❧ Summary: Dean comes back early from the bar for you.
❧ Pairing: Drunk!Dean Winchester x reader
❧ Wordcount: 608
Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Masterlist
You didn't fancy the bar.
Your social battery was completely drained, so you stayed behind, curled up on yours and Dean's bed with a book while Team Free Will 2.0 headed out. Even if Jack and Cas had no idea what was actually going on.
You were just reaching the end of your chapter when you heard the bunker door slam shut, followed by heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.
You glanced up. Dean was leaning against the doorframe. "Hey, sweetheart." he said, voice low.
Your brows lifted instantly. There was a soft sway to him. His eyes were glassy with a slight slur as he spoke. His shoulder slipped off the frame and he nearly went down into the hallway before catching himself, readjusting like nothing had happened.
You bit your lip. "Did you have a good night?" you asked, barely holding back a laugh.
"Yeah," he nodded, pushing himself upright again, "but I missed my girl. Left Sam to babysit Jack and Cas at the bar."
You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "You missed me? You've been gone for two hours."
"Yeah... and?" he shrugged, attempting to pull off his jacket—only for it to get stuck around his wrist. He shook his arm wildly until it dropped to the floor, huffing in exertion. "That's enough time to miss you." He stumbled toward the bed, trying to toe off his boots and nearly face-planting into the mattress in the process.
You slowly set your book on the nightstand, eyes fixed on the cute mess in front of you. He crawled over you, clumsily settling himself on your thighs. "Came back to make you feel good," he added, punctuated by a hiccup.
You laughed softly. "I don't think you're in the right state, Cowboy."
"M'in the perfect state, sweetheart." He pushed himself up onto his knees, hand fumbling with the waistband of your pyjama shorts—and immediately lost his balance.
He tipped forward, his head dropping onto your stomach and knocking the air from your lungs. You folded forward with a small gasp before falling back onto the pillow as he collapsed full on top of you. "I meant to do that," he mumbled into your shirt.
"Uh huh," you teased. "I think you're too drunk."
"M'not drunk..." he muttered. "Jus'... room's movin'." He lifted his head, trying to crawl further up your body. "Wanna kiss you... good this time..." He made it about halfway before collapsing again, this time with his head resting on your chest. "Okay," he mumbled after a beat. "Maybe a lil' drunk."
You looked down at him. His chin was nestled between your breasts, eyes half-lidded, a dopey grin spread across his face. "Love you," he slurred softly. "Like... stupid amounts." The small hiccup at the end made your heart melt
"I love you too," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair.
He immediately melted into the touch, nuzzling close like he'd been waiting for it all night. His arms slide around your waist, holding you tighter.
"Okay... no sex... but you gotta keep doin' that shit," he mumbled against your skin, already going heavy in your arms. If he was a cat, you were sure he'd been purring. "Wanted to make you feel good," he added, voice softer now, drifting. "'S not fair..." His words slurred into nothing as sleep took over. His breathing evened out, soft snores following soon after, his face still tucked against you.You smiled to yourself. Carefully, you reached for the blanket and pulled it over his still fully clothed body, shifting slightly beneath his weight to get comfortable—resigning yourself to being trapped for the night.
it's a beautiful night out so dean suggests going for drinks. in the comfort of cas' warm and protective gaze he lets a little too loose and gets absolutely hammered on fruity little drinks with umbrellas (damn them). drunk dean is clingy, handsy, and above all he suddenly becomes overprotective of his devastatingly handsome boyfriend. he is willing and ready to defend his honor and block wandering hands. he loses his leather jacket somewhere, somehow. his head is spinning and cas carries him home and dean lets it happen begrudgingly and not at all because cas' big strong arms holding him make him feel like everything is right in the world.
Dean getting caught hustling a few guys at pool cause he’s too drunk and slips up. In his drunken celebration, Dean doesn’t notice their rising anger and tries to walk away. The biggest of the three grabs him and slams him against the wall as soon as he turns around. The other two quickly crowd at his sides.
Dean can’t reach his gun in the position so he tries playing it off, giving them the money back. They don’t care for it and the one holding Dean up sneers at him and draws his fist back.
