Destiel

Chapter 2

His eyes shot open. Alone, he knew he was supposed to be alone because Sam was off "running errands," though Dean knew he was most likely at the bar. He had been acting extra strange since he had gotten back from that Hell prison with the Devil, but then again he knew Sammy had just become more like himself. That was definitely another noise in the kitchen and Dean sat up quickly but quietly, biting his still healing split lip to make sure this was not a dream. Nope, definitely not a dream he thought in the same moment that he reached under his pillow to pull out the silver knife from its sheath, the one he had dipped in holy water. As quietly as possible he slid out from under the one sheet on the bed, the comforter strewn off to the side and he walked on near tip toes to be as quiet as he could on the laminate floor. He could see that the kitchen light was on through the crack he had left in the door to the room with two double beds, and he squinted in to the light to see what waited for him. He saw nothing. Whatever was in that room was to the left, near the cabinets but away from the refrigerator, most likely on the other side of the sink.

He put two fingers on the cold plastic of the door, opening the door slowly for about two inches before throwing it open, knife in hand at the ready.

Castiel looked up at him almost hopefully, and then his eyes turned to worry as he saw Dean standing there in boxers with knife at the ready. Dean was just as shocked at seeing Castiel in his kitchen, especially with a bottle of whiskey on the table and two differently sized water glasses beside it.

Neither seemed to know what to say. Hi? Hello? Long time no see? Glad to see you're healing well? How were they supposed to approach this after not seeing each other for nearly two weeks after Castiel had beaten Dean black and blue.

"What the hell Cas?!" he grunted, voice more scratchy than normal from just waking. He lowered the knife.

Castiel shrugged and tried to put on a smile like he'd seen humans do. "I want to apologize." He was hopeful Dean would accept his apology.

"Apologize?" He glanced at the glasses on the table and the bottle of whiskey, but was confused because Castiel didn't tend to apologize for things he actually had meant to do.

Castiel was at a loss of words for a moment, but before he could get out the words Dean interrupted him, "So you bring me booze?" Dean look confused and almost disgusted, brow furrowed. Castiel noted that his nose was back in place.

"I thought you like it." His words innocent, his tone curious as to why the gift didn't seem sufficient. Was it the wrong bottle, Castiel wondered? It was most likely one of those social subtlety things Castiel never understood, one of those things humans didn't verbally say but everyone agreed upon.

Dean percived the almost heartbroken face of Castiel, and put the knife down on the table. "I usually take my Whiskey from plastic bottles," He walked past Castiel to get two brandy tossers, "But a glass bottle will do." He poured out two fingers of the whiskey after taking the bottle from Castiel's hand, then added a bit more to his glass in silence.

Castiel picked up his glass and sniffed the dark liquid, and scrunched his nose at how it reeked. Fermented rye had never smelled good to him, and why humans would ingest it in such copious quantities was beyond him. But it was the same color as Dean's hair, and it had been at eye level in the liquor store so he had thought it was the best bottle to take.

"Cheers." Dean took a sip from his cup and tasted the smooth warmth he usually only got form bars.

Castiel took a sip and after swallowing, he stuck out his tongue, groaning, "You drink this?"