Dec 5, Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Misty Mountain Hop Title: Misty Mountain Hop Fandom: Supernatural Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel Rating/Warnings: Teen/mention of illegal substances Disclaimer:here Prompt:this picture Summary: Going undercover as Santas had possibly not been Dean's best idea ever. A/N: Title is once again a Led Zeppelin song.
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“Dean, I've lost my beard,” Castiel said in the same matter-of-fact tone he'd used to announce that the cops were coming.
“Well, don't turn around! Can't have them recognizing you,” Dean bit out as they ran.
“I do understand that. Why do you think I am … running in this ridiculous costume instead of making a more efficient escape?”
Honestly, if not for the legion of winged dicks it would bring down on them, Dean would be all for Cas just zapping them out of there, clueless local law enforcement be damned. There was no case here, after all. They just had to make it to the meeting point with Sam and blow town. Assuming they didn't just collapse from heat exhaustion running in these stupid Santa outfits. Well, assuming Dean didn't. Cas probably didn't need to actually use his mojo to keep from melting.
Two more turns through the snowy park (and Dean did not almost wipe out on that last one, thank you very much, though he wasn't exactly complaining about Cas' steadying hand on his elbow), and there was the Impala, Sam at the wheel and Tracker peering out the back window.
Once he and Cas had jumped in, Sam spun the wheels and got them out of there. Dean would complain about his driving except he still didn't have his breath back.
“So, not demons?” Sam asked once they'd put the town a few miles behind them.
“Only in the most metaphorical use of the word,” Cas agreed.
Dean turned to shoot him a glare that was almost completely ruined when he saw Tracker squirm his way from Cas' lap into the Santa coat, poking his nose out just under the angel's chin. That was just … yeah, he had nothing but a goofy grin for that. Cas should really take a good look in the mirror, though.
Turning back to Sam, he said, “One very drunk department store Santa and his dysfunctional elves. Definitely not our thing.”
“And you pissed the cops off how?”
Dean winced.
“The flower vendor in the park was apparently selling substandard cuttings,” Cas replied. “I still do not understand why the police were so concerned. Many of the most decorative flowers are technically 'weeds.'”
“Yeah, you ditched that bag along with the flowers, right?” Dean asked.
“Yes, I discarded it in a proper receptacle, so we did not even litter.” Cas still looked confused.
“Good. Just … good.” Not that he had a huge problem with the stuff, but something about the idea of Cas messing around with it gave him the jeebs.
“Um, why were you buying flowers, anyway, Cas?” Sam asked, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Do. Not. Answer. That.” Dean glared at Sam. “Shut up.”
Cas, thank goodness, didn't answer.
“Yeah, okay. Where to next then?”
“We got no case, nowhere to be.” Dean shrugged. “Let's go home.”
He snuck a look in the back seat. Tracker had climbed back out of Cas' Santa coat and was curled up in his lap as Cas petted him. Dean couldn't help but smile again. Yeah, definitely looking forward to going home.