget that. It was amazing to him, that with every tainted soul that existed in this one city alone that an angel could still see them as God’s wonderful children, all of them blessed and worth forgiving. Sam believed the same thing, but it was because he was also full of faults and a past he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He could relate.
He guessed that was what was divine about angels. They didn’t question their Father, they simply believed in Him.
Which was why, in those small slip-ups at the strip club Dean stopped at, Sam couldn’t laugh along with Dean when Castiel insulted yet another of the girls there, albeit unintentionally. Sam sipped at his drink, smiling when appropriate and watching the girls without much vigor. Instead, he counted how many times Dean managed to touch Castiel and how many smiles from Castiel accompanied them.
“Hey there,” a sassy blonde said as she settled in Castiel’s lap, face close and personal. “What can I do for you?”
Sam also made a list of how many times he’d heard that tonight. Dean smirked, leaning back and watching the show, his own lovely brunette beside him between him and Sam.
Castiel had obviously gotten used to the idea of the bar scene surprisingly fast, morphing from wide-eyed teenager to expressionless angel in an half an hour and two girls later. His head tilted, blue eyes intense as he stared at her. “I’m sorry…” he said gravely, “for the mishap on your bosom. The doctor really should have checked.”
Dean was bursting into giggles before she’d even had the chance to gape in insult, getting up with a scowl and a disbelieving look. Sam did chuckle at that, hiding it in his drink by blowing bubbles in it. Castiel again was left with a confused look, watching her go and not really understanding. The girl on Dean’s arm frowned, and Sam apologized for Castiel, explaining that he really didn’t know what he was doing. She seemed happy enough to ignore it, getting particularly happy about Castiel’s unintended insult to a redhead who gave the brunette a nasty glare before she had even approached the table.
“Aw, man, I love you,” Dean said offhandedly after she ran off. Sam was sure it was the alcohol talking, but Castiel apparently didn’t and Sam didn’t miss his serene smile.
Sam deemed himself designated driver, since Dean was already too intoxicated to not cause an accident or two and Castiel wasn’t at all ready to drive Dean’s baby. They went barhopping, going to several taverns (one which Dean had called a “sausage fest” before they all noticed the very distinct lack of the female populous at all), passing tons of wedding chapels, several of them Elvis-themed, and they even went to a magic show that Dean sat unhappily through, though Castiel was watching intently the entire time.
“Are they witches?” Castiel asked, giving Dean a hard look. Dean swerved a little, right into Castiel’s shoulder and remained there, using him as a makeshift wall. Castiel didn’t seem to mind.
“No, they use optical illusions,” Sam supplied for him. It was funny, because he could have sworn Castiel knew about magicians. It wasn’t until the angel was swaying right along Dean that Sam knew something was definitely wrong. He helped Castiel in the car, propping him up on seat and checking his eyes. They were dilated and he looked positively smashed, or perhaps high. “Cas, did anyone offer you any drinks besides Dean and I?”
Castiel concentrated, humming low in his throat for a moment before rolling his head to the side and answering him lowly, “Yes, a nice man wearing strangely fitting pants.”
Sam cursed, pulling Dean from trying to get into the driver’s seat and pushed him in the back with Castiel. “Watch him,” he instructed firmly. “I think someone might have slipped him something.”
Dean laughed, body falling on Castiel’s in his imbalance. “Cas, Cas, Cas,” he slurred out, trying to gain footing even for his tongue, it seemed. “It takes date rape drugs to get you half as smashed as me. Pfft.”
“This is serious,” Sam warned, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car up. “We have to get him to a hospital. Right now.”
“Woah, woah,” Dean tried to sit up, but then thought better of it and leaned back again. “Dude, he’s an angel of the friggin’ Lord. He’ll be fine.”
Castiel groaned, but otherwise agreed with Dean, even going as far as to lay his head on his broad shoulder. “We should continue… maybe, I’m thinking.” Even Castiel looked confused by his sentence, and reiterated. “We should defi… define…” Castiel tried many times, but failed to get his sentence out.
Sam looked at both of them firmly. “We had fun, you two are too drunk to get any gambling done, we’re going back to the hotel and letting you both sleep this off.”
“Party pooper,” Dean complained.
They were one or two blocks away from the hotel when Sam looked in the rearview mirror and almost swerved into the other lane. Luckily, he wasn’t going nearly fast enough in the traffic to receive any real damage, but his brain certainly had.
