if anyone ever tells you that english isn’t ridiculous remember that the reason why we have a silent b in debt is because a group of guys got together to standardise english spelling and got to the word debt, which at the time was primarily spelled either ‘dett’ or 'det’. so they basically went:
'everyone speaks latin, right? so let’s put a silent b in debt. like debitum, which is latin for debt. problem solved.’
also the reason why there is a h in ghost is because when the printing press first came to england the only people trained to operate it were flemmish speaking, and they put a h after g because that’s what you do in flemmish. they put shit like ghirl and ghoose, but the only reason why ghost stuck is because people saw 'the holy ghost’ in the bible and were like 'well, that MUST be right’.
so yeah english is a really stupid language with some of the most ridiculous spelling
cute date idea: i sleep over and you wake up to the sound of me baking brownies and singing along to the radio in the morning. i’m wearing your t-shirt, which looks like a dress on me. we dance and cook together, stopping only to smear brownie batter on each other’s faces and look at each other with love and laughter in our eyes. this is happiness.
Cas reads the label and turns the tape over in his hands. “I don’t have a cassette player,” he concludes as he holds the cassette back out to Dean.
Dean gets up from the kitchen table and pushes it back toward Cas until it’s right up against his chest. “I’ve been in that truck. There’s a cassette player.”
“Well, I don’t know how to–”
“Cas,” Dean says, leveling him with a glare. “Take the damn tape.”
Cas flips it over in his hands once again, looking down at it studiously. When he looks back up to thank Dean, he finds himself alone. He looks around the kitchen, but Dean is gone.
He tucks the cassette into the inner pocket of his coat and pats it once to feel the solid weight against his chest.
“What’s that?” Sam asks jovially as he joins Cas in the library.
Cas tucks the cassette away quickly and clears his throat. “Dean gave it to me. It’s a cassette.”
Sam looks up quickly from his computer, a shocked and amused expression on his face. “A cassette? He gave you a cassette?”
Castiel squints at him. “Yes?”
Sam looks down at his keyboard, huffs a short laugh, straightens up a bit in his seat. “What’s on it?”
“It says his top 13 Led Zeppelin traxx, ‘tracks’ with two x’s,” Cas recites from memory.
“You haven’t listened to it yet?”
“I…no, I haven’t.”
Sam nods as he says, “Well, uh, you should. Dean doesn’t just–he doesn’t even let anybody touch his tapes, man. That’s…a really big deal that he gave you one.”
Cas presses his hand to his chest. “I’m not sure he meant for it to be a big deal.”
“Yeah, well.” Sam shrugs. “Listen to it, at least.”
Cas is sitting in his truck, holding the tape in his hand, staring at the radio and wondering where to put the damn thing.
The passenger door creaks open and shuts. Castiel doesn’t look over.
“Oh fuck, I was wrong,” Dean says with a small laugh. “There’s no cassette player in here. C’mon.” He doesn’t wait before getting right back out and heading over to where the Impala is parked on the other end of the garage.
After a moment, Cas follows him. He hesitantly gets in on the passenger side and hands the tape over to Dean.
A couple of seconds of silence pass before the music quietly pours through the Impala’s speakers. Dean leans his head back against the seat and puts his arm up on the backrest of the bench. His fingertips brush lightly against Cas’ shoulder.
Cas can’t quite hear all the lyrics, but he knows it’s something about being lonely and missing someone and he wants to ask Dean when he made this tape, who he had in mind when he made this tape, who this was really meant for, but the words get stuck in his throat.
As the music washes over him, he closes his eyes and leans his head back as well. After a minute, a hand brushes through his hair and Dean begins to hum.
Cas opens his eyes and looks over, and Dean’s head lolls to the side as he gives him a lazy grin.
“You like it?” Dean asks, his hand still carding through Cas’ hair.
Cas prefers his own music, but maybe he could get used to this as well. “I like it,” he concedes.
“Good,” Dean replies, his head falling back against the seat once more. “I could sit here all day.”
Cas scoots a little bit closer to the driver’s side. “I could, too.”