bakerstreet | (no subject)

[And enter our hero stage right at nearly midnight, slamming the door behind him. He'd turned off his phone about eight hours ago, went to a bar about six hours ago, and started walking home about half an hour ago.

Which is a real problem, considering the bar's about a ten minute walk, tops.]

Caaaaaaas.

[How many shots? Wait- no. Nine? Wait... Did that last one actually happen? He can't... really remember. And thank god he's in the right building this time. God damn what is his life.]

Cas, my brother's marrying a demon and she's going to drag him to hell and suck out his soul. Like. Like. Like a fucking demon, a soul sucking gigantic bitchfaced demon bitch demon. And I'm pretty sure she goes to the bathroom and doesn't wash her hands. That's just gross, Cas, why would somebody do that? Then you get nasty bathroom germs all over the doorknob, and that's how people get the flu. That bitch is giving people the flu. The flu and drugs.

[Was Cas even in the room right now? Fuck- Christ- his life is going to shit.

Wibble.]

[Oh, Cas is in the room all right, more or less passed out right there on the couch. The DVD player's gone to sleep as well; there's a light flashing against the walls of the apartment as the logo bounces against the edges of the tv, Cas's chill the fuck out playlist having ended about half an hour after he'd fallen asleep. He's been out for a few hours at most, and from the look of him, hasn't moved an inch in that time-- his bowl is still resting comfortably between his chest and the hand that's curled around it protectively.

And it's a good thing, too, because at the sound of the door slamming he starts, jerking violently and sitting bolt upright, fingers clutching at his most sacred of paraphernalia as he squints out of the darkness. He can just barely make out a vaguely Dean-shaped shadow in front of the door outlined by the light of the hallway, and though the knowledge that he's not about to be robbed blind is comforting, the slurred, whining quality of his friend's voice suggests that this isn't going to be a laugh-at-the-drunkie kind of night.

His suspicions are confirmed by the tirade about his brother's 'soul sucking gigantic bitchfaced demon bitch demon' girlfriend, and he collects himself enough to shove up from the couch and turn on the light before Dean trips and kills himself. He allows himself the tiniest of smiles about the hand washing thing- because come on, that's kind of funny- before flipping the switch on and adjusting his face to a seriousness more befitting of the situation]

She's horrible. Completely awful, here, why don't you just come sit down over here...

[He grabs Dean by the shoulders and steers him back to the couch, shoving him gently to get him to sit.]

[Was it dark in there? Apparently it had been, because the sudden light is startling and he blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut.]

God damn it, Cas, warn a guy before you go blinding him. That's just... like... dicks do that. So. Don't. You know. Do that.

[It's a little hard to keep a coherent thought when it isn't about how much his life sucks or his brother. On the bright side, though, Cas totally understands. Ruby is a bitch. A bitch on drugs. She's going to give drugs to Sam and Sam's going to die. The thought floods him because he can feel what it would feel like, just for a second, and his drunk logic is just so overwhelmed by it, he can't stop his eyes from watering.

He really doesn't want Sam to die. Cas steers him over to the couch and, childlike, he obeys, falling bodily into it, elbows on his knees, head in his hand.]

I can't even... I was s'posed to protect him. Dean, take care of your brother! That's, like, the only goddam thing Dad ever said to me and look what a good fucking job I've done. Dad's dead and Sam's six tiers to the fucking wind with that bitch demon bitch. She's... a fucking bitch, Cas, she's gonna kill my brother.

I'm sorry, next time you'll get some warning.

[He wants to say In the form of stubbing your toe on the end table or tripping and breaking your neck, but he knows better than to try and use logic right now. He had planned on going to get some water, because although he's sure at this point any attempts to avoid a massive, horrible, headslamming hangover are pretty much null and void, he'd been willing to try... But the way Dean slumps forward with his head in his hand just tugs at him in such a way that it makes it impossible for him to do anything but settle himself next to him on the couch and place a steadying hand on his shoulder.

