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And to think ol’ Jack used to be his best friend.
This is Dean’s third attempt at opening Victor’s front door and he’s beginning to think that after two beers, a shot of tequila, four of Jo’s Purple Nurples, adding another three shots of Jack wasn’t such a great idea. But hey, it was his little brother’s bachelor party and he couldn’t let the bitch think that amongst the congratulations, he’d opt to have Sam outdrink his older brother. Not that there was a competition, anyway. A smirk made its way to Dean’s face at the thought, only for it to be rapidly replaced by a frown at the reminder of the stubborn door. After a fourth and last attempt with what he believed to be the right key to the door, he decides that Victor wouldn’t mind if he picked the lock. It wouldn’t do any damage and there was no way he was going home. That was a solid thirty-minute drive and it was a miracle he had even managed to stuff Sam’s gigantor ass into a cab (“Thanks, Dean. That was the best *hiccup* bachelor party ever.” ‘Yeah, yeah, princess. You just get back to that fiancée of yours.’) and make the six-minute walk here from the Roadhouse without passing out on the particularly cozy looking sidewalk. No, he wasn’t that drunk. He reasoned crashing at Victor’s would be a lot more comfortable than the cot in the backroom of the Roadhouse. That, and it would be free of Ellen’s nagging. Yeah, Victor’s couch would be a nice place to be right now, even if it wasn’t his own memory foam bed. Anyway, back to picking the lock. He patted his leather jacket pockets down, inside and out, and nearly let out a groan as he remembering he’d started leaving his kit at home after using it to get into Benny’s place on a similar night and finding him doing the horizontal tango on the living room couch with Andrea. That had been ugly (it wasn’t as bad as that time back in college when he walked in on Chuck and Becky. That was…interesting. There was some freaky role-playing involved) and all the incentive Dean needed to make a decision never to pick a lock again. At the time it had made sense.
A smack to the forehead and a stumble later, Dean is outside of the apartments, peering into a window when he spots Victor’s Samsung flat screen TV.
“Yahtzee.”
He pulls upwards on the window, which is, thankfully, unlatched, and maneuvers his right leg over the windowsill followed by his left. Once his whole body was in the living room, he pulls the window shut as quietly as he can. He may be drunk, but he still has manners. He looks around a little and attributes the new décor and two sitting felines to Victor’s new girlfriend. He had been talking about her a lot when they got coffee, so much so that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he had missed the new pieces of information when he periodically tuned his lovesick puppy of a cop out. He slips out of his boots, slings his jacket over the back of the new-looking couch and peels his alcohol doused shirt off of his body, tossing it on the clean and a similarly new-looking mahogany coffee table. He’d apologize later, but for now, this couch is feeling a lot like a cloud…
“CAAAAASSSSS!”
Dean, shaken from a deep sleep, sits up ramrod straight at the bloodcurdling screech and wipes a hand over his face, while sorting together where he is and how he got here through his present hangover of the year. Bachelor party, Victor’s place, Victor’s window, Victor’s couch. When he finally opens his eyes, he realizes with an audible groan of frustration that he had, in fact, been superbly drunk last night. He’s in the wrong house. This explains the redhead and brunette holding knives, the comfortable couch missing the beer stain from the New Year’s party, and the surly looking cats that were undoubtedly sleeping as he had been before the scream.
“Uh, hi?”
Dean’s trying to sort through how he’s going to explain himself to the knife-wielding women and how he’s going to get rid of his impending headache, when the person belonging to the name screeched moments before walks into the room lacking any sense of urgency. The deadliest combination of mussed, dark brown hair, blue eyes, and pink lips appears. Dean is starting to think that he understands what Sam means when he talks about how time stops whenever he sees Jess. In fact, he’s pretty sure time has stopped until he notices the man has begun saying something.
“Anna, I told you last week that so long as you live here, you may not speak in tones that only canines should be able to hear when I am in bed or while I am out of it for that matt—“
And that voice. This is too much. Dean takes the man’s pause as an opportunity to consider that he may have to re-prioritize his next moves to include how he’ll be able to get this guy’s number. You know, after they figure out this ordeal.
“Who’s this? Anna, do not tell me—“ His eyebrows are knit in confusion and even though he’s talking to one of the still-armed women in the kitchen, he doesn’t remove his squinty, deep blue gaze from green. Dean tries not to trace his eyes around the man’s lean but fit figure. He fails.
