"Okay, look," Castiel said into his phone. "It's a first date, and she asked me to a bar. A bar! I'm not so sure about this, Gabriel."
"How many times have I told you to call me Gabe?" Cas' brother replied. "And don't be such a worrywart, if you don't like her you don't have to call her back. Besides, I don't think you even have her number, do you? See? You're fine. Just try to have fun, okay?"
"Gabri-" Castiel started, but there was a familiar click and then the hum of the dial tone. "Dammit, Gabe."
He was about a block away (the street had been so jam-packed with cars he'd had to park almost a mile out) and he could already hear the sounds of early-late-night revelers. If that made any sense. You know, the people that are in the bar at like eight and already totally wasted. The kinds of people who go out just to get drunk, and heartily so. Light spilled out onto the sidewalk as several drunks stumbled out, laughing and shouting about some guy who'd fallen off a table and started puking everywhere.
Castiel gave them a worried sidelong glanced as he passed them, but steeled himself for what was shaping up to be one of the worse first dates he'd been on (which was many). He smoothed back his hair as best he could, and fidgeted with his tie for a few moments before reaching forward to open the door.
Before he even got a chance to touch the handle, the door slammed open and out came a burst of raucous laughter and a small, curly-haired, puke-smeared guy. He crashed into Castiel, knocking them both a few steps onto the sidewalk, and then gripped Cas' shoulders and threw up. And then threw up again. And again.
When he was done, Castiel's front and the sidewalk were pretty much coated in a layer of bile, spit, and unidentifiable chunks. The puke was a nondenominational sort of tan color, and smelled a lot like tequila. (Not that Castiel knew anything about that.)
Castiel sighed and decided that standing this girl up was probably doing her a favor (especially at this point). Even if he were going to try to salvage the evening, he'd have to go home and get a shower first. Or three. And by the time he came back, she'd probably be off with some other guy who smelled better.
So Cas looked down at the guy who had puked his guts out all over him and mentally calculated the dude's chances of living if Cas didn't take him home and lay him out on the couch in such a manner that he wouldn't drown in his own barf. (They were very slim. The sidewalk had quickly emptied around them once the guy had thrown up about three times. People were out here to have a good time, not get saddled with the end of someone else's.) He raised his hand to rub his eyes, decided better, and hauled the guy to his feet.
"Come on, kid," Castiel muttered, making his way down the sidewalk as the two of them dribbled (one from their jacket, the other from their mouth). "Let's get you somewhere you can get cleaned up. And I can get cleaned up. Christ, what did you drink?"
Chuck awoke with a start. It was kind of odd for him, because he usually woke with a lot of moaning and groaning and clutching of heads. And alarms. That, too. But this morning he had just sat up and oh maybe he should take in his surroundings.
He wasn't in his bed, that was for sure. He was on a couch and - oh god, was this a handmade quilt? - and it smelled like he'd spent the whole night puking and then someone had made coffee. Good coffee.
Examining his clothes, he discovered they were slightly stained and slightly damp, but all there. He didn't have shoes, but a cursory analysis of the room he was sitting in revealed them to be by the door. In a plastic tubby. They looked really gross, so he couldn't blame whoever's place this was.
Speaking of which, he hoped it was a girl's. Even though he didn't smell that great and all his clothes were on, a guy can hope, right?
"Oh shit," he croaked, as a messy-haired dude poked his head around the corner of what he assumed was the kitchen (because that's where the coffee-smell was coming from). "Fuck, dude, did we, you know -" here he made several mildly rude gestures with his hands "- last night? Because if we did, I'm really sorry but that was the tequila I swear I'm n-"
"Whoa whoa whoa," the guy said quickly, stepping out of the kitchen and wringing his hands a bit. "No, you just kind of fell out of the bar last night and threw up on me a little bit and you were really out of it so I thought you could use a place to stay for the night, since you weren't really in any shape to give me directions to your place."
Chuck sagged with relief, rubbing his five o' clock shadow with one hand. "Thank god, dude, you wouldn't believe how many times - you know what, let's not go there. I'm Chuck," Chuck said, pulling off the quilt and standing up (oh christ his pants were crusty that's so gross) "it's very nice to meet you."
"Castiel," Castiel replied. "I'm making breakfast right now, but if you want a cup of coffee it's ready."
Chuck wasn't used to making the noises he made as he sort of penguin-ran towards the kitchen. Kind of an "ohohohohoho" of excitement, if you can imagine it. Coffee had never sounded so good, or been so.. fresh. And not microwaved. And brewed in a good coffeemaker. And made by somebody that was actually standing in front of him.
"Castiel, my friend," Chuck said when he reached the kitchen, "I think this is the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship."
Castiel grinned nervously and tried not to wrinkle his nose too much. He'd been able to just sort of shove Chuck in the shower, clothes and all, but he couldn't do anything about the puke-breath. Buying an extra brush just hadn't occurred to him the last time he'd been at Walgreens. It's not like he'd planned to have an extremely drunk visitor (though looking back on it, he wasn't quite sure what he'd been planning on last night). In any case, Chuck's breath smelled really really bad.
Halfway through his eggs, Chuck asked Cas if he happened to need someone to share rent with. And gave a hopeful, eggy grin.
Cas looked at the rumpled quilt on the couch (given to him by sister a few years back in her sewing phase), at the pukey shoes on his doormat, and at the hopeful guy sitting at his dining-room table eating eggs like he'd never tasted anything better. Sighed. Realized that he was probably stuck with him no matter what he said.