Happy Birthday to the absolutely incredible @alullabytoleaveby. I am late, but it’s not less filled with love for that. For your birthday I give you, two dorks in love being domestic as hell.
Cas reads the cereal boxes. The backs of them. The long, indecipherable lists of the ingredients, and the percent daily calcium intake, and the weird little blurbs on the front with weird cartoon characters; Cas reads them all. He reads them all painstakingly. Dean knows this because he has been standing in the cereal aisle, watching Cas read the cereal boxes painstakingly for, he looks down and consults his watch, thirteen minutes and forty-three seconds. It was cute for two minutes. Cas had that little furrow between his brows and he was squinting as he read. There was something just fucking…fucking endearing as shit about Cas giving that much attention to fucking breakfast food. But Christ, it’s been fucking, Dean looks at his watch again, fourteen and a half minutes, and how long can the guy keep critiquing Tony the goddamn Tiger.
“Casssssss,” Dean whines, “just pick one already, c’mon.”
Almost in slow motion, Cas lifts his head, looks at Dean, and raises one perfect eyebrow as if to say, “excuse you, foolish mortal.”
Dean blinks, for a moment struck dumb by Cas’ cocked eyebrow and challenging expression, before collecting his thoughts and forcing out an eye roll.
“We’ve been here for fifteen minutes,” he points out, “just grab a box and let’s go. We don’t have all day.”
Cas’ eye brow ticks a centimeter higher because, no, actually, Dean, we do have all day. He’s gracious enough to not point that out. Instead, he spreads his arms, Frosted Mini Wheats in one hand, Cocoa Pebbles in the other. He looks vaguely lordly, loose fitting grey sweater, dark washed jeans, five o’clock shadow, and all.
“Dean,” he begins, “You may not have noticed, but we are standing in an aisle devoted to nothing but cereals—”
Oh shit, Dean thinks, here we go.