A/N : This fic is based on the movie "What's your number" with Anna Faris and Chris Evans.

I don't exactly know why, but this movie kind of hit me in the face with all its cuteness, and it became one of my fave movie. And one day i thought "this would make a great Debriel fic!" so here it is :)

I hope you'll like it, and I really hope it'll make you curious about the movie. I highly recommend it, not only for all the naked Chris Evans scenes, but also because it feels really true and not at all cheesy like most romcom can be.

Title from the song "Grace" by Devin Townsend

Dean opened his eyes slowly, trying to remember where he was and what he was supposed to do. Oh yeah, bed. Chuck. Work. Chuck? Right, Chuck came in the night before. Dean sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

He turned on his side, extending his arm to open the drawer of his nightstand, as discreetly as he could. Where were his fucking breath mints? He always tried to look his best with his boyfriends (and sometimes girlfriends. But dicks, man. Dicks were great), even if it sometimes meant pretending he loved being taken from behind. Or listening to Chuck read bits of his book all day long and let the guy think he liked it. It wasn't good, okay? It was full of stupid shit like dragons and demons and there was an awful lot of embarrassing sex scenes in it, with unrealistic bimbos – like, seriously, was that why he liked it doggy style? Was it because he preferred imaginary blonds with big boobs and it was easier to picture without a penis in sight? – and Dean just couldn't stand it anymore. But he did anyway, or at least he tried, because he wanted to be a good boyfriend. Even if he wasn't sure Chuck considered him to be his.

There was also the fact that he was well in his thirties now, and he really needed to settle down. His brother, Sammy, was getting married in a month. His little brother was getting married. What did it say about him? It wasn't supposed to go that way. Dean was supposed to be the one leading the way. So even if life with Chuck wasn't easy, mostly because Chuck wasn't around much, it was worth it.

It really was. Totally. It totally was. Yep. Nothing was wrong.

He finally found the mints, popped one in his mouth and tried to comb his hair with his fingers so he wouldn't look (and smell) like a crazy hobo. He settled himself on his pillow and quickly closed his eyes when he felt Chuck move. He heard the guy clear his throat and felt his hand land abruptly on his stomach. He opened his eyes lazily, as if he was just waking up.

"Hey…" He said, a fake contented smile on his face.

"Hey, gorgeous." Chuck said with little enthusiasm. He then turned his back on Dean and promptly got back to sleep.

So that was it. Well, Dean could score some points with breakfast at least… He got up with a sigh and headed toward the kitchen. He took a quick look into the fridge and decided on a simple bacon and egg dish. He couldn't cook that well anyway. So he turned on the coffee machine and quickly got to work.

Chuck emerged from the bedroom fifteen minutes later, completely dressed, the last draft of his weird novel in hands.

"Sorry, babe, gotta go!" He said, walking toward the door.

Dean blinked at him.

"Already? But I made breakfast!"

Chuck stopped and finally looked at him, an embarrassed expression on his face.

"Uh, yeah, I know, but I have to see my editor and it's gonna take a while, so it's better if I go early. I mean, you don't mind, right? You know it's important."

"Uh… Yeah… I mean… Wh… sure."

He put his pan down and followed Chuck to the door.

"It was great by the way!" Chuck said as he kissed him lightly, opening the door at the same time. "We should do that again, yeah?"

He started running down the stairs.

"Give me a call!" He shouted as he disappeared.

Dean didn't even try to answer him. He was already gone anyway. He just stood there for a second, scratching his stomach absent-mindedly, wondering what had gone so wrong in his life that it led him here, standing in his doorway in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and old boxer shorts, trying to figure out a guy who obviously wasn't that much into him. He hadn't even had the time to ask Chuck to go with him to Sam's wedding. Well, it would have been lame anyway. 'Hey there, yeah, this is Chuck, the guy who dates me 'cause I let him fuck me from behind'. Sam wouldn't have appreciated that, he bet.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the door on the other side of the corridor open. He looked up. And then he had to remember to breathe because, hot damn! His neighbor, 6A, as he lovingly dubbed him based on the number of his door, was coming out of his apartment completely naked, saved for a towel he held in front of his crotch. Dean just stood there as he watched the guy bend down to get the morning paper that was waiting for him on his doormat. God, what a sight! The guy looked up, brushing away a dirty blond strand of hair from his face. He smiled at Dean, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Hey, 6C!" He greeted Dean, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see him there. "Nice shirt!'

