#feat. dean

[inwire]

@qapsiel

There's a ghost at the end of the aisle.

Unlike the one from earlier, with all the wailing and glass breaking theatrics, this ghost is quiet, collected, and speaking softly to the passenger in the top shelf of his cart. Cue the stupid triple take, because he's had trouble with these sorts of wishful apparitions before. Dean only gets a backside view, too far to decipher a word of what the guy's saying, but it doesn't matter; he's got a dog-whistle level detection for that rumble. It's fucking Castiel, bet dollars to donuts, carted up in a grocery store in Who-Even-Cares, Washington.

And he's blocking the shaving cream. Last thing on Dean's list. What are the odds.

His feet are moving before he's got a real plan in place, too torn between relief Cas is even alive, abject fury he never considered phone call to say so, and the need to entertain the petty side of his brain that's kept track of precisely how long it's been since he was ditched on a friggin' playground to Heaven. Something must short circuit though, because of all the pithy one-liners he should have on deck, the best he can produce is a lousy, "Hiya Cas."

Anticlimactic, but he's still got a flag to plant somewhere. Dean unceremoniously dumps everything he's armed with into Castiel's basket — bread, eggs, and, now that he can finally reach it, knocks in a can of shaving cream — and asks, like he doesn't already have a sinking feeling about the answer, "Who's your friend?"

[inwire]

continued with @hidefire from here

he stops to stare at her, mouth drawn in a tight line. he's stayed quiet since it ended, not trusting what might come out while he's this pissed. mostly at himself. a little bit at her. a lot at the situation. one hard tug ties off the makeshift bandage, and he turns her forearm over in his hand.

"make a fist." nerve damage check. the knife went pretty fucking deep.

[inwire]

continued with @hidefire from here

"i get that. i do. but just hear me out, okay?" the guilt's been gnawing at him, but in person is so much worse. "it's not what you think." he doesn't actually know what she thinks, just realizes how fucked up this looks on his end. or any end. he doesn't have much time. "can i come in? just to talk. please."

[inwire]

continued with @hidefire from here

"yeah?" he sits up a little straighter, moves his beer to his knee, brain buzzing. "you'd, yeah?" and that's kinda genius, actually, and he's glad she brought it up first, because he wouldn't ask her to do it himself. great power great responsibility speech aside, there's no reason for her put her life in danger if she didn't have to. but hey, if she's willing.

"yeah. what the hell. you can come with me." a dumber part of his brain is just tickled, like and we can keep hanging out. "might be too scary for you, though. there's some fucked up shit out there."

[inwire]

continued with @hidefire from here

fuck, it's hot in here.

"i have no idea." out of the corner of his eye, a forgotten part of the candle set up rolls too close. he was going for romantic, landed on arson. it happens. he kicks it the rest of the way under the flames. "it just did that."

[inwire]

continued with @hidefire from here

in dean's hollow defense, he was under the impression this was going to be a shoot from the palms ordeal. or a verbal incantation thing. or in any way, a good idea.

he might be riding on shoddy intel.

he reels back in a stumble, clutching at the hand she just wasted and relying on adrenaline to ignore the ringing in his ears. beyond the topical pain, burns are fucking nauseating. incredulous, "bitch." and he moves a little smarter this time, aims a hard kick to the side of her knee.

[inwire]

continued with @fallenangelwings from here

"Alright, smart ass."

Bested by his own methods, Dean makes reluctant good on his promise — and throws in a head start for good measure. He claps one hand on Cas's shoulder and the other on the backrest to turn the whole chair parallel to the table. The over-under on the angel's ability to make it much further is looking pretty bleak, but some lessons are best learned the hard way.

"All clear for takeoff. Go ahead. Wherever you want." Does that sound facetious? It's 'cause he's being facetious. Dean steps to the side, both to block the lane to the motel room's door (not that'd make it that far) and to be ready to catch Cas's inevitable stumble. The sullen crumpled heap of him would be of greater concern if he weren't so aggressively against, you know, even attempting a human remedy. Wonder where he got the allergy to rest from. Dean will worry that bridge into the ground after they exhaust all other methods.

"I recommend the bed, but, hey. What do I know?"

[inwire]

continued with @hcpewings from here

Hands on his knees and almost nose deep in the dairy section, Dean's beginning to wonder how many different non-mammals you can argue count as a milk source. The butter selection is (somehow??) worse. Sam's chosen a hell of a time to get picky on creamer, and he's half convinced it's a goose chase.

"No, Cas," he sighs, deep and heavy and distracted. HIs eyes hurt from reading stupid labels. "Not a trap. Just a Walmart." Definitely still a hostile environment, but for reasons beyond what's set the angel on edge. He snags something that might say the right combination of frilly words to just be done with it. When he's back at full height, he shoots Castiel an apologetic look to explain, "They're pretty much all like this."

Bummer that it is they've taken this much time, he's still not folding on the insta-zapping thing. He drops the bottle into the top basket and redirects the buggy handle toward Cas's abdomen. "Besides, you can't fly, you're on cart duty. Get pushin'."