Dean was very, very drunk. Sam was used to his brother's functional alcoholism, but this was impressive even for him. He lounged in the library chair, looking like he might slide off at any moment. Cas was watching him with a singular intensity, seemingly poised to intervene if Dean were to lose his battle with gravity.
"Maybe you should call it a night," Sam suggested acidly. Dean grinned sloppily at him.
"Nah, I'm good." He leaned over to address the angel, "I'm good, ain't I, Cas?" But he'd inclined too far and started to slither out of the chair. Cas jumped up and caught him before he hit the floor.
"I believe Sam is correct," Cas said wryly. "You should consider sleeping this off." Dean tilted his head back and regarded the angel with a slight smile.
"Then take me to bed, Cas," Dean declared expansively. Cas ignored the choked off laugh behind him. Sam Winchester's sense of humor was getting the better of him again. He considered the situation for a moment and then picked Dean up, slinging him unceremoniously over his shoulder like a firefighter.
"Hey!" Dean complained. Cas ignored him.
"G'night, Cas," Sam said slyly. The angel harrumphed in irritation and strode out of the room.
By the time he got to Dean's room, the hunter was only semi-conscious. He laid him out on the bed and set to removing his boots. Dean twitched and muttered, making it more difficult than it needed to be. He could have used his Grace, but somehow that felt like cheating. He didn't want to explore that feeling.
Once he'd removed Dean's footwear, he considered the problem of his clothing. Removing the button-down shirt was easy enough, even if Dean was insistent on struggling with him. The t-shirt presented a slight challenge, solved by sitting the older Winchester upright and leaning his head against one shoulder. Dean nuzzled into his neck, seemingly on some kind of instinct, his warm breath huffing against Cas' skin. The angel suppressed a shiver at the sensation, berating himself for the impropriety. He pulled the t-shirt up, tugged each arm through the sleeves one by one and then leaned Dean back to jerk it over his head. He laid the hunter down on the bed again, and carefully folded the shirt and t-shirt, placing them on a nearby chair. He sat again next to Dean and contemplated his jeans. After a moment's hesitation, he decided that there was no help for it, and with a grim set to his jaw, unbuttoned and unzipped them quickly and deftly. He dragged the denim over Dean's hips, trying not to notice as the muscles in his thighs tensed and bunched in response. Once he'd worked the material down past Dean's butt, the job was considerably easier, swiftly wrenching the jeans down his legs. He folded them as carefully as the other clothing and placed them on top of the shirt. He eyed Dean's boxer shorts, not having any idea if the hunter typically slept naked… He shook himself. Dean would be comfortable now, once he drew the sheet over him and let him sleep. He spotted a large water glass by the bed, and snagged it before heading off to the kitchen.
He filled the glass with water from the filter jug in the fridge and grabbed the bottle of aspirin sitting by the coffee machine. Returning to Dean's room, he placed the water and painkillers on the nightstand and watched the hunter sleep for a few moments, a small indulgence. Why he insisted on poisoning himself like this, Cas could not understand. Oh, he understood the occasional urge to drink oneself into oblivion, when everything got too much. Been there, done that, as the humans liked to say. But nothing he and Sam had been up to this week had been so earth-shattering as to require this response. Sure, the haunted costumes had sounded rather creepy, but Sam was the one with the clown phobia. Cas sighed and silently left the room.
Sam bit his tongue watching Cas carry Dean out of the room like an avenging angel, before letting himself laugh out loud. OK, Dean's drunkenness had been irritating him too, but the demand that Cas take him to bed was just too funny. It happened every time Dean crossed some invisible line from regular drunkenness to full-on inebriation, he'd make some ridiculous come-on to Cas, who would studiously ignore any double entendres and simply help his brother into bed in an entirely chaste and innocent manner. Sam was sure Cas was perfectly aware of what Dean was implying. One day, Cas would take him up on the offer for real, Sam thought. He frowned. No, on second thoughts, he never would. Sam considered that rather a shame. When the angel reappeared, his face drawn and sad, Sam felt a twinge of sympathy.
"Dean OK?" he asked. Cas turned heavy eyes on him.
"Did something happen in Minnesota? I would understand if you had felt it necessary to drink yourself into a stupor, given your phobia." Cas said, his eyes focused intently on Sam in a way that made him squirm.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Sam said carefully. He thought about it as Cas sat down.
"Why did Dean feel it necessary to drink so much this evening?" Cas fretted.
