Cas loved Samantha.
Really, he did.
But.
But that was very hard to remember as she refused to stand still when all he was trying to do was brush her coat.
It really shouldn't have been as much trouble as it was (though, admittedly, it was being made substantially harder than necessary by Dean leaning against the threshold of the door and stifling laughter at her shenanigans) since grooming should have been a completely normal process, but…
It was not going well.
"Tell me that's not my brush."
Cas shook his head. "Of course not, Dean. I wouldn't do that." (It wasn't Dean's brush… and Cas had definitely considered that before choosing a brush. He absolutely hadn't just reached into the cabinet at random and just lucked out into picking up his own… Of course not. It was intentional.) "It's mine, of course. I barely use it anyway."
"I've noticed. I'm surprised birds haven't tried to use your head as a nest before." He paused and raised an eyebrow at Cas' attempts. "You're… you're not doing that right."
Cas frowned. "What do you mean, I'm not doing it right?" How hard was it to brush a cow? He obviously knew what he was doing. "How else do you brush a cow? She's fine!"
"Does it look like she's enjoying it?"
"Uh…" That was just a ridiculous question because she obviously hadn't spoken and neither of them were mind readers (thankfully… for self-preservation reasons). "Yes?" At precisely that minute, she shied away from another pass with the brush and took a few steps away. "No."
Dean shook his head and grinned. "Amateur."
Well, that couldn't stand… even if Cas couldn't exactly think of something to say. Luckily, Charlie, from her post by the window, could. "And how would you know, Dean-o?"
He snorted. "You've seen Sam's shaggy-ass mane. You think little Sammy Winchester brushed that on his own?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You know so much, why don't you get in there and do it yourself?"
"Uh… what?"
"You brush her."
He chuckled, that familiar edge to it that Cas translated into vaguely anxious and definitely reluctant disagreement. "I think I'm fine right here, thanks."
Except… well… Cas actually thought it a good idea. "Please, Dean. She likes you." (He may or may not have tried to channel Samantha's expression, but that didn't need to be addressed.)
Dean shook his head. "I highly doubt that."
Cas squinted at him because… well… the goal was to have a spa-day-slash-hoof-icure, but he couldn't very well leave that unaddressed, now could he? "She loves you, Dean. You have a special connection. And apparently you know how to brush her."
Dean shook his head again. "It's not that hard, though."
"It's hard for me."
It took until then to register that both Dean and Charlie were suppressing coughs. Maybe hay fever was contagious?
Still, Charlie eventually sucked in a ragged breath that stopped her fit of coughing (or was that laughing?) enough to bite out, "Sure is, Cas. It sure is."
And, whatever that nonsensical comment meant, it evidently merited a glare from Dean and was serious enough that Dean strode forward. "Fine. Give me the damn brush."
Cas smiled and handed it over, watching (not that he was over-protective of the cow or anything… he just wanted to be careful). Grudgingly, he would admit that she did look happier - though what precisely made the difference wasn't clear - and (though Dean would absolutely, positively never admit it) Cas was pretty near certain that he was smiling, too.
Indeed, in some ways, it was a little too personal of a thing to watch - that smile was one usually reserved for his little brother or other no-fly topics - so Cas looked away, eyes catching on her hoof and… well. He loved her, but it looked atrocious. And so did the others. "Her nails are looking rough… Charlie, did you say you brought nail stuff?"
She grinned, pulling out a nail file from her bag. "Yup!"
That… was somewhat satisfying and somewhat not. "No nail polish?"
"I… didn't think about that."
Which was unfortunate. "In that case… Where are we supposed to get nai-hoof. Polish?"
Honestly, Cas had expected Charlie to answer. (Or maybe Samantha.) He had not anticipated Dean to answer. "I've got some you can use."
Unexpected it might have been. It was also fortunate, though, so he wasn't questioning it. "Wonderful."
Charlie had no such reservation, which was promptly followed up with an open-mouthed gawp. "Why do you have nail polish, Dean?"
He shrugged. "Cassie left some in the Impala once. Didn't get a chance to return it to her before she left, but it's a pretty decent thing to have around…" Charlie was still staring. "For chiggers, Charlie. And mending." She was still staring. "Shut up."
It was like a tennis match, volleys passing from one side to the other (and passing over Cas' head in the process… they had nail polish, so why did it matter its provenance? That made no sense).
