It starts as a flippant remark, really. Some casual mention of some weird-ass hentai porn, because for some reason Dean thought it was a completely normal thing to do, to relate their weird water-monster case to an adult cartoon about — well, you know what. Sam's not exactly a prude, and he's been through torture above and beyond, but even Lucifer would find it all tasteless in the grand scheme of things. And it's a sad day in Hell when Sam can nod and agree with someone who manages to torment him sometimes, even long after the hallucinations.
"I'm just saying, man," Sam says, "There's better Japanese cartoons out there, you know. Though, knowing you, you probably would make a beeline straight for the ones where their boobs are the size of my friggin duffel bag."
Dean grins like an imp, that jackass. Leave it to him to be completely annoying while they're on good terms. He replies, "Not always, god. I like a little Sailor Moon sometimes. I mean, they kick alien asses on top of that fine… 2D animation."
Sam snorts; it's a petulant little brother snort. "… Dude, they're, like, fourteen."
"… Oh. Uh. Well. Cutie Honey, then." He swirls a finger at the hood, eyes on the road. "Swap it out, Cutie Honey all the way. Or, I don't know. That Devil Hunter Yohko chick is a teenager, too, isn't she? Because man, I've seen her rack a lot in that one. But the 1994 television series for Cutie Honey — whew. Go Nagai, he's a real piece of work."
He kind of doesn't expect Dean to actually pierce the depths of his weird pervy anime collection to actually start pulling names and dates. Like, seriously, he thought Dean just googles 'dirty cartoons' 99% of the time. "Are you seriously — wait, who?"
Dean glances at him from behind the wheel, and maybe for once he's starting to get that unneeded macho embarassment that he turns into some half-assed smirk. Of course, Sam doesn't particularly think it's a big deal that Dean enjoys a little Japanese anime history, but, well, Dean can be insecure sometimes about the weirdest things. Dean huffs, "You've never heard of Go Nagai? He practically started the transforming girl genre, man. Pretty weak, Sammy. Brush up on your trivia skills."
"My trivia skills?" An eyeroll only seems necessary. "No, you can win this round. Besides, I already outdid you naming off Pokemon."
"Ugh, there's like — five million of them. Nobody knows all five million, let alone even twenty or whatever. That's like knowing every stupid Yu-Gi-Oh card. You just need to know Pikachu and, I don't know, Charizard."
Huh. Sam had some of those cards in high school. He doesn't even remember how he got into it, except that maybe he fit in more with that crowd than any other. Hard to recollect. After the Cage, Sam has had trouble revisiting certain little details; a smaller price in a pool of too many, all things considered. A silence looms over the Impala, and Sam resigns to the sound of the engine as it hums, and the wind as it ruffles up his untamed hair; he needs a haircut, and soon, before some vampire or something gets a solid grip on it. He at least stopped with the thick licks of puppy-bangs after missing a ghost floating down from his upward peripheral. That was a rough night, for sure. Though, despite Dean's digs at his 'heavenly mop', he's never really pushed for a haircut. Never like Dad used to; but then… Dad was Dad, and he always had something to say about the shaggy mat his son used to parade around with.
Out of the blue, Dean continues: "Bet you can't name all the Sailor Scouts."
"… Dean, they're all named after planets, it's not that hard."