"Cas, are you kidding? You have a cow in my bedroom!" And wasn't that still a helluva sentence to contemplate.

"Oh. Right. I forgot."

At least the words were whispered, even if the naivete they held made Dean a little too nervous for comfort. "You forgot? How do you just… forget?"

"I didn't forget about Cow, Dean. Just that some people don't like them." He lowered his voice again, absolute sincerity filling his tone. "They're so cute, Dean. How could anyone not like them. They're babies. Dean? Dean? How can anyone be so cruel?"

"He's just… Not an animal person."

"Maybe I can change his min-"

"You can't." A pause, then, "Cas, don't answer the door."

"Cow might convince him. What if Cow opened the door?"

What a few minutes ago had seemed so playful inverted quickly and harshly, and Dean had to keep himself from shouting out his answer of "No!" He managed to restrain himself enough to sound vaguely calm as he added, "It's a cow. They don't answer doors. And anyway, that's worse."

"They can answer doors, Dean. They can do anything we can."

"Cas. I'm going to settle this once and for all... Cows. Are. Not. People. They cannot talk. They cannot answer doors. And they certainly cannot convince John Winchester t- to be an animal person. Don't. Answer. The door."

"But… I wouldn't be. It would."

"No, Cas, just…" Dean let his head fall back against the shelves again with a dull thunk. "Don't let him know anyone's home."

"But… Dean, he's still knocking. What shou- Never mind, I remember." Then, louder despite obviously being farther away from the phone, "We're not home!"

"Cas! What the hell?" He didn't answer. "I said don't let him know anyone's home."

"You- But… That's what I did? I said, 'we're not home.'"

Dean gave up on the idea of shopping while on the phone and ducked into some out-of-the-way corner, tugging his cart after him. He needed all of his - limited, because he was exhausted - energy focused on Cas, because, "Yeah, Cas, and who'd be home to say that we weren't home? The cow? The one we're not supposed to have?"

"So you do admit that they can talk!"

Dean's brain buffered for a few seconds. He dropped the matter. "Cas, he can't know that we have a cow in my bedroom." He passed a hand over his face, teeth worrying at his lip. "We really gotta teach you how to lie, man."

"He just tried the door, Dean." A pause. "I think he's going to his truck for the key.'

"Shit… Alright, then, no time like the present-"

"Why?"

"Because when someone wants something, really, really bad... we lie."

"Why?"

"Because... that's how you become president. Now, listen up-"

"What if I don't want to lie, Dean?"

Dean almost wanted to dash out his own brains from the frustrated adrenaline of making up a lie; he definitely didn't have the wherewithal to sugar-coat it. "Too bad, man, he's comin' in. You want to keep that cow?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

"Then, when my dad gets back, you're gonna have to get him away from that door. He ain't gonna let you keep it if he sees it."

A pause, then, "Alright, Dean."

"Great. Now, listen…" A pause, a few plans cycling through his head, crystalizing and breaking apart and reforming until… That would work. "I need you to take off your trench."

The sound of starched cloth rustling passed over the line - Dean very resolutely focused on the wall in front of him and not on imagining the other end of the line - then, "Okay."

"Tie, too."

Another rustle, and Dean found himself instinctively looking around to make sure no one was watching. (He wasn't sure why the instinct was there, but it was.) "Okay."

Dean paused, calculating in his head, "Uh… alright, man, top buttons of your shirt. Undo 'em." No rustle came over the phone, but he still added, "And untuck your shirt." Dean was coming to the conclusion that the dairy thermostat sucked. Sure, he'd moved to a particular corner of the aisle, but the previously-frigid cool had disappeared, and it was getting unusually warm… They really needed to take a look at that.

Cas hadn't seemed to move on the other end, and a few seconds of silence were eventually followed by, "Dean, why are you undressing me?"

Dean Winchester didn't sputter. Dean Winchester never was flustered enough that he sputtered. Nonetheless, standing there, on the phone helping his roommate lie, with that blunt question directed at him mid-dairy aisle… Dean Winchester sputtered out a series of consonants that made no sense. He followed it up with an only semi-coherent, "Look, man, you, uh… You said 'we' aren't home." Another confused pause. "That's plural, Cas."

"I don't understand."

"Uh… Look. Dad's gonna come in if you don't do something… But he… He ain't gonna look too close at your… personal… life."

"My personal life?" A pause, and Dean could almost hear the cogs turning. "My cow?"

"Not your damn cow, Cas. He can't know about the cow, remember?"

"Right."

"I'm talking about a girl. O-or a guy. Whatever. Not my business. It's your business. Which is the point." He was rambling (why was he rambling?) and reigned himself back on track. "You got me?"

"Oh, right! Sex!"

A few minutes of startled coughing and the laborious process of fighting back a smile despite his hardass father possibly finding their cow at any second (directed at the thermostat, of course), Dean finally managed a croaky, "Yeah, Cas, you got it. And, uh, you got water nearby?"

"We have a sink, Dean. But I'm not thirsty. Thanks, though."

"No, for your hair, genius."

"Why would I put water in my hair?"

"Uh…" How to explain the intricacies of intimacy to Cas of all the literal-minded people (and why was that prospect so damn mortifying)? "Just- Trust me, Cas. It'll sell it." A pause, accompanied by a vision of Cas dumping his head into a sink full of water. "But, uh… not shower wet… Just… Damp."

The other line was silent.

"And hurry the hell up, he'll be in any second."

The other line stayed silent.

"I'm surprised he hasn't kicked down the damn door, man, hurry it up."

Still nothing. Dean couldn't help holding his breath as another spike of adrenaline shot through him.

"Cas?"