"Whatever the reason, I don't think it has anything to do with our last case. Maybe he's just anxious because Amara's gone off the radar. But between you and me, I think Crowley's willingness to kill him last week has more to do with it. You know, when Dean had his short stint as a demon, him and Crowley were pretty tight. And Crowley seemed to have some affection for Dean even before then. We haven't really considered Crowley a serious threat for some time, which is insane when you think about it." Cas looked embarrassed and Sam winced. The angel had his own less than salubrious history with the self-styled king of Hell. "So I think that was a shock. You know Dean, why process and deal with an emotion when you can just repress it and maybe drown it in booze." Sam gave a long-suffering smile and but Cas did not return it.
The next morning, Sam was unsurprised to see Dean in the kitchen armed with coffee and a scowl that could decapitate a man at forty paces. He beamed at his brother as brightly as he could.
"Good morning, Dean!" he said loudly, and grinned as Dean winced.
"Shh. There's no need to shout," Dean mumbled. He shuffled like an old man in his robe and slippers over to the table and stared moodily into his mug. Cas entered the kitchen clutching a paper bag which he deposited on the table with a diffident gesture.
"Perhaps you should try eating something," the angel suggested. Dean peeked inside the bag, his expression brightening a little and pulling out a cinnamon roll. Sam rolled his eyes, Cas was spoiling his brother again. But he wasn't so irritated he didn't help himself to one of the sweet, sticky confections. Cas watched as Dean picked his roll apart and placed each piece in his mouth, eyes closed and expression rapt. In fact the whole performance, Dean's over-the-top enjoyment and the angel's barely concealed interest in it, was a little embarrassing. It didn't matter that Sam had watched this whole ludicrous dance before. He found it excruciating every single time.
He opened his laptop and logged into his email. There were two messages waiting for him. One was from Donna, thanking him and Dean for their help. He smiled, he liked Donna and her earnestness was a refreshing change from Dean's wall-to-wall cynicism and Cas' stoicism. He clicked reply and tapped out a short message telling her they were glad to help and wishing her happy holidays. The second message was from Garth, just updating Sam on his life with the pack.
He closed his laptop and finished his coffee. Dean was looking a little green around the gills. He sighed and looked significantly at Cas.
"Dean, will you let me help you?" Cas asked. Dean squinted at him and shook his head.
"I appreciate that but I did this to myself, Cas. I have to suck it up," he told the angel. He gagged and Sam pushed back in his chair.
"If you're not going to let Cas detox you, maybe you should-" Sam didn't get to finish his thought as Dean suddenly shot upright and dashed out of the room, one hand over his mouth. Cas cast one final look at Sam before jumping up and following Sam's brother out of the kitchen.
Dean leaned over the toilet, pale and sweating. Cas hovered uncertainly in the doorway for a moment before entering and sinking down beside him.
"Dean," the angel rumbled. "You're being ridiculous. I can make all of this go away. Please, let me help you." Dean stubbornly shook his head.
"No, man. I said no and I meant it. I have to...I have to do this. It's the rule." Cas frowned at him, what rule?
"I don't know what rule you are talking about," he told the hunter. "But it doesn't seem like a very good rule if it means you have to suffer unnecessarily." Cas grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wet it under the faucet. He wrung the excess water out and applied the cool damp cloth to Dean's forehead, then wiped it across his face. Dean closed his eyes in relief at the sensation, quivering slightly.
"It's my rule," Dean said softly. "It's supposed to stop me from...doing certain things. Like aversion therapy or some crap like that."
"Does it work?" Cas asked, baffled.
"Not really." Dean sighed. "But it's all I got." He dragged himself upright and stood there, swaying slightly. Cas stood up with him and pulled Dean's arm across his shoulders.
"If you won't let me heal you, at least let me help you back to bed. You're in no condition to be doing anything else right now," Cas said sternly. Dean let the angel lead him back to his room and help him get back into bed.
When he left and closed Dean's door quietly behind him, Sam was waiting for him in the hall, holding a bottle of orange flavored sports drink. He handed it to Cas with a wry smile.
"Give him this, it will hydrate him better than just water." Cas took the bottle from him and gave him a grateful look. Sam shrugged. "I love him too, and I hate seeing him do this to himself." Cas started and Sam gave him a searching look.
"You OK, Cas? You've seen Dean like this before. He'll be fine, he just needs to work it out of his system." Cas looked down and turned to open Dean's door again. He looked back over his shoulder.
"Thanks, Sam", he said simply.