If there was one thing Dean Winchester was positive of, it was that he hated flying.
Cramped between this kid who wouldn't stop yelling and this old man that fell asleep who was about to lean his drooly mouth against Dean's jacket, all while the plane threatened to drop out of the air at any second— it was excruciating.
Sam was lucky he loved him enough to hop on a plane to L.A. for his wedding.
The thought stopped him short.
His kid brother's wedding.
They were years apart, yet career and love life-wise, Sam was decades ahead. Not that Dean was looking for the picket fence and wife and (well, maybe not the wife part. He recognised and knew the fluidity of his sexuality, and in the last few years, the idea of settling down with a guy seemed to be just as plausible) everything, but he still never had a significant other that lasted more than a year.
He huffed in his seat, restraining himself from smacking the obnoxious toddler next to him. He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep through the whole ordeal.
"Dean!" Jess shouted. She wrapped her arms around him, and Dean grinned wide.
"Hey, he's here for our wedding, remember?" Sam teased as they broke apart, and Dean gave his brother a tight hug.
"Been a while, huh?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam said, looking down at Dean. The last time he saw Sam, they were the same height.
They stood underneath a looming chandelier, in a hall that seemed to stretch on forever. Stained glass let rainbow light filter into the room.
"How the hell did you afford this, Sammy?" He wondered, whistling at the sheer size.
"My father's the priest here. They let us use the church for free," Jess gushed, taking Dean's arm and leading him up to the altar.
"Speaking of fathers," Dean said, giving Sam a look. "He coming?"
Sam shook his head as they walked up the steps. "Nah, he said he couldn't make it."
"Bullshit," Dean said, and Jess swatted him on the shoulder.
"We are in a church, Dean," she whispered, and he just shook his head.
"Right. Sorry," he added, looking at the sculpture of Jesus above him. "It's probably better that he didn't make it anyway."
A tense silence settled over them.
"So, anyway, this is where you'll be standing…"
Dean stared into the glass where his fourth shot had been.
"Another," he said.
The bartender obliged, pouring more into the shotglass. Dean grimaced as he drank it down in one swallow. His vision was just starting to blur.
No, no, he needed to get drunker.
"One whiskey, please."
Dean turned to see a gorgeous redhead. Her skin reminded him of milk, and he couldn't
tell if her eyes were brown or green or something in between. Beautiful.
"Hello," he said, voice dropping low. When she turned, he winked.
"Hi," she said, then looked away.
He scooted his bar stool closer to her and leaned his elbow against the table, trying his best not to slip.
"How are you this fine evening?" He asked. His syllables began to slur together. He blinked, trying to stay focused.
"I'm well. And you?" She asked, still not looking at him. She took a delicate sip of her drink.
"I'm wonderful. It's just the fact that I'm going home alone tonight that kind of bugs me."
"Sorry to hear that," she said.
He took her wrist, kissing where her veins ran down her arm. "You wanna change that?"
She laughed, her cheeks turning the same red as her hair. "I'm not interested, sorry."
Dean's mouth hung open. Not interested? "Wow. I must be severely off my game tonight."
"Bad day?"
He began to laugh. The girl raised an eyebrow.
He signaled to the bartender. "Two more." Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Anything you want to talk about?" She offered.
"Who are you, my therapist?"
She raised her hands and gave him a smirk. "Touchy, huh?"
"You want to get touchy?" Dean asked, winking. Anna laughed, about to open her mouth to say something—
A voice rang loud and clear in his ears. "She's not interested."
The words belonged to one of the most strikingly beautiful men Dean had ever seen.
He was about to begin to flirt with him (why not, right? Can't strike out twice in one night) when the other man swung his arms around the girl and lifted her to her feet.
"Let's go," he said.
"Wait, we were getting to be such good friends!" Dean called out.
"Was he causing you trouble, Anna?" The guy asked her. He squinted at her, concerned.
"Anna, huh? Anna, let me, let me ask you—" Dean swallowed, taking a second to stand. His knees barely supported him. "Is this your douchebag of a boyfriend? Didn't think he was your type."
