[ Dean answers automatically, drunkenly, without looking. And he's gone, like... really "in a good place" gone, but he's too in-tuned with supernatural bullshit not to notice that Cas's shoulders are feeling slimmer, the long hair brushing over his arm, the gradual upwards hitch of Cas's voice as he speaks.
Deans stops them both dead, pulls away enough to have a hand on Cas's closer shoulder and hold him at arm's length as he gets a good look at him. ...at her. And just like that, there's no more swaying or smiles, and Dean's instantly sober, like a bucket of ice water's been dropped over his head.
Cas is hot.
This is a problem. ]
Aw, crap.
[ Dean surmises eloquently, and then he looks around. There's no sign of anyone, of anything who might've done this. Maybe a witch slipped a hex bag in his (her) pocket or something, or maybe it's an angel-vessel thing. But they can figure it out later. It's 2 am in an empty parking lot of a dive bar out in the middle of freaking no where, and Dean wants four walls around him like yesterday. He drags Cas by the arm with him back towards the motel in long, hurried steps. ]
Come on. Inside. Right now.
[ And once they're inside, the door shut and locked behind them, Dean looks at Cas, up and down, the suit and trench coat all but falling off of her, and that is a waste of a good body. She should be in something tight, and cute. And short skirt, low-cut shirt. ...It takes Dean's brain a minute to slap itself and remember that this is Cas and he feels a little sick. Seriously, what the hell? Dean wipes a hand over his mouth, still wide-eyed. ]
Alright. We're not going to freak out about this. [ Except that Dean is definitely, completely freaked out. ] Do you remember anybody touching you? Anything slipped in your pockets? Anybody whispering in latin or dropping something in your drink?
[ But even as he's asking, Dean can't help blaming himself. Cas doesn't know to look for this stuff. He's a freaking angel. Angels don't get roofied. Dean should've been looking out for him, paying attention. Instead he got shitfaced, and now... Now look at Cas.
Seriously, he can't stop looking at Cas. This is bad. ]
wow rude. sometimes it works!!
[ Dean answers automatically, drunkenly, without looking. And he's gone, like... really "in a good place" gone, but he's too in-tuned with supernatural bullshit not to notice that Cas's shoulders are feeling slimmer, the long hair brushing over his arm, the gradual upwards hitch of Cas's voice as he speaks.
Deans stops them both dead, pulls away enough to have a hand on Cas's closer shoulder and hold him at arm's length as he gets a good look at him. ...at her. And just like that, there's no more swaying or smiles, and Dean's instantly sober, like a bucket of ice water's been dropped over his head.
Cas is hot.
This is a problem. ]
Aw, crap.
[ Dean surmises eloquently, and then he looks around. There's no sign of anyone, of anything who might've done this. Maybe a witch slipped a hex bag in his (her) pocket or something, or maybe it's an angel-vessel thing. But they can figure it out later. It's 2 am in an empty parking lot of a dive bar out in the middle of freaking no where, and Dean wants four walls around him like yesterday. He drags Cas by the arm with him back towards the motel in long, hurried steps. ]
Come on. Inside. Right now.
[ And once they're inside, the door shut and locked behind them, Dean looks at Cas, up and down, the suit and trench coat all but falling off of her, and that is a waste of a good body. She should be in something tight, and cute. And short skirt, low-cut shirt. ...It takes Dean's brain a minute to slap itself and remember that this is Cas and he feels a little sick. Seriously, what the hell? Dean wipes a hand over his mouth, still wide-eyed. ]
Alright. We're not going to freak out about this. [ Except that Dean is definitely, completely freaked out. ] Do you remember anybody touching you? Anything slipped in your pockets? Anybody whispering in latin or dropping something in your drink?
[ But even as he's asking, Dean can't help blaming himself. Cas doesn't know to look for this stuff. He's a freaking angel. Angels don't get roofied. Dean should've been looking out for him, paying attention. Instead he got shitfaced, and now... Now look at Cas.
Seriously, he can't stop looking at Cas. This is bad. ]