Technically speaking, Dean woke up within the first few jostling steps back towards the house. Whatever had happened between his making friends with the grass and his grudging return to consciousness had resulted in the awkward positioning of one arm being draped over Sam's gargantuan shoulder, the other being tossed over Cas' (not that the height disparity was at all uncomfortable or anything), and one pants leg feeling oddly soggy as it was lifted to a suspiciously Samantha-sized height.

But technicalities didn't really matter that much, and Dean was pretty content to stay "unconscious" all the way through the tricky maneuvering back to the couch he'd become all too familiar with. The willingness was, of course, in large part due to the fact that Sam was never going to let him live down the fact that he'd actually freaking fainted, and was in larger part due to… Hell, he didn't even want to think about it, or the look on Cas' face after he said it, or the flat what that had fallen from his lips just before Dean actually took the plunge.

He could always blame it on the exhaustion. Or the vague dizziness from the probably-not-eating-enough. Or the fact that his hand was still stinging from where he'd sliced it on the roof when patching it up an hour or so earlier. (Or, wait, was that the day before? Eh, whatever, sometime recent.) Or the expression on Cas' face. Or his tone. Or… well, or literally anything. It was a shit situation all 'round.

Because why the hell he'd ever say… that was beyond him. It was stupid. And risky. And had probably screwed things up forever. All bad things, that was for sure.

So, yeah, maybe he stayed "asleep" a little longer than was strictly true, ignoring the rhythmic tugging and chewing noises from a certain four-legged, oddly-domesticated-and-yet-still-wild farm animal attacking his jeans in favor of keeping his breathing even and eyes slackly shut… but that was only fair. Delaying whatever inevitably painful response Cas had for him - that expression of pity and it's not like that, which would undoubtedly result, since it just wasn't in Cas to be mean - seemed pretty damn reasonable.

Of course, then he heard one of Bobby's wall phones being picked up and the sound of Cas trying to call an ambulance, and that was just a little too much, so of course he rolled to his feet, walked (absolutely didn't stumble every other step or anything) over to the wall, and slammed his hand down in place of the receiver. "Thanks, buddy, but I don't need an ambulance."

"You collapsed, Dean. I believe standard protocol in that situation mandates the involvement of proper emergency personnel." A pause, then, "Besides, Samantha advised it."

Dean blinked. (Which had nothing to do with his vision blurring slightly, of course.) "Samantha. Advised it."

Cas nodded, the expression so earnest as to be rather endearing. (Yeah, sue him, he said it… He was in enough hot water that it didn't really matter anyway.) "Yes. Bobby was quite put out when she nearly nibbled through the wires, actually."

"Oh."

"Yes." A shift, his hand reaching out for the dial again, and Dean tried for a slick attempt to knock Cas away without actually touching him. (It totally worked. There was absolutely no awkwardly-extended, unfortunately-lethargic contact with Cas' wrist. Of course not. That'd be ludicrous.) "I should call a doctor, Dean."

"Nah, it's… it's fine, seriously. I'll just head over here and, you know… sleep." Not that Dean was eagerly seeking an escape from whatever conversation was about to ensue, but he was absolutely eagerly seeking an escape from whatever conversation was about to ensue. And… okay, fine, maybe he was a little tired - he still maintained that three or four hours every other night was a perfectly suitable amount of time to sleep, but whatever - so it wasn't completely a lie.

But then Cas frowned, and he couldn't just leave, especially not when the frown received reinforcements of, "You hit your head, Dean." A pause, then, "You can't head anywhere with a head injury, Dean. That's not how it works."

"I didn't hit my head, Cas, seriously."

"I… I think you did. Samantha thinks you did." As if he needed more to deal with, Samantha chose that minute to spit out a piece of cloth - shit, did she actually eat part of his socks? Holy crap, she did; they'd have to make sure that was okay later - and moo quite loudly. "See? And besides… you weren't there, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to say something. Then he lost the train of thought, shut it again, opened it for a few seconds, found himself at a loss for words again, ran his hand across his face, and eventually stuttered out a, "Uh, Cas… I… I mean, I think I was there for at least part of it."

Cas shook his head. "You weren't."

"I- I really think I was. See, I have this very clear memory of it being my head that was allegedly hit."

"Yes, but you weren't there. Was he, Samantha?" Did she just shake her head? Did the cow just shake her head? Maybe he had gotten a concussion or something, because he'd almost swear she did and that… That was concerning. (Mental note: check for hallucinations later.) "See? You weren't there, Dean. Because of the head injury."

'No, Cas, I was. It was my head."

"No."

Either Dean was completely out of it or Cas was being a tad… imaginative (read: nonsensical) and their cow was… oddly intelligent. (Or both - it could have been both - but… well, that made his head - his uninjured head, thanks Cas - hurt a little too much for him to accept. And… wait. Did he just say their cow? That would be ridiculous. She was quite obviously Cas' cow. Obviously.) "Sure, buddy, whatever you like. But I'm quite certain that no ambulance is needed, okay?"

Cas frowned. "If you say so, Dean. But if Samantha decides that you need a trip, I'm not going to overrule her."