They ignored him.
"So, uh—" Dean took another swig of his drink. "A threesome's out of the question?"
He chuckled to himself. God, he was hilarious. Anna rolled her eyes.
He downed another drink. "You could do so, so much better," Dean said, bringing his
empty glass up to his eye to peer through.
He was about to raise his hand to get one more when his wrist was yanked back.
"Hey, buddy—" Dean said, then stopped.
The man seemed to sizzle with anger. "You need to leave us alone."
Dean's ability to churn out a sarcastic response on command failed him then. He was vaguely aware of his palms against the stranger's, and for the life of him, Dean couldn't look away.
He brought one shaky hand against the guy's face. His eyelids were heavy. He took the collar of the man's jacket and pulled him close, so that their eyes were inches apart.
"Wow. Your eyes are like— like the solar system."
He thought he saw the other man blush, but it was irrelevant a few seconds later when he dropped to the bar table, and his head thudded against the wood. Everything went black.
Sam sighed. "You're going to look like shit for my wedding."
Dean's eyes felt like lead. His head pounded mercilessly. "What—" he coughed, "What happened?" He looked around him. He was on a bed, in some room.
"You're in your hotel room. You blacked out."
"Did I?" Dean asked, frowning.
"Yes, Dean," Sam said, shoving a bag of ice onto his face. "You drunk dialed me enough times, I was going to come and pick you up, but when I got there, you were passed out, looking like—" he gestured to Dean's face, "this."
"Oh, god. How bad is it?"
Sam slipped his iPhone out of his pocket, swiped up to show the camera and gave it to Dean. He grimaced. The whites of his eyes were a dim red and beneath them were dark, dark circles. The hangover was all too obvious.
Jesus. "Oh, shit. Sammy, I'm sorry— let me—"
"It's fine, Dean. The rehearsal dinner's tonight, remember? Just be there, on time. And try to look presentable." Sam gave him a look, one Dean had seen plenty of times before.
Pity.
Sam left, leaving Dean to his headache, his thoughts, and his mistakes.
"You look like shit," Jo said, as Dean met her at the door of the restaurant.
"Yeah," he replied gruffly, "so I've been told."
Jo brought him in for a hug anyways, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You know, we still have ten minutes, come here." And she dragged him by the hand, into the women's bathroom.
"Jo, what the—" he protested, but stopped when Jo pulled out her makeup bag.
She smiled knowingly at him. "You'll be the prettiest princess at the ball after I'm done with you, Dean Winchester."
He groaned, but let her do it anyway.
When she was done, he allowed himself a glance in the mirror. "Hmm."
"See, not too bad," Jo said, and Dean had to agree. Though he looked normal, his head still thundered with pain.
"Thanks, Jo," he said, then took her arm as they walked out into the restaurant.
Sam and Jess had called it a rehearsal dinner, but all it really was was a get together the day before the wedding. It was in a fancy, upscale place, and as soon as they entered the main hall, Dean felt extremely underdressed in his jackets and jeans. He cursed, looking at Jo next to him, who wore a red evening dress.
"Names?" A waitress asked, and after looking for their names on the list, lead them to their seats.
They were at an empty table, the one closest to the bride- and groom-to-be, and Dean and Jo were sitting next to each other, thank god. Dean couldn't bear sitting next to any number of Sam's accomplished Stanford friends, and hear them talk about how perfect their lives are and how much money they've made. There were still two more seats left at the table, and Dean couldn't help but check out the name cards.
Castiel Novak.
Anna Novak.
If they were seated this close to the bride and groom, they have to be important, but Dean had never heard either of their names—
"Pleasure to meet you both. I'm—"
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Dean Winchester recognised the gruff voice and the blinding blue eyes instantly, and apparently the other man did too.
"You," he said.
"Huh," Dean said.
They glowered at each other for several seconds, until Jo coughed. "So, I'm assuming you guys know each other?"
The man continued to stare at Dean as he answered. "Yes, I'm Castiel Novak. You could say Dean and I have met. That'd be putting it lightly."
