By the time Cas woke up, the alarm clock by his bed - or, as he was reminded by the uncharacteristic warmth: their bed - read 10:42 in bright red numbers.

His first few seconds awake were spent marvelling at how late it was when he usually was up by eight. (Yeah, it was a weekend, so he'd turned off the alarm, but he still usually was up by 8:30 at the latest.)

The next few seconds were spent in chagrin as he realized that the night had substantially reduced the space between him and his bedmat- between him and Dean. (Not that there was anything at all mortifying or concerning about the fact that he'd somehow found his way into the middle of the bed, stolen part of Dean's pillow, and flung an arm across his chest… not at all)

The few after that were engaged in trying - and almost certainly failing - to extricate himself as quietly and imperceptibly as possible.

He actually made it to the door before his plan fell through - and that was pretty damn good, if he did say so himself - amid a rustling of bedsheets and a somewhat incoherent "Whtimzzit?" that he somehow knew how to translate.

Cas looked back at the clock. "Ten forty-six."

An enigmatic sound later - somewhere at the junction between a grunt, a snort, and shit mumbled through sleep-clogged vocal cords - Dean rolled out of the bed, a few inches short of literally toppling over. "I'm up." (As if Cas needed more reason to doubt that statement, Dean still hadn't opened his eyes.) "I'm up."

"It's Saturday, Dean." Cas might have taken advantage of Dean's unsteadiness to nudge - it wasn't a shove… not at all - him back down. "Go back to sleep."

Of course he didn't listen, instead gesturing vaguely towards the door (albeit off a few centimeters because he was half-asleep and still had yet to open his eyes. "Gotta make y'r coffee-"

"I told you, Dean, it's a Saturday. I'll make the coffee." How hard could it be, right? Surely not that bad, since Dean made it before Cas had to leave for school each day… right?

Grudgingly - Cas had long ago learned Dean's expressions (solely for self-preservation purposes… that was all) and that was definitely reluctance hidden behind sheer exhaustion (to which Cas was well aware he'd never admit) - Dean rolled over, slumping back into the pillow with something Cas decided could only be properly termed a flump. His "If you insist." was muffled by the cloth, and yet somehow comprehensible.

By the time he reached the kitchen and actually tried making the coffee, he'd come to the conclusion that maybe, perhaps, possibly, perchance he'd bitten off more than he could chew. (Okay, it might have taken a little more than just walking into the kitchen to realize that… it was quite possible that he spent ten minutes fiddling with an unresponsive coffee machine before realizing it hadn't been plugged in.) A few more minutes trying to find the coffee had him huffing in frustration; almost pulling out salt instead of sugar was the final straw that almost had him giving up.

But, eventually, he got it right - overwhelmingly strong, black coffee with just a touch of sugar for his roommate because (even if Dean wouldn't ever admit it beyond an affection for pie) the man definitely had a sweet tooth, and then his own far less precise order - and managed to carry them both back into the bedroom without spilling either.

Dean actually opened his eyes at the sound of the door opening, squinting in the vague direction of… well, it must have been the coffee because there was no other reason Dean actually kinda looked like he smiled. (And yeah, maybe Cas found himself rolling his eyes in return because the incorrigible, ridiculous man had clearly insisted on waking up if the fact that he was sitting on the bed was any indication.) "Thanks."

Cas was partway through determining (self-preservation-wise) the best response when the doorbell rang, interrupting their coffee break with a harsh surge of concern that had Cas' coffee sloshing lightly over the rim of his mug and Dean catapulting out of bed and heading towards the door.

Then, because Samantha was her lovely, curious, and inquisitive self… she moo'd. And the thing was…

The thing was.

The thing was that Cas - as much as he loved Samantha, and as much as he didn't understand John (who wouldn't like a cow? A baby cow? Who would stay a baby cow, at that.) - did understand that they had to keep her under wraps.

Which was, of course, why he grabbed one such wrap - a sheet from the closet (the one he'd stolen from Dean the night before, actually, but that didn't need to be addressed at all) - and hurried to go do precisely that.

Dean was halfway to the bedroom door when he added, almost as an afterthought, "Keep Sammy quiet." before stepping out into the hallway. (Cas wondered if he'd noticed that he'd used The Nickname, if that was intentional or just a slip of the tongue… Either way, if Cas had still harbored any doubt that Dean cared about the cow - he didn't, but still… self-preservation meant filling out the forms in triplicate… or quadruplicate… or maybe more - that settled the issue pretty conclusively.)

Samantha had just commenced a stampede - and, oh, dear, that was a noisy stampede - over to the gate when he opened the door, and she somehow lost her balance and skidded the remaining few feet before bumping her nose on the plastic blockade. She's not clumsy, Dean - and self-preservation was very strict about not dwelling on why one of the voices speaking in his head was his roommate's - she's just enthusiastic.

