Jump the Track time stamp # 1: The Only Boy Who Could Ever Teach Me
Title - The Only Boy Who Could Ever Teach Me (a follow up one-shot to Jump the Track)
Length - 3,026
Author - lafleurdumal85
Rating - PG-13
Summary - Set over the summer after graduation and before Dean and Castiel set off on their road trip. Dean decides that Castiel has led too sheltered a life, and thinks getting him drunk would be a great idea. He comes to regret it.
Warnings - Spoilers for Jump the Track (though can be read alone), drinking, sexual references.
Dean wondered how he could have ever thought that getting Castiel drunk would be a good idea. It had just been so tempting to get the guy to unwind a little. The only time Dean had ever known Cas to truly surrender his closely guarded self-control was during sex, and (much as it pained him) they couldn’t be doing that all the time. It just seemed like such a shame that Castiel had never had the chance to be irresponsible and silly, that he’d always been told how to behave. Dean had just wanted to show him that it was okay to relax, that he was away from his family now and they couldn’t control him anymore. He’d wanted to show Cas how to be eighteen. A party in Jo’s basement had seemed like a perfect opportunity.
Okay, okay, so if Dean was being completely honest, he wasn’t entirely motivated by unselfish desires to widen Castiel’s horizons. The fact was that while he loved Castiel - and he really did - the guy had been driving him crazy all day.
It was Becky’s fault, really. Dean liked his brother’s new girlfriend, but she could be a little... intense. Also, she stared a lot. Whenever she came over to hang out with Sam, and Dean and Castiel were around, he’d catch her looking at them with starry eyes, and he had a horrible suspicion that it was only consideration for Sam’s delicate sensibilities that prevented her from asking them invasive questions about their sex life. Sam had shown him some of the fanfiction she’d written, and it was frankly terrifying. All the same, there was something endearing about Becky, and Dean had actually been pretty touched when she’d shyly presented him and Castiel with a CD she’d made of music that was “about their relationship”. Creeped out, but touched.
Although that had been the cause of the trouble. Dean had been pleasantly surprised with some of the songs Becky had chosen, but then she’d made the fatal error of including Dusty Springfield’s ‘Son of a Preacher Man’. Cas had listened to that one very carefully. Then he’d made a quiet hum of satisfaction and pressed the repeat button. Dean had lost count of the number of times he’d been forced to listen to that damn song now.
That was the thing about Cas. The guy was practically a genius. He could instantly grasp abstract concepts which Dean could never hope to understand. He was academically brilliant, top of the year at school; he could read a book in a couple of hours, and Dean sometimes felt like he should start carrying a dictionary around with him just so he could follow what the guy was talking about. But in a lot of ways Castiel was like a child. Everything was so new to him, and he just didn’t have the basic store of experiences that most people took for granted. Dean sometimes found himself talking to his boyfriend like he was a little bit simple, explaining things very carefully and often having to try again when he just got a blank look of bemusement in return.
His attempts at giving Castiel a musical education had been interesting. Cas found it difficult to understand why some music was good and some was bad, and his tastes were somewhat eclectic. Much to Dean’s relief, he’d liked most Zeppelin songs, but then he also enjoyed Mozart, Bruce Springsteen, The Manic Street Preachers (thanks for that one, Sammy. Thanks), Robert Johnson, and (Dean was never going to reconcile himself to this one) Taylor Swift. Once he’d found something he liked, Castiel would engage in really intense listening sessions where he’d furiously shush anyone who dared to talk over the music.
Apparently he liked Dusty Springfield, too.
Dean was being driven slowly insane.
He could have kissed Jo when she came over to say that Ellen was working a nightshift and Ash had been given several bottles of alcohol as payment from one of his ‘clients’ in exchange for decoding a couple of hard drives. A night in with friends was exactly what he and Cas both needed, and if he could get Castiel to loosen up a little, so much the better.
Dean really should have thought it through a bit more, especially considering Castiel’s rather... intense approach to new experiences.
