Sighing, Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's shoulder clumsily. "Hey, man, come here. I need to tell you something." The Angel blinked, looking at the fingers on his shoulder intently. "Right now," Dean insisted. Confused, Castiel glanced around and shifted stiffly, letting himself lay on his back like a plank of wood. With his legs hanging off the bed it was rather uncomfortable for his – Jimmy's – back. He glanced over at Dean curiously. The other man's arm rested heavily on his chest; his eyes were swimming with emotions let loose by the strict guard of them being drunk, and his handsome face was decorated with fear and a need for sleep. "Castiel," he began, "I'm a sorry guy. You're the coolest dude in heaven, and I mean that."
"Thank you." Castiel responded, still confused.
"But if it makes you feel any better, I don't even understand what I love," Dean confessed. "I mean you've got sex appeal, man. Seriously."
Castiel stared at him. "Why does that sound so familiar?" He mumbled, mostly to himself. For some reason Crowley came to mind. But was Dean trying to say something? He looked into his cloudy hazel eyes. "Why do you say so, Dean?" He asked gently. "I thought you weren't interested?"
With a drunken chuckle Dean shut his eyes. "I know what I said. And I was damn convincing; don't you forget it." He snuggled his face into the comforter further. "I respect a guy with balls like that. I would never, ever shoot in the dark if I was a sucky shot. I mean really. I'm half jealous, half not even mad, 'cause that was amazing. But…" He trailed off wearily.
"But?" Castiel pressed, eager while he was still in a loose-lips mood.
"But damn," Dean breathed, "You can kiss."
Castiel felt his heart fill up and explode in his chest. His lips parted in shock. He hadn't been caught off guard like that by anything in… at least one millennia. He spoke as if the idea was draining, was that weak in the knees draining, or was it tiring? He wished now Dean wasn't drunk so he could explain further, but he knew it was too late. His wide blue eyes took in the faintest innocence showing through Dean's drunken exhaustion as his stare pierced Castiel. Then the hazel eyes slid closed.
He had been lying. He was thrown off by the kiss, not upset. It had made him think something he was unsure of. Now Castiel could understand his abrasive nature to the questioning. A sort of jubilation like no other filled him. It was a small ray of hope in a drunken man - but it was hope.
Carefully, Castiel moved Dean's limp arm onto the bed beside him. It was now clear the man was asleep. He turned on his side as well, facing him, and lifted his head to become level with Dean's. He looked into his peaceful face and gingerly touched his forehead to the other man's. There were few chances he got to be close with him, and he was not going to waste this one. But he was in his right mind – even tipsy. He shut his eyes for a moment and sent Dean a dream to keep him asleep a long time. Taking a deep breath, his eyes slid open, and he drank in the sleep deprived face. That was a picture he would save mentally. For any times he knew he'd miss this.
Then, he drew away like a ghost, sitting up, and sat on the end of the bed, watching him.
"I am not just an Angel, Dean," he found himself saying aloud. His voice was a decibel above a whisper.
"I am your Angel."