[Castiel grumbles, but he also can't deny that Dean's hands squeezing his shoulders feels like a sliver of divinity, in spite of the way the rest of him aches all over. He definitely recognizes his own words being used against him, which, he supposes, is only fair.
Still, that acknowledgment doesn't stop him from instinctively raising his right hand, forming it into the universal, human gesture for 'fuck off' in Dean's general direction.] You know me. A style icon.
[His voice is as rough as the rest of him, and Castiel hates how worn out he sounds. He supposes this is the price he pays for indulging.] Do hangovers ever get any less awful? How do you deal with them?
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Still, that acknowledgment doesn't stop him from instinctively raising his right hand, forming it into the universal, human gesture for 'fuck off' in Dean's general direction.] You know me. A style icon.
[His voice is as rough as the rest of him, and Castiel hates how worn out he sounds. He supposes this is the price he pays for indulging.] Do hangovers ever get any less awful? How do you deal with them?