“I’m not sure that I’ll care for inebriation,” Cas told him as they rung Jo’s doorbell. “Whenever you get intoxicated it just makes you belligerent and clumsy.”
Dean sighed. “That’s just cause you never saw me drunk under good circumstances. Besides, I’m not saying that we should get trashed tonight; we’re just gonna be hanging out watching a couple of movies. Come on, it’ll do you good to cut loose and get a little buzzed. I promise I’ll look out for you.”
“Buzzed,” Castiel repeated, testing the work out. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “It wouldn’t hurt for me to... experience these things.”
Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
It had started out okay. Jo put The Shining on, and they sat around eating and popcorn and finalizing the plans they’d made to go to Kansas City the following week.
But then Jo had brought out the shot glasses and a bottle of vodka.
“Maybe just one,” Castiel said. Famous last words. He watched as the others threw back a couple of shots each, then hesitantly picked up his own glass.
“Swallow it quickly,” Dean advised. “And try not to choke.”
“Like with semen,” Pam giggled.
Dean hit her with a cushion.
Castiel winced as he downed the vodka, then furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh. It isn’t that bad.”
Jo poured him another one.
“It’s good,” Cas said, like he was passing divine sanction. He took four more shots before blinking and looking up at Jo in mild surprise. “I... think I’m starting to feel something,” he said.
Jo laughed and pushed the bottle towards him.
“Go easy, okay?” Dean said quietly. “It sneaks up on you.”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Dean, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
Half an hour later, Castiel was sprawled inelegantly on one of Jo’s beanbag chairs, waving his fingers in front of his face with an expression of wonder. “Look at them!” he whispered. “Look at them!”
“Why the hell did you give him the bottle, Jo?” Dean demanded. “You know he’s never done this before!”
Jo huffed irritably. “He’s not a child, Dean. I assumed he’d be able to know when to stop.”
Castiel moved one of his hands a little too close to his face for his own comfort. He yelped in alarm and fell over backwards. Dean sighed and went over to pick him up.
“I think my hands are possessed,” Cas told him seriously.
“Sure they are. Come on, sit up and drink some water.”
Dean was grateful that his parents had gone away for their anniversary that week; getting Castiel home would have been very awkward otherwise.
“I don’t need water, Dean,” Castiel grumbled.
“I really think you do.”
Cas frowned and pushed Dean away clumsily.
“What?”
“You’re being especially irksome today.”
Pam snorted with laughter. “Irksome! Oh, Cas...”
Castiel was slumped on the floor looking up at Dean mulishly. “You don’t like our song,” he said.
“Oh, for... Cas, that isn’t our song!”
“Yes, it is! I don’t understand why you refuse to... I can’t... Like it or not, Dean, I am a son of a preacher man, and I’m the only one who could ever teach you. I fail to understand your rect- your reticence.”
Dean was painfully aware that his three tipsy best friends were all watching their conversation with amusement.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, it can be our song. But we’re not gonna tell people about it. And we’re... we’re not gonna listen to it all the damn time, okay?”
Castiel sighed shakily and wouldn’t answer. “I don’t like having possessed hands,” he said finally. “And I can’t feel my face.”
“I told you to slow down.”
“I am feeling conflicted between feelings of extreme irritation towards you and a... and a desire to... get into bed with you and... Dean, I want to reverse this now, I think. How do I make myself normal again?”
Dean pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “You can’t. Not just like that. You’ll just have to... wait it out.”
“I don’t care for this. I feel like you’re judging me, and this isn’t dignified... I didn’t...”
“You wanna go home?” Dean asked quietly, the sound of Jack Nicholson hacking his way through a door dim in the background.
Castiel nodded mutely.
“Fine,” Dean huffed. He wasn’t used to being the responsible one. He hauled Castiel to his feet, staggering slightly under the weight. Cas was heavy in his arms.
“My center of gravity seems to be askew,” Cas said.
