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If Dean could function his arms, he would honestly slap himself right now. He was a hunter, for Chuck’s sake! Had been his whole life, it was literally all he knew. His instincts should be sharper than this, he should know to follow his gut rather than passing its twist to too much alcohol. He was dumb, stupid, and it astounded him how much so.
However, as much as he would love if complaining made him smarter, if it could give him the ability to go back in time and not be a dumbass, it simply wouldn’t take back his arm from around Cas’ shoulders, it wouldn’t right his doubling blurry vision, and it certainly wouldn’t stop the ache behind his eyes that made him want to throw up.
Stupid hunter lacing his stupid drink.
The corners of his vision fuzzed as Cas burst them through the doors of the bar. His baby face looked so concerned Dean couldn’t help the bubble of stupid giggling at the sight. Cas’ increase in concern only made him laugh harder.
“-just left, heading your way now.” Cas spoke to thin air, moving Dean down the street back towards...somewhere.
Dean frowned. “Who th-” His tongue felt numb, heavy, and Dean swallowed. “Who’re ya talkin’ to, Baby?” Another giggle erupted from him before he could stop it, and he swung his body forwards. Cas’s grip was the only thing keeping him up at the moment, his legs too shaky to carry himself.
Cas sighed, tightening his arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m talking to your brother, Dean.”
Dean giggled, patting the angel’s fuzzy face. “Silly, Sammy’s not here!” He snorted, gesturing wildly to the blatantly empty air around them, then swinging his arm back to boop Cas on the nose. “And you say I’m the one who’s HIIIGHH!” He sang the last word, throwing his arm back out and stumbling, feeling Cas’ tighten his grip, painfully digging his in fingers in the strain of keeping Dean upright.
“Dean, please-” Cas frowned, pausing. “This isn’t funny, Sam.”
Dean lost interest in whatever the angel was doing and looked up at the sky. The moon was full tonight, big and round, like a cookie.
Dean gasped. “Cas! Cassie!” He hit Cas’ chest until the angel met his gaze...supposedly. Dean couldn’t really tell. “Cas, can we get cookies? I really want cookies. Yanno, my mom used to make these great chocolate chip cookies, they smelt awesome and I could always tell she was making them cuz the smell wafted right up the stairs and into my room, OH, and she made muffins too! Chocolate muffins and they were awesome and great and the best and no one has ever made a muffin as great as my mom’s-” He froze, and Cas stopped pulling him.
“Dean?”
But Dean could hardly hear him. His heart dropped to his stomach, and he could barely catch a breath. His vision came into sharp focus and his head never felt clearer.
The sight of Mary Winchester made it all go away.
“Mom?” He called to where she was standing, next to where Baby was parked in a motel parking lot. She was leant against the hood, phone lifted to her ear. She was wearing the dress she was wearing the night of the fire, but there was no fire here.
Only Mom.
He couldn’t feel Cas anymore as he stumbled from his grip, almost losing his footing as he clumsily floated to his mother.
“Dean?” Her voice, he missed it so much, and he had no hesitation in pulling her into his grip, breathing in the scent of her hair tickling his neck, paying no attention to the waves of tears dampening her dress. His heart wrenched at the feel of home and familiarity he had missed so goddamn much.
Mom’s hands were awkward, somewhat hesitant, patting his back instead of running through his hair like they were supposed to, and Dean pulled back to look into the eyes of, “...Sammy?”
His brother stared down at him, concerned, and Dean stumbled back out of his grip, feeling his face burn.
“Hey, Dean.” Concerned hazel eyes instead of crystalline blue ones.
Dean cleared his throat, wiping the damp evidence of weakness from his face. “Sorry, uh...let’s go.”
Cas stepped forward to help him, and Dean swatted his arms away, taking the shaky steps himself. Unfortunately, his knees were having none of it. They trembled, buckled, and he fell.
Luckily, Dad was there to catch him.
His grip under Dean’s arms was firm, and he looked into those eyes. Images of those eyes glaring at him, shouting, beating, pain - his gut clenched in primal fear, quickly replaced with anger at the flick of a switch that swallowed his vision in red.