He smiled again, wriggling his eyebrows at Mickey Mouse in a suggestive way, and then got back inside. But before he could close the door completely, Dean saw a naked woman walking toward him. Hm.

Dean sighed again. Well, better get ready for work then. It was going to be a long day…

The journey to work was tedious. He wished he had a car. Technically, he had one. His dad's old Chevy Impala. But he didn't even have a driver's license. And maybe that wasn't such a good idea, driving a car in NYC. Sure, it wouldn't prevent him from being late but at least it would avoid him the pain of having to take the subway. He hated it. He hated the smelly people, he hated to have to stay on his feet for 30 minutes every morning, he hated feeling the sweat slowly dripping under his shirt because it was always fucking hot in those things, he hated everything about the subway.

So he got out of it pretty quickly when the train reached his station and almost ran up the stairs that lead outside so he could breathe a bit.

He finally found his way to his cubicle, up on the seventh floor of the Sandover Marketing building. But he barely had the time to sit when he heard his name.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?"

He looked up. His boss. What was happening? Maybe he realized Dean was the one who fixed the almost fatal mistake someone had made in the Johnson file and wanted to give him a raise? That would have been very neat, he thought. And Dick –Richard Roman, his boss, but he always insisted on being called Dick- was smiling at him. He didn't have to worry, did he?

He got up and entered the office, trying not to show his anxiety. Dick was already at his desk, looking at him with a professional smile on his face. He gestured for Dean to sit and stared at him in silence as Dean tried to find a comfortable position in one of the weird designer chair Dick had in his office.

"Dean. Dean, Dean. How are you today?"

He wasn't expecting this.

"Hum… Good? I guess…"

"Good. That's great! Now, Dean." He stopped there and stared.

"Uh… Yes?" This was awkward.

"I am so sorry…" He started. And Dean felt his stomach drop. "We have to let you go. Times are hard, you know?"

Dean just nodded. What the fuck?

"I hope you understand" Dick went on.

"Uh… Oh… yeah, yes of course. Hum… who else is fired with me? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Of course not! Well, let's see…" He looked at a random sheet of paper that was lying on his desk. "Hm… yes…. Just you. Sorry."

He smiled his brightest professional smile again.

Well, this day just sucked.

So here he was again, sitting in a train, a box of all his office's possessions next to him. He looked inside out of curiosity and noticed that half of the shit packed in there weren't even his own. 'Cosmo', seriously? He took the magazine in his hand and opened it at a random page. 'What's your number?' it read in big, bold black letters. He started reading the article. It was about women and how many sexual encounters they had, or were supposed to have in their lifetime. His eyebrows almost disappeared in his hairline when he saw the average number. 10.5… really? It wasn't even that much… Did this also applied to men? He looked around, half laughing. He was well over 10 now, wasn't he? He couldn't really remember. But he so wanted to make a list. You know, just for fun?

He found an old note book in the bottom of the box and started the ugly task of counting every person he had ever slept with. It was going to take a while…

Dean got out of the taxi and took a few second to compose himself before he entered his parents' house. It was a rather classic suburban house on the outskirt of the city, but his mom completely fell in love with it when she first saw it and they had been living there since Dean was 3. It was surrounded by flowers of all sorts. There was a porch on the front, his grand-father's rocking chair proudly displayed in the middle of it. It was a really beautiful house. A bit too big, he always thought, but his mom loved it, and he was sure his dad already told her about it more than once and even him couldn't convince her otherwise, so he kept that thought to himself most of the time.

He took a big breath and stepped inside. There already were an awful lot of people. He didn't recognize any of them. He looked around and spotted his mom who was already walking toward him. His dad wasn't far behind but he just looked at Dean, seeming as lost as his son was in the middle of all those people, he just waved and snatched a glass of champagne from a young woman who was walking around with a tray in her hand.

"Dean!" His mom exclaimed when she finally reached him. She threw herself in his arms.

"Hey, mom!" He kissed her on the cheek. "Where's Sam?"

She chuckled a bit and put her hand on his cheek.

"You know him… He's so nervous he's locked himself upstairs. Can you go and see how he is?"

"Sure."

He gave a light kiss to her palm and turned around to find the stairs. There were too many people and it took him a few minutes zigzagging between everyone to reach his goal.

Once upstairs, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Sammy?"

The door snatched open and he found himself face to face with his brother. He was looking down at him with crazed eyes.

