Who? Dean & Castiel What? Drinking, talking, and bitchiness. Where? A bar. When? Eveningish. Rating? Not low, but not terrifying.
Dean wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was supposed to expect to come of this meeting, other than being really drunk surprisingly early in the evening. He’d turned his phone off - hoping to avoid the problem that seemed to come with having it on and getting drunk, since the last thing he needed right now was Mom finding out he still wasn’t ‘taking this seriously’ - but he had no idea how long it would stay off for if he kept heading in this direction.
This direction being a very pleasant fuzzy glow of drunkenness.
He probably could have - should have, even - waited to be drinking anything stronger than a couple of beers until the angel got there and started throwing all kinds of deep and stupid stuff at his head... hopefully proverbially, but with the way the guy had been acting over the network, Dean wouldn’t really be surprised if he had to duck flying objects, or was smited instantly. Angels were apparently really, really bitchy, sometimes. Like, almost rivaling Sam’s bitchiness. Almost. Sam had a natural talent for bitchy that not even angels could hope to beat.
So yeah. He was heading towards drunk at a reasonable speed, corner booth with his back to the wall and he’d begun contemplating not even bothering with the glass he had in front of him, it wasn’t like he couldn’t drink straight from the bottle since he’d paid for it, didn’t plan on sharing this one, at least, but he didn’t know if that was ‘respectable’ enough. He didn’t know if he cared, but until he figured that out he’d just keep using the glass. Gave him something to do, at least, other than watching the door, pouring the whiskey, drinking it, pouring more.
Which wasn’t very interesting at all, and he kept finding himself watching other people or staring at the bottle or the glass in his hand or the saltshaker he was spinning between his fingers, contemplating dumping on the table just in case when he happened to glance up and see the trenchcoat-clad angel entering. He waved a hand at one of the waitresses, ordering a new bottle, ‘cause he figured that was the polite thing to do when he was totally not going to share his, but made no sign to tell Castiel where he was. He was pretty sure the angel would be able to find him.