In the back, Dean’s hands were busy in Castiel’s hair and Castiel’s tongue was busy in Dean’s mouth. Though they quickly switched places soon enough and had Sam gagging and praying for his brother all over again.
“Dean!” he yelled. Again, he winced when his brother pulled away, a string of saliva connecting them together and a pop of their lips breaking them apart.
“Waddya want?” he asked grumpily.
Sam spluttered, baffled with how his brother could have possibly wondered that at all. “Your tongue out of the angel’s mouth.”
“Oh,” Dean said bluntly, looking back at Castiel before staring back at Sam. “He doesn’t mind.”
“That’s not the point!”
Dean adorned the frustrated look of a child before he beckoned Castiel with his finger, and Castiel once again had his tongue down Dean’s throat, happily moaning.
Sam clutched the steering wheel, knowing that he would have crashed if he had clutched his head in distress like he wanted to. “Not what I meant.”
All Sam wanted was his brother to not go to Hell again, you know? He was sure deflowering an angel was the surest path to getting there again, but no matter how many times he tried to get their attention, tried to barge in between the two of them (he earned several Grace-filled glares from Castiel before finally backing off), they wouldn’t stop licking each other. Or groping each other. Or oh God what are you doing in front of me stop it stop it stop it.
He had to apologize several times to poor old ladies and the bellhop, who’d unfortunately gotten in the way of their path of sexual destruction as Sam tried to maneuver them to their room. It wasn’t as hard as it had been when they realized where he was trying to get them, and he wasn’t sure if that was all too good for him, but at least it would stop them from simply dropping in front of Caesar’s fountain and disturbing several other people before getting thrown out.
It wasn’t until the elevator that Sam noticed something else entirely different, like the fact that he could feel Castiel when he was all the way on the other side of the elevator. He spat out something that felt particularly feathery (and if it even had a texture, which he was sure it wasn’t supposed to, light) and hoped and prayed no one was going up. He forgot to be amazed that he actually got to feel an angel’s wings, let alone taste them (they tasted strangely like something stuffed with apple, and Sam was left to wonder yet again about Castiel’s intentions). When they reached their floor, yet another problem arose and he was all but crying out in frustration.
He didn’t bother explaining that he was just trying to get the room key from Dean’s back pocket, since he would be ignored anyway. He yelped when a hand groped his ass, and Castiel complained about him being in the way. Sam shoved the keys in before shoving them into the room, pleased when he heard them hit the floor. However, they were not deterred.
Stepping over the both of them, trying to block out Castiel’s desperate repeating of his brother’s name, as if reverent of it, Sam stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a drink before he headed for his bed, noting that the other two were currently trying to reach that destination with difficulty. When the clothes started flying, Sam bolted behind the safety of a large wooden door.
Sam spent the rest of the night in his room, eyebrows pulled down in frustration and bottom lip worried ceaselessly as he thought of all the possible bad outcomes of this situation. Slept evaded him and even if it didn’t, he would still be able to hear the moans from the other side of the room, thick walls be damned, and luxury suit or not the beds still hit the wall pretty hard with every rhythmic thrust he had no choice but to keep up with. Occasionally, the beating of wings echoed throughout the floor, and Sam would groan because of all the things his brother ever did, this was decidedly the worst. Of course, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before, but with Anna she was completely human at the time. Castiel was full-blown angel, wings and everything. Even if he did scream out Dean’s name the same as any other lay he’d ever had, though by the time half the night was over, Sam was sure he hadn’t heard it the other way around before. He worried if he’d ever be able to hear his brother scream Castiel’s name out again without reliving this night over and over again.
But of all the things he was melancholic about, the fact that he couldn’t enjoy his king-sized bed to its fullest was the most saddening.
--
Sam was surprised when he woke up, because after a night like that he was sure he’d never be getting up again. He lingered in his bed, hands smoothing the soft covers and trying to relax into sleep again, but it didn’t come. A half an hour later he got up and decided he wanted some coffee, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he grabbed the pot and poured himself a glass slowly, watching the brew bubble and fill the perfect-sized mug. It was like heaven going down and stayed warm in his stomach like the light warming over everything outside. Glad that he hadn’t drank enough to earn himself a hangover, Sam blanked out all of the night before and simply watched the streets outside of his perfect little world.
And then the door to Dean’s room opened, and the serenity was shattered.
