#you don't just stealth cuddle someone jesus

[isolavirtuosa]

Cass & Dean's Infinite and Beyond Playlist 6-10

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda / Sequel to Cass & Dean's Infinite Playlist

The one where Cass makes a Daddy Issues playlist.

Referenced songs playlist on Spotify.

Parts 6-10/26 under the cut. Previous parts here.

- 6 -

Sam and I had a tendency to end up at the other’s front door with a six-pack at fairly regular intervals.  This afternoon it happened to be Sam knocking on my door, and I was glad to have him.

“Where ya been, dickwad?” I asked, giving him a friendly slap on the back.

“Uh, down the street from you where I live?” he said, moving into the kitchen to get the brews on ice.

“Thanks for the geography lesson, Copernicus.”

Sam rolled his eyes at me, slouching against the kitchen counter.

“You want something to eat?” I asked.

“You cooking?”

“I could make some chili,” I offered.

Sam grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay, big brother will whip you up some chow,” I said, moving around the kitchen and gathering up the ingredients.

Sam cracked open a beer for each of us and set mine by the chopping board as I set to work.  “You’ve gotten so domesticated,” he mused at me.

“I’ve always cooked for you,” I said, waving it off.

“Yeah, but you didn’t always do it well,” he pointed out.

“Unappreciative much?” I grumbled.

“You know what I mean,” he said, not caring at all that he was wounding my very manly pride.  “I mean, once we were in the bunker you really came into your own, but this,” he said, gesturing to the extensive spice rack and the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling.  “You’ve gone all Julia Childs in here.”

“I would consider myself more of an Anthony Bourdain,” I commented, putting some olive oil in the pan and turning on the burner.

“Of course you would.”

“Shut up, bitch, I’m making you chili.”

Sam shrugged and took a swig of his beer.  “Appreciate it, jerk.”

“Go put a record on or something,” I said, my back to him as I worked my kitchen magic.

Sam disappeared into the living room.

I found myself humming Bad Moon Rising, until I was oh-so-rudely interrupted by Soul Meets Body blasting out of the living room.  “Dammit, Sam!”

“It was in your collection!” he shot back.

“Because of your bad influence!” I snapped, smacking my pan with the ladle harder than really necessary.  I was pretty sure there was no worse sound on this earth than Deathcab for Cutie.

“Hey, is it my fault that your angel got tired of all your mullet rock?”

“My angel loves mullet rock!”

He didn’t respond to that, but I could feel his smugness permeating the air.

I stomped over to the living, crossing my arms over my chest.

Sam was on the floor, surrounded by records as he sorted through them.

“Just so you know, every time Cass listens to this album he looks completely confused and keeps muttering to himself about how your taste in music friggin’ sucks,” I informed him smugly.

“Oh, yeah, that sounds like Cass,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, so maybe he says it in a more Cass-ish way, but the meaning is clear enough,” I relented.

“What does he say exactly, Dean?”

“He says, ‘does Sam not find this whinging tone grating on the eardrums?’” I said, doing my best eye squint and head tilt.

“Oh, kinda sounds like when he’s listening to metal and says, ‘how does Dean tolerate this affront to sound?’” Sam said, doing his own eye squint and head tilt.

I huffed at that.

Sam snorted.  “I mean, do we need to be taking criticism from a guy who listens to Britney Spears unironically?” he asked, holding up a Britney album.

That gave me pause for a moment, and then I felt my cheeks heating up for some inexplicable reason.  Maybe it was all the car dance parties Cass and I had been having lately.

My brother gave me a funny look, then tucked some of his Disney princess hair behind his ear and went back to flipping through albums.

I went back to my chili, grumbling about pussy emo music.

Dinner carried on with the same kind of relaxed bickering.  I finally got Sam to change the record, though how we ended up agreeing on listening to one of Bobby’s Kenny Rogers records, I didn’t know.

I was pleasantly buzzed.  We were talking about taking a drive up the coast, maybe with Eileen and Junior if they wanted to come.

“You should invite Cass, too,” Sam said casually.

And suddenly I just needed to know.  “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?” he asked, taking a pull from his beer.

I tried not to turn red and felt myself failing.  “About… me.”

Sam was now looking at me like I was crazy, which wasn’t really a new thing, but I hated that look when I was trying to actually be open with him.

“About me and Cass,” I sputtered out.

“What about you?” he asked, looking almost amused now.

“You don’t have to be a jackass,” I muttered, staring down at the table.

“Dean, I’m not…” he trailed off.  “What do you want to know?”

“I just said it,” I grumbled.

“How I knew about you and Cass?  What about you two?”