Before it connects with his cheek though, a beer bottle is smashed over the guy’s head and he drops. Towering behind the now crumpled heap on the ground is his giant of a little brother. Hair tussled, eyes sharp and jaw clenched. The men at Dean’s sides swiftly back off and hold their hands up.
“Woah, hey man. We didn’t mean no trouble.”
“Yeah, just a little misunderstanding. Isn’t that right?” The guy on his left looks to Dean to confirm this. Dean can’t help but grin.
“Sure. No trouble at all,” he picks up the money he dropped earlier and steps over the sticky body on the floor. Sam looks him up and down, nods his head and turns to leave. Dean throws a smile over his shoulder before lazily following him outside.
You didn't have to do much talking to convince dean to agree to the idea. It was a very successful hunt and Dean was in one of his good happy moods; one of your favorites. Dean let you sit in the passenger seat of the impala as he disobeyed the laws of the road to get to the arcade. He was sold on the idea once you said it had a bar attached to it; Classic dean.
Sammy and Cas had no idea of this adventure of yours. Sam had passed out in his room after the hunt and cas went back to his cheesy netflix show. Neither you or Dean had bothered to tell them where you two were off to.
You laughed heartily as the wind tousled your hair, Dean with his big ol’ grin, trying so hard to watch the road but you're so full of life that it's distracting. He whips it into the parking lot, the tires screech and you pull yourself back in from hanging halfway out the window. “How do I look?” you ask with a cheesy grin, your hair obviously messed up from the wind. Dean snorts, “like a rats nest just got attacked by birds” he jokes and you fix the messed up strands, sticking your tongue out tauntingly.
He ruffles your hair and you swat his hand away. “I just fixed it!” you feign complaint. He chuckles and pulls you in with one arm as the two of you walk into the arcade. “Are you so excited for guys' night?” you nudge him playfully, “fuck yeah, guys night with my girl” he squeezes you with his arm and you huff a laugh.
You could have called it that dean would go straight for the bar to get drinks first. Because what's a ‘guys night’ without getting absolutely wasted? He walks over to you leaned against the pool table, he’s holding a tray of shot glasses he ordered with a goofy grin plastered on his face. “I am going to absolutely destroy you in pool” you grin and throw a shot back, he does the same. “Try all you want, sweetheart, you are not beating this” he gestures to himself cockily. you clink your glasses together and set up for -a very poor, and a very drunk- game of pool.
Dean wanted to make the game interesting, so he challenged a shot after every bad hit. You've been taking shots after every ball you miss- you guys have lost count at how many glasses of whiskey you've thrown back-
“Okay Winchester, watch and learn” the alcohol has bumped up your pool skill confidence through the roof. He scoffs and crosses his arms, ready to watch you fail. You sway as you try to line up the stick to the ball, squinting too much to get the right angle. “Top left corner hole” you call, definitely using the wrong terms.
“Pffft there is no way you are gonna make that sh-” the clack of the stick cuts him off short. Shockingly to you both, you managed to get the eight ball in.
You throw your arms up in victory, “HAH in your FACE DEAN” you shout, making stupid faces at him. Dean gawks at how you made that shot. “No way, you cheated, you literally cheated!” Both of your speeches are slurred. But to each other you sound clear as day. “Nuh uh, I won that fair and shquare” you poke his chest.
—--------------------
Cas knocks on the door and is met with a messy haired, sleepy sam. “Cas? What's up?” Sammy rubs his eyes. “I can't find Dean or y/n, I've looked all over the bunker and Dean won’t answer his cell phone” Cas frowns. Sam groans, more awake now. “I think I have an idea on where they are,” he sighs, running a hand over his face.
—------------------
How many drinks have the two of you had? Only Chuck knows. You ran through all the arcade games, stupidly and drunkenly squabbling with each other. You found yourselves seated in a booth hunched over some loaded fries, stuffing your faces and groaning about how you've never had anything more delicious. Dean argues, mouthful of fries, that “you've clearly never had a slice of classic american pie”
“This is the best guys night ever” you sigh, dipping your fry into way too much sauce for even a drunk person. “You're tellin’ me sweetheart,” Dean agrees.
