Slight Weapons Malfunction

the-little-mermoose:

Glancing over his shoulder at the trains speeding along the tracks, Sam chuckles and turns back to the panting man before him.

“A last minute, tearful goodbye before I get on a train, Cas?” he snorts, folding his arms across his chest smugly. “I really didn’t think you were this cliché .”

Cas grunts and takes a second to compose himself, hunched over with his hands braced on his thighs.

“You…” he growls lowly, forcing himself to breathe slow and steady, “have terrible personal qualities.”

Sam is not surprised by the pleasantries.

Shaking himself, Cas straightens into a standing position and narrows his eyes.

“You irritate me,” he continues, evidently on some kind of mission, “You nag from here to holy hell, you smile at the most asinine things - it’s ridiculous really, I’m not exactly sure how your mouth even works at this point, but it obviously does because you never shut up - you move my things from where I left them into these stupid little piles-“

“You mean ‘organize them’?” Sam can’t help but insert, smirking slightly when he gets an unappreciative eye-roll in response.

“You make me go outside,” Cas charges on, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I’m at least two shades darker than I have been since I was born and I don’t hate it, which is even worse. You won’t let me eat what I want, and you don’t even let me stay up working for three days straight. You hide my alcohol. Your entire existence annoys me.”

Unable to keep the pleased grin from spreading across his face (and Cas scoffs in disgust, but it seems halfhearted at best), Sam takes a step closer.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Cas purses his lips, as if thinking it over, then sighs and says, “You make very good french toast. None of my other assistants have ever made good french toast.”

Sam smirks, leaning in to murmur, ”I love you, too.”

Be right back, printing this out and rubbing all up on it.

(Source: deanspartyhat)