He wasn’t really going to make me say it.  “You just… you just looked at me and you knew.  And Charlie did the same thing.  And even Bobby.  And I don’t…” I trailed off, feeling shame start to coil in my belly even as I tried to fight it off.  “I mean, it’s not like anything really changed…  Just we’re… you know, and…”

“You’re in love,” Sam supplied softly.

“I… yeah,” I said, not minding that wording so much.  “But I’ve always loved him, ya know?  He’s Cass.  So nothing really changed, it just… shifted?  But you assholes all keep giving me these knowing looks like I… I don’t know, like the whole damn universe got flipped upside down…”

“Dean.”

I stopped and looked up at him.

“That night you came over, I looked at you, and it was like… some kind of tension had been released,” he explained.  “You looked… lighter.  Happier.  It was a good thing.”

“And why did you just assume that it was all due to Cass?”

“I didn’t,” he said.  “It wasn’t really about Cass.  It was about you, letting go.”

“Oh, okay, Elsa.”

Sam groaned.  “Dean, man, come on.  You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Please enlighten me.”

“Okay, then,” he said, like he was about to school me.  “You’ve always had this idea of what it means to be a man-”

“Samuel,” I growled.

“You asked a question, Dean.”

I sighed, stabbing my chili with my spoon.  “Yeah, all right.  Do your Dr. Phil thing.”

“Oh, like I can tell the great Dean Winchester anything.”

“Sammy.”

We exchanged some non-verbal communication, and Sam finally seemed to accept that I wasn’t trying to be a complete ass and was ready to at least attempt to listen.  “Look, the way Dad raised you was fucked up.”

“The way he raised us.”

“No, Dean,” Sam said with a shake of his head and rueful smile.  “You raised me.”

I flushed at that, feeling my own mouth twitch into a small answering smile.  “That why you’re such a damn hippie?  ’Cause I’m pretty sure I told ya a million friggin’ times to cut your hair.”

Sam just kept smiling at me, his eyes conveying all the shit that definitely never needed to be said out loud.

“Was there a point to all this?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “there was.”

I waited.

“I think there are a lot of things that held you back from being happy when you were alive,” he said, “and a big one was trying to live up to Dad’s stupid standards.”

“Dad wasn’t-”

“Dean.”

Even now there was always a defense of my father lingering at the tip of my tongue.  I let it die.

“You’re really… kind,” Sam said slowly.

I snorted at that.

“Yeah, dude, I know, it sounds crazy,” he said, giving me a lopsided grin.  “But… you are.  You… were.  When we were little.  You… you always…” he trailed off, his expression losing its lightness.  “I didn’t have a mother, Dean, but you… you always held my hand when we crossed the street, and read stories to me after you tucked me into bed, and kissed my friggin’ knees when I skinned them and…”

“Yeah, yeah, I was Mother Fuckin’ Teresa,” I muttered, wishing he wasn’t staring at me with those big doe eyes of his, all watery.

“You were,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making me want to sink under the table.  “You were so… kind, so gentle, so… sweet with me.  Not with anyone else, because you already knew…  It’s like Dad beat the kindness out of you, Dean.  He sharpened you into the hunter that you needed to be, but he… he took something away from you.  Something important.  And when I was still little you could… like be yourself for a few minutes while you were taking care of me.  You were so… soft, Dean, you were…”

“Jesus, Sammy,” I groaned, because if I wasn’t already dead this conversation would literally be killing me.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I need to say it,” he said stubbornly.  “I was the only person you could be yourself with, and then I turned into a moody adolescent and you stopped holding my hand, you stopped hugging me, you stopped… everything, because I wasn’t a little kid who needed your affection anymore, but you…

“So help me god if you say I was the one who needed the affection.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at me.

I rubbed my face with my hand, feeling exhausted just listening to him talk.  “So all this has to do with how you knew that Cass and I are fucking, why?”

“Dude!” Sam cried, giving me a mortified look

It took me a moment to rewind what I’d said.  Shoulda stuck with ‘boyfriends’, but I’d dug this hole for myself and I was going to own it.  I looked Sam dead in the eye, pushed my tongue against my cheek rhythmically, and mimed giving a blow job.

The sheer horror in my baby brother’s eyes made it all worth it.  “You are sick.”

“Are you gay-bashing me?” I asked innocently.

He kicked me under the table.

I kicked him back harder.

“You’re not getting out of this by being you!” Sam snapped at me, emphasizing his point with another kick.

“Eat your chili, Sam.”

“Not until I tell you what a kind, sweet, lovable person you are,” he growled at me.

