he’s already regretting it. he’s a grow ass man, godmmaint! what the hell is he doing?
“making a freaking mixtape,” dean grumbles, walking through the aisles of the closest walmart still open. after searching for a walkman online, then deciding on going by himself. in person. even if, you know, technology is a thing and you can buy stuff from your own home. like it matters, anyway. is just a stupid gift. for his best friend. who’s away all the time now. it must get lonely in that crappie trunk. whatever. he doesn’t spend his evenings laying in bed listening to the same songs he’s planing on recording or thinking about how much he wishes for cas to come back. he doesn’t.
aren’t mixtapes done for your high school crush or something?
dean scoffs, “yeah, like 20 years ago”.
is not like is a romantic playlist. so yeah, led zeppelin has some chick-flick songs. doesn’t mean anything. lots of bands have them.
and obviously, the fact that his own father probably used most of those same songs to win his mom over, means nothing.
i mean, coincidences. the world is full of weird shit.
he touches every part of the tape with care and tentative fingers. he listens to it, to every step of the process, making sure is all good. he exhales and checks his phone for the hundred time that night. frustrated, waiting for his cas to come home.
maybe they can take some time off and listen to it together.