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"I found a liquor store."

"And?"

"And I drank it."

"Are you okay?"

"Don't ask stupid questions."

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"Hey, I think that's your phone."

Castiel swallows his shot and sets the glass upside down to complete his fourth row before looking over at the human next to him.

The man is slouched over his solitary drink, his hair in disarray, and is as unshaven as his own vessel. Castiel looks deeper, with what little powers he still has and sees the steady pulse of a loyal and good man. He doesn't look closer; does not want to follow the path of pain and sacrifice that has molded this man into someone that reminds him of Dean.

"I have been informed that it will go to voicemail," Castiel answers.

"Those aren't all yours, are they? You should be dead from alcohol poisoning." He doesn't sounds worried, but impressed.

Castiel tosses back his next shot smoothly in answer.

"I'm John," the man says with a short nod.

"My—friends," Castiel stumbles over the word, not because the alcohol is affecting him but because it is a word he is unaccustomed to using. "They call me Cas."

John says nothing for a long while as he imbibes his own alcohol.

Castiel completes another row.

He doesn't know how to deal with the pain of a Father that has deserted him, has deserted Creation, and he can only follow the only example he has.

Dean Winchester has taught him many things. Not all good.

"Hey," John interrupts his musings. "Slow down, would ya?"

Castiel feels a flare of annoyance that quickly burns itself out. Why should he feel aggravation towards someone that is only sincerely concerned? Is that not something that he's always felt was lacking from Humanity?

Further and further he falls.

Castiel stares at John. He sees the smaller details. The quirk of his mouth, the length of his limbs, the pain that tightens the skin around his eyes.

Eyes. Nothing like those of Dean Winchester. Green and brown and gold, yes. But utterly unalike.

Castiel takes another page out of the Winchester Gospel. "Would you like to engage in sexual congress with me?"

John's glass halts on its journey to his mouth. It's his turn to stare for a long silent moment.

Castiel can see that his body is reacting with arousal, however, and knows what the answer will be.

"Sure," John answers roughly. "What the hell."

Castiel follows him to a dark, back street. Their meeting is rough and quick. Messy and sloppy from too much drink. Impersonal.

Castiel has not fallen completely. He knows that the blue eyes John sees in his mind's eye are not those of his vessel. In the short moment of blinding white clarity that orgasm brings Castiel admits to his own imaginings before the aftermath leaves him feeling empty.

Castiel takes a moment to try and find some lingering sense of connection to John and fails. He withdraws.

"I must go."

John straightens. "Yeah, me too."