I laughed at that and picked up my spoon, shoveling food into my mouth.  It was easier when he wasn’t being sincere.

Sam started eating again, too, but then he put his spoon down suddenly.  “I saw that in your eyes.  When you were sitting on the couch with Cass.  That person you’ve always hidden away.  The one who loves so deeply and doesn’t care what anyone, especially John Winchester, thinks about it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, and refused to look at him until all the chili was eaten and we were back to the mundane topics of our regularly scheduled sibling banter.

- 7 -

Cass was a cuddler, and his dedication to it was almost pathological.  He would climb into my bed in the dead of night, throwing the sheets aside and forcing my arms around him so he could lay his head on my chest and wrap himself around me.

The first time he did it, I woke up as soon as he touched the sheets, ready to fight.

“Hello, Dean, we are cuddling,” he informed me, snuggling into me.

“You don’t just… stealth cuddle someone, Jesus,” I complained, pulling my hand away from the gun that lucky for Cass wasn’t under my pillow anymore.  “Give a guy some warning, would ya?”

“But you looked so peaceful sleeping…”

“Do I seem peaceful now?” I growled at him, still half-asleep.

He just leaned up to kiss my cheek and then burrowed back into my chest like that was that.

And that was that.

I didn’t even wake up anymore when he came clamoring in.  After years of sleeping on a hair trigger, I could finally just sleep for as long as I wanted, as much as I wanted, as deep as I wanted, without always having to be ready to defend myself on a moment’s notice.

So it wasn’t a surprise when I went to bed by myself and woke up the next morning with an armful of Cass.

“Morning, angel,” I mumbled, aiming a kiss at the top of his head.

“Good morning, Charlie,” he deadpanned at me.

It took me a moment to wake up enough to understand the reference, then I cracked up.  “You Lucy Liu or Cameron Diaz?”

“Definitely Drew Barrymore,” he said.

I laughed harder.

Cass grinned up at me, looking all mussed and rumpled even though he hadn’t actually been sleeping.

“Love you,” I said sleepily, still laughing a little as I pecked him on the lips.

“I love you,” he replied, brimming with sincerity.  He always said it back, but never as a reflex.

“You stickin’ around for a while?”

“Yes, as long as John Bonham does not need my assistance in carrying out his duties today,” he said.

I’d stopped asking ‘the musician or the angel?’ after about the fiftieth time Cass mentioned some famous rock musician that he had business with, because it was always a damn angel that Jack had created and named.  It was my own fault, so I couldn’t really complain.  “Good,” I mumbled instead, closing my eyes and attempting to go back to sleep.

Cass’s stare was almost heavier than the physical weight of him lying on top of me.

I cracked an eye open, meeting his gaze.  “Could you… tone it down?”

His nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Haven’t you got better things to do than creep on me while I sleep?” I tried.

“No,” he replied, continuing to stare.

I rolled my eyes and pretended to be put out.

Cass just smiled at me.  “I like the way the morning light illuminates your features.”

“You are so corny,” I groaned.

“Says the corn-fed Kansas boy.”

I snorted at that.  “Yeah, Cass?  That what you’re into?”

“Corn-fed Kansas boys?” he asked, squinting at me.

I waggled my eyebrows at him.

“Well, there’s one I’d certainly like to get into,” he said, staring into my eyes pointedly.

All the air pushed out of my lungs and I had to look away from that unwavering gaze.

There were some things Cass and I didn’t do.

He laid his head back on my chest, one hand tracing up and down my forearm in a soothing repetitive motion.  “Do you want coffee?” he asked suddenly.

“Hm?” I said, realizing I’d been drifting back to sleep.  “Nah, not yet.”

“You want more snuggle time?” he asked, scratching his five o’clock shadow against my neck.

I was supposed to tell him that men did not ‘snuggle’, but instead I snorted and rubbed my cheek against his hair.  “Yeah, darlin’, that’d be alright.”

“Good, I also desire more snuggle time,” he informed me, rubbing that beard more insistently into me and peppering in a few kisses.

I couldn’t stop my fond smile.  I kissed the top of his head and cradled him closer.

Sam had it all wrong when he said I was ‘kind’, but I could kinda see how I was a bit… indulgent with Cass.  Making him a little happy after all the shit I’d put him through seemed like the least I could do.  So Dean Winchester indulged in a little morning cuddling.  And if Cass stared at me a little too long from a little too close, so be it.  I wasn’t gonna make an issue out of his weird pastimes.

He seemed perfectly content now, staring up at me and occasionally peppering my skin with kinda sexy kisses that didn’t have any intent behind them but still made me shiver.

