Waiting for Superman

an: So i posted this over on ao3 a few months ago. I'm posting it over here in an attempt to have all my stories on both sites. Enjoy!

‟Ow! Sonofabitch!″

Sam looked up to see his brother hopping up an down on one foot, attempting to look at the bottom of the other.

‟What?″ Sam asked.

Dean didn't answer, just continued shouting profanities and trying to not fall over. ‟Mother fucking piece of stupid shit fuck hell.″

He's fine, Sam thought with a smirk. ‟Dean!″ he tried again. ‟What?″

‟This grass is fucking filled with stickers!″

After Sam managed to regain control of his facial features, he said, ‟Well, no offense, man, but that's kind of what you get thinking you can just go walking around without shoes on.″

‟You know I like to feel the ground under my bare feet.″

Sam laughed. ‟Yeah, alright, Pocahontas.″

‟Dammit, Sam,″ Dean growled. ‟Not helping.″ He put his foot not quite all the way down and winced. ‟Well?″ he said, looking at Sam. ‟Aren't you gonna come help me?″

Sam gave his brother an incredulous expression. ‟What do you mean? You want me to get stickers in my clothes to rescue you? No chance. You got yourself in there, you can get yourself out.″

‟Sam.″ Dean gave his best I'm-your-big-brother-you-have-to-do-what-I-say look that he'd been working on since he was six.

Sam just raised an eyebrow.

Sensing defeat, Dean sighed. ‟Please,″ he said, at what appeared to be an immense sacrifice.

Sam watched his brother squirm for a moment, and greatly favoring the right foot. He overbalanced a bit and had to windmill his arms a bit in order to stay upright.

‟Why don't you just call Cas? I'm sure he'd love to help you.″

Dean leveled a glare on him. ‟I'm not calling Cas to help me out of a sticker patch. He's an angel – a crazy angel, admittedly – but an angel. I'm sure he's got better - ‟

‟Hello, Dean.″

Dean jumped about a foot in the air, slipped and started to go down, flailing wildly. Quicker than a flash, Castiel, clad in his usual white scrubs and trenchcoat, grabbed Dean around the middle to stop him from falling. He stood him upright, keeping his hands on Dean's shoulders. ‟Are you alright?″ he said in his deep rumble of a voice.

Dean winced again, as he put his foot back on solid ground.

‟What's wrong?″ Cas asked, all crazy suddenly non-existent. Sam narrowed his eyes.

After an overtly long bout of staring, Dean finally answered. ‟Stickers.″

Cas tilted his head. Sam rolled his eyes.

‟In the grass,″ Dean clarified.

Cas looked down, and then back up to Dean's face. ‟Where are your shoes?″ he asked. Sam snorted. Dean glared.

Cas nodded gravely, and, when Dean wasn't looking, bent down and picked Dean up bridal style. Dean, not knowing what was coming, screeched like a pterodactyl and narrowly missed socking Cas in the face as he scrambled for purchase.

Sam almost lost it. He only barely managed to hold in his unmanly laughter as he watched what happened next.

Dean, having finally figured out what was happening, went bright red, freckles standing out gloriously, as he clung to the trenchcoat collar. He looked at Cas holding him up off the ground, and said, ‟Dude, you could at least act like this is costing you some effort.″

And, in a stroke of awesome, Cas just smiled, making Dean flush even redder.

Sam let out a snort.

‟Shut up, Sam!″

‟Yeah, alright, Lois Lane.″