sexyglances:

lol remember when this seemed awesome?

………and then the kiss montage happened.

jpierrepontcriss:

deductism:

jennyruffalo:

#omg can i have a fic where cas will only cooperate with dean if he promises to play one round of hide and go seek #and dean reluctantly says yes and winds up having a lot of fun

“You can’t be serious,” Dean mutters under his breath, lips tightening in annoyance.

“I’m very serious,” Castiel nods, eerie smile spreading across his face.

Dean stares hard at the table, a tick in his jaw. He’s weighing up the options in his head, though he already knows his answer.

“Alright, fine, whatever.” He stands up, pointedly ignoring Cas’s little clap of glee. 

“You’re counting,” Castiel says, storming towards Dean with two raised fingers. 

“Woah,” Dean steps back, “Wait a minute. If you walk outside like that, they’re gonna take you straight back to the loony bin. You’re changing.” Dean eyes up Cas’s outfit - trenchcoat and white pajamas - and then turns to search through his bag for a spare t-shirt.

When he turns back around, Castiel is already stripping. Dean’s eyebrows rise up and he clears his throat, staring at a spot on the wall.

“Here,” he thrusts out his hand whilst continuing to observe a spot of mould, and waits until the rustling stops before he turns. Castiel is standing in the center of the room, AC/DC t-shirt sagging over his small frame. 

Cas steps forwards, presses two fingers to Dean’s head, and they’re in Wallmart. 

“Count,” Castiel says it so plainly and yet it sends a jolt of nostalgia through Dean. It’s eerily similar to the tone he had used multiple times during their first few meetings.

When Dean blinks, he’s gone.

-

It takes a while to find him, and of course, when he does, it’s because Castiel isn’t even trying to hide.

He’s preoccupied with a shelf of chocolate popsicles when Dean approaches him, exasperated expression plastered across his face.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be-“

It takes a few seconds to register and Dean can’t help but stare, dumbfounded, as Castiel starts to run. Confused, Dean starts to chase him. They wind through the shelves, Cas throwing playful grins over his shoulder and Dean still trying to grasp that he was chasing an angel of the lord through Wallmart. 

Dean sees his opening when Cas swerves out of the way of an old lady. He lunges, grabs the trench coat, swings Cas round and presses him up against a nearby column.

They stand, panting, Dean’s fists in the lapels of the trench coat and Castiel grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You got me,” he says breathlessly. Dean’s jaw is clenched and he’s about to snap at him, when reality hits. This isn’t the Cas he can knock around anymore. It’s not the Cas he can just snap at and have a retort thrown right back.

This is the Cas he can hurt with words alone.

So he loosens his grip and he takes in this new Cas, takes in his wide smile and bright, lively blue eyes, and then he swallows. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, thumb brushing gently over the material beneath it, “I got you.”

“Is this the part where you give me a dream, with rainbows and rolling green hills?”
—  “I was drunk when I told you that.”