I shifted a little, feeling his weight pinning me down.  “You’re like a weighted blanket,” I murmured sleepily.

A frown tugged at his lips.  “You hate weighted blankets.”

“Oh, Jesus, do you remember when Sam thought one would be nice gift for me?” I asked, snorting at the memory.  “I woke up in such a panic I shot a hole in the wall.”

“Yes, Dean, I recall the time you almost killed us all because of a weighted blanket.”

“It’s like someone holding you down, man, it’s super freaky.”

Cass rolled his eyes up at me.

“This would have never happened while I was alive, would it?” I mused, cupping his jaw.

“You allowing me to function as your weighted blanket?” he grumbled at me.

“Me liking the weight of you holding me down?” I countered, and then immediately flushed, biting my lip.

Cass’s expression relaxed and he pressed a small kiss to my thumb as it brushed by his lips.  “I’m glad that those fears no longer control you.”

I guided his face closer, needing a quick kiss to settle the weird tension in my belly.

Cass pressed his forehead to mine, gazing at me gently.  “Would you like your coffee now?”

I thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

“Okay,” he said, still lingering, still weighting me down.

I squeezed him tighter, then finally let go, feeling level.

“This time I am definitely going to make the coffee correctly,” he declared as he got up.

“Big words.”

Cass just flashed me a grin before wandering off towards the kitchen, inexplicably humming You’re the Inspiration.

I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and trying not to smile.

- 8 -

“I wanna see you completely drunk,” I decided, glaring at Cass over my whiskey glass.

“I don’t get completely drunk, Dean,” he replied from across the kitchen table, looking bored.

“That’s not true,” I said, squinting at him.  “Remember that time back in Blue Earth?”

Cass gave me a very unimpressed look.  “Oh, yes, the time we killed the Whore of Babylon after I realized my father had abandoned us so I proceeded to drink a liquor store.  What a nice memory to reminisce about.”

“The way you said ‘whore’,” I said, cracking up.

“Do I amuse you, Dean?” he asked with a glare, but there was no edge to it.

“Yep.”

“I do not intend to.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said with a grin, reaching across the table to loop our fingers together.

“Most of the things I say that you laugh at were not meant to be jokes.”

“Yeah, but you know what you’re doing.”

Cass got this strange, secretive smile on his face, and started tracing along my fingers.  “I actually haven’t seen you drink in a while.”

“Yeah,” I said, kinda mesmerized by the feel of his skin against mine.  “Just… feelin’ nostalgic or some shit.”

“Or some shit,” Cass repeated with a sage nod.  He continued tracing along my fingers, dipping between each one with such a feather-light touch that it was doing funny things to my stomach.

I took another sip of my whiskey, looking away from him.  “Hey, so on game night-”

“We do not talk about game night, Dean.”

I snorted.  “Okay, well then remember when you were human?  You went from the greatest of all time to a one beer queer.”

“Dean,” he said with that reprimanding tone of voice.

“What?” I asked.  “It’s true.”

“Dean,” he repeated, and now he straight up sounded disappointed.

“What?” I repeated in a tone that was definitely not a whine.  Without really wanting to, I let my eyes meet his again.

“We’ve talked about this,” he told me in his disappointed dad voice.

I gave him a blank look, because I honestly had no idea where we were going here.

“The homophobic language, Dean,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Homo… hey, now, I didn’t-”

“Dean.”

“It’s a saying!”

“Dean.”

“It is,” I said in a tone that was definitely not sulky.

“That’s not the point.”

“Well how can I be homophobic when we’re…” I trailed off, gesturing between us.

Cass proceeded to give me the most patented ‘bitch, please’ look I had ever witnessed in my life, and it left me struggling for words.

“I’m not homophobic!” I finally snapped, irritated.

“I know that,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Okay, then what’s the problem?”

“Did you mean it in a complimentary way?” he asked, still dragging his thumb along the shape of my fingers.

“Huh?” I said.

“When you called me a… ‘one’ ‘beer’ ‘queer’… was it complimentary?”

“Obviously not, it means you suck at drinking.”

“So you used that word to belittle me.”

I stayed quiet, not meeting his gaze.

“Dean?”

“I got it, Cass.”

He picked my hand up off of the table, pressing his lips to the back.

“Sorry,” I finally mumbled.

“It’s okay,” he said, setting my hand back on the table and curling our fingers together.

“I don’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

“It’s just… how I’ve always talked.”

“I know.”

“I don’t…” I floundered, before finally repeating, “I don’t mean anything by it.”

