“Shit,” Dean swears, almost tripping over a crate in his haste, “Shit, Sam, I told you this was a bad idea, jesus fucki-”
Dean falls on wrists on the cold cemented floor, and it's only the ringing sound of sirens in his ears that makes him pick his ass up and keep going. The corridor wasn't as loud as the vault of course, but Dean's pretty sure there's one plucky cop on his tail and damn him if he's going to get caught for his little shit of a brother's mistake. He just hopes Sam made it out before the admittedly good looking policeman started chasing Dean.
He ducks underneath a pipe and flings one fleeting look over his shoulder, and yep, LA's hottest cop of 2015 is right there, neatly kicking aside the crate Dean almost lost his freedom over. He refocuses his attention on the corridor ahead and a perfectly cubed ice block drops into his gut and freezes his insides. There's no exit. There's only this ugly grey state issued IKEA desk with chairs scattered around, and Dean spares a brief moment to wonder why there would be a conspicuous desk at the end of a corridor. And then he's panicking again, because there's nowhere for him to go, and his cop casanova is closing in and Dean really doesn't want to go to jail today.
With all his options and back up contingency plans leaking from his brain, Dean slides underneath the desk and spins around. And then promptly smacks himself in the head, because this is the dumbest idea he's ever had, and listening to Sam had been right on number one just a few seconds before. Dean crouches low and stares at the cop as the guy squints in confusion before sliding in after Dean, assumably to drag him out. Dean gets his bearings and says a little sorry prayer to his mother because she's probably rolling her eyes at him. He would be, at least.
Dean steadies himself and gets ready to plunge forward but the cop widens his eyes at Dean at that exact second, and Dean halts. This cop has the bluest eyes to ever blue, Dean thinks, dazedly, even bluer than his uniform, and his cop car. But then the situation came crashing down and Dean yanked the cop's head forward to meet his and Dean now started the actually stupidest plan in the history of stupid. In theory, he aimed to distract the cop enough with his mouth so he could edge around and run back the way he came.
In practice this obviously didn't work out. Because this guy tasted like heaven. And Dean could feel his dick twitch to life. He's already lost precious seconds to this hooker with a badge so Dean leans in insistently and decides to change his plan; crawling over the cop is a better bet than edging around. He allows himself a quick moment to savour the feel of the guy's mouth and lips before launching himself over the guy's head and out behind him.
He hits his head on the edge of the desk but who cares! The plan actually worked and Dean feels stuck in between cracking open a cold one and jacking off because that cop sure knows how to do it. But of course, the sirens are still blaring, and Dean's been in this life for a while so he ups and sprints it out of the corridor. The cop is still under the table, facing the space where Dean had been, when his partner enters the corridor and starts laughing bitterly.
“You gotta hand it to them,” Hannah chuckles, “They sure know how to do it with style.” And Cas for the first time notices the acrid stench of burning plastic in his nostrils.