(This more mentions the prompt than is built around it. Hope that's okay.:) As always, apologies for an typos I've missed.)
Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd stopped on the drive back from the brothel to pick up a fifth of whiskey, the really good stuff, hoping they could keep at least that much of the party going but it seemed like he'd barely touched the bed before he was out cold. It took a second to remember where he was when he opened his eyes to the dark motel room, the whiskey bottle sitting untouched and unopened on the nightstand. He checked the time and saw they still had a little over four hours till dawn, a huge relief; in that first moment of waking he'd been afraid that Cas might have decided to let him sleep and just gone after Raphael by himself.
But he hadn't; from the bed Dean could see him sitting at the table in the motel's pitiful excuse for a kitchenette, the moonlight streaming through the window casting long shadows around him. He had his elbows resting on the table and his face in his hands, his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed. Dean didn't think he'd ever poured as much of himself into anything as Cas was putting into that prayer; his whole body was turned to it, every ounce of his energy going into those silent words. It made Dean uncomfortable to see Cas like this, like he was spying on something private. Not that Dean didn't still try to lip read the words, of course.
Castiel stopped abruptly, letting out a long, shaking sigh. "What if God doesn't want me to win, Dean?"
Dean felt dumb for even thinking that Cas wouldn't know he was awake. "C'mon. Why would he bring you back if he wasn't on your side?"
Castiel's lips twisted into a scowl. "Perhaps He believes I haven't been punished thoroughly enough."
Dean sighed. "Get over here, Cas. You make me tired just looking at you."
Castiel came over and sat on the bed as Dean opened up the whiskey bottle. "Hey," Dean said, shoving the bottle into his hands. "Drink up. You'll feel better." Cas gave the bottle a dubious look. "Trust me, that's practically the best stuff you can buy."
Castiel gave a little shrug and downed the bottle in one long chug, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He blinked, first at the bottle, then at Dean. "My head feels odd."
"Yeah, I bet," Dean said, taking back the empty bottle. Dean knew he'd be on his ass if he'd even thought about drinking that much that fast. "You could've left me some," he said, although honestly, he was still more impressed than annoyed.
"My apologies." Castiel waved his hand over the bottle and it refilled; when Dean knocked back a swallow he thought it actually might be even higher-grade stuff than before.
"Dude," he said, savoring the burn as the whiskey went down, "that is hands down my favorite use of your mojo ever."
"There's a story I heard once," Cas said, downing another swallow before handing the bottle back to Dean, "that the makers of spirits call what's lost to evaporation the 'angel's share.' That it would be seen as an offering to ensure the quality of the rest."
"That true?" Dean took his swallow and handed the bottle back to Cas for his turn. "All of you just sweeping down and drinking our booze?"
"If it is I haven't been getting my share," Castiel groused, sounding wronged enough that Dean chuckled.
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Whiskey On Your Breath 1/3 (Dean/Cas, 5.03 missing scene)
Date: 2011-10-03 06:27 am (UTC)Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd stopped on the drive back from the brothel to pick up a fifth of whiskey, the really good stuff, hoping they could keep at least that much of the party going but it seemed like he'd barely touched the bed before he was out cold. It took a second to remember where he was when he opened his eyes to the dark motel room, the whiskey bottle sitting untouched and unopened on the nightstand. He checked the time and saw they still had a little over four hours till dawn, a huge relief; in that first moment of waking he'd been afraid that Cas might have decided to let him sleep and just gone after Raphael by himself.
But he hadn't; from the bed Dean could see him sitting at the table in the motel's pitiful excuse for a kitchenette, the moonlight streaming through the window casting long shadows around him. He had his elbows resting on the table and his face in his hands, his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed. Dean didn't think he'd ever poured as much of himself into anything as Cas was putting into that prayer; his whole body was turned to it, every ounce of his energy going into those silent words. It made Dean uncomfortable to see Cas like this, like he was spying on something private. Not that Dean didn't still try to lip read the words, of course.
Castiel stopped abruptly, letting out a long, shaking sigh. "What if God doesn't want me to win, Dean?"
Dean felt dumb for even thinking that Cas wouldn't know he was awake. "C'mon. Why would he bring you back if he wasn't on your side?"
Castiel's lips twisted into a scowl. "Perhaps He believes I haven't been punished thoroughly enough."
Dean sighed. "Get over here, Cas. You make me tired just looking at you."
Castiel came over and sat on the bed as Dean opened up the whiskey bottle. "Hey," Dean said, shoving the bottle into his hands. "Drink up. You'll feel better." Cas gave the bottle a dubious look. "Trust me, that's practically the best stuff you can buy."
Castiel gave a little shrug and downed the bottle in one long chug, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He blinked, first at the bottle, then at Dean. "My head feels odd."
"Yeah, I bet," Dean said, taking back the empty bottle. Dean knew he'd be on his ass if he'd even thought about drinking that much that fast. "You could've left me some," he said, although honestly, he was still more impressed than annoyed.
"My apologies." Castiel waved his hand over the bottle and it refilled; when Dean knocked back a swallow he thought it actually might be even higher-grade stuff than before.
"Dude," he said, savoring the burn as the whiskey went down, "that is hands down my favorite use of your mojo ever."
"There's a story I heard once," Cas said, downing another swallow before handing the bottle back to Dean, "that the makers of spirits call what's lost to evaporation the 'angel's share.' That it would be seen as an offering to ensure the quality of the rest."
"That true?" Dean took his swallow and handed the bottle back to Cas for his turn. "All of you just sweeping down and drinking our booze?"
"If it is I haven't been getting my share," Castiel groused, sounding wronged enough that Dean chuckled.