“I understand,” Cass said gently.  “I know your heart, Dean, I know how good and pure it is.  But you can’t continue to use the excuse of ignorance when you’ve been educated.”

“Sam’s lectures are not an education,” I muttered.

Cass rolled his eyes at me.

I taught him that, so I couldn’t be too mad.

In the living room, the record player started crackling.

Cass looked into my eyes for a moment, then carefully pulled his fingers away from mine with a lingering brush before going to re-set the record.

The opening strains of Hot Blooded filled the air, and then he was back, taking my hand in his again like he’d never left.

We both looked at each for what was probably too long.

“This song is highly inappropriate,” Cass finally said, breaking up the intensity of the moment.

“Dude.”

“‘Are you old enough?’” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s a legitimate question.”

“That a grown man would even consider sexual liaisons with a teenage female is so distasteful.”

“Not into age differences, Cass?”

He picked up on what I was implying immediately, leveling me with a glare.  “No,” he said, sounding more petulant than he probably intended.  “What I am saying is that a being that is fully developed mentally and sexually should be interested in other beings that are fully developed mentally and sexually.”

“Whatever you say, cradle robber,” I said with a shrug.

He looked flabbergasted, and it was hilarious.

“I mean, you’re getting all holier-than-thou over like a what, a twenty year age difference?” I asked.  “Our, you know, several millennia age difference didn’t seem like a problem for you when you took me to bed, huh?”

“That’s different,” he protested, turning an interesting shade of red.  “You are fully developed.”

“Really?” I asked.  “‘Dean, you’re behaving like a child,’” I mimicked him.

Cass squinted at me.  “So you’re saying you’re… ‘not’ ‘fully’ ‘developed’?”

“Yep,” I said, doubling down.  “Pedo,” I added for good measure.

He flat-out pouted at me, his bottom lip making a big showy display of sticking out.

“Baby, I’m just teasing you,” I laughed.

“Oh, so I’m the baby here?” he grumbled at me.

“Yeah, definitely,” I said.  “Just call me Daddy.”

“Okay, Daddy,” he deadpanned at me.

It took me a minute, and then I was laughing so hard my entire body was shaking with it.  “Jesus,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes with my unoccupied hand.  “You know exactly what you’re doing,” I accused him between wheezing laughs, recalling our earlier conversation.

Cass just shrugged, but I could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I love you so much,” I said, shaking my head and smiling.

Cass’s entire face lit up.  “I love you, too, Dean.”

Just a few simple words out of my mouth could make him so happy, and yet I was always denying that happiness to him.

Instead of dwelling on that thought, I picked up my whiskey and finished it off.  “Hey, remember that time Ellen and Jo tried to get you drunk?”

“‘Tried’ being the operative word.”

“We should go to Harvelle’s,” I said, getting enthusiastic about the idea.

“I highly doubt there is enough alcohol at the Roadhouse to fully intoxicate an angelic being.”

“You clearly have not been there recently.”

“If you believe there will be sufficient quantities to achieve what you are searching for, then I’m not opposed to giving it a try,” Cass said with a shrug.  “It would be nice to see Jo and Ellen.”

“Alright, it’s a date,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze.

He looked perplexed but pleased, and that was all I needed.

- 9 -

Somehow our date turned into a double date with Sam and Eileen riding in the back of Baby while the sounds of Cass’s carefully curated Songs That Will Be Played in the Car mixtape filled the speakers.

“I feel like you took the theme a little too damn literally,” I muttered as both Sam and Cass enthusiastically sang along to Fine Young Cannibals.

“She drives me crazy!” Sam warbled.

“Oh oh,” Cass replied, completely out of tune.

Eileen and I exchanged long-suffering looks through the mirror.

‘At least you can’t hear them,’ I mouthed at her, and maybe it was in poor taste to be jealous of Eileen’s deafness, but she smirked at me, so I was pretty sure she agreed.

“Oh thank god,” I muttered when the song changed to Queen’s I’m In Love With My Car.

“Dean’s theme song,” Sam said, cracking up.

“Shut up,” I said, giving him a glare in the mirror.

“Yes, that’s why I picked it,” Cass explained cheerfully.

“Don’t contribute to this,” I grumbled, giving him a half-hearted smack in the arm.

Cass gave me the most innocent look he could muster up, which was pretty damn angelic, but I was on to his game by now.

“I’m in love with my car!” Sam sang enthusiastically.  “Got a feel for my automobile!”

“Such a beautiful love song,” Eileen put in.

I shot her a look.

She winked at me.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure Roger Taylor fucked his car, yeah?” Sam mused.

“Sammy, how much did you pre-game before getting into my car?” I asked.

