Why oh why oh why did Cas ever let me convince him that this was a good idea?

He and Dean dropped me off a few streets back, when I said I wanted to walk for a bit, and now I'm wandering down street after street trying to remember where they live. This was a really really really bad idea. Because now I'm completely lost. And kinda cold. Oh, and drunk. Well, more tipsy than drunk, but I'm starting to feel this not-entirely-pleasant buzz just under my skin and I just really wish I was in bed. Starting to wish I'd found my shirt before leaving the bar. Oh well, nothing I can do now.

Wait… I recognise this street… Yes! That's the stupid gnome that me and Dean used to throw stones at! Which means their house is… there! Right there! And he's even left the sitting room window open, how kind of him. I crawl through the window and collapse on the floor with a muffled thud. Oops. Hopefully I didn't wake anyone up. Oh well, too late to worry about that now. I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over what appears to be a cat. But they don't have any cats. And there is definitely a second cat sitting on what appears to be am armchair. Two cats. Huh. Guess Dean finally caved and let him get a pet, though I would have figured Cas as more the dog type.

Whatever. Too tired. And that sofa looks extraordinarily beautiful, so I won't bother going upstairs now. There's a blanket here anyway so I'm all good. New sofa too. Much more comfy than the old one. And this blanket must be new because it doesn't smell like booze yet. Lovely. I curl up in one corner, wrapping the blanket around me. This might just be the best night's sleep I've had in a while.

I wake up to see a boy who is definitely not Cas and also definitely not Dean standing somewhat nervously in the corner of what appears to be someone else's front room.

Well, shit.

"Who are you?" he asks shakily.

"Sam, who are you?"

"Gabe. What are you doing in my house?"

"Well, now that's an odd story actually," I say, standing up and rubbing my head.

"Please do tell."

"Well, I was planning on spending the night with my brother, who I thought lived in this house, but apparently he does not, and so I appear to have broken into your house and slept on your sofa, and now I am mildly hungover and shirtless in your living room. Any chance I could get a glass of water?" I wink at him.

Gabe's mouth has formed a perfect pink circle and wouldn't those lips be nice to kiss? Woah, Sam, focus on the task at hand (which would be convincing him you're not a serial killer) before you start flirting with the guy.

"Sure, follow me," Gabe says, turning his back and moving towards what I assume is the kitchen. I wobble after him, still trying to find my balance.

He hands me a tall, cool glass and I drink it down almost greedily. This headache is going to be a bitch if I don't get plenty of water in me soon. It occurs to me that possibly the best thing would be to leave, but then his fingers touch mine on the edge of the glass and I decide I don't want to be anywhere else but here.

"So, Sammy, what brought you to our fine town?"

"My brother's stag do, which was last night. God, I had far too much to drink."

"He happy with his wife-to-be?"

"Husband-to-be," I reply, without even thinking, then glance nervously at Gabe as though this might be a problem.

"My apologies. Husband-to-be. They good together?"

"Yeah, him and Cas, they're… wonderful. In every sense of the word. Lord knows it took them long enough to tell each other though." I grin sheepishly at Gabe, "I may or may not have had something to do with making them admit it."

He laughs, loud and unashamed. "Oh do tell, Sammy."

So I recount the story of how I locked them in the basement at a library and refused to let them out. Didn't even have to tell them to talk; they managed that one on their own. But of course I play up my role, until we are both in fits of laughter, tears rolling down our cheeks.

"So," Gabe says, and I notice now just how close he is.

"So," I reply, tilting my head to one side in that adorable way Cas does when he want something. If he can use it, I can.

And then Gabe's lips are on mine and his hand has found the small of my back and mine have found his hair and we are kissing as though our lives depend on this slip-slide of our mouths and the brushing of skin through clothes. And it really feels as though they do.

"Wow," Gabe says breathlessly when I finally tear myself away, "what was that?"

"Something you'd like to do again?" I ask, wondering how on earth such a stupid mistake could lead to something so wonderful.

He doesn't reply. Well, not with words.