Bruce Waynechester and Hallo-wings [destiel]

Bruce Waynechester and Hallo-wings

“Seriously, is every kid here dressed up as Superman?” Dean muttered to himself as the boy whose arm he’d just grabbed ran away, casting Dean a strange look over his shoulder before turning, his red cape swishing behind him. Dean ran a hand through his short, spiked hair, scanning the faces of everyone on the street one more time. That was the third thirteen-year-old he’d confronted in an attempt to find his own brother, who’d slipped away when Dean wasn’t paying attention.

Now he was standing in the middle of the road, panicked and feeling like an absolute idiot in his tight Batman costume (complete with the yellow belt and black mask). He spun around one more time, yelled, “Sam! This isn’t funny!” then swore, loud enough for a mother and her little Elsa to hear. The woman shot Dean a disapproving look before ushering her daughter away.

Just his freaking luck...he’d lost his brother...their dad was going to kill him. He pressed his clenched fist to his dry lips and tried not to think about what John Winchester was going to say when he found out...he tried not to think about the last time Sam went missing, and what John had done when he came home to only one son...

Eyes stinging- probably from the memory, but he blamed it on the freezing weather- Dean whipped his phone out from his pocket and swiped to the emergency dial screen, then punched in the number of one of the only people he knew who could help.

God must have been watching in that moment, because the phone was picked up on the first ring, and a familiar voice said, “Dean?”

“Cas! Thank God. Listen, I need your help. I’ve lost Sam,” Dean said, his words coming out fast, panicked. Calm down, calm down…

“You what?” Castiel, his closest friend, asked, incredulous. Dean could practically hear him shaking his head through the phone.

“I can’t find Sam anywhere, he’s just disappeared- I’m freaking out, man, when my dad finds out, he’s gonna-” he cut himself off, realizing he basically almost just accidentally admitted that his father has hurt him in the past.

Thankfully, Cas didn’t comment on it. “You’ve tried calling him?”

Dean pressed his palm to his forehead. “Yes, of course I’ve tried calling him! I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Cas answered gently. “I’ll be over in five.”

Exhaling slightly in relief, Dean said, “Thanks, Cas. I owe you.”

“No,” Cas said, his tone adamant, “you don’t owe me anything. This is an emergency, and I’m here to help.”

“Okay. Okay, thanks.”

“Five minutes,” Cas repeated before hanging up. Dean lowered his phone, his stomach doing a million flips. He wiped his sweaty palms on his charcoal leggings (he refused to call them tights, though he wasn’t sure leggings was really any better) and started to look for Sam again.

He headed to the front of the neighborhood to meet Cas, noticing how numb his toes and fingers were. It was a freezing cold night, and his breaths floated in front of him in ghostly wisps. Tucking his hands underneath his arms, he called out, “Sam!” but, not to his surprise, he received no answer.

Young kids raced by him, a whirlwind of colors and screams of joy, and he felt his heart warm up a little, remembering the good days, when he and Sam would run around with their heavy bags of candy, pushing each other out of the way at the doors of neighbors….

The sound of an engine made him turn, and then a silver car (Dean had often commented on how is was such a horrible vehicle, but Cas had always ignored him) pulled up in the grass next to him. The window rolled down to reveal said teenage boy, all dark hair and bright blue eyes, a white halo held up by a wire above his head.