“Just a coupla beers…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or…” he trailed off, squinting at his fingers as though he were trying to count to a high number.

Eileen shook her head, touching Sam’s arm to get his attention and then signing something to him.

I still sucked at sign language, but the soft smile he gave her assured me whatever she was saying wasn’t for me.

“How does one have sexual relations with a car?” Cass mused.

“Dunno, ask Dean!” Sam declared, breaking away from his lovey-dovey gaze with Eileen to give me a shit-eating grin.

“Dude, like I would defile Baby like that,” I scoffed at him.

“So you do know how the mechanics of it work?” Cass asked, squinting at me.

“You can’t fuck a car, Cass,” I explained patiently.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Eileen commented.

Sam nodded his agreement.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” I asked incredulously.

“Dean called me ‘Baby’ the previous evening,” Cass put in out of nowhere.  “Do you think that I should read something into it?”

Sam sucked his teeth.  “Yeah, shit, Cass, man, that’s no good if he can no longer differentiate between his car and his boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, squinting at him through the mirror.  “And also, why are you telling them our personal business?” I chided Cass.

“It’s just Sam and Eileen,” Cass said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

The obnoxious twosome in the backseat were snickering at our little telenovela, and I realized it really wasn’t a big deal.  So I took one hand off the wheel to flip them off, then rested it between the seats and wiggled my fingers until Cass took the hint and laced his fingers with mine.

“Aw,” Eileen couldn’t help but utter.

I winked at her.

She gave me a soft, knowing smile.

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling, too.

Then Prince’s Little Red Corvette came on, and my stupid tipsy brother and my annoying angel boyfriend started singing as loudly as they could, and it just felt like the Impala was filled with… joy.

I held Cass’s hand tighter, and maybe I sang along, too.

- 10 -

The lights were all blazing when we pulled up to the Roadhouse.

“Full house,” Sam commented as he pushed his way out of the backseat.

I hesitated.

Cass gave me a head tilt.

“You ready to get drunk?” I asked, forcing a smile.

He stared at me.

“Come on,” I said, letting go of his hand and opening the door.

He followed me inside.

Sam and Eileen were already filling a couple of pitchers of beer at the bar.  The Roadhouse tended to be self-serve, as Ellen and Bill’s idea of heaven apparently wasn’t serving a bunch of old hunters drinks for the rest of eternity.

I looked around for the Harvelles, spotting them holding court at a corner table.

“Dean,” Bill said, sticking his hand out towards me.

“Bill,” I said, shaking it.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Ellen hummed, getting up from her seat to wrap me in a hug.

“Hi, Ellen.”

“Haven’t seen ya in a while.”

“Yeah, been kinda busy at home,” I said with a shrug.

Ellen arched an eyebrow at me, then turned to Cass, wrapping him in a hug.

Cass had gotten very good at returning hugs.  “It’s good to see you, Ellen,” he said warmly.

“So what brings the Winchesters here tonight?” she asked.

“We’re gonna get Cass drunk,” I informed her.

“Good luck with that,” Ellen said with a snort.  “Pretty sure there isn’t enough booze in heaven to get that one drunk.”

“Your previous attempt was valiant,” Cass offered.  “Dean wishes to re-create it, but slightly more effectively.”

“Well, Jo’s got some hard stuff stashed away in the back if you can drag her away from her game,” she said, nodding her head towards the back of the bar where the pool table was.

“I will keep you updated,” I said, and Ellen grinned at me as I took my leave.

Jo was lining up a shot, bent over the table with one eye closed.

“Don’t miss!” I yelled cheerfully as she moved the cue.

The cue ball clacked into the 5 ball, sending it rolling into the pocket.

“I never do,” she said, standing up slowly and flipping her long hair over her shoulder.

Had Jo always looked so…

I shook it off, offering her an easy smile.  “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

“Busy,” she replied, nodding her head towards the little fanclub of hunters who were waiting by the pool table to have their asses handed to them.

“Busy, sure.”

Jo scoffed at me and lined up her next shot, sinking it easily.  “If you just came over here to annoy me…”

“We’re gonna get Cass smashed,” I explained.

“Oh?” she asked, looking intrigued.  “Is that even possible?”

“Well, this one time at game night-” I began.

Cass shot a glare at me, making me grin.

“I’ve got some 190-proof Everclear in the back,” Jo said, waggling her eyebrows.

“So it’ll be like a shitty 90’s house party…” I reminisced.

“You are so old.”

I gaped at her, offended.

“Are you two done flirting?” Cass asked, squinting at me.

“We’re not-” we both started and stopped at the same time.

