Dean doesn't normally mind the heat. He hates being cold, and always wears extra layers to ward off the chill. Today though, the South Dakota heat is killing him. It's a lazy making heat, the kind that seems to seep into your bones and steal away any energy, any drive, to do anything at all. He'd tried to sit in the house and watch some T.V., but Bobbys' living room didn't exactly have the best air flow. No air condition either, and if they ever bitched about it, Bobby'd just shrug and say, "S'my house. Don't like the heat, sleep through it. Works for me." Which is where the Winchesters' surrogate father was now, conked out in his room upstairs, happily snoozing through the hottest part of the day.
So Dean had fled the living room, seeking shelter on the porch, hoping against hope that there would be some sort of breeze. No such luck. Not even enough wind to kick up the dust in the salvage yard. Dean scanned the yard, watching the heat waves rolling off the abandoned hunks of metal and glass. Seeing these decrepit old cars made him glad he took such good care of his baby. He looked at the Impala, his pride and joy, and frowned. Pulled up almost to the porch, the black behemoth was barely recognizeable. Covered in dust, dead bugs splattered across the windshield, mud caked up around the wheel wells from when they'd left some poor fools farm house a few states over. His ride was in desperate need of a bath. Dean grinned. Now that's one way to cool down.
Dean thought about enlisting Sams aid, but the long-shanked Winchester had retreated up to the guest room with a small stack of library books earlier that afternoon. Sam could be a bit of a bitch if you interupted his reading, and the heat didn't help his temprament at all either. Dean flung his shirt on the porch. He kept his shoes on (one doesn't walk around barefoot in an auto yard, afterall) and thought about stealing a pair of Sams shorts, but decided against it.
Dean Winchester does not do shorts.
So, clad in blue jeans and a pair of cheap tenny's, he scrounged around for a bucket, soap, a giant sponge, some fluffy towels, and the garden hose. Bobby didn't have a garden, hadn't since before Karen passed away, but the hose was still functionable. Only a few duct tape patches, that is. Bringing the supplies back to the Impala, he set to work, singing ACDC's 'Back in Black' to himself as he worked.
He's got the car covered in suds and is scrubbing at a particularly thick patch of mud by the drivers side wheel, squatting down to get a better angle, when suddenly someones growls out, "Dean." from just behind him. Dean curses and clenches his hands, as he spins around to face the newcomer. His momentum, combined with the sudden pressure on the huge, sudsy sponge, causes him to fling a splash of soap bubbles and cold water in the offenders face.
Dean huffs out a quick sigh of frustration, but it turns into laughter as he sees the expression on Castiels face. Dean leans back against the soapy car, the cold water making the hot metal barely tolerable to the touch, as he watches the 'angel of the lord' wipe the bubbles off the side of his face. "Sorry Cas," Dean chuckles, "guess that's what you get for sneakin' up on a guy. Told you that was gonna get you in trouble one of these days."
Dean turns back to the stubborn mud spot, and asks, "So, what brings you to Sioux Falls?" He doesn't get an answer right away, but Dean's used to that by now. The angel is just collecting his thoughts, probably trying to think of the most awkward, innapropriate way to ask the question. He doesn't do it on purpose, Deans knows, but sometimes the angel of Thursday couldn't be more awkward if he tried. Castiel frowns at Dean via his reflection in the hub cap, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly shuts it again. His brow pinches together in a bit of a scowl as Dean gets up and goes to grab the hose to rinse the car.
"It appears that I have forgotten. I was not expecting cleaning chemicals to the face as a way of greeting." Castiel growls out, and Dean can't help but think that the guy always sounds like he hasn't spoken in a week, like his vocal cords don't really know what to do with themselves. Dean leans down next to the porch and cranks the hose nozzel a few times for good water pressure, before turning back to the car. "Yeah, well, heat'll do that to ya. Get back, this is gonna spray everywhere." Dean spares a glance at the angel as he turns the hose on the Impala, the gushing water chasing the suds down the side of the car.
Castiel still has a huge stripe of bubbles on his shoulder, and only wiped way the bubbles obscuring his vision on his face. Dean grins as a wicked idea forms in his mind. "So hey, Cas, buddy, want some help with those bubbles?" He gestures with his arm not holding the hose at the bubbles coating the front of the angels trenchcoat. How he's not cooking alive in that coat, in this heat, Dean is sure he doesn't want to know. Castiel tilts his head to the side just slightly, a confused frown on his face. "Dean. I am a warrior of God. I have slain more demons than you have freckles on your face. I am more than capable of vanquishing a few bub..." He's interupted by a blast of water to the face, as Dean gleefully sprays him with the hose. It's not the most polite way to help a guy out, but hey, you don't messs with a mans freckles.
