Dean was drunk. That wasn't anything new. The only new things were the despicable feelings swirling around in his brain. In truth, those feelings weren't really new either. But they had always been buried way deep down in the darkest little corners of his little black heart. Now they were bubbling up to the surface. His brain was a roiling storm. Thick thunderheads of fear rumbled across his mind. Lightning bolts of doubt and regret split his heart open with every strike.
"This is bullshit." He muttered under his breath. Drinking was supposed to be his escape. Every now and then the whiskey would betray him as it did tonight. Instead of a delightful numbness, he was trapped in a maelstrom of emotion. Disgusting. At least it wasn't really a chick flick moment. Chick flicks usually involved sweetness and tears and heartfelt revelation. His moment was more self loathing, booze, and punching holes into the thin walls of a hotel room.
Sam was out for the night. He had chatted up some sweet young thing at the bar they'd visited earlier. He wouldn't be back until morning if then. When Dean caught a piece of ass he'd hit it, quit it, and get the fuck out of there. Sam actually let himself care. I mean sure, he'd still leave the next day. It was still a one night stand. But he didn't run out of the house like his ass was on fire and his long girly locks were catchin'. So, anyway, Dean had long hours to look forward to. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking. And that was most definitely not a good thing. Thinking too much had never been a good thing for him. He was a man of action for a reason.
His hazy mind started wandering again. Crystal blue eyes floated into view. They bored into him, down to his very core. And those eyes saw him for what he truly was. The being behind those incredibly blue orbs, it knew him. Knew every fault and flaw, and it still deemed him worthy. That divine creature, so wholly good and pure, thought he was something special. Dean knew he was nothing. Less than the dirt he walked on. But Castiel, Angel of the Lord, didn't agree. Castiel saw a righteous man. He saw a man who would lay down his life for the ones he loved, and even for those he slightly despised. And he would, dammit, Dean would give his last breath to ensure Sammy would be okay. But a part of that was because he didn't deserve to be alive in the first place. He should have died a long, long time ago. But he kept coming back, and he kept fucking things up worse every time he did.
He couldn't stop his brain. Images fluttered through his mind on onyx wings. Cas was holding him close against his chest, one hand running gingerly through his sandy hair, the other slung around his waist. That image drifted away and was replaced with something far worse. Now Cas was sprawled across a motel bed. He lay languid and serene, sleeping peacefully.
'What the fuck brain, angels don't sleep'
His trench coat was on the floor in a rumpled heap and the dress shirt, which was thankfully still on him this time, was half undone. Solid planes of tan flesh peaked out between the expanses of pure white, pristinely clean cotton. And then Dean was there too. Perched on his knees at the bottom of the mattress. 'Don't' he pleaded but his mind was already traveling down a road he didn't want to follow. The Dean in Dean's head crept up the bed on his hands and knees. He came up alongside his perfect angel.
'He's not yours'.
He slowly lowered his head and rested his brow on Cas's cheek. He rested his furrowed brow, his rough dirty skin, against the angel's smooth cheek. And he didn't stop there. Fake Dean tilted his head and pressed his tainted sinful lips to Cas's pure, holy mouth. Fake Cas stirred in his sleep but didn't wake. He willed the image to fade but the scene kept playing out in his mind. He saw himself hesitantly lift one knee off the bed and very carefully slide it over Cas's waist. Now he was straddling an angel. And with that he couldn't stop himself from letting out a muffled groan. The angel was still dozing. Dean was hunched over him panting and running curious, delinquent fingers over the chest of a god damn angel. An ANGEL for fuck sake. Who does that? Finally his mind took a turn. The image faded to black as he chastised himself. What was he even doing right now?
'Even though this is just in your head, he's asleep. And why is that Dean? Because if he was awake he would never let it go this far? Or maybe because a sleeping Castiel isn't as pants-shittingly terrifying? Do you really think he'd smite you if you tried to kiss him? It's far more likely he'd just zap out and never come back. Fuck I think that'd be worse. It'd probably be better to just die than live with that embarrassment.'
And just like that the image is back, playing a repeat performance. Dean watches himself creeping up to kiss the angel again. He doesn't even realize what he's doing until it's too late. He rubs the pad of his thumb down his half hard dick, and under his breath he groans "Nnnnhhh… Caaasss"
A fluttering of feathers sounds behind him. "Hello, Dean."