Everything was a blur. Music still pounded in Dean's head, which was already spinning from all the alcohol he had that night. He grunted, stumbling over to the impala where Sam was waiting.
"Did you get any information?" Sam knew it was useless asking a drunk if he remembered anything he had been told, but it was worth a shot. "No", Dean giggled, placing a hand for support next to the window of the impala. ", But I got pussy."
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Get in the car, I'm driving." Dean stood up, wobbling a bit before pointing at Sam and raises his eyebrows. "No one's drivin' my baby but me, Sammy." Sam got out of the car just in time for Dean to stumble over. He caught him, and hauled him into the passenger's seat.
He walked around the car again, and slipped into the driver's seat, turning the key and driving off. They rode for about 30 minutes, mostly consisting of Dean crying about stupid things, like his ex-girlfriend from high school or the toy from his childhood that a dog chewed up.
Sam mostly nodded and replied with, "I know man." Or, "It's alright.", But he wasn't actually listening.
When they got to the motel, Dean had a massive headache. He asked Sam to go get him some medicine, and Sam, tired of his grunting and whining, gladly obliged.
Dean was left alone in the motel room. He glanced around, nothing too interesting, other than the fact that once again, they had found themselves in a weird-ass motel.
He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the bed and closing his eyes. He started to drift to sleep, before a loud flutter of wings stirred him. He sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for his pocket where his gun usually lay, just to find nothing there. He started to relax when he realized who it was.
"Hello, Dean.", a raspy voice echoed through the room. The man who had appeared before him had dark, messy hair and sideburns that trailed down into scruff. He had big, blue, droopy eyes that were actually a lot more attractive than they sound, and wore an old and dirty tan trench coat. Who I might mention, was an angel.
"Hey Cas!", Dean slurred. The angel frowned slightly, even more than he usually did, and stepped forward to get a closer look at Dean.
He sniffed, moving back to his original place and staring down at Dean. "You are drunk." He stated. "Nooo", Dean whined. "I'm not, " he paused for a moment to hiccup, "goddamn drunk." "Do not say my Father's name in vein, Dean." Castiel snapped. Dean, surprisingly, flinched a bit, but ended up laying down on the bed in defeat.
Castiel sat down next to him, watching him as he tried to get comfortable. He barely moved, only shifting with the movement of the blankets whenever they were pulled from under him.
Dean covered his head with the pillow, groaning loudly and rolling around. His head really, really hurt. He wondered why Sam was taking so long.
Castiel leaned over and placed a hand on Dean's head, immediately relieving the pain. Dean rolled over, looking at Castiel for a moment before starting to drift to sleep.
The next morning, Dean was tired and hung-over. He offered to help Sam with the job, but Sam made him stay in the room and rest. He was upset, but he listened.
Castiel came again, appearing behind Dean and scaring the living hell out of him. After a brief scolding, they both sat down at the table and began to talk. For a while, they talked about the job, then they talked about Jo and Ellen, and then they somehow got to how much Sam wanted a dog.
"I'm so hungry." Dean whined. "I guess I'll get something to eat from the diner later with Sam." Castiel looked at him, squinting his eyes and tilting his head. "What would you like to eat?" Dean looked startled, but began to chuckle. "You sound like a waitress."
"I was not aware I sounded like a female." Castiel frowned. Dean snorted, and shook his head. "Never mind. I guess I want pie." Castiel stood up, and disappeared in a flutter of wings, only to come back just as quickly with a freshly baked pie in hand.
Dean gaped, looking at the pie and feeling his mouth water. Dean pointed to the pie, and then to him. Castiel nodded, but when Dean went to take the pie, he held it away.
"You may still be intoxicated. You could drop it." He insisted. Dean frowned, folding his arms. "Then what do you reckon I do? I can't eat pie if I'm not touching it!" He stated, pointing at the pie. "I will feed it to you."
Dean looked at Castiel, eyes widened in surprise. The angel didn't flinch, holding up his hand with a fork in it –where did he even get that?- and forked a piece of the pie into Dean's mouth. Dean almost struggled, but when he tasted the pie, it was so damn good. It was probably the best pie he had ever tasted.
Castiel continued to feed him, scraping the pieces of the pie off of his chin if they ever managed to slip out of his mouth, as if he were a child. To be honest, Dean didn't mind it. His mother used to do this whenever she fed him, which was quite often. He felt like a kid again, and it brought a warm, unusual feeling to his heart.
When he finished, Castiel snapped and the pie tin was gone, along with the fork. Dean looked disappointed, wanting to eat even the crumbs if he got the chance, but it was probably in a trash bin half the way across the world by now.
Just in time, Sam walked in to see Dean sitting at the table and Castiel standing next to him, as if nothing had happened and they were just discussing plans. He raised his eyebrow, and shook his head. "You could have at least told me you guys were here?" Castiel glanced over to him, looking back to Dean.
"My apologies, Sam. I must go now." He nodded to both of them before disappearing to God knows where.
Sam looked at Dean, and he shrugged, getting up and walking over to his bed to sort through his guns and bullets. He came across a picture of his mom, and him, as she fed him some type of baby food. He was sure he hadn't put the picture in there, and was bewildered for a moment, but then he realized.
He smiled for the rest of the day, and all the way to their next destination.