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Dean's not a baby. He's not a whiner or a wimp or a princess or any of the names Sam called him in the course of that 20-minute phone call. How dare Sam. How dare he. Just because a regular workout isn't good enough for Sam anymore doesn't mean he needs to drag Dean into whatever ridiculous trend he's obsessed with right now.
First it was the Crossfit, then it was the rock climbing. Next came the barefoot running, which was weird enough, but a mud run? Really?
"But Dean, it's fun. There are a bunch of obstacles, and it's only a 10K. You could do that."
Yes, he could. Dean can run. He chooses not to. He ran regularly when he was trying to get hired with the fire department. He got the job and now, as far as he's concerned, he never has to run recreationally again. There's pretty much no way Sam could con him into doing this.
"There's free beer if you finish."
Ugh. Fine.
---
This is how, a month later, Dean finds himself standing at the starting line next to his gargantuan brother in a ratty old pair of Nikes. The race is being held on a farm, and there's the distinct odor of pig shit in the air. Ahh, sanitary. Dean glances around at the crowd. It's almost entirely young, fit athletic types, and suddenly Dean feels a little too aware of the little bit of pudge he's carrying around his middle. He sighs and looks up at Sam, who's wearing what he would probably call his game face. His expression falters when he sees Dean, and he offers him an encouraging smile. Just as Dean opens his mouth to let Sam know exactly how much he owes his brother for this fun activity of brotherly bonding, a whistle is blown and the crowd starts moving, heading out into the trees. It's alright. He can totally do this. He just has to keep up with Sam... who has loped off like a damn gazelle, bounding to the front of the pack. It's that goddamn ridiculous stride length of his. It's okay though, no problem. Gritting his teeth, Dean just keeps moving and tries to enjoy the scenery.
He's about a half mile in when he spots the first obstacle. It's just some small plywood hurdles. Heh, no problem. There's not even any mud. He's got this, easy as pie. In fact, he's earned himself some pie after this run. He easily leaps the hurdles and keeps running, weighing the pros and cons of each local diner and whether to get apple or cherry.
Next up is basically just a muddy puddle. His shoes get a little gross, and one particularly deep step squelches mud up to his ankle, ugh. Still, it doesn't slow him down. He heads up a little slope and feels himself getting winded. How long is 10K, anyway?
As he comes up to a setup of giant tractor tires, the other runners start to duck and climb through the tires. Sizing up the obstacle to see which tires to climb through, he catches a particularly nice view of a muscular backside disappearing through a tire. The guy's wearing short-shorts and ridiculous argyle knee socks on his tanned legs. The owner of that ass and legs, who has a shaggy crop of dark hair, jogs on ahead right as Dean pulls himself through the last part of the obstacle. Ah well, at least the view is good. He thinks of Sam's jolly green giant ass having to crawl through the tires and the thought buoys him along to the next obstacle.
He rounds the corner and sees a sign. “Swamp”. Okay, some more mud, no big deal. Even some of the really athletic runners are floundering though, some actually struggling against the mud. He leaps his first step into it and oh god, it's disgusting. It's thick, squelchy mud that runs into his socks and shoes. Still, if he just keeps moving then it's not so bad. It gets deeper with each step, until he's up to his knees. The squelching is more and more powerful, sucking his shoes down. Suddenly he's having flashbacks to every episode of Tarzan and all the crappy pulp adventure shows he watched as a kid, the heroes facing certain death in a quicksand pit, while the villain watches on and laughs. The villain in this mental replay looks an awful lot like Sam Winchester, maybe with a sinister mustache. On his next step, his shoe sinks in deep and he loses his balance, flailing his arms out on the way down for something to grab a hold of. He grabs onto something and pulls hard, but he can't stop himself from faceplanting into the mud.
“What the fuck?!” someone yells, but it's not Dean. He raises his head from the muck and looks at his hand, which still has a death grip on what is now a significantly muddier argyle sock. Great. He had apparently grabbed the guy in front of him, none other than the dude with the fine ass, and dragged him down too. The guy whips his head around and whoa, fixes Dean with a piercing glare that's probably supposed to be intimidating but is honestly just sexy as hell. The guy's got mud basically up to his neck and smeared into his hair, but that doesn't stop him from being one of the most attractive men Dean has seen, ever. A little dumbstruck from both the fall and the mud on the guy's cheekbones, Dean barely manages a “sorry, man” before righting himself and staggering through the rest of the swamp.