“What the hell guys” you hear someone say, you know that voice anywhere. Sam. Dean looks up at him like he's been caught doing something worse than looking at busty asian beauties. “oh hey sammy!” you chime in, you see a disappointed Cas next to him, “Cas! You guys here to join in on guys' night?” you grin up at them. Cas huffs, “No, we will not be partaking in this ‘guys night’” he shakes his head. “You guys weren't in the bunker so I figured you'd be here” Sam says, “yeah, having the time of our lives” Dean slurs, pointing a sauce-covered finger at his brother.
“Okay, I hate to be the fun police but you guys are hammered, I think it's time to go home” this earns a disapproving groan from both you and dean. “Boooooo you're no fun, just like a few more fries” you protest as Sam drags you out of the booth, Cas dragging dean. “I'll get you a to go box” he reasons, you grumble. “That's a dick move crashing guys night” Dean frowns. “Yeah yeah whatever” Sam rolls his eyes lightheartedly.
You shove the fries into the to-go box, dumping the sauce over them while you're at it. Cas is making sure you walk in a straight line, while Sammy is busy shoving his brother into the backseat like a cop. Cas opens the door for you and you stumble into baby. Sam and Cas get into the front, sighing heavily.
“If you crash baby i will end you, i swear to god sammy” sam waves him off and begins driving; safely, back to the bunker. Earning grumpy disapproving grumbles from Dean. You had passed out, mouth agape and snoring.
Dean fell asleep not too shortly after, the two of you leaning against each other as you slept off the alcohol. Sam turned on the music loud enough to drown out your combined snores.
Hell yeah to guys night, no regrets. In your case, it ended the best possible way.
drunk dean calls to tell cas they're going to end up together. eventually. wc: 2k
"Hi, hic , Cas."
Castiel, on his end of the call, puts his mug down on the counter. Icy cold coffee, with froth on the top. If Dean hadn't called him out of the blue, he would probably have sent him a picture of it in guise of documentation - or, well, to get him to tell him how much he wished to be there and drink it with him. If Dean hadn't called him drunk, he would at least have asked him to wait until he took a picture, with the froth all perfect and frothy.
Given the circumstances, however, he sits down, and nets his eyebrows in a frown.
"Dean? You okay?"
Drunk calls weren't that rare, but they were usually pre-planned. Or at least, you know, he’s aware Dean’s drinking when it happens.
"Oh!" Dean says, voice too bright and too loud. It’s like he’s somewhere that’s making it echo. "Of course. I'm drunk."
"I can tell." Cas rolls his eyes, for absolutely no one's benefit. His coffee grows warmer, untouched. "Where are you?"
A hum resounds. "So - it's not my room. I can tell that much."
"What the -” Cas swears under his breath. “Who're you with?"
"Friends." Dean says, dismissively. "I'm safe, it's all safe. Familiar faces. I just came away for a bit because I wanted to talk to you."
At that, Cas finally lightens. Stirs his cup (still admiring). "Uh-huh?"
Friends wouldn't be enough to describe what they were. And yet - it was what either of them would've said. Rather, convinced themselves to say.
They were the video-call-at-three-am, watch-the-worst-movie-known-to-man, a-football- match-just-afterwards-where-they-root-for-the-wrong-team and go-to-bed-consoling-each-other kinda friends. The kind who had nothing in common - from colleges, to friends, to hopes and dreams - but still let themselves be strung along for the ride and stuck together for whatever it counts. Texting day-in, day-out - with any excuse to think of the other person kinda friends. And the kind who didn't even get weird about girlfriends and boyfriends - which, well, both had, respectively - because they knew nothing would ever change what they had - and nothing could ever come close.
At one point, they'd come close to dating. At two different points, they'd had larger-than-life cruhes on each other. And now? Now they just danced this familiar dance around each othis, toeing blurry lines - hands-tied behind their backs at risk of twirling too close and falling indubitably into each othis's arms.
Oh, and they lived half a country apart. Thise was also that.
"Uh-huh." Dean repeats, definitively. Then, more distracted, "Cas, the whiskey today, I swear to god . I should go get more."
"You sound pretty whiskey-ed already, just FYI."
"And you sound jealous."
"Dude, I have coffee. The Castiel-Novak special, with the expensive kind of cream and all that schtick, because Gabriel just visited." He smirks. "I do not want to be drinking evil-tasting liquid hellfire right now, thankyouverymuch ."
"Jea-lous." He sings, and Cas scoffs.
