Destiel Oneshots

Pity Party (Dean)

Pre-canon AU

The sun had long ago faded and yet Dean continued to sit in the dark motel room, his heavy heart keeping him firmly in place. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, he just knew it was easier than moving. If he stood he'd have to face the truth; Sam wasn't coming. It had been foolish to think he would, but Dean couldn't stop himself from hoping. They would talk for hours. Dean would roll his eyes as Sam gushed to him about college, and tease him for being a nerd. Even if he secretly loved seeing his brother excited. In the morning they'd go out for Dean's birthday and eat too much pie then in the evening they would watch old movies on the motel tv and drink too much beer. It'd be as if Sam had never left.

But he had.

Dean fell back into his bed, head tilted so he could see the daisy that stood alone on his bedside table. He wasn't sure whether the hotel had left it or another guest, either way it didn't matter. The flower had long been forgotten. It's petals had grown brittle and become a faded beige, while the glass vase it sat in had taken on a similar colour, scratched and worn from neglect.

He wondered if it had been found in a field or a grocery store. Had it been chosen out of hundreds of other's, something about it drawing people in. Whatever had once existed was gone, the flower's head dropping down as if even it was aware of its own cruel fate. Dean almost pitied it.

He inhaled as his vision grew blurry, holding his breath until his lungs ached and exhaling was the only option. It didn't stop his nose from burning. He could feel it building up in his chest and he knew at that moment if he didn't move, if he didn't leave, he was going to break.

Dean grabbed his leather jacket, stuffing his wallet and keys into the pocket. He should've known better than to ask Sam to come back, even if it was just for a night. It'd been selfish. There was a reason Sam had left in the first place, there was a reason he had left Dean. But none of that mattered now, Dean was fine on his own.

The bar he stumbled into was not only old but falling apart, with creaky floorboards and more drunks than actual customers. One of the back corners was filled by a worn down pool table where a few men stood around, seeming more interested in their beer than the game. Dean gave them a second glance but took a seat at the bar and ordered himself a shot of whatever was cheapest.

The thought that maybe he shouldn't be drinking to solve his problems briefly crossed his mind, though Dean had long ago learned to shove it aside. In less than three hours it would be his birthday and he could celebrate however he wanted. Black out drunk and alone.

The story of Dean's life.

A second shot soon followed the first, then a bottle of beer joined his collection of empty glasses, and by the time he'd downed a third shot a hand was pressed to his upper back.

"Mind if I join the pity party?" A voice hummed in a thick french accent.

Dean glanced to his right, meeting the man's eyes for barely a second before he glanced down his body. Hot. He was hot as fuck, the white t-shirt he wore clinging to his body, making his bicep muscles evident. His jawline was sharp and when he looked at Dean it was with an easy smile that border lined cocky.

"One inspirational quote and I'll kick your ass," Dean said as the man sat next to him.

"Not ready to make lemonade?" He teased with a grin. When Dean rolled his eyes, the man smiled wider, and maybe if he didn't look so good Dean would have complained. "Mathéo," he continued, offering a hand.

"Dean," he replied.

Mathéo's hand was soft in his own and when he pulled away, the warmth lingered. "Another of whatever he's having and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for myself," Mathéo said to the bartender who quickly served them. His voice was smooth, the word 'Sauvignon Blanc' falling from his lips as if they had been made for him and only him.