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Dean curses the day Cas got TikTok.
Maybe he should have expected Cas would get addicted to the app after the Great Netflix Run-in of 2015, but this is … it’s a lot. Cas quotes memes in serious situations, he practices stupid dances in the bunker’s common room, and Dean swears he hears 15-second songs in his sleep.
“I think it’s kind of nice,” Sam says one day as he drops down in a seat next to Dean, a thick dusty book in his hands. It lands on the table with a thick thud and Dean mentally groans at yet another night of research.
Dean furrows his brow in question, so Sam nods to where Cas is sitting on the couch, his phone propped up so he can practice arm motions to another 15-second song, taught by a pretty rich white girl in her early 20s.
Dean rolls his eyes. “I have half a mind to figure out how to time travel by myself so I can go back to the day Claire introduced him to that godforsaken app and toss her phone out the window before she can show him.”
“Shut up, jerk,” Sam admonishes, gently slapping Dean’s shoulder. Dean brings a hand up to rub at the point of impact, (it hurts when a sasquash slaps you, no matter how gentle he is), as something sad flicks behind Sam’s eyes. “It’s nice that he can have hobbies.”
There’s a lot there that goes unsaid, but Dean gets it. He puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezes gently before slapping his back. “Alright, moment over. Show me the lore.”
Sam and Dean (and Cas, when he tires of the endless scroll) research long into the night, until Sam’s yawning, his head lolling, about to pass out on the table. Dean sends him to bed, leaving just Dean and Cas to read.
Dean gets lost in the lore, which is probably how he doesn’t notice that Cas has gone back to TikTok scrolling until he snickers. “What’s so funny?”
Cas’ eyes flick up to meet Dean’s. “Nothing,” he answers, a sly smile spreading across his face, the worst liar Dean’s ever met.
“Sure,” Dean mutters. He’s about to go back to reading when Cas says: “do you want to try a TikTok trend?”
Dean should say no. He usually says no. But common sense went out the window two dusty books ago, and besides, he’s a little curious. “Okay,” he answers. He stands, cracking his back (Cas frowns). “What are we doing?”
Cas’ lips twitch up in a barely perceptible smile. “Stand over there,” he directs, pointing to the wall, as he sets up his phone to record them. Dean walks over to stand in front of the wall and waits for Cas to join him.
Cas joins after he ensures his phone is recording, standing in front of Dean, close. “Put your hands together like this,” Cas directs, his palms facing each other, fingers up, like he’s praying. Dean snorts at the visual but follows direction anyway.
“Now curl your fingers down like this,” Cas demonstrates, curling down his fingers so his hands are locked together.
“What kind of trend is this?” Dean asks.
Cas rolls his eyes. “Just do it,” he directs. Dean locks his fingers together and Cas nods. “Let me just check,” Cas says gently, getting closer, his hand coming up to Dean’s fists and then-
Like lightning, Cas grabs Dean’s hands and pins them over his head with one hand, using the other to push Dean against the wall hard, their bodies pressed together as Cas keeps him pinned there.
There’s a few seconds where they just stare at each other. Cas frowns, like maybe he expected some kind of reaction that wasn’t Dean wide-eyed, breathing hard. Dean wants to lean forward, to close that small gap between their lips, but his eyes flick to Cas’ phone and he’s distinctly aware he’s being recorded. “Cas,” he says, softly.
Cas’ eyes trail down to Dean’s lips. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Turn the damn camera off.”
END