Dean hiccups again, almost like he'd forgotten he was having hiccups for a while, and then remembered again, now that there was a lull in the conversation.
"Oh, boy."
"Dean, you okay?" Cas raises his eyebrows, repeating himself. Something sounded different about that oh boy. Not very average-drunk Dean, no, it wasn't. Cas is more or less a connoisseur by now. And he prides himself on it.
"I think so."
"How do you feel now?" He asks, bordering the line of concerned again.
"Strangely happy."
There's obviously a smile in his voice when he says it. Cas smiles too. "Oh. Why?"
"'Cause I figured something out today, Cas." Dean didn't pause for questions, went on rambling. "Realized we're going to end up together. It’s final. And it's a strangely happy thought." Before Cas could say a thing, "Uh, I guess thoughts can't be happy. Or unhappy. The thought made me happy. Or not unhappy. Yeah, that makes more sense. I think."
Cas just blinks. A warm feeling starts spreading in his chest that he doesn't exactly know how to define. Or, worse, confine . "How'd you figure that out?"
Another smile in his voice, and this time, Cas can picture exactly what he looks like. Knowing, crinkled eyes, lips curled, head just a little bit quirked. (They'd only met once - a whopping 10-hour first-’non-date’-date that'd been, story for another time - but they'd been through enough movie nights at this point for him to know his I-know-what-happens-and-you-don't look.) "I'm not going to tell you."
"Wh—"
"Because, you're not drunk . So you won't get it."
"So the fairies of alcoholism and bad decisions deigned this upon you, did they?"
"Maybe." He draws out the vowels. "Point is, I know it's true. End up together, you, me. Eventually. Boom."
"Is that the sound of us having sex?" Cas snorts. The warmth has concentrated in his stomach, making it feel fluttery. He doesn't want to dwell on it too much - because he's so clearly drunk, and he has Jimmy - and things are not even that bad with him right now, really - but. But it’s not like he’s ever known how to not feel things when it comes to this dumbass.
"I know you think you're kidding," Dean interrupts him, seriously. "But you're not that far from the truth. Keep seeking it."
"The truth of the sound of us — okay. Slightly too much alcohol for you, Dean."
"Mmm-hm." Dean hums again. "Wait and watch."
"Is that a threat or a promise?" Cas mumbles, out of habit.
He knows this isn't exactly a normal conversation for them to be having - but he also can't say that it isn't something that has crossed his mind in the past.
All that chemistry - all those times he’s been complaining about something and he’s known just the right thing to say, or do, or be - and then there was that one time that they met. Cas still can’t get it out of his head. He’s always had a good memory - but this is a different level of good. Maybe it’s not entirely normal to remember what it felt like to hug his friend at the train station before he left. How they fit just right against all of you. Only maybe.
But then, it’s also impossible, right? They live hours away - and are certainly both the clingy, affectionate kind of fools who may think they can ace long-distance-relationships but are doomed from the beginning. Of course they are. Plus, he knows Dean has a girlfriend. And he has Jimmy. So yeah, things are fine right now - they’re safe, they’re innocent, okay, they’re half-innocent , half-kidding-themselves, but they’re safe and nothing is fucking them up right now. Because Cas, well, he can’t stand to lose his.
It doesn’t matter how easy it’d be to remove Dean from his life tangibly since he’s barely there at all, outside of one of his top three chats on WA at all times, and the ever-so-occasional co-movie-marathoner — none of that matters, except from the fact, that two years into this strange friendship, and he’s forgotten what life was like, before. But in a good way. In a healthy, he-gets-him, matching-wavelengths-of-weird, tries-to-make-him-a-better-person-sometimes kind of way.
So yeah, he can’t say the thought of a relationship hasn’t crossed his mind. He can’t even say that it’s ever really stopped crossing his mind. But Cas can’t have nice things, can he?
"It's an omen ."
Cas sighs. "You're so weird."
"You love me." Dean justifies, as if somehow that makes him weirder than him. It might, but Cas doesn't want to think about that right now.
"And you're a massive simp - as long as we're just stating facts."
"I am." Dean sings, again. He sounds a lot mellower now. Tuckered-out would be the word, if he wasn’t all of twenty one. He sounded ready to drift off to sleep, like that forecast had tired him out entirely. A classic drunk-Dean move, Cas rolled his eyes. "And you love me."