“Why do you think I called you out here? I was giving you an opportunity to vouch for him before we sliced him up,” the redhead now named Anna says. The man finally, sadly, detaches his eyes from Dean’s and gives her a pointed glare.
“Put the knives away, I just bought that couch and you are not going to ruin it with blood. Put on some coffee while you’re at it.”
“Well Commander, what did you think me and Ruby were doing in the kitchen?” Anna mutters mockingly. Ruby rolls her eyes and presses a kiss to Anna’s neck to calm her down as they both put their knives into the wooden holder. Cas’ (?) exasperated tone morphs into a patient one and his eyes turn back to Dean. He’s closer now and there seems to be something like interest and amusement swimming in his gaze when he speaks again, “Why don’t you explain how you got here? It doesn’t seem that you were trying to steal anything, given that you don’t have shoes on or a shirt. It must be interesting.” Dean lets go of the breath he didn’t notice he had been holding and opens his mouth to speak.
“You know what, why don’t we wait until I’ve had some coffee? I think I want to be awake when I hear this. Would you like some?” Dean finds it within himself to nod. Cas smiles. Dean melts. “Good.”
After some light conversation mixed with coffee and (borrowed) ibuprofen, Dean feels he is approaching sobriety and begins the apology he’s been rehearsing, “Listen, man. This is pretty embarrassing, but I was pretty wasted last night from my brother’s bachelor party,” that should make him understand, right? “More than I thought and at the time, I thought I was breaking and entering a friend’s house. That doesn’t sound much better, but he lives around here and your TV looks exactly the same. Like, exactly. So, here I am,” he says, his hands gesturing to himself. Cas follows his hands before remembering himself and wrenches his eyes from Dean’s chest, a little pink coming to his face. Still shirtless, he remembers. Dean bows his head to hide his smile. When he looks up, Cas is staring, but back at his face and almost looks like he’s thinking really hard. It’s a little weird. Until—
“Is your friend’s name Victor?” Dean raises his eyebrows and nods slowly. “I purchased that from him earlier in the week. He mentioned something about his girlfriend wanting a bigger one.” Dean laughs in spite of himself and rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah, that sounds like her. That’s another reason why I thought this was his place. There’s a lot of new stuff and I assumed she had done some redecorating. This is a nice place you have here, by the way.” He looks to the adjacent living room; only for his eyes gravitate back to Cas’.
“Thank you. Anna did most of it, to be honest.” Dean watches as Cas’ eyes descend to his bare chest and quickly retreat to the depths of his mug. His cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink again and Dean can’t help but be pleased with himself. He also can’t help but wonder what else he could do to make him flush that way. He shakes himself out of it.
“Well. Thanks for this. For not calling the cops and the pills and everything. As much as I’ve enjoyed this, I’m sure I’ve overstayed my welcome and I need to open up the restaurant in a few hours.” Dean stands and walks back to the living room to stamp his feet into his boots and pull his foul-smelling shirt over his head and finds Cas close behind him when he turns around to say another goodbye. “Jeez! Make some noise, will you?”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you, but you said something about a restaurant? Do you work in one around here?”
“Yeah,” Dean replies, catching his breath. “ Well, technically I own it. Started it some five years ago. Mary’s Place.” Cas looks confused for a couple beats before Dean elaborates. “Mary is—was my mother’s name.” Cas nods in understanding, knowing well enough not to ask anything more on the subject. “Thanks again.”
“I would say anytime, but I’d prefer not to have a repeat of this morning. The Anna screaming part that is.” Dean laughs, and Cas smiles his small, sweet smile.
“See you around, I guess,” Dean says, after his laughter turns into a soft chuckle.
And then Deans walking out of the door and almost down the hall to the exit before he thinks of what an idiot he would he if he didn’t ask. He shakes his head at himself and jogs back to Cas’ door. He takes a deep breath to try and slow his heart and raises a fist to knock, when the door opens on its own. Cas now has on fluffy, pink slippers, a long, tan trench coat along with a surprised look on his face to match Dean’s.
“Nice slip—,” Dean starts.
“Would you like to accompany me to get coffee sometime?” Cas asks, the look of shock replaced with…apprehension? Determination? The guy sure doesn’t know how to emote.
And then Dean remembers that Cas just asked him a question.
“Wait. What?”
“I will completely understand if you don’t want to. You don’t have to say—“
Dean put his hand up and Cas falls silent.
“Yeah. Yes, I’d like that.” Cas smiles. Dean melts. Maybe breaking and entering isn’t so bad.