Dean's jaw dropped a bit. He barely remembered anything from last night, besides looking into that guy's eyes. Everything before was a blur.
There were a few seconds where no one knew what to do.
Then Anna Novak (the same last name? Oh god, they were married, Dean hit on his wife?) stepped out behind Castiel, smiling hesitantly at Jo. When she saw Dean, she blushed. "Oh, wow."
Castiel took a seat, still glaring at Dean.
Anna tried to avoid everyone's gaze, and Jo was still completely lost.
"Okay, listen," Dean said, addressing Castiel. "I barely remember last night— I was completely wasted for most of it, you have to believe me."
"I don't." Castiel said.
Anna tugged at the guy's trenchcoat (who the fuck wears a trenchcoat to a rehearsal dinner?). "Come on, he was wasted, it's fine."
He shook his head. "I barely remember it, but listen, if I did anything— I'm so, so sorry. If I was sober, I wouldn't have been such a jackass. I'm sorry."
Anna smiled, waving it away as if it never happened. "Apology accepted." Castiel stared at her incredulously, but she just ignored him.
"Thank you."
"So, I'm lost," Jo said, and Anna smiled at her.
"Dean tried and failed unbelievably in his attempt to hook up with me at the hotel bar last night." She explained, winking at Dean to let him know she was just teasing.
"Wow, Dean didn't pick up a girl at a bar?" Jo whistled. "You must have been roaring drunk."
"I was," Dean grumbled.
"So, how do you both know Sam and Jess?" Anna asked, as menus were set out in front of them.
"I'm Sam's brother," Dean said.
"Hmm." Castiel said, giving a tilt of his head at Dean's answer.
"What was that, Castiel?" Dean asked, putting on his best bitchface.
"You're just nothing like your brother is all." Castiel said with obvious disdain, and Dean smiled politely, trying not to knock this guy's lights out.
"I'm just a family friend," Jo said, trying to take the tension out between the two men at the table.
"And you guys?" Dean asked. "How do you know them?"
"I work with Jess at the hospital," Castiel answered.
"Doctor?" Dean asked.
"Nurse," Castiel said.
And Dean pretended to stifle a laugh behind his drink. Castiel glowered at him. Dean could almost feel a shiver down his back from the ice in his stare.
"That's how I know Jess and Sam— through Castiel." Anna said.
The waitress came and took their orders, then left.
"What do you do, Dean?" Castiel asked, taking a sip of the wine glass in front of him.
"What do I do?"
"Career-wise. I'm curious."
"I run a small business in New York," Dean said, choosing his words carefully.
"I see. Are you a lawyer like Sam as well?"
"I own a tattoo shop," he gritted out, knowing that wouldn't be good enough for this bastard.
But surprisingly, the blue eyed man just blinked. "Interesting."
Dean nodded. "Thanks."
Towering over them all, Sam came over to their table with a wide grin. "Hey, guys, glad to see you guys getting along!" He boomed, and Dean forced a smile.
Once dinner was over, and Dean was making his way to his cab, the last person he wanted and expected to see stepped right in front of him, and blocked his way.
"Hello, Dean," he said, and Dean nodded.
"Uh, hi."
"I'm not the most socially adept person," Castiel admitted, and Dean frowned, wondering where this was coming from. "And I'm very protective of my sister."
"Okay…"
"I feel as if I acted inappropriately today."
Dean just stared.
"I didn't want there to be a grudge between us," Castiel clarified.
"Your sister put you up to this?"
He hesitated, and Dean just laughed.
"There isn't a grudge, don't worry about it," Dean said, though he still thought the guy was a dick. But it didn't matter, because after the wedding, he'd been on a plane back to New York, back to his own life.
He gave Castiel one last look, suddenly remembering what he'd said last night.
Yeah. They did kind of look like solar systems.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading if you did c: A bit slow in the beginning, I know, but it'll speed up, I promise. It's based off of this prompt ( .vu/post/59008306846/please-someone-write-a-destie l-fic-about-dean-who), and was betaed by the lovely Wrenton ( .com) Next chapter should be here soon!