"Holy shit, Sam, did you sleep at all this month? You look like crap!"

Sam pulled him inside and closed the door behind him.

"It's not funny Dean. You have no idea how stressful it is for me!"

He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Isn't the bride supposed to be the crazy one in those situations?"

Sam rolled his eyes and, after looking at himself in the mirror, took off the purple shirt he was wearing and opted for a light red one instead.

"Dude, it's just your bachelor party, who cares what kind of shirt you're wearing?"

Sam huffed at him.

"Yeah, you surely don't." He eyed Dean's plaid shirt.

"I look awesome whatever the shirt, bro." Dean just said. He spotted a comfortable looking armchair and threw himself in it. "Come on, Sam. It's gonna be okay. You look awesome too. Look at me!"

His brother turned to him, a desperate look on his face.

"I'm getting married in a month, Dean, I have a right to feel upset! And… And I don't even know why it's important but I need to find a nice shirt for today 'cause mom invited all those people I don't even know, and you know how she is, you saw her, she's so excited so I really need everything to be perfect and if I look bad in front of her guests I… I don't know…"

"Come here" Dean urged, interrupting him.

Sam stepped closer and Dean pulled him into a hug.

"There. Breathe. you're gonna have a few boring hours with those people, and they're gonna love your shirt or at least pretend they love it. And then you'll have a fun night with your super manly friends and your three-quarter gay brother…" He heard Sam chuckle at that, "And it's gonna be great, I promise." He pushed his brother away and held him at arm's length. "Okay?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "Okay."

They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds.

"You're such a girl." He laughed.

"Jerk." Sam answered with a smile.

"Bitch." Dean replied.

Sam got up from the awkward position he took for the hugging session and turned to the mirror again, this time to fix his hair. Which reminded Dean of something. He took the notebook out of his pocket.

"Sammy, d'you remember the name of the crazy girl who lived next door to us? You know, the one that was so into you it was creepy?"

"Creepy Becky?"

Oh yeah, Creepy Becky. The one who once broke into their house to steal a lock of hair from Sam while he slept.

"Yeah, that one."

"Uh… I don't know… It was… Becky Rosen? I think…"

He stepped away from the mirror and gave himself a final look.

"Ah yes, thank you!" Dean said as he wrote the name down.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason!" He answered with a smile, quickly hiding the notebook.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him but didn't comment. "Alright then, I'm going down. You coming?"

"Yeah, gimme five minutes!"

Sam nodded and got out of the room. Dean promptly got the notebook out again and started counting the names.

"2…4…8…10…12… Holy shit… 16… 18… 19. I'm at 19. Gosh…"

He didn't have anything to compare his number to, though. He really had to find a way to find out if it was normal or not. Surely, for a guy it wasn't that high, right?

"Let's play a game!" Dean exclaimed, raising his glass as he spoke.

It was a little over midnight, they had left their parents' house a few hours earlier to go to a fancy bar Sam liked, and there were now six of them. Dean, Sam, and four of his friends. They were all fairly drunk by now.

"Dude, a game?" Zach asked, unimpressed.

"Yeah, it's gonna be fun!" Dean went on. "I know a good one! Let's write the number of people we slept with on a piece of paper, then we mix them together and each pull out one and guess whose number it is!"

They all looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Isn't that a bit… girly?" Brady asked.

Sam laughed. Yeah, he was pretty wasted. He didn't drink much, usually.

"Cooooome on!" Dean was really going to regret this but he had to know. "We're all drunk, I'm sure we won't remember it by tomorrow anyway!"

They still had the same expression on their face. Nobody answered.

"Humor me, guys."

"Alright!" Sam said, oscillating a bit on his stool. "But first you offer us the next round."

To emphasize his demand, he emptied his drink in one go.

Dean raised his hands, palms up. "Okay, fair!"

He got up and clumsily found his way to the bar. He hailed the bartender and ordered another bottle of wine, a sheet of paper and a pen. Then he turned around to see what the guys were doing and found himself face to face with Dick. What?

"I didn't think I'd find you here." Dick said, looking surprised. "I'm sorry for today by the way." He smiled his trademark smile.

So annoying.

"Yeah well, I don't usually come here. And thanks but, I'm okay, really." Dean answered as he rested his elbow on the bar and took a nonchalant pose, looking around.

He wasn't sure he saw right but he thought he caught sight of Dick eyeing his butt in his peripheral vision.

