Dean Winchester was a 100% sure that this plan was terrible. He had been back at the bunker, in fact, when Sam had explained to him what the yearly Festival of Love was--after hacking into the "members only" section of the website. Photographs from previous events made it blatantly clear that there was a whole lot of sex going on, and so Dean had grabbed for the nearest phone and started calling up hunters, trying to find someone - anyone - that they knew who belonged to the other gender.
Long story short, he hadn't been able to find anyone to call in to help. He'd spent all of five seconds staring at Sam, telepathically communicating with him over the fact that obviously he wouldn't be the one going with Dean to scope the place out. That meant they only had one option. Dean swore.
Sam was the one who called Cas. And he was the one who booked the stupidly expensive couples ticket (singles had sold out). Which meant all Dean needed to do is drive out to pick Cas up, carrying on to Georgia with him, and not saying a damn word the entire way.
In the meantime, Dean was sulking.
He pulled up beside the guarded gate of the extravagant mansion, tensing in his chair as the security man with the sub-machine gun came over to check them out. Dean rolled down the window, his shoulders up around his ears, passing out the printed out ticket when prompted.
Gross. He felt gross. "You boys have fun now." Super gross.
The gilded gates opened, and Dean pulled the Impala through, following up the long driveway. A variety of expensive vehicles were parked around the mansion, and Dean tried not to feel too self conscious as he pulled the Impala in between a Porsche and an Aston Martin.
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ramblingman) wrote2017-02-16 07:16 pm
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Long story short, he hadn't been able to find anyone to call in to help. He'd spent all of five seconds staring at Sam, telepathically communicating with him over the fact that obviously he wouldn't be the one going with Dean to scope the place out. That meant they only had one option. Dean swore.
Sam was the one who called Cas. And he was the one who booked the stupidly expensive couples ticket (singles had sold out). Which meant all Dean needed to do is drive out to pick Cas up, carrying on to Georgia with him, and not saying a damn word the entire way.
In the meantime, Dean was sulking.
He pulled up beside the guarded gate of the extravagant mansion, tensing in his chair as the security man with the sub-machine gun came over to check them out. Dean rolled down the window, his shoulders up around his ears, passing out the printed out ticket when prompted.
Gross. He felt gross. "You boys have fun now." Super gross.
The gilded gates opened, and Dean pulled the Impala through, following up the long driveway. A variety of expensive vehicles were parked around the mansion, and Dean tried not to feel too self conscious as he pulled the Impala in between a Porsche and an Aston Martin.
"Awesome. My favorite kind of people."