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.”
in slow motion, Cas lifts his head, looks at Dean, and raises one
perfect eyebrow as if to say, “excuse you, foolish mortal.”
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.”
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—”