Want Fries With That?

scones-and-texting-and-murder:

written for the @deancas-smolthings challenge with art by @cluelessakemi!

 (ao3) 3,124 words, rated T

Dean slapped his hand against the steering wheel. “How the hell did she get away?”

From the passenger seat, Cas sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “As I’ve said numerous times, I don’t know.”

“She was right there in front of you. You should’ve taken her out before she poofed out of sight.”

Cas pulled out his trusty air quotes. “The only reason she was ‘right in front of’ me is because you missed your shot when she was on the other side of the room.”

There was no denying that, but having the truth pointed out made Dean want to deny it even harder. “Yeah well…you know witches aren’t my thing,” he concluded lamely.

“What is your thing?” Cas muttered.

“You got something to say to me?” Dean took his eyes off the road for longer than was advisable to glare at Cas, who merely crossed his arms in front his chest and refused to take the bait.

“Watch the road.”

Just before the witch had disappeared, she’d lobbed something at them. As Dean was still making his way back toward Cas, she’d had to choose between the two of them and, perhaps in a moment of indecision, whatever curse or hex or nasty witch business she’d intended had landed somewhere in the middle. Maybe they’d both come into contact with a few sparks and wisps of smoke, but over an hour had passed since then and nothing untoward had happened.

Although, Dean considered, maybe this lingering irritability was a residual effect. Or maybe Cas was just really fucking annoying. He did have a tendency to act superior, flaunting his stupid millennia of life experience like it somehow made him smarter than Dean. And yeah, ok, in a lot of ways it did, but there were still some things Dean could teach him like…things. Things like how to be respectful of someone who was doing his best to not get their asses killed by a stupid witch, for one. Still itching for a fight, he glanced around the Impala, spying the empty bag left over from their trip to the drive thru. “And don’t leave your trash in my car,” he said, as if he were continuing a conversation they’d been having about it. After he’d been nice enough to stop for food, Cas had thanked him by pointing out his rude manners. All right, maybe he hadn’t said that exactly, but by saying that Dean was going to choke if he kept taking such large bites he might as well have. At least Dean could finish his food quickly and get them back on the road instead of dragging out a single meal the way Cas did.

Cas gave him a full-on eye roll. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of defiling your precious baby.”

I think we were hit by whatever the witch threw at us, Dean wanted to say. I think it’s why we’re both so crabby. Instead he found himself making a noise that sounded suspiciously like harumph.

They drove the rest of the way in chilly silence. They’d be back to the bunker soon. Sam was helping Claire with a case and wouldn’t be home until the following day which meant Dean could wash this clusterfuck of a day off of him and have some peace and quiet in his room. The thought of that respite was enough for him to swallow down his lingering irritation. Honestly, Dean deserved a medal for biting his tongue and not mentioning the many things Cas did that bugged him. Like leaving his coffee cup on the kitchen counter when the sink was right there, or never realizing that his tie was backwards so that Dean always had to turn it for him, or sitting there and never acknowledging that Dean had once called him devastatingly handsome, or…anyhow.  

He conveniently ended that train of thought as he pulled the Impala into the garage. It seemed that Cas had a similar plan to extract himself because he was reaching for the door handle before the car was fully stopped. Watching him move away so quickly made the irritation flare again.

“Hey, I said don’t leave your trash in the car.”

Filled with righteous outrage, Dean reached for the crumpled bag that lay in passenger footwell, just as Cas turned back to get it. When their hands brushed, there was a sudden loud crack followed by a flash of light, and they found themselves transported.

“What the—” Dean said, reaching for his weapon as he tried to get his bearings. Cas was immediately beside him, preparing for battle as well. They seemed to be in some sort of dark cavern or cave, everything black except for a craggy white cliff that extended over their heads. “Where are we?”

They waited, listening for any sign of imminent danger, but when nothing materialized, they began to take stock of their surroundings. The ground was was black and ridged, and while nothing natural seemed to grow anywhere, there was something oddly familiar about it. Maybe it was the scent filling the air, the scent of something delicious cooking. Dean peered into the darkness as Cas moved toward the base of the cliff. “I feel like I’ve been here before,” Dean said softly, not wanting to attract any attention their way.

“Dean,” Cas said. “I don’t think we’ve gone anywhere.”

Huffing a breath, Dean turned to face him. “Of course we have Cas. We were in the car and now we’re….” he trailed off as Cas pressed a hand to the cliff and it made the unmistakable sound of paper crinkling.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Moving out from under the “cliff” Dean could see that Cas was right. The angle was all wrong, but they were definitely still inside the Impala which was still definitely parked in the garage. But the two of them had been shrunken down to a size that left the seat towering above them.

“Let’s not panic,” Cas said, in that infuriatingly calm tone.

“Why would I panic, Cas? Just because that fucking witch turned us into shrinky dinks? We’re trapped here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Dean was definitely starting to panic.

“All true, but we’re safely in the bunker, which will keep us protected. And Sam will be home tomorrow, should this last.”

They were valid points and a good ones, but it didn’t stop Dean from sneering. “Fat lotta good that does us now.”

“Perhaps our phones still work.”

Silently, Dean pointed upwards where he could glimpse the shiny edge of his still full-sized phone high above them on the seat. Cas patted his own pockets. “I have mine.” He pulled it out and tapped on the screen. It looked perfectly scaled to size in his hand, and that caused Dean to turn his back on Cas and pat his own crotch as discreetly as he could. Ok, everything still seemed proportional at least. “However, it’s dead.”

Dean whirled back around. “How do you let your phone die?”

“How do you not have a charger in your car?”

“Ok, now is not the time for this discussion.” Ignoring Cas’s raised eyebrow, he asked. “What are we going to do?”

Cas plopped down onto the ground—er, floor mat. “It appears we wait.”

“That’s dumb,” Dean muttered, but he sat down as well.  

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