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“Cas, if you don’t get your feathery ass out here in the next thirty seconds I'm leaving without you and you can hitch your own damn way to the store!”
Dean’s been ready and waiting at the bunker door for thirteen ‘Just one more minute, Dean’s and his patience is wearing thin. For a dude that used to wait roadside for hours as a matter of routine, Cas has no freaking concept of punctuality.
“I will remind you that I have my own car!” Cas’ raspy voice echoes through the bunker as he makes his sweet ass way to the library from the bedroom. “And there are several more in the garage. If you would just let me—”
“I am not having this argument with you again, Cas,” Dean calls down from the balcony. “And until you learn how to work a stick I’m not letting you touch those beauties.”
Fucking half the forest probably hears the struggle of Cas fighting a smirk. “Last night I seemed to be working your stick ju—”
“Let’s go.”
“Well, I can put this fine, feathery ass right back in bed and you can go to the store alone if you’re going to be such a little bitch about it.”
Dean’s going to have an aneurysm. He can feel it building in that same damn spot right above his left brow that always acts up whenever Feathers tries to distract from his meandering putzing by citing their more debaucherous activities. It’s an irritating ball of tension and frustration that’s driving him so nuts he might as well name the damn thing Cas.
“First of all, that’s my line. Secondly, you shouldn’t say ‘bitch’ anymore. Point the third, get that ass up these steps and let’s go.”
“Why not?” Cas asks, bending over to sort through the fifty million shoes he’s accumulated while looking for the Holy fucking Grail of footwear. Which are, apparently, ugly fucking boat shoes. “I thought I was really starting to nail the vernacular. Kinda like how I’ve been nailing—”
“Because,” Dean raises his voice to shut-the-fuck-up levels, “Claire’s been sending me links and shit, okay? Turns out that shit is degrading to chicks or whatever, so you gotta stop.”
“I never knew you to be such a paragon of chivalry.”
In complete defiance of Dean’s pleas for expediency, Cas is taking the stairs one at a time, pausing to inspect each balustrade like it’s some brand new treasure and not the same fucking railing they’ve always had. That aneurysm really can’t come fast enough.
“Chivalry’s dead, dude. This is just common fucking courtesy. Someone tells you some stupid, shitty thing pisses them off and then you stop doing that shitty thing. No skin off my nose.”
“And yet you routinely murder supernatural beings.” Cas lifts his jacket from the rack; inexplicably sniffs at it before deeming it acceptable and threads his arms into the sleeves as Dean locks the door behind them. “How is that not a shitty thing?”
“Oh my god.” Dean is ready to ask for a divorce. Get down on one knee, ask Cas to marry him, have Sammy doctor up a nice marriage licence at Kinko’s, rent some ugly fucking tuxes, and then ask for a divorce.
“Pretty sure you’d murder Him too.”
“Get in the goddamn car before I run you over with it!”
“Your bloodlust knows no bounds, Dean.”
Dean swipes a hand down his face. Where the fuck’s an angel blade when you need one?
“Cas, sweetheart. Love of my life. Keeper of my soul and savior of my being. If you don’t shut the fuck up and get in this car,” Dean says with all the calm and restraint he can muster, “I am going to walk myself straight down to the Cage and make a deal with Lucifer himself to remove your vocal chords.”
Cas rolls his eyes but still takes a reluctant seat next to Dean, slamming the door in an only mostly passive-aggressive way. He immediately slides off his stupid fucking boat shoes and props his bare feet up on the dash. Whatever. At least he’s in the car.
“I wonder how much space that will free up in my throat.”
Dean rests his forehead on the steering wheel and gives up. Time to fight fire with fire.
“Alright Cas,” He reaches down to work at his fly, “how about we put that mouth of yours to better use and take some ‘before’ measurements?”
Dean barely has time to get unzipped before Cas is shooing Dean’s hands away.
“Dean,” Cas hisses. “Get your mind out of the gutter and your hands on the wheel. We have groceries to buy.”
Dean puts one hand back on the wheel but leaves the other firmly wrapped around Cas’.
His mind never leaves the gutter.