"Dean!" Castiel sputters, the force of the water on his face making it hard to form words. he backs away from the Impala, his hands up, trying to shield himeslf from the onslaught of cold water. "Dean, what are you.. " Dean cackles a slightly evil laugh as he pursues the confused angel around the car, flipping the hose up over her hood. The water makes a loud, hollow smacking sound as it sprays against the angels trenchcoat, Dean doing his damndest to soak the angel completely. His own jeans soaked from a hole in the hose that had shaken off its duct tape prison, Dean stumbled a little bit, taking his eyes off the angel for just a moment. That was all it took, as suddenly, Dean was soaked in a deluge of ice cold, soapy water. With no other hose to make use of, Castiel had retaliated in the only way he could; he'd dumped the soap bucket on Deans head.
The oldest Winchester howled, dropping the hose as he tackled the angel of the lord to the ground, right into a large puddle created from the dripping Impala. They wrestled in the ensueing mud, Castiel silent but struggling with fighting an opponent he meant absolutely no harm to, and Dean cursing Castiel through his laughter. The angel had no idea what sort of reaction was expected of him, but he was rather enjoying himself; Dean very rarely indulged his inner child, and it was a side of the human that Castiel was not used to seeing.
Sam stomped out onto the porch to a strange sight. The Impala covered in bubbles, and a pair of grown men, wrestling in the mud like young boys. Dean appeared to have the upper hand, having pinned Castiel's left arm to the ground, while his right arm beat futilely at Dean with a soaked sponge. Sam grinned, before hollering at them, "Guys, seriously? Keep it down, I'm trying to read! All this yelling..." Sams words froze in his mouth as he panicked. Dean, big brother that he was, was so not going to let Sam miss out on this fun. So when he abrubtly ceased his assault on Castiel and charged the front deck, Sam had only a moments thought to toss the book in the house before his soaking wet and muddy brother tackled him off the porch.
Sam may be well over six feet tall, but Dean was no pipsqueek, and his slight frame held a lot of muscle. Dean rushed Sam off the porch, grappling him back towards the Impala, who had a fresh layer of mud now from the nearby wrestling. Castiel was still trying to detangle himself from his trenchcoat to stand when he suddenly had a behemoth of a Sam thrown into the mud pool with him. A pool it was too, as they haddn't turned the hose off, and it had been happily pouring water all over the drive.
As Sam, fully clothed, was flung into the mud, he landed on a still crouching angel, and the two went down with a splash. Dean snatched up the hose and gleefully sprayed them both from behind the shelter of the Impalas hood. "Sam," Castiel said, his mirth and frustration at Dean tainting his usually calm tone, "Go left." and with that, he flung himself up and over the hood of the car, landing next to Dean, who had turned to run towards the trunk of the Chevy. He was met with a large, very muddy, very smiley younger brother. The hose was yanked from his hand from behind by Castiel, and Dean cursed as Sam pulled his arms around his back, turning him to face the muddy Angel. He tried to slip out of Sams grasp, but shirtless and slicked with dirt though he was, Dean had no chance against his younger, but considerably taller brother.
Castiels face lit up with an eager grin as he turned the hose on Dean, who took the brunt of the water, as Sam was using him as a meat shield. The water pounded into his chest as he hollered, the icy water feeling extra cold in the abnormally hot weather. "Cas! Dammit, Sammy let me go! I swear, I am gonna..." but whatever he was going to do was cut off in a gurgle as Castiel, laughing, sprayed him full in the mouth with the hose. Sam laughed, loud and long, as Dean struggled to escape the torrent of water, but Castiel was relentless.
"BOYS!"
All three of them, both brothers and the angel of the lord, froze. Their eyes shot up to the window to Bobby's room, up on the second floor. Castiel dropped the hose and tucked his hands behind his back, trying to regain his composure, as Dean and Sam hopped away from eachother, slapping on their most innocent, it-wasn't-me faces. Bobby was not impressed.
"The lot of you better clear out! Take your 'charlies angels car wash' off my yard, and let me get some sleep! Idjits!" Bobby slammed his window shut, hard enough to make the next window over rattle, and the boys sprung into action. Sam turned off the hose, Dean reached for the cleaning supplies, both moving as silently as possible, squelching tenny's and all. As soon as Castiel judged the situation clear, he took his revenge. Grabbing both Winchesters by the collar, he made the mental jump it took to move them to another place.
And dropped them headfirst into the nearby Alvin Lake.