Dean’s was staring at him like he just saw a ghost-well, figuratively speaking. “Dude,” he started, swallowing. “Why the fuck is Cas in my bed, naked?”
“Oh,” Sam cleared his throat, thinking. “You guys…” He stalled more, trying to think if the truth or a lie would be better. It was when Dean started walking funny that he decided the truth would be less troublesome for him in the future, and comprehension filled Dean’s face.
“We didn’t…” Dean trailed off, hoping.
Sam readjusted himself on the table he was leaning on. “You did,” he said sternly, final.
Dean clutched his head, started walking to the kitchen before pausing and probably thinking walking was a bad idea, and lined off so many curses Sam would think he was carrying a list with him and checking them all off one by one.
Dean stopped suddenly, and Sam worried about that. “Holy shit, my ass hurts,” he said, as if it were the biggest epiphany in the world. “I was the bitch.”
Sam refrained from correcting Dean on that derogatory term. It seemed he was doing that a lot lately. “Actually, I think you… switched off.” That particular sentence unearthed a lot of bad memories, and Sam hurriedly shoved them back down before the bile rose up.
Dean’s arms were flailing, probably trying to convey some message even their epic brotherly bond couldn’t translate for Sam. “Sam, Sam, you better tell me what the fuck happened before…”
“Relax,” Sam tried to calm him down. “You two were just really… really wasted last night.”
“How the hell do you get an angel wasted, Sam?” he shouted back, shoulders tensed.
“Well, ah, about that…” Sam trailed off once again as Castiel emerged from the bedroom, bedhead sticking up in every direction and body fully clothed, wrinkle free. It seemed oddly out of place, especially with the loose tie. Sam found his eyes trained on it, wondering why after every time Dean fixed it, Castiel somehow always managed to forget to fix it himself.
“Dean,” Castiel said seriously, though there was a distinct grogginess in there that Sam hadn’t expected, like he was almost human. “We need to talk.”
Dean turned toward Sam. “Explain, now.”
Sam was reluctant to tell the entire truth, but again, Dean would know if he were lying, so he just came out with it and explained everything from the car ride up to the motel. Dean wasn’t paying attention much after Sam had mentioned how exactly Castiel had ended up the way he did. His hands were in his hair, pulling strands tightly.
“I took advantage of you, when you were drugged,” Dean said in the most shameful voice he’d ever heard, directed at himself. Sam wanted to step forward and comfort him, telling him that it wasn’t his fault, but Castiel did instead and he suddenly felt like the odd one out.
“The fault wasn’t yours, Dean,” he said softly. He placed a hand on his shoulder, while Dean glared.
“The fuck if it wasn’t,” he hissed back. “You were drugged, not thinking straight and I took advantage of you.”
This time it was Castiel’s turn to glare as he squared his shoulders. “I was not so inebriated that I couldn’t think for myself. The choice was still mine.”
Dean looked up, eyes forlorn but dawning with another realization. “Oh,” was all he managed to get out. He thought for a minute, never taking his eyes off Castiel’s. That was when Sam knew he shouldn’t be there, and made some excuse they didn’t hear and left for the hotel’s eatery on the main floor.
--
An hour or so later he came back, and all was well within the large suite. Dean even had a smile on his face as he looked down into his coffee mug, fingers tapping on the sides.
“Hey,” Sam greeted, shutting the door behind him. Dean looked up, smile still lingering though he tried to suppress it. Sam was glad he’d caught it in time to see. “So, um, how are things?”
Dean coughed, knowing he wasn’t just asking for the day’s layout. “They’re… they’re good. Made up and all that fluffy shit.”
Sam sighed, glad for that at least. If Dean had even lost an angel as a friend, he wasn’t sure if he’d take it too well, especially since it was Castiel. “So are you guys…”
Dean glared, and Sam knew it was time to shut up. A few minutes later, Dean chuckled, finishing up the last of his coffee.
“But damn, that was one hell of a night.”
--
I'll probably end up doing a companion to this in Castiel's or Dean's POV instead. I DO have a few questions though.
1) Is it "Cas" or "Cass"? I am so horribly confused by this I don't even--
2) Who do you think the man in "strangely fitting pants" was? It could go so many ways. From a cherub to just some random guy wanting to get in poor, oblivious Castiel's pants. Or maybe it was Dean. Who knows.
Thank you for reading!