“I am going to join Sam now,” he stated, taking his leave.

Jo straightened up, looking between me and Cass’s retreating back.  “I’ll bring some shots over after I finish this game.”

I gave her a little nod of acknowledgement, already following after Cass.

“Dean Winchester!”

Apparently we were at Cheers.

“Hey, you old son of a bitch,” I said, pausing to exchange pleasantries with Caleb, followed by several other hunters who called out to me before finally making my way over to the table where Sam and Cass were sitting.

“You’re popular,” Sam commented, handing me a beer.

“Not as popular as your wife,” I said, nodding over to the bar where Eileen was surrounded by other hunters.

“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling fondly.

I rolled my eyes.

Cass rested his hand on my knee as he leaned into the arm I’d settled around his chair.

I startled, having not even realized I’d put it there.

He turned to me with a frown.  “Is this… okay?” he asked, quietly enough so only I could hear him over the din of the bar.

I hesitated, but then forced a smile.  “Yeah, of course.”

“Dean.”

“Of course,” I repeated with more sincerity.  “I’m just… it’s new.”

“You don’t have to push yourself.”

“I wanna push myself.”

Cass huffed out a smile, his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching up.

I felt myself smiling, too, briefly reaching up to cradle his cheek in my hand before going back to my beer.

Sam was giving me a look, so I chose to ignore him.

“You boys are in luck,” Jo said, bustling over to the table with a stack of glasses and some bottles tucked under her arm.  She lined up the shot glasses on the table, then started pouring from one of the bottles.  “This is the warm-up.”

“Jack Daniels?” I asked, picking up a shot and giving it a whiff.

“Coy Hill High Proof,” she said, pushing a shot to Sam, taking one for herself, and leaving the other five for Cass.  “About 140 proof, give or take.”

“Awesome,” I said.  “Down the hatch.”

Sam, Jo, and I all downed our shots.

Cass eyed us like he was cataloging something in his weird angel brain.

“Ya gotta drink ’em to get drunk,” I explained.

Cass gave me his patented ‘bitch, please’ look and proceeded to down the five shots in rapid succession.

We all cheered.

“Feeling anything?” Jo asked as she refilled the glasses.

“I am feeling like whiskey tastes like watery grain molecules and wondering why humans subject themselves to this nonsense,” Cass said with a shrug before downing the next five shots.

Jo cracked up and filled the glasses up again.

Eventually Eileen wandered back over to the table and we somehow ended up playing Quarters, everyone making Cass take a shot of Everclear every time they got the quarter in the cup.

This was all fine and good until it was Cass’s turn.  He never missed.

“Cass ish dishqualified,” Sam declared after one penalty drink too many.

“For what reason?” Cass asked, wrinkling his nose.

“For cheating,” he said solemnly.

“I am no cheater.”

“Using your angel mojo is totally cheating,” I said, grinning at him.

“How is that cheating?  It is a part of me.”

“Cheater,” Eileen put in.

“Dirty, dirty cheater,” Jo agreed.

“Filthy,” I smirked at him.

Cass glared at me, ignoring the rest of the rabble-rousers.  “I do not cheat.”

“Drink!” Eileen declared, pushing the bottle of Everclear over to him.

“Why do I have to drink?” Cass asked incredulously, finally looking away from me and over at Eileen.

“Drink!” she repeated.

“Drink!  Drink!  Drink!” Jo and Sam chanted.

“These are not the rules that we agreed to,” Cass grumbled, sullenly snatching the bottle and chugging.

We all erupted into cheers.

Cass finished the bottle and slammed it on the table.  “You are all behaving like children.”

I leaned in closer, letting my lips brush against his ear.  “Sorry, daddy, we’ll be good.”

Cass breathed out slowly, radiating pissed-off energy, but when he turned to meet my gaze, his look was pure sex.

I bit my lip, grinning at him and trying not to turn completely red.

He turned his face a bit more towards me so Eileen couldn’t read his lips as he mouthed, ‘the things I am going to do to you when we get home.’

The trying not to turn completely red thing went out the window, but it wasn’t so bad, being the recipient of the pure desire burning in Cass’s eyes.  “Babe, I think you might be a little drunk,” I pointed out, trying to laugh it off.

“No,” he said dismissively.  “You might be a little drunk.”

“I’m not… okay, yeah, maybe a little,” I agreed after a little self-reflection.  I was feeling loose and warm in a way that alcohol hadn’t really made me feel in years.

“Alright, new game,” Jo said, passing Cass an unopened bottle of absinthe.  “And if you don’t start dancing on the tables after this, I’m getting the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit.”

