Castiel turned his attention to the shot glass in front of him. Dean thought he was a creep. Or at least that he looked like one dressed the way he was. He felt suddenly self-conscious in the trenchcoat, but he wasn't about to take it off right now and fall prey to more harassment about his clothes in front of all these humans.
People, he supposed he should say. As it stood now, he was human, too.
He downed the shot quickly and flipped the glass over. Then Dean was back at him, insinuating he needed to stop. He was starting to feel it, mostly in his legs and in his head, but he wasn't ready to quit.
"I will not let you win by default," he said. Dean beckoned for another round, and Cass slammed it down, again and again. Once or twice, Cass asked for the next round, just to rub it in Dean's face. They didn't stop until they were asked to leave. At that point, Castiel was drunk and giggly and having a hard time standing up (or at least, standing still). The bartender told them they should, by rights, be face down in their own vomit, and that they weren't didn't mean he had to keep serving them. So the two were turned out onto the street. It was lucky the motel wasn't far.
As they shuffled on out, Castiel collided with Dean (probably on purpose, judging by how funny he'd found it) and was hanging onto him and laughing. "You... you should've seen your face. I saw your face, when he said you weren't drunk enough but you were too drunk and we had to leave..." and then it was gone, dissolved in a fit of giggling.
As Cass collided with him, Dean giggled as well. He didn't usually get giggly drunk, but, Cass had pushed him. He'd even lost count of how many they'd had. Well outside of his usual eight-to-ten range, he was sure. The former-angel hanging onto him, Dean ended up with an arm against his back, helping support him -- this was only marginally effective considering that they were both stumbling.
"This is... this is all your fault anyway!" Dean proclaimed, the accusation devolving into a bout of laughter. "If you had just admitted you were drunker than you thunk you were, we wouldn't have gotten thrown out."
However, considering Dean was still laughing, it didn't seem as if he really held it against him at all. Cass might remember the time when they got thrown out of the Brothel and Dean had declared it to be the most fun he'd had in a long time. And they'd both been damn-near stone-cold sober that time, too.
Dean sort of walked them in a circle on the sidewalk, and for a moment, it looked like they were dancing, but then it was just too funny for Dean to keep up. Instead, he settled for continuing to stumble toward the beckoning asphalt of the parking lot.
People, he supposed he should say. As it stood now, he was human, too.
He downed the shot quickly and flipped the glass over. Then Dean was back at him, insinuating he needed to stop. He was starting to feel it, mostly in his legs and in his head, but he wasn't ready to quit.
"I will not let you win by default," he said. Dean beckoned for another round, and Cass slammed it down, again and again. Once or twice, Cass asked for the next round, just to rub it in Dean's face. They didn't stop until they were asked to leave. At that point, Castiel was drunk and giggly and having a hard time standing up (or at least, standing still). The bartender told them they should, by rights, be face down in their own vomit, and that they weren't didn't mean he had to keep serving them. So the two were turned out onto the street. It was lucky the motel wasn't far.
As they shuffled on out, Castiel collided with Dean (probably on purpose, judging by how funny he'd found it) and was hanging onto him and laughing. "You... you should've seen your face. I saw your face, when he said you weren't drunk enough but you were too drunk and we had to leave..." and then it was gone, dissolved in a fit of giggling.
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"This is... this is all your fault anyway!" Dean proclaimed, the accusation devolving into a bout of laughter. "If you had just admitted you were drunker than you thunk you were, we wouldn't have gotten thrown out."
However, considering Dean was still laughing, it didn't seem as if he really held it against him at all. Cass might remember the time when they got thrown out of the Brothel and Dean had declared it to be the most fun he'd had in a long time. And they'd both been damn-near stone-cold sober that time, too.
Dean sort of walked them in a circle on the sidewalk, and for a moment, it looked like they were dancing, but then it was just too funny for Dean to keep up. Instead, he settled for continuing to stumble toward the beckoning asphalt of the parking lot.
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