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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 11 months

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alcoholism fairies and bad decisions

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.

Maybe, maybe some other time.

#destiel #deancas #drunk dean #confessions #it's actually been a very long time since i posted anything on here but i posted it on ao3 and thought #hell why not #leave thoughts behind! <3 #supernatural #college au destiel #pride month writing challenge #long distance #shey writes

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