“Jo,” Dean called over his shoulder. “We’re leaving. I think Cas has had enough fun for one night.”
“Go forth and prosper,” Jo called from the rug in front of the TV, where she was lying with her head in Pam’s lap and her feet on Ash’s back, who was sprawled in front of her. Dean really hoped that wasn’t going to turn into a kinky three-way once he and Cas were gone.
Getting up the stairs from the basement and out the house wasn’t easy, especially as Castiel still seemed to be under the impression that there was something wrong with his hands, examining them closely with a mixture of suspicion and wonder. Dean doubted Cas would be able to walk at all without him propelling him along. This had clearly been a terrible idea. Funny, but terrible. He hoped that Cas wouldn’t be too embarrassed once he’d sobered up.
They reached the front door of the Winchesters’ house, and Dean tried to remember where the hell he’d put his key, clumsily searching for it with one hand while holding his swaying boyfriend up with the other.
“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered, his breath hot against Dean’s neck. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” Dean said, tightening his arm around Castiel’s back.
“I think I’m too drunk. I was fine, but then it just... happened.”
“It’s okay. It’s my fault; it was a stupid idea.”
“I wanted to understand,” Cas mumbled. “I wanted to understand what you... what you feel. How you...” He sighed. “The real world is confusing. I’m not like other people, I... I have to try so hard.”
Dean kissed his forehead. “I don’t want you to be like other people. I love you the way you are.”
Castiel sighed and nuzzled against Dean’s neck.
Dean finally found his door key in his back jean pocket. He awkwardly opened the door and manoeuvred Castiel inside.
Sam was still up watching TV, and he came out into the hallway curiously when he heard them stumble in. His eyes grew wide when he saw Castiel. “Dean, what have you done to him?”
Dean scowled at his brother. “Seriously, what is it that makes people think I have any control over what Cas does? It’s hardly my fault if he can’t handle his drink.”
Castiel was giggling softly now, his head still on Dean’s shoulder.
“He just... overdid things a little, that’s all,” Dean continued, slightly resentful of the fact that his little brother could make him feel guilty like this. And really it was stupid to feel guilty because it wasn’t like he was Cas’s minder.
“You’re not angry,” Castiel said dreamily, his fingers stroking Dean’s sides through the fabric of his t-shirt.
“No, I’m not angry. Sammy, quit glowering at me and go get him a glass of water, would you?”
Sighing wearily, Sam retreated to the kitchen.
“You smell good,” Cas mumbled. “You make me feel like... you make me feel like I can do... stuff.” His hands found their way under the hemline of Dean’s shirt and traced patterns on the skin of his stomach. Dean squirmed a little, suddenly really wishing that Cas wasn’t quite so drunk.
Of course, Sam chose that exact moment to return with a glass of water.
“I really want you in bed, Dean,” Cas purred, his hand travelling lower, trying to work its way inside Dean’s pants, as Dean desperately attempted to hold him off. “Want you so bad. Want you to do that thing with your tongue where you-”
“Oh my God!” Sam cried. “Seriously, guys?”
“He’s drunk, okay?” Dean protested, his face burning as he tried to fend off an inappropriately amorous Castiel. “Fuck my life,” he muttered. “Look, Sam, just... stop looking at us like that, okay? I’ll take care of it. Just... take the water up and put it by my bed, and I’ll... I’ll look after Cas.”
“I bet you will,” Sam grumbled as he stomped past them up the stairs.
“Come on, Casanova,” Dean sighed. “Let’s get you up to bed.”
Castiel was nuzzling Dean’s neck, but he suddenly grew very still and pulled back.
“Cas?”
“Dean, I... I don’t feel very well.”
“Oh, crap.”
“Dean...”
“Come on.”
Dean had never been more grateful for the downstairs bathroom. He manhandled Cas through the door and over to the toilet, where he promptly threw up violently. Dean rubbed a hand soothingly over his back and tried not to be too grossed out. It wasn’t as if he’d been too good at knowing his limits the first couple of times he’d gotten drunk. And a handful of times since then, if he was completely honest. And Cas did tend to... do things in extremes. Dean really should have remembered that.