Charlie was back to smirking, though. "Cas…sie. You seem to have a thing for the Cassie-r things in lif-"
"Don't even try, Char."
And, well… it was pretty much time to set aside what was going on (because maybe it was a little less over-Cas' head, but, for the sake of self-preservation and for allaying Dean's increasingly annoyed tone, diversion seemed best). "What color is it?"
Not that it seemed to make things that much better. Sure, Dean wasn't overtly annoyed (ticked? Pissed? Cas would almost say defensive… but that made no sense, so he rejected that hypothesis) anymore… but he wasn't even audible with the way he mumbled out the answer. "Pk."
"What?"
"Pink, okay? It's freaking… bubblegum pink." Charlie moved to open her mouth again, but Dean stopped her before she started. "Shut it."
Cas didn't care about whatever was going on over there because, "Pink! That will match her skin tone so well!"
Dean shook his head, gesturing with the brush he was still using (though he was immediately cut off by a moo from Samantha, which Cas interpreted as discontentment and was happy to see Dean respond to by continuing the brushing again). "Dude, she has brown fur. She'll look like… Neapolitan ice cream."
"But she has a pink nose, Dean. And pink and brown go well together."
"Just like you two." That got a glare from Cas (and, judging by the blur of movement near the doorway, a much less unexpected one from Dean), and Charlie lifted her hands in surrender. "Where's the polish?"
Dean was still glaring at her, even if Cas' had faded. "Why don't you. Help. Me. Get. It. Charlie."
She shook her head. "Why don't you go with Ca- Alright, alright." Cas couldn't blame her for moving past whatever she was saying - self-preservation said not to focus on it so Cas very resolutely obliged - given the intensity of Dean's glare. He also couldn't blame her for acquiescing and walking out of the room with him.
Which left Cas and a very disgruntled, not-being-brushed cow alone in a room. He could at least make the most of it, though, so he smiled at her. "We'll be fine here, won't we, Samantha?"
He was very satisfied when she moo'd back, and very dissatisfied that Dean wasn't there to hear her. Oh, well, as the other cow father of the house, he'd hear it - and accept it - eventually. Cows could talk, after all.
By the time Dean and Charlie walk back into the room, something had settled between them enough that Dean handed her the nail polish with barely a grimace and her smirk had diminished into a slightly-more-hidden smile.
Charlie handed Cas the nail polish, and, upon taking it, he promptly turned to Dean. "You're welcome."
"For what, Cas?"
Cas grinned. "Getting a cow and not a fish." The current arrangement was infinitely better. Sure, she stank sometimes - cowpats were ridiculously hard to clean, apparently… though Cas had to admit he was surprised how clean Dean had gotten the room just before they moved Samantha back in and she set about re-polluting it - but it was better than a fish and Dean was bound to get that.
Judging by the way he was blinking at Cas, he didn't.
Guess he'd have to elaborate, then. "Fish don't have nails, Dean."
He didn't respond. He stared for two seconds (Cas counted) and then immediately pivoted on his heel, heading towards the door. "We got any more beer?"
Cas frowned. "You already had a beer."
Dean nodded, a hand passing through his hair. "Yes, Cas. One beer. And y'all" He gestured at both Charlie and Cas. "-are enough to make me want more than one beer. So I'm getting one before I murder one of you."
Charlie tutted under her breath. "That sounds like a threat."
Cas was far more concerned with, "No more drinking, Dean. You need food. Not alcohol."
"It's a beer, Cas. Nothing stronger." Then, mumbled, "I wish."
Cas shook his head. "Food."
Dean nodded. "Beer."
Cas shook his head. "Food, Dean."
Dean nodded. "Beer, Cas."
Cas shook his head. "Food, Dean." And then, because otherwise they weren't getting anywhere: "Please."
And then Dean tossed up his hands and huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. But you're not stopping me from having a burger." He was out the door before a counter argument could be made… and at least it was food, so Cas let it go.
Charlie did no such thing. Instead, she gasped and called out after him. "You will not! That's pet-ablism, Dean!" No response came. "Dean, don't you dare!" Still no response, and by then she was practically running over to the door and clumsily climbing over the gate. "Dean!"
A few minutes later, Cas heard the familiar sound of a patented Charlie Bradbury shriek. Evidently, her appeal had been overruled.
