Starring David Oyelowo, Daniel Craig, David Wilson Barnes, Marsha Stephanie Blake, Rachel Brosnahan, Blake DeLong, Glenn Fitzgerald, Slate Holmgren, Anthony Michael Lopez, Matthew Maher, Nikki Massoud, Kyle Vincent Terry & Finn Wittrock
Humphrey Bogart, 1941, a publicity photo for The Maltese Falcon
“I’m not good-looking. I used to be but not any more. Not like Robert Taylor. What I have got is I have character in my face. It’s taken an awful lot of late nights and drinking to put it there. When I go to work in a picture, I say, ‘Don’t take the lines out of my face. Leave them there.’
“Sam, what’s your favorite color?” Dean asked from the passenger’s seat of the impala. Cas couldn’t see exactly what he was looking at on his phone, but from small glances, he was pretty sure it was some kind of quiz.
Sam smiled, staring far down the road.
“Brown,” he said with a smirk.
Dean nodded, not looking up, but Cas smiled in understanding as he shoved his feet under the seat at the front of the car.
“What about you, Cas?” Dean asked using one finger to scroll on his phone.
Cas leaned forward across the seat, his chin digging into the back of it. When he tried to spy Dean’s phone, the hunter pulled it away subtly.
He sighed, peeking at one of Dean’s eyes.
“Green,” he said definitively.
Sam snorted from the front seat. Dean looked confused.
“Ok, weirdos,” he said. “Just trying to figure out what ninja turtles you would be.”
After a moment of silence, he shrugged. “What?” he asked. “Can’t spend the whole trip listening to classic rock.”
Sam was full-on-laughing at this point and Dean turned off his phone, embarrassed.
“Shut up,” he said, then turned away.
Cas slung an elbow across the front seat.
“What about you, Dean? What’s your favorite color?”
“Bet I could guess,” Sam interrupted from the front seat with a knowing look towards Cas.
Dean’s eyes narrowed.
“Ok, why are you two being so weird.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s nothing. We’re just curious about what your favorite color is, that’s all. Is it pink, or black, or maybe,” he paused, “blue?”
“Sure,” Dean replied, eyes still squinting in confusion. “Blue’s ok. I think I like red, better.”
Cas shifted forward so his head was close to Dean’s.
“Only ok?” he said, disappointed.
Shrugging, Dean started getting defensive, sensing there was something he was missing.
“I don’t know, yeah, it’s a good color. What the hell is going on with you guys?”
Sam, in between short bursts of laughter, managed to say: “Dean, ask me why brown is my favorite color.”
He rolled his eyes, but finally Dean decided to bite: “Ok, I give, why is it your favorite color?”
Sam’s features sobered. “It’s the color of Eileen’s eyes,” he said fondly.
Dean laughed. “Alright, so you’re a big sap. We get it.”
He was about to let it go when Cas leaned forward, placing a soft hand on Dean’s arm. His head was peeking out over the seat awkwardly, his expression shy.
“But you didn’t ask me why my favorite color was green,” he said softly.
Sam was grinning in pure entertainment at this point, but the other two men ignored this.
It took a second. Then slowly, Dean’s expression dawned in understanding.
“Oh,” he said, blushing and turning away. Cas smiled.
Dean stared at the road, processing for a moment. It was quiet except for the small bumps the impala hit. Then:
“I’d like to change my answer,” Dean said. He couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone in particular, and his cheeks were bright red. His last words were quiet and shy, but he was smiling: