Dean’s over-exaggerated imitation of the announcer from Mortal Kombat isn’t up to his usual standard, but he’s blaming that on the crazy amount of purple nurples currently sloshing their way through his system.
Like a washing machine.
Or a cement mixer.
Or one of those Slurpee machines.
The point is that he’s pretty fucking wasted, but he’s entitled to be. He’s a high school graduate now and technically an adult. In true adult-type fashion, he’s celebrating his new found freedom and responsibilities by hosting a party for the members of his graduating class that he doesn’t totally hate and – by proxy – encouraging underage drinking.
Not that any encouragement has been needed.
He slings an arm around the slim shoulders of his best friend under the pretense of camaraderie, when really it’s a preventative measure to stop himself from face-planting the floor, which is looking more and more likely with each passing second.
Cas barely notices; too busy with his current task, which involves downing shots like there’s no tomorrow – and there actually might not be if he carries on at this rate, ‘cause his blood-alcohol concentration must be at ‘holy-fuck-alcohol-poisoning-isn’t-just-a-scare-tactic’ levels, but he still seems sturdier on his feet than Dean.
The pair of them have already dominated at beer pong and Gonzo, and now Cas is well on his way to another victory as Benny – a quarterback, who is the only non-douche on the school team – struggles to keep up with the little nerdy dude who is a good fifty pounds lighter and deceptively fragile looking.
Cas is not fragile. Cas is a wolf in an argyle sweater.
And yeah, so admittedly, neither of them are the quintessential version of high school royalty – Dean plays up to his aloof, bad boy, rebel-without-a-cause reputation with utter abandon and Cas, well Cas is a nerd, but they’re Dean-and-Cas. Best of friends and they’re about as close as it gets without being blood.
Plain and simple.
Except there’s nothing plain or simple about Castiel Novak. Nothing from his perpetually messed up sex hair down to his ability to rattle off the capital cities of all fifty states without even pausing for breath.
He’s straight-laced and efficient, with a badass streak that totally didn’t (and still doesn’t) have Dean questioning his sexuality within seconds of their first encounter five years ago, when Cas put some asshole senior in his place with nothing more than words, spoken so casually and with such surgical-fucking-precision that Dean could do nothing but stare open-mouthed like a barely functioning moron.
Which is why it’s bittersweet that Cas is leaving for college to go be brilliant in California, whilst Dean is staying in Lawrence to become a full-time mechanic at Bobby’s place. Of course, Dean is proud of his best friend and wants him to be all that he can be, but there’s a worryingly large part of Dean that wants Cas to be all he can be right here with him. And he’s not just talking academically.
Still. Tonight is not about that. Tonight is about acting stupid and kicking back with people who they’ve struggled through adolescence with and Dean refuses to let anything get in the way of the victory that he can almost taste through his current mouthful of disgustingly cheap beer.
A crowd of twenty or so has gathered in a semi-circle around them; a pretty even-split cheering for each competitor over the dull thud of some pop song that Dean can’t even begin to care about. He suspects Jo is involved in the removal of his Warrant tape.
She’s never had much musical taste. REO Speedwagon, really? He’s pretty sure he heard Bobby mention that the first ever ‘compact disc’ (point proven right fuckin’ there) he bought was by REO Speedwagon.
Say no more.
Dean snorts in amusement just as Cas slams his upturned shot glass down onto the ornate mantelpiece – the final in a row of fourteen – and turns to look at Dean with cloudy blue eyes and a sloppy grin on his face.
Cas’s voice is already eerily similar to that of a lifetime smoker, so his Mortal Kombat impression is much nearer the mark and Dean can’t help his strangled laugh when his best friend growls out, “Fatality!”