It has been almost two weeks since Dean's last fight with Sam, since Sam got frustrated and stormed out. It's not the first time the younger brother has run off to clear his head and do his own thing. Dean hates to admit it, but some things that he's always admired, and been slightly jealous about Sam is his ability to get on just fine by himself, that he doesn't seem alone with only his thoughts. Sam can be content sitting in the motel room for hours with his books, not even have the television on.
Dean though, becomes anxious less than an hour in, flicks through channels, paces, and pokes fun at his moose of a brother until he is kicked out of the room. But Dean is alone again, trying not to worry, and trying to pass the time.
Of course he is spending most of his time at the local bar. The first few evenings, he was mostly content with his own bottle of whiskey, watching Clint Eastwood movies. Though on the fourth night, after a quick prayer to Cas, praying to keep Sam safe and for some company, he grabbed his keys and made his way to the bar.
He bought a few pretty women some drinks, engaged in a few conversations about current events and the weather, but kept going back to the motel alone. Each night, he would drink more and more, getting back to the room later each time.
Dean's eyes can barely focus on anything by the time the bar tender makes last call. He leaves a tip, and winks in her general direction before heading towards the door. Outside, several people are lighting up cigarettes before they go home while Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets and brushes past them. He makes a turn down an alley, a short cut he has found from his nights out. Someone steps out of the shadows, quickly stepping towards the drunk hunter, and slams him against the wall.
"Son of a bitch," Dean slurs, attempting to shove his attacker away. A hard fist slams against his face, making him lose balance before he can reach the knife in his pocket.
"Silly Winchester. Didn't your daddy ever tell you that it's unsafe to play in one place for too long when you're so famous?" Black eyes gazed hatefully upon the hunter, a big arm pulling back to swing a fist again. Dean's nose already had blood pouring out of it, the shock of the hit adding to his impaired drunk vision. His hands go up towards his face as a reflex to block the next oncoming blow, while also trying to push the demon away. Fists connected to flesh a few more times before the older Winchester brother hit the ground. He spit blood onto the pavement, knowing that he at least got a few good shots in as well. A hard boot kicks into his ribs, pushing more blood into his mouth.
Unintentionally, Dean's mind goes to Castiel, wishing the angel that raised him from Hell would come and help him off the ground. His hands go to his chest, partially in attempt to protect his lungs and also to try to locate his knife, when a bright light illuminates the demon looming over him. The hunter slouches further into the ground, trying to shield his eyes from the light when the demon drops on top of him with a grunt.
A soft hand wraps around his arm, pulling upwards, helping him sit up. "Dean," Castiel's gruff voice murmurs softly, moving his hand up over Dean's shoulder, up his neck, tangling his fingers through the hunter's bloodied hair. With another flash of bright light, the two men are back in Dean's hotel room.
Castiel helps Dean to the bed, sitting him up to examine the wounds. The angel brushes his thumbs against the wounded man's cheeks, wiping some blood away, as he focuses his energy to heal the man.
"Thank you," Dean says, looking into his angels tired blue eyes, overly aware that hands were still cradling his face. The warmth was causing him to blush.
"You should have called me sooner," Cas tells him, breaking eye contact and pulling his hands back to sit down. "Is there any whiskey left?" Dean nods, then reaches to the side of the bed for the bottle and takes a swig before he hands it to his friend. The events over the past fifteen minutes had mostly sobered him up, and he never turns down a chance to drink with his angel friend.
"Rough night for you as well then?" Dean asks. Castiel loudly exhales in response, slouching forward and looking down into the bottle in his lap. "You know I'm here for you. You've saved my life more times than I can count. I know we're not supposed to keep score, but I just wish I could do the same for you every once and a while." He takes the bottle from Cas' lap, bringing it up to his lips, gulping down a few swigs. Castiel was one of the only people who made Dean feel weaker than he actually is; who kept unintentionally reminding him that to be human was to be fragile.
This made him uncomfortable, but he also knew that combined, him, Castiel and Sam were three of the most feared people in the world. He takes another swig of whiskey, and then hands the bottle back to Cas. He turns to look at his friend, watching him breathe and how his dark messy hair falls over his eyes. Castiel brings the dark bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to allow the drink to fall down his throat. Dean is still watching, noticing how the angel's adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
"You've saved me more than you know, Dean," Cas finally responds. Dean smiles, still observing. Castiel takes another swig from the bottle, and when he is finished he turns to face the hunter to hand the bottle back. Dean still has his green eyes focused on Cas, not breaking his gaze as he takes the bottle back. He tucks the bottle between his legs, freeing his rough calloused hands to straighten the trench coat Castiel always wears.
On a whim, Dean pulls on the front of the coat, pulling the angel closer to him, pressing their lips together, tasting the combination of whiskey and saliva. He finally admits to himself that this is the reason why he hasn't taken any women from the bar back to the room, because he has been waiting for Castiel. After a few moments, he pulls back, opening his eyes, seeing that Castiel has a look of confusion on his face.
Dean turns away, blushing, removing his hands from Castiel's chest, grabbing the bottle again for another drink. "S-sorry," Dean stammers, suddenly embarrassed. In response, Castiel reaches for Dean's face, turning it so they're looking at each other again. Without hesitation, he pushes their mouths together again, lacing fingers through the older Winchester boy's hair. Dean can't help but gasp in surprise, dropping the liquor bottle so he can wrap his arms around the smaller man, pulling him closer, smiling through kisses.
Dean's fingers find themselves digging into Castiel's hips when he unlocks their lips. The hunter rests his forehead against the angel's, seeing happiness in the blue eyes. "Thank you for coming tonight," he whispers, breaking eye contact, suddenly tired.
"Of course," Castiel responds, squeezing his hand which now resting on Dean's neck, feeling him breathe and finally comfortable for the first time in centuries.