He's heard the story before, about how their father had left Dean to watch over Sam more times than he can even remember, and how always, always he'd impressed upon Dean the importance of Sam and how he needed to watch out for him, take care of him, protect him... The unfairness of the situation, as always, strikes a chord with Cas, because he knows what it's like, the blind obedience, and how hard it is to escape from that need to please a father even when it's impossible to do so. He squeezes Dean's shoulder gently in an attempt at solidarity.

There are so many things he wants to say, but he manages to bite his tongue as far as it's not your fault goes. He knows it isn't going to help, and now really isn't the time.]

Sam's gonna be fine Dean, he's not gonna die.

[Privately, Cas thinks that if something doesn't change, if Sam doesn't stop doing what he's been doing, he's going to be the farthest possible thing from fine... But that isn't going to help Dean, not now, anyway.]

[Even sober, Dean's pretty sure Ruby's going to kill his brother. All it takes is one too many mixes in the cocktail he calls dinner- uppers, downers, poppers, Sam hasn't really shown any particular preference, as long as it gets him high. He's seen track marks, he's seen... well, he's seen an exciting rainbow of drug paraphernalia that makes him want to have his brother committed.

Doesn't matter whether or not it was Dad's orders. It's Sam. His brother Sam, his family, and seeing anyone in his family in a state like that... that it's Sam just makes it worse.

He leans into the hand, not just a little, full on leans into it. Because it's Cas, and because he's drunk, and because it hurts and he wouldn't mind a little comfort. Also, he's probably falling in mumblemumble with his stupid freaking roommate, so the contact isn't exactly unpleasant. Now is just... so not even the time for that, though.]

Bullshit.

[It's lacking the conviction he usually applies, and instead, it's just... tired.]

[If gave it any thought at all, he'd have felt bad about leaving his stuff around, plastic bags and pipes and that truly spectacular bong he'd found at some point during his travels for the equivalent of maybe ten US dollars... But it doesn't cross his mind at all. He does wonder sometimes, though, if it bothers Dean, what he does often enough that some might call it constant... But Dean never mentions it, and Cas never asks, and that's how it's been going since he moved in.

Dean seems to melt into his hand, and Cas shifts to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He's bent at a pretty awkward angle that will probably be uncomfortable in about ten minutes and still uncomfortable tomorrow in about twenty, but he's not even worrying about it. He doesn't mind the contact at all, and if it were anything approaching the right time for it, might even be allowing himself to enjoy it properly...

But it isn't, not at all, and the only thoughts running through Cas's mind involve the issue of Sam, and the fact that his friend is the epitome of misery right now. He looks tired, he sounds tired, but not the I-need-a-nap kind or the kind a good night with a good-looking woman can cure. Cas is really at a loss for what it is he's supposed to say. If he were in Dean's position he'd be headed straight for his stash, but somehow he imagines that isn't the solution here...]

He needs help, so... Find him help.

[Hell, Cas knows a few people who've been to programs, had treatment and come out more or less all right... He's sure he can get some information out of one or two of them, if it'd help.

That still leaves Ruby, though, and Cas is sure it's not going to be easy to get Sam away from her, not with the way her talons are digging into him and dragging him down like this. He sighs. One thing at a time...]

[Those last two shots are slowly digesting, sinking into his veins, and the adrenaline from the walk home and the cold air is fading away. Dean is just... he's so very, very drunk. He's the type of drunk you're embarrassed to get the next day. He's the type of drunk that makes people from your office building avoid you if they see you out at all that night.

Dean is maid of honor at a bachelorette party drunk.

It's really a miracle he's not sobbing over a toilet just yet, but he's pretty capable of holding his liquor. He's had plenty of practice. That being said, his eyes may be just a teeny bit red- if asked, he'll blame it on the alcohol rather than the emotion.

Except that he's totally, completely wrecked. And Cas is wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and that... that totally helps. He curls in, pulls up his legs, and slumps into Cas like he intends to set up shop and sleep on his chest or something. It's a position only a drunk could be comfortable in, really- and it's so lacking in testosterone, it's almost out of character for him. It'd be easier if he were pissed off, probably.]

