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"Where the fuck are the pens?"
Sam places the hummus back down in the refrigerated section, too much garlic, and steers the cart towards where he can hear Dean griping. There aren't many people in the store that late at night, or more like early morning, but a few stragglers always find themselves attracted to warmth and light in the cold, pre dawn hours much like moths to a flame.
A couple of young women in their pajamas with a hand cart full of microwaveable meals prove to be the example that night. They're standing between the snack and alcohol aisles with owlishly wide eyes. He offers them a small smile. One smiles back, the other notices the blood stains on the collar of his shirt that disappears beneath his second layer. She grips her friend's arm tight enough to make her knuckles go white and Sam just pushes his cart past them.
"Battery operated? Why the fuck would it need batteries? Whatever happened to those wipes?"
Dean’s standing in the middle of the laundry aisle holding an off brand bleach pen and looking extremely offended by the empty box that once held Tide To Go pens. Next to them are bleach pens and others similar, but Dean’s picky and a stickler for brands he likes. He’s kind of a ‘this brand or bust’ kind of guy. If anyone asked Sam, any of them would do just fine on the bloodstains that peppers Dean's white shirt.
"Oxi-clean wipes? They were discontinued," Sam says patiently and adds a large bottle of bleach next to the bottles of vinegar he already has in the cart.
Dean hates the smell of bleach, but he will just have to deal until he gets it in his head that sheets come in colors other than white.
"Seriously? Is the world out to get me or something?" Dean continues to bitch.
Sam grabs laundry pods to add to the cart. Considering that those were what they really came here for since they didn't even have clean shirts to change into before leaving. So best not forget those.
"Should have thought of that before you bit so deep," he teases.
Sam's about to inspect a bottle of fabric softener when he feels a pinch to his right butt cheek, causing him to reflectively grab said cheek. Dean can move as silent as the wind when he wants to, but something tells Sam that he hadn't moved an inch from his spot in front of the stain remover. Which is about five feet away.
Exasperated, he looks up just in time to see Dean snatch his hand away from the little doll he keeps in his front pocket. His face is one of picture perfect innocence, green eyes wide and questioning as if he didn't have a clue why Sam is looking at him with such familiar disdain. The doll is also staring up with green tinted, black button eyes although Sam mostly just notices the fresh white thread sown in two little spots on it's neck.
"What?"
Before Sam could say what's what, the hairs on the back of his neck rises. He gets the feeling that someone is watching him and his suspicion is confirmed when Dean offers someone over his shoulder a slow, menacing, toothy grin. His elongated canines glint slightly and Sam hears the rushed shuffle of feet. He turns his head in time to see the flash of a blue uniform shirt, a shock of unruly dark hair, and the glint of a gold cross trailing behind as the poor guy runs out of sight.
"Will you stop messing with him?" Sam sighs.
Dean doesn't bother to feign innocence that time.
"Why? It's fun."
Shaking his head, Sam pushes the cart over to his brother, grabs a bleach pen, and adds it to the cart. He moves on, knowing that Dean will follow.
"Sam, you know I hate the smell of bleach! And it's not nearly as effective in getting out blood stains as it likes you to believe!"
"Come on. You said we needed more thread, right?"
"Yeah. Hey, did you get the hummus?"
"No, it has garlic in it."
"But not that much!"
"No."
"Dude, seriously? It's not like I'm trying to get you to eat Italian again. I admit that the garlic bread sticks had been a bad idea. What more do you want from me?"
"No Dean. Just... no."
When they had walked in there, there had been two cashiers at the regular checkout and one at customer services. They only see one now, manning checkout 13. He's wide eyed and looking a little betrayed, but it's a familiar look for the brothers to receive. It's the same guy who had seen Dean pinch 'mini Sam's' butt and watched Sam react. The same guy that always checks them out because he never thinks to find something else to do before everyone else disappears. Either that, or he is a masochist.
"Heya Cas!" Dean greets because he is a sadist.