Castiel retched a couple more times, then he rested his head on his arm, panting heavily. “I really don’t like this,” he whispered.
“I know. Next time you’ll go a bit slower. You gonna hurl again?”
“I... I don’t think so.”
Dean pulled him back and flushed the toilet. The bathroom was tiny, but there was a small washbasin, and Dean wet a cloth with cold water and wiped it gently over Castiel’s face.
“This is awful,” Cas said. “This is awful. Why did you do this to me?” He sniffed loudly.
“Excuse me, I don’t remember pouring half a bottle of vodka down your throat, you took care of that yourself.”
Castiel’s face scrunched up in misery. “I hate this. I didn’t want this to happen. God hates me.”
“What? Cas, don’t be-”
“He hates me. And now you’re... you’re not... you won’t want me anymore, either.” Castiel was openly crying now, and Dean didn’t know what the hell to do.
“I’m disgusting,” Cas sobbed. “I’m so sorry, God!”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, pulling Castiel closer. “You’re not disgusting. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Please don’t leave me,” Cas whispered.
Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hashngle.”
“What?”
Dean looked down in confusion and saw that Castiel had fallen asleep, and was snoring gently on his shoulder.
“Well, that’s just perfect.”
Dean shifted around so that he could grab Cas under his arms, and eventually managed to haul them both into a standing position. Cas was a dead weight in his arms, and Dean was not looking forward to getting him upstairs. He dragged him across the hallway, Castiel’s legs trailing along the ground behind him.
Sam was waiting on the stairs, and snorted with laughter when he saw them. “That’s elegant, Dean.”
“Well, you try lifting him!” Dean grunted. “The guy’s all muscle! Gimme a hand, will you?”
Annoying as he could be at times, Sam always came through in the end. He grabbed Castiel’s legs, and between them they managed to get him up the stairs and laid out on Dean’s bed.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, he just needs to sleep it off. I’ll stay with him. Get to bed, Sasquatch.”
Sam left them, and Dean got to work removing Castiel’s shoes and pants. “This is not how I imagined this evening ending. You know, I figured I’d get you loosened up a little, and maybe you’d agree to try that thing with the ice cream and the hot chocolate.” He smoothed Castiel’s hair back from his forehead. “I’d get to find out what kind of drunk you are. Turns out, you’re a funny drunk, an angry drunk, a horny drunk, a can’t-hold-his-liquor drunk, a weepy drunk and a comatose drunk. Show off.”
Cas sighed heavily in his sleep.
“At least you didn’t puke on me,” Dean told him as he pulled the comforter up over his shoulders. “So we can mark that one up as a success.”
Castiel turned over onto his stomach and burrowed under the covers, and Dean climbed in beside him. At least one thing was for sure: life with Cas was never going to be boring.
...
Dean had been awake for about half-an-hour before Castiel began to stir. He made a small whimpering noise and buried his face in the pillow.
“You okay, dude?” Dean asked, putting aside the book he’d been reading.
Castiel cracked his eyes open a little. “Dean... I don’t wish to alarm you, but... I think I might be dying.”
Dean smiled. “Nah, you’re just hung-over. Sit up and drink some water; you need to rehydrate. You might wanna take a couple aspirin as well.”
“You don’t understand, this can’t be a hangover. This is death. Death is here.”
“Come on, sit up.”
“Please don’t move me so quickly. And I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“Nothing, Cas. Nothing’s funny.”
Dean held a glass of water up to Castiel’s lips, and he drank gratefully.
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I think my brain’s disintegrating. And it feels like something died in my mouth.”
“I know, it sucks. Give it a couple of hours.”
“Dean, I... I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I? I remember being at Jo’s, and something was wrong with my hands.”
“Nah,” Dean said. “You were fine. Nothing embarrassing.”
