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“It's the second left, and then we should see the store once we pass that double crossover.” Cas was using his Angel-of-the-Lord voice, delivering wisdom from on high like Dean was his clueless acolyte. He stretched a hand out, pointer finger indicating the One True Way.
“I know, babe, I've been here before. Lots of times.” Dean threw on his turn signal and changed lanes, slowing for the left.
“You have? Why? It's a 4-hour drive from the Bunker.”
“Well, there are some things you can only get at IKEA. Like meatballs. We are getting meatballs, right?”
A long-suffering sigh. “Of course, beloved. Meatballs and pillows. Is it really worth driving all this way for just those two things?”
“Uhhh, yeah, because (a) I would drive ten hours for those meatballs. That lingonberry crap they put on the side is the shit. And (2) apparently we need another pillow exactly like mine, because there's this little pest in my bed who won't stop stealing mine every night. And that one came from here, so...”
Cas squirmed in his seat. “I've already apologized multiple times about that. I can't help what I do in my sleep. Your pillow is just so much more comfortable than mine.”
“Sweetheart, I told you, it's fine. I know how comfy it is, that's why I bought the thing in the first place. Now that you're sleeping every night, you deserve a nice pillow, too. Hence...” He turned into the parking area in front of IKEA and gestured like Vanna White. “Ta-da! House of Pillows.”
“And meatballs,” Cas murmurs with a wry little quirk of his lips.
“And meatballs,” Dean agrees. He parks, kills the engine, and chases that quirk with his mouth.