“You son of a bitch!” His arms were weak, and the hits to his father’s chest were pointless, so Dean twisted, thrashing in John’s grip until he let go. He collapsed to the damp concrete, painfully digging stones in his elbows and scrambling away.
“Dean, wait-”
“No!” His heart was pounding in the anticipation of the pain of disobeying. “No, I’m stronger than you now! You can’t control me!”
“Dean-” Sammy stepped forward, and Dean rushed to his feet, pulling Sam behind him, like he used to do as kids.
He fucking felt like a kid.
“Sammy, stay back.” He growled at his father. “Back off, you son of a bitch! Why won’t you stay dead!”
“Dean please-”
“Shut up!” He pressed a knuckle to his aching temple. “You can’t manipulate me anymore, Dad!”
“Dean!” Sam grabbed his shoulders and forced him around, back to John, made him look away. “Dean, look at me. Look at me!”
Dean stopped his struggle and listened, keeping John’s position in the corners of his awareness.
“Dean, you’re hallucinating. That’s not Dad. That’s Cas.”
Dean frowned. That didn’t make any sense. “But...no, that’s-” He turned, and sure enough, a pair of deep blue eyes and a swaying trench coat met him. “...oh.”
“Dean?” Cas’ voice, not John’s. “Are you with us?”
Dean swallowed, shaking off the remnants of his anxiety, and backed out of Sam’s grip on his shoulders. “Yeah...yeah, I’m good.”
He leant back against the Impala, staring up at the moon, catching the last of his breath and letting the chill of the night soothe the heat radiating off the back of his neck. Sam and Cas joined on either side of him, and he could sense the tension radiating off of them, making him antsy.
Closing his eyes against his achy, doubling vision, he leant his head against Cas’ shoulder, feeling him tense more under him. He smelt nice. Well, he had always retained the scent of Jimmy’s cologne, and his coat smelled like rain on a warm day, but there was always something else, something he could never put into words.
Something angelic, he supposed, and he couldn’t help the giggle that escaped at the cheesy-ness of the thought, of the situation, of everything. His life was a freaking TV show.
Cas shifted uncomfortably under him. “Are you alright, Dean?”
Dean hummed in response. His head hurt, making him tired, too tired to bother forming a verbal response.
Sam huffed a laugh. “C’mon, Dean, let’s get you in the car before you fall asleep on Cas.
Dean groaned, opening his eyes. Giving Cas’ shoulder one last nuzzle, he straightened and open the driver’s door.
“Uh, Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam stepped into the open doorway.
Dean frowned. Wasn’t it obvious? “I’m getting in the car. Like you said.” Did he say? Did I hallucinate that, too?
Sam snorted. “Dean you’re not driving.”
Dean didn’t bother stopping the whine. “Why not?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Cas, get him in the back.”
Strong arms wrapped around Dean’s chest, and he struggled in vain. He knew it was fruitless, but he wasn’t about to be back-seated without a fight.
He stopped when his thrashing made him hit his head on the edge of the back doorframe, which hurt like a mother fucker, made him dizzy and even more disoriented, his vision gray and swirly. It kind of reminded him, distantly, of that famous painting by some famous guy he doesn’t care about. He watched, far away from his body, as the colours swirled and mixed in a dizzying and beautiful array of...something. Dean’s mind was too stuffy for words.
When he finally slotted back into his body, he was thrown by the pain behind his eyes, causing air to hiss between his teeth.
“Dean? You with us?”
The gravel of Cas’ voice above him made his eyes blink open, and it took a fuzzy second to realise he was lying down in Cas’ lap, trembling beneath a blanket. It took another second to realise the car was moving.
“Dean?”
“Mm.” Dean frowned at another stab of pain. “M’head hurts.”
He was well aware he both looked and sounded like a child, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Cas smiled, and Dean felt his fingers beginning to card through his hair, slowly, like his mom used to. With each touch, the pain ebbed away, and every muscle beneath the warm blanket relaxed under the angel’s hoo-doo.
“Better?”
Again, too tired to bother with a verbal response, Dean simply hummed and let his eyes slip closed, leaning into the angel’s hand and slipping into a dreamless sleep.