Never let it be said that Dean wasn’t a good boyfriend.
Length - 3,026
Author - lafleurdumal85
Rating - PG-13
Summary - Set over the summer after graduation and before Dean and Castiel set off on their road trip. Dean decides that Castiel has led too sheltered a life, and thinks getting him drunk would be a great idea. He comes to regret it.
Warnings - Spoilers for Jump the Track (though can be read alone), drinking, sexual references.
Dean wondered how he could have ever thought that getting Castiel drunk would be a good idea. It had just been so tempting to get the guy to unwind a little. The only time Dean had ever known Cas to truly surrender his closely guarded self-control was during sex, and (much as it pained him) they couldn’t be doing that all the time. It just seemed like such a shame that Castiel had never had the chance to be irresponsible and silly, that he’d always been told how to behave. Dean had just wanted to show him that it was okay to relax, that he was away from his family now and they couldn’t control him anymore. He’d wanted to show Cas how to be eighteen. A party in Jo’s basement had seemed like a perfect opportunity.
Okay, okay, so if Dean was being completely honest, he wasn’t entirely motivated by unselfish desires to widen Castiel’s horizons. The fact was that while he loved Castiel - and he really did - the guy had been driving him crazy all day.
It was Becky’s fault, really. Dean liked his brother’s new girlfriend, but she could be a little... intense. Also, she stared a lot. Whenever she came over to hang out with Sam, and Dean and Castiel were around, he’d catch her looking at them with starry eyes, and he had a horrible suspicion that it was only consideration for Sam’s delicate sensibilities that prevented her from asking them invasive questions about their sex life. Sam had shown him some of the fanfiction she’d written, and it was frankly terrifying. All the same, there was something endearing about Becky, and Dean had actually been pretty touched when she’d shyly presented him and Castiel with a CD she’d made of music that was “about their relationship”. Creeped out, but touched.
Although that had been the cause of the trouble. Dean had been pleasantly surprised with some of the songs Becky had chosen, but then she’d made the fatal error of including Dusty Springfield’s ‘Son of a Preacher Man’. Cas had listened to that one very carefully. Then he’d made a quiet hum of satisfaction and pressed the repeat button. Dean had lost count of the number of times he’d been forced to listen to that damn song now.
That was the thing about Cas. The guy was practically a genius. He could instantly grasp abstract concepts which Dean could never hope to understand. He was academically brilliant, top of the year at school; he could read a book in a couple of hours, and Dean sometimes felt like he should start carrying a dictionary around with him just so he could follow what the guy was talking about. But in a lot of ways Castiel was like a child. Everything was so new to him, and he just didn’t have the basic store of experiences that most people took for granted. Dean sometimes found himself talking to his boyfriend like he was a little bit simple, explaining things very carefully and often having to try again when he just got a blank look of bemusement in return.
His attempts at giving Castiel a musical education had been interesting. Cas found it difficult to understand why some music was good and some was bad, and his tastes were somewhat eclectic. Much to Dean’s relief, he’d liked most Zeppelin songs, but then he also enjoyed Mozart, Bruce Springsteen, The Manic Street Preachers (thanks for that one, Sammy. Thanks), Robert Johnson, and (Dean was never going to reconcile himself to this one) Taylor Swift. Once he’d found something he liked, Castiel would engage in really intense listening sessions where he’d furiously shush anyone who dared to talk over the music.
Apparently he liked Dusty Springfield, too.
Dean was being driven slowly insane.
He could have kissed Jo when she came over to say that Ellen was working a nightshift and Ash had been given several bottles of alcohol as payment from one of his ‘clients’ in exchange for decoding a couple of hard drives. A night in with friends was exactly what he and Cas both needed, and if he could get Castiel to loosen up a little, so much the better.
Dean really should have thought it through a bit more, especially considering Castiel’s rather... intense approach to new experiences.