"Yeah, I do." He admits, a little quieter and is encouraged by another mmm-hm .
"Okay. I love you too." Scuffling sounds, as if he's getting up. Something clutters and falls, sounding queerly like stationery. So he's not outside, then . Probably in, like, a closet or something. The sound of a knob follows, and then, when he speaks, it's a lot less echo-y — with the contrast, Cas can definitely pin it to the previous place being a closet. "I'm going to go back to my friends. Amara's here too, uh, I'm definitely being rude."
(The girlfriend. Not an altogether bad person but severely, severely undeserving of him.
Dean had to know that too.)
"It's fine. You’ll make it up to them." Cas consoles, trying to avoid the strange hollowness in his gut at the mental image of him cosying up next to Amara, drunk, trying to make it up to her - okay, that’s never come up before.
(Not in this magnitude, at least.)
"Yeah, I will." he laughs. "G'night, buddy."
"Yep." Only a little miffed, Cas repeats it. "G'night."
"Don't forget, okay?"
Cas knew he'd be lucky if Dean didn't forget this entire conversation in the morning. But he didn't want to push the conversation any longer and make it weird - for him, or for Amara . "I'll try not to, but not making any promises." Dean makes a sound of affectionate disapproval, and then there's the familiar holler in the backdrop, of a group of ‘friends’ - rewelcoming his to their midst.
And that's that, for the night.
Cas stares at his coffee, now almost irritatingly room-temperature-d. Finishes it off in a gulp, while staring at his phone for good measure. Maybe the fairies of caffeinism and moderately-okay decisions would grace him with a visit, but it didn't seem very likely. Dean also doesn’t text for the majority of the night, except a view-once image of Amara's roommate licking a beer bottle (he’s made generally unfunny jokes about setting Cas up with the roommate in the past, probably playing off of that) and Cas replies righteously with eggplant emojis. He then sends a goodnight, at like six am, when Cas has already worn himself out with thoughts - and their annoying brethren, feelings - and passed out on his own couch.
Many years later - many Amara's and Jimmy's, moving-apart’s and mildly-closer’s, more degrees and a few salaries later - it happens.
(Of course, it does.)
Dean claims to have known all along. Sunday morning, breakfast-ing in bed with bread-and-jam and Castiel-Novak-specials, Dean solemnly swears he’d seen it coming. Not that he’d gone out of his way to jeopardize anything else for it, nope, but that he’s always known. “ Seriously .”
Cas laughs. Turns out, Dean didn't forget everything after all. But he did forget the call - too many inebriated misadventures in one night to recall life-changing conversations, of course - and Cas doesn't think he’ll tell him yet, that he’d known it equally long himself. Not right now , when Dean's half in his arms, Cas is halfways to shirtless, and they’re half a minute away from carefully sliding the plates and novelty mugs away to commence a different, but equally compelling Sunday-morning ritual altogether. And not when he’s this thrilled to be acting like a prophesier, an unbearable, inevitable all-knower, and the apparently- destined love of his life.
Cas took his trench coat off. Pulled off that tie unbuttoned that white oxford and DEAN took body shots off of CAST-EE-WHORE-EL you dont get blessed with that bod to keep it covered at your bachelor party!!!
And you bet your ass there was a little glitter and a lot of bisexual lighting
Summary: One bottle of whiskey and you’re practically worshiping the man...
Word count: 122
Warnings: Drinking, drunken staring, pretty much just fluff, suggestive thinking ;)
A/N: This is my entry to this week’s SPN Flash Fic Challenge with @impala-dreamer‘s prompt of ✨ A D O R A T I O N ✨ … enjoy 🙂
The night had started as nothing more than a drink to wash away the hassles of the case; it was finally over and you could both relax… for now. But a bottle of whiskey later and the ominous halo around Dean’s head was becoming more potent.
Each sip he took from the bottle drew you in. His lips formed a perfect seal around the mouth of the bottle, not a single drop of liquor to escape. The muscles in his neck flexed as he took a large gulp.
“What?” Dean asked, subconsciously wiping the side of his mouth, noticing your stares.
You sighed in complete adoration, a drunken smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth, “Nuffin’, darlin’, just admirin’ the view.”