He won't. He just. Jesus.

[He shakes his head, because there are words there he wants to say. But. Wait. Are there? Was he talking? He was in the middle of a conversation, right? Fuck. He doesn't feel so good. Fuck. The world is spinning. Fuck.]

Stop... moving.

[Is he even moving? Is Cas moving? God damn it, he's dizzy. He squeezes his eyes closed, digs his fingers into something warm.]

I can't do it 'nymore. S'too hard.

[And now he does shift a bit, not into a necessarily more comfortable position for him, but just enough so that Dean doesn't slide off of the couch as he curls up in fetal position against his chest. It's... Pitiful really, but he's not judging. If he were in Dean's situation, well... Already been through that, he'd probably be unconscious by this point.

He keeps his arm firmly wrapped around Dean's shoulders, though, because contact comfort is really all he can offer-- he doesn't really have a solution, not a satisfactory one, anyway. He doesn't say anything for a while, because really, what can he possibly say? He knows Sam's about as resistent to help as they come, and until he decides he wants it, well... That whole thing about leading a horse to water applies here.

That something warm Dean's fingers are digging into? That'd be Cas's hip, and he squirms in surprise- and out of a bit of ticklishness- despite his best efforts not to move and jostle Dean any further.

Although... He probably should be moving, he probably should be hauling Dean somewhere not covered in carpet to do his thing... He's about to, but then Dean speaks again and it's just so... sad that Cas can't really bring himself to do it. They've been living together for a while now, but Cas can't remember ever hearing Dean this dejected, ever, completely shitfaced or otherwise. He frowns and squeezes his shoulder. He's about to give Dean some crap about how yeah, it's hard, but he's not a quitter and his brother needs him so he'll figure something out... But that hasn't been Cas's style, not for a long time, and so he's gonna apply his tried and true tactic of 'fuck it, worry about it tomorrow'.

It's served him pretty well so far.]

You don't have to figure it out right this second.

[It really is a shame that Cas isn't comfortable. That would make this experience so much better. Well, maybe a little better. Dean does't seem to notice Cas's state much at all, except for the fact that he's half laying against it.

His eyes are closed, now, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. Anxiety's losing it's grip on his chest, and he feels... weirdly safe, right now. Sam's still... Jesus, Sam's still screwed, but right now, everything's...

Blurry. The alcohol must be doing it's job. It's dim in here, and warm, and there's a steady heartbeat against his ear, and it's lulling him a little. God, he's so tired. He could just... if he just closes his eyes...

Squirming- the world is squirming- no, wait, that's just Cas. Cas is squirming.]

You ticklish, Cas? [It's murmured into his shirt, slightly surprised, though his voice is weighed down, gruff with alcohol and sleep.] That's friggin' adorable.

[If it's possible, Dean seems to sink even more into Cas's space as he relaxes, body seeming to grow even heavier as the tension leaves him. Success! Cas is a bit more pleased with himself than he probably should be, though there's also a great deal of relief factoring in there as well. He hates seeing Dean that way.

He squirms just a little bit more, finally settling into a position that could be considered comfortable, head tilted against the back of the couch and arm still looped around Dean's shoulders.

He huffs out a soft laugh.]

Maybe just a little bit.

[Adorable? Not for him it's not... His only consolation is that he doubts Dean's going to remember this in the morning. But hell, if Cas thought it'd make him feel any better he'd give Dean a twenty-four hour pass to poke at his side all he wants, free of charge and nose punching.]

(no subject)

ordinary!cas | supernatural AU

I pondered how to approach this, and could come up with only one thing. What is "fluff"?

Ahahaha awww this works!

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'maid of honor at a bachelorette party drunk' is just... rofl /dying

Did I mention I'm hilarious? Because... I'm hilarious. B|b

ahahah truth! -__- sorry for delay, stomach virus happened...