“Is that… safe?” Sam asked, looking perplexed.

“I am an angel of the Lord, Sam, your disinfectant products cannot harm me,” Cass explained.

“Oh, well then, bring on the isoproperr uh isopropro… rubbing alcohol,” he finally decided.

“After this game,” Jo said.  “So let’s play Never Have I Ever, and I’ll start.  Never have I ever… uh… had wings.”

“Am I expected to drink now?” Cass asked.

“Well, if you’ve ever had wings, then yep,” Jo said.

“Does it count if an angel was possessing your body?” Sam asked, scratching his head.

Jo turned to Eileen.

“Absolutely,” Eileen said.

Sam and I both gave her a look and took a drink from our beers.

“You’re next, Eileen,” Jo said, nodding towards her.

“Never have I ever been to Purgatory,” she said.

“We’re trying to get Cass drunk here,” I complained, taking a drink along with Sam and Cass.

“We can’t help it if you two do a lot of stupid things,” Jo pointed out.

“How is being possessed by an angel or going to purgatory us doing stupid things?” I demanded.

“Knowing you two, bad choices,” Jo said.

“Co-dependency,” Eileen added.

“Fuck you both very much,” I grumbled.  “Sammy, show them how it’s done.”

Sam grinned, his eyes drooping like he was about to fall asleep.  “Never have I ever been a girl.”

Eileen and Jo rolled their eyes and took a drink, followed by Cass.

Jo’s look turned to intrigued.

“I have occupied female vessels,” he explained to her.

“Wait, wait,” she said suddenly.  “Sam was totally possessed by Meg, so wouldn’t that make him a girl?”

“I was still in my body,” Sam protested.

“Yeah, but there was a girl in your body.”

“I would hardly call Meg a ‘girl’,” Cass mused.

“Okay, this is hurting my brain,” I complained.  “Though, yes, Samantha definitely-”

Cass stopped me from continuing by covering my mouth with his hand.

“Thank you, Castiel,” Jo said with a sigh.

“What?” I protested when I was free to speak again.

“No one wants to hear your misogynistic nonsense,” she said.

“How am I-”

Cass covered my mouth again.

I glared at him.

“Trust me, Dean, I’m helping you,” he informed me.  “Now, it is your turn.”

I made a face at him and then thought about it for a while.  “Never have I ever willingly dressed like a tax accountant for years.”

“Define ‘tax accountant’,” Cass said, gazing steadily into my eyes.

“Just drink, already, J.P. Morgan,” I replied, smirking.

He looked very unimpressed with my cleverness as he took a long swig of absinthe.  He set the bottle down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and declared, “it appears to be my turn.”

“Oh, this should be good,” I said, rolling my eyes.  Cass never understood how these things worked.

Except when he did.

“Never have I ever worn women’s pink satin panties,” he said, toying with the bottle in his hand and not even looking at me.

“You son of a bitch.”

Jo stopped with her beer halfway to her lips and burst out laughing.

Sam was looking at me like I was an alien.

Eileen eyed me up and down in a way that was very confusing.

“Dean?” Cass prodded.  “Aren’t you going to take a drink?”

“Goddamn traitorous fucking angels,” I muttered before taking a long drink and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Cass squeezed my knee gently under the table.

I could suddenly sense how insecure he felt, afraid that he’d gone too far.

Lucky for him, I was buzzed enough not to actually be angry about him revealing one of my deepest, darkest secrets.

“Nicely played, angel,” I conceded, letting my arm slide from the back of the chair to around his shoulders, pulling him a little closer.

The tension eased from him immediately, and he turned to give me a small, pleased smile.

“You’re gonna pay for that later, though,” I threatened.

“Oh?” he asked, his head tilting to the side but oozing smugness.

“Little shit,” I grumbled at him, then leaned in close to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Never have I ever…” Jo’s voice suddenly cut in to our little moment.  “…made a complete and utter spectacle of myself at the Roadhouse being all lovey-dovey with my boyfriend.”

Sam snorted.

I was mortified, pulling away from Cass.  Maybe I’d kinda sorta forgotten that we were in public.

Cass for his part just rolled his eyes and drank the rest of his bottle.

“You gotta drink, Dean,” Eileen pointed out.

I gave her a very sullen look and drank my beer, setting it down on the table with a little more force than necessary.  “We need some good music,” I decided, standing up abruptly and moving off towards the jukebox.

It felt like everyone in the bar was staring at me as I went.

After flipping through all the songs, Beautiful Loser seemed like the correct choice.

#isola cass & dean's infinite playlist #fanfiction #you don't just stealth cuddle someone jesus