“I’m not sure that I’ll care for inebriation,” Cas told him as they rung Jo’s doorbell. “Whenever you get intoxicated it just makes you belligerent and clumsy.”
Dean sighed. “That’s just cause you never saw me drunk under good circumstances. Besides, I’m not saying that we should get trashed tonight; we’re just gonna be hanging out watching a couple of movies. Come on, it’ll do you good to cut loose and get a little buzzed. I promise I’ll look out for you.”
“Buzzed,” Castiel repeated, testing the work out. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “It wouldn’t hurt for me to... experience these things.”
Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
It had started out okay. Jo put The Shining on, and they sat around eating and popcorn and finalizing the plans they’d made to go to Kansas City the following week.
But then Jo had brought out the shot glasses and a bottle of vodka.
“Maybe just one,” Castiel said. Famous last words. He watched as the others threw back a couple of shots each, then hesitantly picked up his own glass.
“Swallow it quickly,” Dean advised. “And try not to choke.”
“Like with semen,” Pam giggled.
Dean hit her with a cushion.
Castiel winced as he downed the vodka, then furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh. It isn’t that bad.”
Jo poured him another one.
“It’s good,” Cas said, like he was passing divine sanction. He took four more shots before blinking and looking up at Jo in mild surprise. “I... think I’m starting to feel something,” he said.
Jo laughed and pushed the bottle towards him.
“Go easy, okay?” Dean said quietly. “It sneaks up on you.”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Dean, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
Half an hour later, Castiel was sprawled inelegantly on one of Jo’s beanbag chairs, waving his fingers in front of his face with an expression of wonder. “Look at them!” he whispered. “Look at them!”
“Why the hell did you give him the bottle, Jo?” Dean demanded. “You know he’s never done this before!”
Jo huffed irritably. “He’s not a child, Dean. I assumed he’d be able to know when to stop.”
Castiel moved one of his hands a little too close to his face for his own comfort. He yelped in alarm and fell over backwards. Dean sighed and went over to pick him up.
“I think my hands are possessed,” Cas told him seriously.
“Sure they are. Come on, sit up and drink some water.”
Dean was grateful that his parents had gone away for their anniversary that week; getting Castiel home would have been very awkward otherwise.
“I don’t need water, Dean,” Castiel grumbled.
“I really think you do.”
Cas frowned and pushed Dean away clumsily.
“What?”
“You’re being especially irksome today.”
Pam snorted with laughter. “Irksome! Oh, Cas...”
Castiel was slumped on the floor looking up at Dean mulishly. “You don’t like our song,” he said.
“Oh, for... Cas, that isn’t our song!”
“Yes, it is! I don’t understand why you refuse to... I can’t... Like it or not, Dean, I am a son of a preacher man, and I’m the only one who could ever teach you. I fail to understand your rect- your reticence.”
Dean was painfully aware that his three tipsy best friends were all watching their conversation with amusement.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, it can be our song. But we’re not gonna tell people about it. And we’re... we’re not gonna listen to it all the damn time, okay?”
Castiel sighed shakily and wouldn’t answer. “I don’t like having possessed hands,” he said finally. “And I can’t feel my face.”
“I told you to slow down.”
“I am feeling conflicted between feelings of extreme irritation towards you and a... and a desire to... get into bed with you and... Dean, I want to reverse this now, I think. How do I make myself normal again?”
Dean pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “You can’t. Not just like that. You’ll just have to... wait it out.”
“I don’t care for this. I feel like you’re judging me, and this isn’t dignified... I didn’t...”
“You wanna go home?” Dean asked quietly, the sound of Jack Nicholson hacking his way through a door dim in the background.
Castiel nodded mutely.
“Fine,” Dean huffed. He wasn’t used to being the responsible one. He hauled Castiel to his feet, staggering slightly under the weight. Cas was heavy in his arms.
“My center of gravity seems to be askew,” Cas said.
“Jo,” Dean called over his shoulder. “We’re leaving. I think Cas has had enough fun for one night.”
