#screw the fate of the world i just wanna see some goddamn hide n seek #i mean wat
Dean has to slap a hand over his mouth to hold in hysterical giggles.
If someone had told him 24 hours previously that he’d be running around a mostly-empty Wal-Mart at 3am hiding from an angel of the Lord whose marbles were scrambled because of taking on his brother’s mental issues leftover from being a resident of Hell for 100 years… Well, he’d have called them more crazy than said angel.
If someone had told him he’d be having this much fun, he probably would’ve said “Christo” and tossed holy water in their faces.
He’s not entirely sure how Cas talked him into it. He’d played Sorry, sure, but had managed to neatly avoid any of the other games Cas kept trying to talk him into for the last few weeks. He may have started slipping with regards to stonewalling the dude when Cas started playing I Spy around the cabin and Dean had found himself barking out, “I spy someone who needs to shut his damn mouth,” and Cas had gleefully raised his own hand.
Somewhere along the line, he found himself playing these games non-ironically. So when Cas had suggested that Hide-n-Seek was the perfect way to prepare for an infiltration scheme, and Sam had said, “We need some stuff we can get from Wal-Mart anyway,” with a pointed look at Dean, he’d caved. They’d driven over to the closest mega-store off the interstate, list in hand.
And Sam, the traitor, had clapped Dean on the shoulder and yelled, “You’re it!” and ran for the safety of the sporting goods section. Cas, puzzled, had remarked, “I believe Sam is confused; we aren’t playing tag,” and Dean had taken a deep, steadying breath, and stepped through the large automatic double-doors as though a firing squad waited on the other side.
Cas followed, no more out of place in his hospital scrubs and tan coat than were the dozens of regular nighttime denizens of this discount 24-hour hell. ”I will count to 20, as I believe that is customary,” Cas said; and for a moment, Dean balked. He had to press his anger down before he yelled out his fury over their situation, over Cas’s mental instability, over Sam’s barely-restrained anger, his own frustration and loss. He pressed it down, and by the time Cas got to nine, Dean had headed off in the direction of Toys & Games.
That was roughly an hour ago.
There’ve been six close calls already this round, and when Dean ducks his head around the men’s dressing rooms, he finds Cas staring back across the aisle, less than 20 feet away. Cas’s face brightens and he begins striding resolutely forward. Dean flails for a moment, feeling like Wile E. Coyote running over a canyon edge and hovering in midair, before he gets his feet under him and tears off across Menswear, passing a bewildered couple with a cart full of beer and underwear. It’s hardly the strangest thing he’s seen.
He ducks down a side aisle, coming up on a dead end at Shoes.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, and slides as quietly as possible to the end of the section, eyeing a small opening at the end of the Clearance Shoes where he could - maybe - tuck his body in tight on the shelf. How is this my life, he thinks, before clapping his hand over his mouth to hold in laughter and ducking his head down to floor-level to check for oncoming white sneakers.
In two days, he and Cas will be stranded in Purgatory. In two days, he’ll think back to how much fun this impromptu bout of insanity was, how freeing it felt for just a little while to indulge his friend’s childishness. In three days, when he and Cas are lying in a field, bloody, trying to catch their breath, he’ll think, Hide and Seek really was a good strategy.
He’ll lean over, still trying to catch his breath, and steal Cas’s with his lips.
Tag, you’re it, he’ll think.
THANK YOU *u*