And then she moo'd twice, followed by a hitching sneeze and another quiet low that still wasn't quiet enough, which meant he had to find some way of keeping her quiet and… well, okay, he could handle this.

Step one, as per usual: moo. (Cas still firmly believed that it was simply good manners to try speaking to a cow in their native tongue… and Sam never took offense. And she also clearly knew what he was saying.)

This time, however, he had no such luck. Either that, or she decided to spite him because she looked at him dead in the eyes, blinked, and promptly moo'd again. Louder.

Which meant it was time for step two: bribery. Naturally. After all, she had to be quiet and what else was he going to do? The only issue with this was what precisely to bargain with. She already had milk in her bowl (and, for once, she hadn't spewed it all across the room). He couldn't very well promise her hay (not when Dean was the only one who could get her to eat the stuff). One of her hay treats had been discarded in her nest of curtains in the corner (and, even in that particularly tense situation, he still smiled to see that she'd gone to town on it). The only thing he had was…

Well. Coffee had milk. Samantha drinks milk. Coffee was made from beans. Beans are plants. Hay is a plant. Samantha eats hay. Thus, Samantha eats plants. Thus, Samantha would eat beans. Thus… she could drink coffee.

He had just offered her his cup and was mid-pleading with her - if I give this to you, just keep quiet - when Dean finally called back, "Stand down, Cas." He stood, walking over to the room's threshold (with his coffee temporarily in hand because he did not want to see the damage spewed coffee would wreck on either her room or Dean's psyche) and peaking out, just barely catching a flash of red through the front window before, "It's Charlie."

Dean opened the door to find a very, very hyper Charlie Bradbury fidgeting on the other side. He made it a few syllables into his sentence - "You alri-" - and then she rushed past him, clipping his shoulder in her haste. Without addressing either Dean or Cas (even after he left Samantha's room and entered the public space), she was shouting a too-chipper, "Samantha, my beloved, where art thou?"

Dean mumbled out an exasperated "C'mon in, then." (It was directed at Charlie, but Cas was reasonably confident she wasn't paying attention and only Cas heard it.) Then, louder, "She's in her room." (For self-preservation purposes, Cas made a mental note that he had not smiled at the fact that Dean was viewing what used to be his room as Samantha's. It hadn't happened.)

Since the situation was secure and they didn't have to deal with hiding the cow anymore - no John lurking on the doorstep or on the other side of a phone call - Cas didn't hesitate to, while welcoming Charlie with a friendly, "Charlie! You've been gone for so long!", pull out a bowl from the kitchen and dump the contents of his mug into it. He had promised the cow coffee, after all. He couldn't just neglect her like that.

Except apparently he was going to because, without even a second glance, Dean walked over, grabbed the bowl from his hands, and shook his head. "Cas, no."

Cas wasn't pouting… he was merely… concerned. "Dean, I promised." He looked unimpressed, so… okay, fine, maybe Cas did start pouting then, but it was justified, okay? "She looks tired."

Dean shook his head again. "No coffee for the cow, Cas."

Cas glared at him, mentally running through a very, very intense counterargument - consisting of puppy-dog eyes and But, Deannnnnn - until Charlie broke in. "I know what would rectify tired!" And then she lifted a bag, unnoticed thanks to the way she'd hidden it behind herself and yet ridiculously bulky.

Cas wasn't sure why she was grinning the way she was. A look at Dean's face suggested a similar uncertainty. They both chorused, "What's that?" (Cas' was at least interested… he really couldn't see why Dean's voice was dread-filled and exasperated… it was just a bag.)

Charlie's grin managed to widen (though Cas was reasonably convinced that it shouldn't have humanly been possible for that to happen). "Well, I was thinking about Samantha last night and she was looking- well, as Cas said, she was looking tired, so I thought she needed a bit of sprucing up, and I've got clippers and files and brushes and-" She dug around in the bag before giving up and shrugging. "Other stuff. It was a bit of a spur - hah - of the moment thing, but… yeah."

Cas managed a confused stare.

Dean also managed a confused stare, though he did manage to expand it to an additional, "...Why?"

That time, Cas was pretty sure he was on board with Charlie's grin (even if he was still confused as to how it was physically possible for her to be smiling so widely). "For a spa day, genius."

Oh. Well, that was, in hindsight, obvious and completely logical. How could he have missed that? It made perfect sense. "Of course."

Dean looked at Cas. Dean looked at Charlie. Dean turned on his heel, muttered a barely audible "I need a drink." and headed straight for the kitchen.