Cas watching a bunch of romantic comedy movies, spending an entire day on Netflix just binging his way through them. Dean coming back to find him practically square-eyed, lost in a world of I do’s and I will’s and I always have’s.
“Why are you watching this crap,” Dean says, amused and folding his arms, as Sandra Bullock dances onscreen. Cas shrugs slightly, awkward. He turns the volume down.
“It’s fun,” he says, a note of caution in his voice. “To watch. I never realised… how easy it could be.”
“Easy?” Dean shifts his weight, a slight frown appearing.
“Yes. I didn’t realise that… things… could be so simple. The movies are less than two hours long. The people say how they’re feeling, what they’re thinking… I didn’t realise it could be like that. I thought it was always…”
A silence rings. Dean’s cheeks are slightly pink. Cas is watching the screen determinedly.
“They’ve got a script,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “We’re better at ripping those up than reading from ‘em.”
“We are,” Cas agrees. Sandra Bullock had stopped dancing.
“Still,” Dean says. “You’d look good dancing like that.” Cas shoots him a soft glare.
“You’d be the one dancing,” he says. “Obviously.”
Dean grins, and rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”
The next time Cas walks past the kitchen, he sees Dean with his headphones in, shaking his hips, whirling a dishcloth around with one hand, dancing a little dirty to a beat that Cas can’t hear. He considers pretending not to have seen, and then takes a step inside.
“Told you,” he says, as Dean comes to a sudden stop. “You look good when you do that.”
Saying what you’re thinking isn’t so hard, Cas thinks as he walks away, leaving Dean bright pink and happily flustered. He’s going to try it again soon.