“Go forth and prosper,” Jo called from the rug in front of the TV, where she was lying with her head in Pam’s lap and her feet on Ash’s back, who was sprawled in front of her. Dean really hoped that wasn’t going to turn into a kinky three-way once he and Cas were gone.
Getting up the stairs from the basement and out the house wasn’t easy, especially as Castiel still seemed to be under the impression that there was something wrong with his hands, examining them closely with a mixture of suspicion and wonder. Dean doubted Cas would be able to walk at all without him propelling him along. This had clearly been a terrible idea. Funny, but terrible. He hoped that Cas wouldn’t be too embarrassed once he’d sobered up.
They reached the front door of the Winchesters’ house, and Dean tried to remember where the hell he’d put his key, clumsily searching for it with one hand while holding his swaying boyfriend up with the other.
“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered, his breath hot against Dean’s neck. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” Dean said, tightening his arm around Castiel’s back.
“I think I’m too drunk. I was fine, but then it just... happened.”
“It’s okay. It’s my fault; it was a stupid idea.”
“I wanted to understand,” Cas mumbled. “I wanted to understand what you... what you feel. How you...” He sighed. “The real world is confusing. I’m not like other people, I... I have to try so hard.”
Dean kissed his forehead. “I don’t want you to be like other people. I love you the way you are.”
Castiel sighed and nuzzled against Dean’s neck.
Dean finally found his door key in his back jean pocket. He awkwardly opened the door and manoeuvred Castiel inside.
Sam was still up watching TV, and he came out into the hallway curiously when he heard them stumble in. His eyes grew wide when he saw Castiel. “Dean, what have you done to him?”
Dean scowled at his brother. “Seriously, what is it that makes people think I have any control over what Cas does? It’s hardly my fault if he can’t handle his drink.”
Castiel was giggling softly now, his head still on Dean’s shoulder.
“He just... overdid things a little, that’s all,” Dean continued, slightly resentful of the fact that his little brother could make him feel guilty like this. And really it was stupid to feel guilty because it wasn’t like he was Cas’s minder.
“You’re not angry,” Castiel said dreamily, his fingers stroking Dean’s sides through the fabric of his t-shirt.
“No, I’m not angry. Sammy, quit glowering at me and go get him a glass of water, would you?”
Sighing wearily, Sam retreated to the kitchen.
“You smell good,” Cas mumbled. “You make me feel like... you make me feel like I can do... stuff.” His hands found their way under the hemline of Dean’s shirt and traced patterns on the skin of his stomach. Dean squirmed a little, suddenly really wishing that Cas wasn’t quite so drunk.
Of course, Sam chose that exact moment to return with a glass of water.
“I really want you in bed, Dean,” Cas purred, his hand travelling lower, trying to work its way inside Dean’s pants, as Dean desperately attempted to hold him off. “Want you so bad. Want you to do that thing with your tongue where you-”
“Oh my God!” Sam cried. “Seriously, guys?”
“He’s drunk, okay?” Dean protested, his face burning as he tried to fend off an inappropriately amorous Castiel. “Fuck my life,” he muttered. “Look, Sam, just... stop looking at us like that, okay? I’ll take care of it. Just... take the water up and put it by my bed, and I’ll... I’ll look after Cas.”
“I bet you will,” Sam grumbled as he stomped past them up the stairs.
“Come on, Casanova,” Dean sighed. “Let’s get you up to bed.”
Castiel was nuzzling Dean’s neck, but he suddenly grew very still and pulled back.
“Cas?”
“Dean, I... I don’t feel very well.”
“Oh, crap.”
“Dean...”
“Come on.”
Dean had never been more grateful for the downstairs bathroom. He manhandled Cas through the door and over to the toilet, where he promptly threw up violently. Dean rubbed a hand soothingly over his back and tried not to be too grossed out. It wasn’t as if he’d been too good at knowing his limits the first couple of times he’d gotten drunk. And a handful of times since then, if he was completely honest. And Cas did tend to... do things in extremes. Dean really should have remembered that.