Maybe he actually did because, the next time he looked, Dick's smile was completely different. Almost hungry. Ugh. Creepy.

"You know what?" Dick said, that weird smile still on, "Let me buy you these drinks, to make up for today. And maybe in exchange you could give me your number or…"

Dean laughed and gave him his best 'bitch-please' face. The bartender handed him his bottle and the paper and pen he requested.

"Thanks!" He said, holding the bottle up so Dick could see it. And he left to join the guys.

"So!" He said as he sat down between his brother and Rick, "Let's do this!"

He tore the sheet of paper into pieces and handed one to each guy. Then he wrote his number down, folded the piece of paper and put it in the middle of the table. They all did the same.

"Sam, you first"

His brother sighed but took one of the papers anyway.

"Three. Uh, I bet it's you, Brady" He said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, I'm a gentleman!" His friend answered.

Dean didn't say anything and tried to keep calm. It was just one guy, maybe he was the exception to the rule?

"Okay, your turn, Brady." He said, gesturing toward the papers.

"Hm, six." Brady said, opening the paper he just took. "Out of all of you… Sam?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam answered with a smile.

"It's because you met Jess on you first day of college, you didn't give any chance to the other ladies!" Freddy said, patting him on the back.

"I guess." Sam said, and he smiled turned fond. "Okay, my turn then?"

Dean nodded, felling sweat starting to form on his forehead. This wasn't what he had expected.

"Holy sh- Thirteen?"

"What?"

"Oh my god!"

"Who's a thirteen?" Zach asked, looking around.

"Okay, okay, that's me!" Rick admitted, a proud smile on his face.

They all laughed. Dean tried to laugh too. But he was mostly relieved. Maybe it was just Sam who had weird, sexless friends?

"Hey, a man has needs, what d'ya want me to say?" Rick added.

"But thirteen, man…" Sam said, incredulous. "I'm not even sure Dean could top that!"

Dean tried very hard not to look surprised. An awkward laugh escaped his lips.

"Ah ah… Yeah… I could never-"

"Okay Rick, pick a number!" Sam exclaimed.

He was pretty drunk by now. And he was getting a little more enthusiastic about the game. Dean started praying to any God who would listen to him to please, let Rick chose another number than his.
Please, please, please, please, plea-

"Ni… nineteen?"

They all fell silent. Dean closed his eyes.

"Holyfuckin'shitDeanisthatyours?" He heard Sam blurt out. He opened his eyes.

"Uh… Yeah… I… Hum… It surprised me too, to be honest."

The guys were still looking at him, not talking.

"Is that why we're playing?" Zach suddenly asked.

"Well, yeah… Kinda… I mean, I found this…" He took the article out of his pocket. "It's from a chick magazine, I just wanted to check if it worked for men too… Guess I'm man-slut, uh…"

He tried to shake it off with a laugh but the guys were all looking at him like he just confessed a murder.

"Give me that!" Brady said, taking the article from him. He read the first paragraph and started laughing.

"It says here that most women can't find a husband passed the twentieth hook-up."

Sam started laughing too. They all followed.

"Uh, Dean, I guess you have to be very careful next time you pick someone."

Dean took the article from Brady's hand. He looked at it again.

"Damn…"

"But come on," Zach cut in. "You can't really believe it? It's just a woman magazine… what's it from? Cosmo, seriously…"

Dean looked up at him. He felt miserable. It probably showed on his face.

"I don't know, it was right for the number count so…"

They started boo-ing him.

"No, you know what?" Dean said, suddenly solemn. "I'm gonna say something okay?"

He stood up, his hand slipping a bit on the table as he tried to steady himself.

"Okay everyooone!" He shouted, addressing the whole bar. The guys applauded him. "I have something to say! Hi!" He winked at a barmaid who was walking by behind Sam. "My name is Dean Winchester…." The guys applauded again and woo-'d him. "And I swear, on this day, that the next person I will… uh… take to my bed… Will be the person I marry. Okay?"

Some people in the bar were listening to him, a mocking smile on their faces. The guys cheered him. Some other dudes behind him did too.

"Awesome!" He raised his glass. "To twenty!"

"TO TWENTY!" the guys all yelled. He emptied his glass in one go.

This was good. He felt awesome. He was going to find the love of his life, yep. His next fuck would be the right one and it would make up for his shitty, job-less, uninteresting life.

Perfect.