fyi, I'm drunk

[longsufferingly]

synergic told me to.


Castiel is sitting on the hotel room couch with a box of tissues in one hand and box of chocolates in the other, watching Lifetime.

"Uh," says Sam.

"Cas?" Dean tries.

Castiel sniffs, meaningfully.

"What do we do?" Sam hisses at Dean.

"Do you know why I ship Sam/Dean?" asks Castiel.

"What does ship mean?"

"Uh. Sam and Dean. Together?" Sam tries.

"Dude, you want us to fuck?" asks Dean.

"Why do you keep hitting on him?" asks Sam.

"He is not," says Dean.

"I am," Castiel admits. "Because of my love of my own brother."

"You know what we need?" says Dean brightly. "Shots."

"Gabriel! I always followed in his footsteps."

"We have to go," says Sam.

"It's like the poet said," says Castiel, "we're falling apart, from the way that we used to be."

"Backstreet Boys are not poets," Dean points out.

"You listen to the Backstreet Boys?" asks Sam.

"Shut up."

"I believe in you two," says Castiel earnestly. "I believe in your love, as I never could believe in Gabriel and my love. No matter how earth-moving the sex was."

"Oh hell," says Dean.

"Oh god," says Sam.

"Humans say every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings," says Castiel mournfully. "That's not true. But every time there's an earthquake? An angel is getting played."

"Laid," says Sam, with a pained expression.

"Fucked in the ass," says Castiel.

"Shots," says Dean, insistently.

"He doesn't love me anymore!" Castiel wails.

"Huh," says Sam. "He does emote."

"You two must love each other," says Castiel earnestly. "We have to prove that the incestuous love between two brothers can survive the apocalypse and save the world."

"Yeah," says Dean, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "We'll get right on that."