exangelis replied to your post: ✚
“You couldn’t have been praying properly, Dean. I’d have heard you.” (There’s no reply via text, because Castiel just turns up, all stern and disapproving.) “What’s the matter with you? Why are you on the floor?”
“gOD---” He doesn’t get up just yet, in stead flopping over as though he’s been hit with a taser, though in reality, it’s Castiel giving him the habitual jumpscare. There’s a knocked-over chair that probably came down when Dean misplaced his buttcheeks and hit the floor, though remarkably, the bottle of liquor he’s clutching is still intact.
“Nothin’ ‘s the matter with me. I’m havin’ a blast countin’ the cracks in the floor.”
Sarcasm, obviously. And this is no party either; Dean doesn’t get drunk unless there’s a damn good reason for it, or at least, if he thinks inebriating himself is going to solve whatever he’s gotten himself into. If there’s anything he’s good at, it’s running away from problems.
Patting the floor, he looks up at the angel with a sense of satisfaction, seemingly less irritated by his position on the floor now that he’s no longer the only one occupying it (even though Castiel is still on his feet).
