Chapter 4: Morning, Sweetheart
Dean woke up with a hangover. His head pounded before he even opened his eyes. What the hell had happened last night?
He cracked his eyes open a fraction and found that he was laying face down on a single bed. with one arm draped over someone.
The light was offensive, he shut his eyes again.
How much had he drank last night? Sure he had been chatting up that one girl, what was her name, Betty, Bea, Becca, but she was also a bit bitchy for his liking. And if he had slept with her, surely he'd remember it?
"Good morning, Dean," said a deep voice so familiar that Dean jumped about a foot, opening his eyes wide.
Castiel was laying on his back, squished against the wall, hands folded over his stomach. He stared at Dean, apparently not caring that at some point that his roommate had all but climbed on top of him during the night.
"What the hell, man!?" yelled Dean, scrambling away. His head pounded, and making him nauseous. Castiel's expression didn't change, he merely sat up against the wall. His head almost brushed the ceiling. "What the hell?!"
"You were intoxicated," Castiel said evenly.
"So you decided to climb in bed with me?! Friggin pervert!"
"Dean," said Castiel, flinching at the accusation, "You climbed into my bed last night. Don't you remember?"
"Well I-" Dean started, but he broke off remembering the slightly more important predicament than his drunken memory. God, his head hurt. "Well why didn't you shove me off or wake me up?"
Despite Dean's furious tone and erratic gestures, it was a valid question. "I don't know," Castiel admitted. "It was late, and I was too tired to do anything about it."
Dean's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to choke out, "Dude, do you know how gay that makes you sound?"
Castiel's eyes narrowed, but Dean didn't care. He retorted sharply, "If you had a problem with sexuality and appearance, you shouldn't have fallen asleep cuddling another man."
Dean only froze for a second. He then leaned forward, shoved Castiel, hard, and jumped from the bed. Castiel's head clunked loudly against the wall, but Dean had already stormed out. The door closed with a bang that he instantly regretted, albeit for selfish reasons.
It wasn't cuddling. God, and even if it was, could he really be blamed? There's only so much space on those bunks, what was he supposed to do, squish himself against the wall like Cas had? God friggin dammit!
Dean stumbled into the washroom, head pounding. He splashed cold water on his face. What happened last night? He had a decent bruise on his left cheek.
He remembered reassuring Cas, dragging him along to, whose house again? Fergus, right. Fergus Crowley, that Business major he'd met the other day. He'd arrived, had a couple drinking, and started talking to this really hot chick… Bela! That was it. She had been flirty, and he had flirted back until…. something happened.
It was a fight, right? Something violent. Oh, right, Alister, the guy with the football scholarship had been ready to pull some poor sap apart, and Dean had stopped him, that was right. Wait a minute, hadn't that been Cas? Wierd. And afterwards, Alister had gotten all up in his face for playing nursemaid to some freak, and they had gotten into it.
That must have been where the bruise had come from. But what then? Someone had broken them apart. Was that Crowley?
They had brushed it off, and Dean had gone back to chatting with Bela. She seemed disinterested, though, like… he didn't know. So he had found someone else to chat with, some guy, Ben? Benny? They had drank themselves stupid, and then… it was a blank. He didn't even remember coming back to the dorm.
After splashing some more water on his face and drying himself, Dean went back to the dorm. He figured he should probably apologise to Castiel or something. But the room was empty. It was Saturday, there were no classes, so where had Castiel gone?
His phone was on the floor, he must have dropped it last night. Lucky it wasn't broken. He checked his messages, at least this time he hadn't tried to text while drunk, which was a small mercy. He'd never forgotten the Lilith incident in high school. Pulling up Cas's number, he texted, where r u?
It took Cas an age and a half to answer, in which time Dean showered, took some medication for his hangover, and changed into a fresh shirt (one that didn't smell like beer. While he doubted he'd get in trouble for underage drinking, he didn't exactly want to flaunt it either.)
When Dean's phone finally buzzed again, he was filled with brief hope, followed by disappointment.
I don't care to speak to you.
jeez cas, i wanna say sry
….
betr to say it to yr fce, rght?
…
where r u?
I'm at the Library, Dean. I'm studying.
Dean pocketed his phone and left the dorm. Down the hall, down the street, into the massive library building.
It took a little longer than Dean expected to find Cas. The library was 5 floors high, a maze (to Dean) of shelves, computers, and study rooms. More than once, his still-present headache and irritation almost made him give up. Out of sheer stubbornness, he refused to text Cas and ask him to narrow it down.
So, it was twenty minutes later when he found Castiel, studying alone in the corner. Dean sat opposite him.
"Hey."
"I don't care to speak to you, Dean," said Castiel coldly.
"Look man," Dean started, "I screwed up, alright?"
No response.
"I shouldn't have freaked out on you. You didn't really do anything wrong. It's just weird."
"Is this your attempt at an apology, or are you still going to call me a dick?"
Dean scowled, "Dude, I'm trying."
Castiel glared at him. "I have allowed you to manipulate me into attending that party. I have tolerated your drunken behaviour, and I have yet to report your physical assault on me this morning." His already deep voice dropped threateningly as he growled, "Try harder."
Dean felt embarrassed, and glanced to the side of Cas's head. It was impossible to see under the mess of dark hair, but more likely than not a bruise had formed.
"Look, I messed up. I shouldn't have freaked out like I did." But what did you expect? Me to snuggle up and say 'good morning?'. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you, Dean," said Castiel.
"Your head alright?"
"It'll heal," was the response.
"Jesus, I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"You know what? Hit me back."
"What?"
"Come on!" Dean mimed punching his own jaw. "Hit me! I can take it."
Cas sighed, "Dean."
"Come on!" Dean insisted, a little louder.
"We're in the library," hissed Castiel, "And it looks like someone beat me to it."
"No pun intended?"
"What?"
Dean sighed. "Cas, buddy, just hit me."
Cas shut his book with unnecessary force and stood up. Dean felt a moment of fear as he walked around the table. Cas grabbed his collar and raised his fist with such precision that Dean knew damn well he could knock the stuffing out of him easily.
There was a tense moment. Dean shut his eyes and looked away, waiting for the inevitable blow.
"Don't underestimate me," Castiel growled. "Just because I don't fight doesn't mean I can't."
"I got it," said Dean, cracking one eye open, "Are you going to hit me or not?"
Castiel rolled his eyes and let him go.
Dean chuckled to himself. Could have been worse.
