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“This sucks so much,” Dean took another swig of the bottle of whiskey Cas had brought over, passing it back to his best friend with a grunt.
“That he does.” Cas wrapped two fingers around the bottle’s neck and took a sip of his own.
He was out the door the minute he hit end on the call: It took probably 10 minutes to get over to Dean’s from his own apartment (the drive was usually about 15 minutes but, without-shame, he broke plenty of laws between the liquor store and Dean’s door. whatever.) And pretty quickly the two were sprawled on his living room floor getting drunk.
Because, yeah, break-ups fucking suck.
Cas had watched from the sidelines as his best friend entered a relationship with one of their other best friends — punctuating their long-term flirtation-ship and several casual drunken hook-ups with a bit of romance… Or something.
Cas was happy for Dean and Benny when they were together — really. Watching their little eye contact conversations and the way their fingers met under tables and watching the way Dean’s eyes would just brighten when the other man entered the room. Regardless of how he might’ve felt about his best friend in private, he wanted to see him happy like that.
And it was great — you know, until it wasn’t.
“Did he say why?” Cas passed the bottle back, wrapping his own arms around his legs.
“He just said that we were moving too fast?” Dean’s face looked tired — more tired than Cas can ever remember seeing him. “It’s crazy because I was the one who always talked about slowing down. Like, I was the fucked up one, you know? And he was so fucking sure about us.”
“What a fucking prick,” Cas spat.
“He was nice about it,” Dean’s voice got defensive. “Like, I get it. I’m kind of a head-case sometimes. More issues than ‘Batman and Robin’ and I’m somehow needy and emotionally stunted at the same fucking ti-”
“Shut up,” Cas took the bottle away, holding Dean’s bloodshot gaze for a bit longer. “You do not get to blame yourself for this shit. He was the asshole. He was the one who told you to trust him and he was the one who let you down.”
“Cas…”
“Don’t you ‘Cas..’ me,” he mimicked Dean’s voice, midwestern twang and all. “You don’t get to do that: You spend so much of your life being a self-loathing bastard. Can’t you for once admit that you don’t deserve to be treated like shit?”
Dean shifted his legs uncomfortably against the carpet, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. He looked rumpled: a pair of too loose sweatpants that Cas suspected belonged to Benny and a ratty grey concert t-shirt that he couldn’t even Identify. He had a few days worth of stubble growing and clearly didn’t opt to shower (getting the phone call right after he got home from his nightly run.) He couldn’t hold his friend’s gaze for long.
“Cas, I ain’t gonna play the victim here: I’m not easy to be with. I’m just –”
“Nope.” Cas dove across the floor, gracelessly scrambling to straddle the leg closest to him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dean had time to ask before Cas’ fingers descended on his sock-covered foot. “Cahahas! Don’t.”
“You’re going to admit that it’s not your fucking fault and that Benny is an asshole and then maybe I’ll stop.”
“Whahahat are we fucking five?” Dean tried to use his other leg to dislodge his friend, but Cas was the flexible, fast-moving type with runner’s legs that easily trapped his lower body. If he wasn’t fucking giggling like a little girl he’d have better chances of pulling his friend off of him, but he had no such luck.
Cas was ruthlessly teasing at the skin of his feet — one of them now bare after his sock got lost in the shuffle. He scratched and wiggled around the soles and pinched around his toes and Dean couldn’t breathe, let alone say whatever the fuck Cas was asking him to say.
“No, we’re 23 and we’re drunk and your ex-boyfriend is a literal pile of excrement,” Cas slowed down, still keeping him tense with his fingers hovering menacingly over his feet. “So, whose fault is it?”
“Cas,” Dean grimaced, ready to call the whole thing stupid again when he felt blunt nails scrape — quick and lethal — down his foot. He slammed his fist back against the wall he was leaning against. “Fuck!”
If you didn’t really know Cas, you’d never think he’d be a tickler. Dean certainly wouldn’t peg him as one, if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of Cas’ antics since middle school (although it was way worse pre-growth spurt when Cas was a bit lankier than he was.) Cas could go from heartfelt to mischievous in a matter of seconds and genuinely loved to make his friends smile. And, God, did Dean hate it so fucking much right now.
“Cas, I am going to kill yoo-hoo-hoo!” Dean’s head thunked against the wall in defeat as Cas found the tiny spot above his heels that made him shriek, prodding it over and over with his thumb.
“Let me know when you’re ready…” Cas turned around and gave him a smirk, hair a mess and eyes bright. Dean felt his cheeks go red, covering his face and still trying to kick his friend off.
“Fine, whahahatever, it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t,” Dean yelped. “Geheehet offa meeheee!”
“And?”
“Ahahand?” Dean gasped, coughing a little when he felt another pinch under his knees. “Ohohohkay! Ahahand he’s the ahahasshole!”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Cas said cheerfully, sliding off Dean’s legs and giving them a gentle pat. “You’re so right, Dean.”
“I hate you.” Dean slumped over, his head landing unceremoniously in Cas’ lap as he reached for the whiskey bottle — the last few giggles still hiccuping out.
“No you don’t.” Cas ran his fingers through his hair softly, enjoying the lingering smile on his friend’s face. “Now, about unfriending him on Facebook…”