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Dean nods back towards the cashier amiably as he ducks out the door, his cup of coffee balanced rather precariously atop a box of assorted breakfast pastries. Two chocolate-frosted doughnuts, two cherry-cheese danishes, and a sticky bun, plus the one shoved indelicately between his teeth. He rounds the corner of the Gas-n-Sip to the inconspicuous parking spot alongside the building. When he catches sight of his ride, however, he stops dead. His jaw drops and the sticky bun tumbles to the ground, and Dean bobbles the coffee down with it. He licks his lips. Eventually, he manages a weak "Um?"
Cas looks up at the splashing sound and smiles at Dean, that big dumb grin that's barely left his face since the tablet surfaced. "Hello, Dean. I'm sorry; I didn't hear you approach."
"Uh." Dean blinks a few times and licks his lips.
"Look how many I found, Dean," Cas boasts, holding up both hands. Both hands are swathed in bees. He's sitting in a full-lotus position and wielding two swarming handfuls of bees. Another clump of bees perches jauntily on his head. Dizzily, Dean suddenly imagines the goofy hats all the princesses wore at that wedding last year.
Jesus Christ on a crutch, there are bees on his junk. Dean licks his lips and turns his head away in exasperation.
Cas stares at the insects on his left hand, entranced. Almost under his breath, he adds, "I think they want me to be their queen."
Dean shakes his head, rolls his eyes, tries to make his mouth work. So far, all it's done is hang open uselessly. He licks his lips. "Cas."
"Yes, Dean?"
"You-" He shakes his head again and snaps his jaw shut. He licks his lips.
"Dean?"
"Cas. You're." He blinks. A lot.
"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas asks, slowly cottoning on to Dean's confusion.
He licks his lips. Through clenched teeth, he mutters, "Cas." He tilts his head back, his eyes falling shut even as his mouth falls open. He rubs a heavy hand across his mouth, chin, jaw. "You're on my car."
"Yes, Dean."
He pauses to lick his lips and heave a shaky breath. "You're on my car and you're covered in bees."
"Yes, Dean," Cas replies, tilting his head gently to the left, careful not to displace the bee fascinator. A touch of puzzled concern drifts across his features. "I am."
Dean drops his chin and closes his eyes, breathing hard enough to create a thin mist in the chilly morning air. "Cas," he begins, and his voice sounds so ragged. Desperate. What the hell is happening? "You're on my car, you're naked," he grits through his teeth, "and you're covered in bees."
"Yes, Dean," he says slowly. Like Dean's a little slow. "It would seem that all of those things are true."
He nods. This is stupid: he doesn't have time to be tempted by Cas and his bucket of deep-fried extra-crazy. He tries to put his brain into gear, but the transmission keeps slipping. He can't look at Cas, so he keeps his eyes shut. He licks his lips. "Yeah. Uh. Why?" he finally croaks out.
Sadly, Cas grumbles, "I thought you'd be pleased."
Dean smiles nervously and licks his lips. "Thanks, Cas," he grits. Licking his lips, he meets Cas' eyes.
"And I have a question for you."
Dean's mouth quirks into a series of small shy smiles, none of which is even a quarter as cocky as he aims for. He blinks a few times and licks his lips. "And what's that, Cas?"
'Would you like me to put my honey on your sticky bun?"
Dean laughs, a tittering sound that brings deep sensations of self-loathing suddenly to light. "Is that a flirtation?" he mocks, smirking awkwardly and cocking his eyebrows, even as he licks his lips.
"No, Dean, it is a recommendation," he replies earnestly, quick to dispel the misunderstanding by pulling a plastic baggie of honey from god-knows-where. "I'm merely suggesting that I spread this sweet honey over the top of your sweet-"
"No, nope, nuh-uh, no way." Dean is walking away, shaking his head furiously, hands thrust helplessly in the air in surrender. "There aren't words, Cas!"