God, he can feel the mud caked in his bellybutton. This is horrible. It pretty much could not get worse. He slows a bit as he sees the runners milling around in front of the next obstacle. It isn't until he gets up close that he sees what it is. Two long 2x4s are laid next to each other to function as a sort of bridge over a sizable puddle of filthy water. So what, Dean's expected to tightrope walk across these? Are you kidding? The drop is only maybe five feet, but this obstacle was not on the website or Dean would've told Sam to shove it and never would've signed up. There's no way around it. Tentatively he places his foot a couple inches out on the boards. He can do this. He's a couple steps out when he feels the boards start to shake under his weight. They're not attached to each other, so they wobble and make his already mud-caked shoes slip just a little bit. This is all Sam's fault. He's going to shave Sam's head in his sleep. He's going to hide clown dolls in every cabinet. He's going to put laxatives in Sam's granola yogurt, and it will all be worth it as payback for the hell that Sam has inflicted upon Dean at this very moment. He's interrupted from plotting his brother's demise by a rough voice calling out, “hurry up, asshat”. He tears his eyes away from the boards to see ridiculously-hot-guy-with-the-socks stepping onto the planks behind him. The boards shake even more, and Dean sends out a prayer to any deity who will listen as he closes his eyes and rushes across to the other side. The second he hits solid ground, he leans down to slow his heart, which is currently pounding somewhere near his throat. Sock-guy moves like a damn cat, all graceful and quick as he crosses the boards and jogs right past Dean with a smirk. What a dick.
Despite the mud now hardening in his shoes, socks, and between his toes, Dean trucks on through about another kilometer of jogging. He spots the next obstacle from some distance away. There's a rope hanging over a muddy ledge, and you have to pull yourself up it. He figures it's about time his upper body strength worked to his advantage here. Psyching himself up a bit, he finds himself waiting at the base of the ledge for his turn. It's actually way trickier than it looks, and the other runners are having a lot of trouble with it. Some on the ground are giving the ones on the ropes a boost, and Dean moves to do the same. He reaches his hands up to support the guy above him, noticing a second too late that it's the same damn guy from the last two obstacles. He doesn't particularly feel like helping that jerk, but as he moves to put his hands down, the guy loses his grip and comes crashing down right into Dean, knocking them both on their asses in a tangle of limbs.
“Shit! I'm sorry!” the guy apologizes as he stands and helps pull Dean up. “I'm so sorry! There's so much mud on my hands, they keep sliding off.” Dean maybe feels a little guilty that the guy's hands are only muddy because not fifteen minutes ago Dean dragged his ass down into the swamp. Maybe. Besides, it's no fun flirting with a hot guy when said hot guy is pissed at you. This apology is a step in the right direction.
“It's alright, man, let me help you. Try again. I'll give you a boost, just lean back and pull.”
The guy wipes his hands on his shirt, which does nothing since the shirt is also covered in mud, and grabs the rope to try again. He gets a decent part of the way up, but Dean's got his hands out, ready to support the guy or catch him if he falls again. He slips a little and Dean reaches up to help, but ends up with two handfuls of firm, round ass. Oh, nice. Real smooth, Dean, why not molest the guy you've got your eye on? If there's one thing men love more than being tripped by a stranger in a disgusting mud pit, it's having their ass grabbed without permission by other men. By the time he's making to apologize for the second time today, the guy's already hefted himself over the ledge. Clearing his mind, Dean reaches for the rope and looks up to see the shock of dark hair and blue eyes peek over the ledge.
“Thanks for the ass grope,” he calls down with a wink before running off.
---
The next kilometer isn't so bad, and Dean's actually grateful for the obstacles giving him some breathing time between jogs. It turns out 10K is actually a lot, who knew? He can actually hear the whines and moans of the other runners as he turns the bend and sees... another swamp. This one is wider, longer and from the looks of it, deeper than the first one. Goddammit. Dean sighs and wades in. The mud here is the same horrible consistency as the last pit, but now it's up to his hips. Each step is a fight against the sucking power of the mud, and Dean's actually breathless from the effort. Halfway through, he spots the guy. He speeds up as much as he can to catch up with the guy, ignoring the obscene squelches from the muck.
“So, this sucks, right?” Okay, maybe not a great icebreaker, but Dean's main focus now is on not dying during this race. Flirting is a close second, however, so he's glad when he sees the guy's lips quirk up.
“No way, these are my favorite runs,” the guy says, smiling. “This is nothing. Last summer I did a half-marathon like this.”
“That's insane. You're insane.” Dean quips, and the guy just laughs.
“Not the first time I've heard that. Anyway, I'm Cas. I'd shake your hand, but, you know.” Cas holds up his hand, caked thick in almost-black mud.
Dean huffs a breathless laugh. “No problem. I'm Dean. And if I ever make it out of this god-forsaken hellhole, I'll shake your hand and maybe buy you a beer to apologize for pulling you down earlier, man. Sorry, again.”
Cas smiles and nods in acceptance. “The beer's free, y'know, but I won't say no.”
The two men stagger out of the sludge and start to jog together, an unsaid agreement to keep to each other's pace. They make small talk about running and working out in general for the next kilometer, Dean explaining that his job as a firefighter keeps him pretty active, but this is his first actual race. Cas, it turns out, is a librarian who generally spends his whole shift behind a desk and thus loves nothing more than to get out and be active in his spare time. The conversation is easy and flirty, with Cas teasing Dean about his fear of heights on the boards and Dean giving Cas a hard time for his abysmal rope climb.
The pair continue on until they come to a steep, muddy slope. The grade is ridiculous and runners are sliding down with wails of defeat all around them. Looking over with a devious grin, Cas nudges Dean with his elbow. “Race you to the top.”