From what Sam knows of him he is young, a college student that attends the nearby university. Sam and Dean don't look much older themselves, but they were far beyond their twenties. The guy though, Castiel as read on his shiny white name tag, was of the modern age, bright eyed and youthful, and obviously struggling with reality. Dean really doesn't help.
"Um... Hi. Did you... find everything you needed?"
Cas oggles the many bottles of stain remover and the small scattering of food stuff. Sam discovered early on that keeping his own garden was easier and more familiar no matter how much Dean complains about the taste of kale in his system ("Grass, Sam! All I'm tasting is grass!) so there isn't a lot of fruits or vegetables in the cart. Neither of them are that great at making bread and Sam likes his sandwiches. So just mostly lunch meat and loafs of bread and packages of cookies for when Dean gets a sweet tooth amid all of the cleaning supplies. And lube, of course.
"Not everything," Dean says suggestively, leaning towards the poor guy.
Dean still has blood stains on his collar, along with little flecks of blood that peppers his shirt down his front. He acts as if it is completely normal and not why Castiel startles back and grabs for the cross that hangs around his neck.
Sam smacks him on the arm with a hissed, "dude!" To Cas he says, "Yeah, we're good. Thank you."
Cas remains startled looking as he rings them up. He has the bluest eyes Sam's ever seen and he always finds himself drawn to them even if they're blood shot most of the time because he clearly doesn't get enough sleep. Dean says that he reeks of coffee, which for Dean and his own addiction, (also Sam's addiction) isn't a bad thing. Sam knows that Dean harbors a little crush over the college student. Sam does too, but he's far more subtle about it.
For instance, he doesn't drag cold, pale fingers over Cas's hand when grabbing the receipt. Cas freezes as if a chill had seeped down into his bones and Sam hits his brother again. His smile is a little more strained when he grabs their bags and shoves them into the cart. With one hand on the cart and one on his brother, he drags them away from the poor, overworked cashier.
"Why do you always have to do that? Not to mention, exposure? Or did you forget what happened last time?" Sam reprimands.
Dean's face grows dark and Sam suddenly has a harder time breathing. Dean's not squeezing the doll but he's holding it tight. Possessive and protective. He's pressing his other hand down on the amulet that Sam had given him to make sure that there isn't a next time.
Dean shakes his head and eases his grip. Sam feels the kiss Dean presses into the doll's head of brown yarn. The doll is tucked back into the pocket and the heavy air around him dissipates.
"No, of course not, but this guy is different. I dunno. He's interested, I know he is. Not to mention how he sees past the amulet and hasn't tried to stake me so that's got to mean something. Besides, you like him too, I can smell it, so don't give me that crap."
Sam merely rolls his eyes and heads to the car with their purchases. Dean doesn't say anything further until they're loading the trunk. Suddenly he curses as the last bag is going in and smacks the cart. It wheels away with more force than Dean usually intends but the lot is almost empty so they let it go.
"What's wrong?"
"Forgot the damn sunscreen," Dean complains.
"Make due with what we have left."
"Yeah. Fuck. Shit's expensive anyways."
Humming agreeably, Sam closes the trunk and then heads for the passenger side door. Dean's already got the engine going but he's looking over the receipt. His brows knit in a frown and when Sam leans over to look a guilty expression flits over Dean's face. Sam snatches the receipt to look for anything dangerous that Dean might have snuck into the cart. He doesn't see anything amiss.
"Okay, now what is it?"
There is a pause. Dean shifts and Sam waits him out. Dean usually only lasts about ten seconds. Sam gets to nine.
"I totally thought I managed to get the hummus by you..."
"I didn't see it in the cart. Huh, maybe Cas put it aside or something," Sam says and the idea brighten's his night.
Dean slumps in his seat and cranks up the radio to blast Sam's poor, offended ears with soft rock. To Sam's left he can see Cas flooded by light behind him at the all night super store's entry. His front is shrouded in shadow but Sam can make out the gleam of the headlights reflecting off of Cas's name tag and ocean blue eyes. Sam waves at him and is surprised when he gets a little wave back. Settling in his seat, be puts on his seat belt and smiles to himself. Who knows, maybe Dean's instincts are right for once.
