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Afterparty

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When Dean wakes up there's a knee in his face. Or maybe under his face would be a better description. It's not exactly comfortable and he has no idea how he'd managed to sleep on it. Or be unconscious on it, at least. He doesn't have a damn clue whose knee it is. This isn't the kind of position he feels like he can make a confident identification in. He knows it's not his own knee. Which is something. Also, it's a dude. That's as far as his deductive skills go right now.

Someone's laying on him, someone heavy, and there's a strange, slippery sensation across the back of his calf that feels like hair.

Which makes it three people, three people other than him - and just like that the previous night streams out in his head, a helpful torrent of images, flickerbook fast.

Well shit.

A lot of things seem like a good idea after you take down an Elder God. Still half full of adrenaline, disbelief, and a lazy curl of so-fucking-glad-to-be-alive lust, coming on the back of it. It was easy to do something stupid. A lot of things can be excused by that. But he's pretty sure this is pushing it, even for them.

Dean figures maybe when it actually sinks in that he has two angels, and his brother, in bed with him, his head may very well explode. He waits for it, just in case.

The morning continues to drag on, someone's vacuuming in the distance. It's all so fucking normal...aside from the naked angels.

Dean's lingering suspicion that he's going to be struck by lightning for at least twelve of the things he did last night, continues. Though it occurs to him that it might actually be Gabriel's job to do the lightning flinging. Which isn't going to happen, since he's currently - Dean does a little reconnaissance by twisting his head around - sprawled over Dean's back, and the Archangel is heavier than his ridiculous vessel suggests.

Dean has no idea what the punishment is for fucking the Archangel Gabriel.

"2000 Hail Mary's," Gabriel murmurs into his neck, sounding not the slightest bit sleepy at all.

"Oh, God," Sam says, from somewhere in the vicinity of Dean's leg. Dean reassures himself that he can react better to unexpected foursomes than Sam. Or maybe just react more quietly. Either way it's a win for him. Sure he could be freaking out about the whole thing. But it's not going to change anything, and he isn't actually freaked out.

Dean's woken up in some fucking awful places. So very much worse than this.

The knee under Dean's head moves, and he's forced to find a new limb to lay on.

"Oh, God," Sam says again.

"You said that already, repeatedly, if I remember correctly," Gabriel says, and his voice is still vibrating through Dean's back, a rumble of sarcasm and smugness. Dean should probably shake him off, but he's pretty sure he remembers how to shut him up now, which soothes his annoyance a little.

"I thought angels didn't sleep?" he says quietly.

"We took out an Elder God, I think we're owed a nap." There's pressure, and a shift of skin, and Dean's pretty sure Gabriel has no intention of moving, now he's awake. "Though I'm not going to complain about the afterparty."

"Is no one going to say anything about this?" Sam asks carefully from the end of the bed, quiet, more confused than anything.

Dean thinks maybe he's worried they've all been brainwashed. Which hadn't even occurred to Dean. Because, yeah, Gabriel can't talk without innuendo, Castiel has gone above and beyond for the both of them, and Dean isn't exactly known for turning down opportunities to get drunk and work out his issues with people.

Sam...Dean's been pretty sure that being fucked into insensibility can't be anything but good for him. Yeah, and he's damn sure Sam wasn't complaining last night. Though Dean lives in the same glass house, so he can't exactly throw stones.

"Wake me when Sam's done with his freakout," he says, to no one in particular. But there are fingers in his hair, cautious but firm, and he has to tilt his head back. Castiel's hair is an absolute wreck, though his face still looks at Dean with the same calm, curious attention as it always does. Which is pretty fucked up, considering Dean now knows that he looks nothing like that when he comes. That his expression just falls to fucking pieces. Dean wants to kiss him, thinks that he can now, that he's allowed, maybe - and Castiel blinks, and then smiles, just a little, like he can hear what he's thinking.

He probably can. Sleeping with mind readers is going to be fucking interesting. And apparently Dean's brain seems to have decided this isn't one-time thing.

God, he needs food to process this.

"I'm not moving," he grumbles into the pillow he's managed to drag down from somewhere. "Someone get breakfast."