Cas takes off like a damn rocket, making good speed up the hill until he makes a wrong step and comes sliding most of the way down. Dean's right behind him now, scrambling to find any sturdy footing he can. He actually makes it up past Cas and to the top, before reaching down and offering Cas a hand to help him finish the last couple feet. “I win!” Dean gloats like a preschooler, “What's my prize?”
The other man leans in close, as if to whisper, and tells Dean, “you get to buy me a beer” before rubbing a muddy hand through Dean's hair and running off again, almost cackling. By the time Dean's caught up, they see the next obstacle. No fucking way. It's a gigantic slip-n-slide down the hill. Awesome. Even with all the showers Dean will need to get the mud out of his various nooks and crannies, this part brings out the (admittedly fairly superficial) kid in him. Almost giddy with excitement, he grabs Cas' hand and practically drags him to the top. “Ready?”
“Be my guest,” Cas says with a sweeping gesture toward the bottom. It's all the invitation Dean needs to sit down and give himself a push down the slide. It's totally as fun as it looks, and Dean's actually sad he can't go back up and do it again. As soon as he slides into the mud pit at the bottom, he turns to watch Cas, who's clearly trying to stifle a smile as he follows Dean's path down the hill, hair flapping in the wind. He spins on the way down and careens into Dean, knocking them both further into the mess. The two pull themselves out of the mud, exchanging quiet smiles. Suddenly Dean is grateful for the mud smeared on his face, hoping it disguises the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks.
“One obstacle left, Dean. You man enough?” Cas teases once they return to their jog. Is he man enough? Pfft. Dean is a man's man. He's a man's man's man. He's got this.
It turns out “this” is a plywood platform like a staircase to climb up. Okay, he's still got this. Cas has a huge grin on his face as he jogs up the steps to the top, where Dean stops dead. What the fuck. No. The platform just ends and there's a huge pool of disgusting-ass water down there. People are jumping into it. They've lost their minds, all of them. They're not just jumping, they're running and taking flying leaps into the cesspool below. He shoots Cas a “no fucking way” look, hoping that it accurately conveys his feelings on the matter. Cas' enthusiastic grin softens into something a little more gentle and encouraging. “It's not as high as it looks. It's the last one, then we can get that beer,” he reassures.
Having a beer with Cas is pretty much the only thing that could possibly convince him to jump. It's really not that high, maybe 15 feet, but the other runners are disappearing entirely under the murky water and coming up absolutely filthy. Dean sighs and meets Cas' eyes. “If I get E coli and die, you're going to feel so guilty.”
Cas barks a laugh at that, and it raises Dean's spirit just a bit. “Don't drink the water and you'll be fine. We'll jump together, kay?” Cas grabs Dean's hand and holds tight. “Count of three, then jump.”
Dean's humming Metallica to himself to calm his nerves as Cas counts slowly. He closes his eyes and focuses on the hand gripping his, grounding him. Too soon, Cas has reached three and it's time. Drawing every ounce of strength from inside himself, Dean leaps. The water is freezing and disorienting, but it's not very deep and Dean surfaces quickly, heaving a breath. He looks over at Cas, who's beaming like a proud mother. Their hands are still joined, but Dean doesn't really have a lot of incentive to let go just yet. His heart is still racing, but he's not sure it's entirely from the jump. The pair climb out of the water, reluctantly releasing each other's hands.
The finish line lies just a short jog away, and he spots Sam's gigantor self waiting for him just beyond it. He swears he can actually see the smug-ass grin on his brother's face from here. Shaking his head, but actually feeling pretty proud of himself, he keeps pace with Cas as they both make it under the banner at the same time. Sam lets out a little cheer, and Cas slings his arm around Dean's shoulders, leaning over to plant a big kiss to his muddy temple. Sam's face is shocked for a second, before he sighs and rolls his eyes. “Only you, Dean. Only you could've possibly turned a 10K into a date.”
Dean just grins, scooping some mud off his shirt and reaching up to rub it firmly into Sam's hair. “You jealous, Sammy?” He throws his arm around Cas and the three walk over to the beer tent, soaking wet and smiling.
“Congrats,” Cas inclines his head toward Dean as they toast each other with their plastic beer cups.
The beer is probably the greatest thing he's ever tasted, and he savors it for the next couple minutes, bantering back and forth with Cas and his brother. Cas and Sam seem to get along brilliantly, of course, and it's a couple minutes before Dean can gently pull Cas away to have a more-private conversation.
“So, I know I said I owe you a beer, but I think now I'd rather owe you dinner.”
Cas beams brightly. “I think that sounds fair. Besides a well-earned shower, I don't have anything going on for the rest of the day and a burger sounds heavenly right now.” Could Dean be in love already? Pretty sure that's love.
“Alright, burgers it is. Sammy,” he calls out, “rinse off and let's blow this pop stand. I've got a date.”
Later, after burgers, pie and beers, Dean confirms that the run was all worth it, including the mud still dried under his nails. Strolling together back to the Impala, Cas glances up at Dean hesitantly. “Um, are you busy next weekend?”
Eyebrows raised, Dean shakes his head.
“Good. How do you feel about color runs?”