Castiel retched a couple more times, then he rested his head on his arm, panting heavily. “I really don’t like this,” he whispered.
“I know. Next time you’ll go a bit slower. You gonna hurl again?”
“I... I don’t think so.”
Dean pulled him back and flushed the toilet. The bathroom was tiny, but there was a small washbasin, and Dean wet a cloth with cold water and wiped it gently over Castiel’s face.
“This is awful,” Cas said. “This is awful. Why did you do this to me?” He sniffed loudly.
“Excuse me, I don’t remember pouring half a bottle of vodka down your throat, you took care of that yourself.”
Castiel’s face scrunched up in misery. “I hate this. I didn’t want this to happen. God hates me.”
“What? Cas, don’t be-”
“He hates me. And now you’re... you’re not... you won’t want me anymore, either.” Castiel was openly crying now, and Dean didn’t know what the hell to do.
“I’m disgusting,” Cas sobbed. “I’m so sorry, God!”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, pulling Castiel closer. “You’re not disgusting. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Please don’t leave me,” Cas whispered.
Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hashngle.”
“What?”
Dean looked down in confusion and saw that Castiel had fallen asleep, and was snoring gently on his shoulder.
“Well, that’s just perfect.”
Dean shifted around so that he could grab Cas under his arms, and eventually managed to haul them both into a standing position. Cas was a dead weight in his arms, and Dean was not looking forward to getting him upstairs. He dragged him across the hallway, Castiel’s legs trailing along the ground behind him.
Sam was waiting on the stairs, and snorted with laughter when he saw them. “That’s elegant, Dean.”
“Well, you try lifting him!” Dean grunted. “The guy’s all muscle! Gimme a hand, will you?”
Annoying as he could be at times, Sam always came through in the end. He grabbed Castiel’s legs, and between them they managed to get him up the stairs and laid out on Dean’s bed.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, he just needs to sleep it off. I’ll stay with him. Get to bed, Sasquatch.”
Sam left them, and Dean got to work removing Castiel’s shoes and pants. “This is not how I imagined this evening ending. You know, I figured I’d get you loosened up a little, and maybe you’d agree to try that thing with the ice cream and the hot chocolate.” He smoothed Castiel’s hair back from his forehead. “I’d get to find out what kind of drunk you are. Turns out, you’re a funny drunk, an angry drunk, a horny drunk, a can’t-hold-his-liquor drunk, a weepy drunk and a comatose drunk. Show off.”
Cas sighed heavily in his sleep.
“At least you didn’t puke on me,” Dean told him as he pulled the comforter up over his shoulders. “So we can mark that one up as a success.”
Castiel turned over onto his stomach and burrowed under the covers, and Dean climbed in beside him. At least one thing was for sure: life with Cas was never going to be boring.
...
Dean had been awake for about half-an-hour before Castiel began to stir. He made a small whimpering noise and buried his face in the pillow.
“You okay, dude?” Dean asked, putting aside the book he’d been reading.
Castiel cracked his eyes open a little. “Dean... I don’t wish to alarm you, but... I think I might be dying.”
Dean smiled. “Nah, you’re just hung-over. Sit up and drink some water; you need to rehydrate. You might wanna take a couple aspirin as well.”
“You don’t understand, this can’t be a hangover. This is death. Death is here.”
“Come on, sit up.”
“Please don’t move me so quickly. And I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“Nothing, Cas. Nothing’s funny.”
Dean held a glass of water up to Castiel’s lips, and he drank gratefully.
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I think my brain’s disintegrating. And it feels like something died in my mouth.”
“I know, it sucks. Give it a couple of hours.”
“Dean, I... I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I? I remember being at Jo’s, and something was wrong with my hands.”
“Nah,” Dean said. “You were fine. Nothing embarrassing.”
Never let it be said that Dean wasn’t a good boyfriend.