"Right." Dean blinked, unable (or unwilling) to stifle a quiet chuckle at the still-unchanged antics of cow-father and cow-daughter. "Well, I'm gonna go-" The gesture he made towards the couch was not at all awkward. It was the definition of suave and debonair, obviously. "-get some rest… You two go… Cow." (Cow was a verb, right? It should be, at any rate.)

"Dean."

So much for that. "Uh… yeah, Cas?"

"We should talk."

"We should not talk."

Cas' head shake was insistent, and Dean pretended not to notice the steel behind his subsequent, "We should."

He also couldn't ignore the rather juvenile yeah-huh, nuh-uhing of their conversation, and decided that… Well. If they were in preschool anyway, then there was no reason that nap time wasn't a feasible chore to complete. "Nope. I'm just gonna sit here."

"Dean."

A sigh, a punch to the pillow that was stubbornly not letting him fall asleep quickly enough to avoid the conversation. "What?" He also tried to ignore the fact that the last two conversations he'd had with Cas made very clear that his self-control was limited, and that a varied degree of insistence in how Cas said his name was enough to break down self-imposed conversation barriers. It was really a problem. (How dare.)

"We should talk."

"Yeah, you said that." Maybe, just maybe, the universe would decide to grace him with narcolepsy and he could just… fall asleep. Or magical teleportation powers. Or literally anything to get him the hell out of there.

"What you said-"

"Was unimportant." The universe obviously chose that precise moment to very actively not oblige his requests. (The universe could suck it.)

"The answer-"

"Look, Cas, it's fine, seriously. It doesn't matter. Unimportant, remember?"

"No, Dean, the ans-"

Call it juvenile - which was swiftly becoming a theme to their little conversation - but maybe, if he just… didn't address something, it didn't exist. Interrupting would lead to the thing not actually being said, which meant that the thing wasn't actually heard, which meant that he didn't have to live through it. Obviously. (Take that, universe. You don't help; I'll do it my own damn self.) "Cas, please just drop i-"

"Would have been yes."

Dean blinked.

Cas stared.

Dean blinked again. "What?"

"The answer to your question."

"About the ambulance?" (Was it really willful misunderstanding if it was less about will and more about stubbornness? Time to find out.)

Cas frowned, resting the phone back into its cradle. "No, Dean, about dinner."

"Oh." (Damn universe. Then again, more fool him for getting his hopes up in the first place.) "Right. Dinner." A pause, and he somehow brought himself to shrug semi-convincingly. "Yeah, I've got something I can make, I'm sure. Whaddya want? I think I've got some of that chili you used to heat up in the cabinet somewhere"

"I am currently under the impression that a simple dinner was not what you'd intended."

"It's… It's not not what I intended."

Cas sighed. "Double negatives are puzzling, Dean."

And… well, Dean would be heartless not to chuckle at that, at least a little. "Yeah, but this is coming from the guy who's scared of prime numbers."

"They can be very intimidating, Dean. It's why six is afraid of seven. I saw it on the Interwebs."

A mirth-tinged-cough interrupted from the doorway, Sam shifting awkwardly to avoid bumping his head. "Actually, I think it's because 7 8 9, Cas."

"No." Cas shook his head, the motion quite insistent. "I'm quite certain, Sam. The other explanation is illogical. There is no sign that 7 is at all cannibalistic… except, of course, for the genetic predisposition of prime numbers towards psychopathy. It's the only practical answer, Sam."

"Uh. Okay." Dean might have laughed at the vaguely bewildered expression on Sam's face if it weren't for the respective facts that he a) had zero energy for wasting it on laughing, b) was moderately annoyed at the fact that Sam was interrupting, as usual, and c) was already dreading the moment Sam left and The Conversation started up again. "I'll get out of your hair, but Charlie wanted me to tell you that you're both idiots. And that…" He paused, actually rifling through his pockets before pulling out a light pink, tightly folded piece of paper. "Roommates to friends to lovers was too cliché. She's glad you made it roommates to enemies to lovers instead."

Dean swallowed. (It wasn't a gulp, of course not.)

Cas looked vaguely like a deer staring into oncoming headlights if you added in a little lost-puppy and sped up the vehicle a bit. (Was he blushing? Surely not.)

Sam grinned - and Dean knew that grin, all snarky self-satisfaction and little-brother mischief mixed with a touch of embarrassment - before letting out an awkward cough and slipping the paper back into his pocket. "She also said you can continue now. I'll get outta your hair."

Dean interrupted his awkward moose-shuffle away with the obligatory big-brother parting shot, especially when Sam and hair were in the same sentence. (Or the same room. Or the same millennia.) "You better, or I'm gonna cut yours the hell off, Saman-" Which. Shit. Guess he couldn't make that joke anymore; the cow would get confused. "Whatever, you get the point."

There was absolutely no awkwardness once the kid left. There was no awkward staring at each other, of course, and yet there was also no avoidance of eye contact either. (Certainly not both. That'd be ridiculous. Right? Of course. Totally.) They didn't stay silent for a good five minutes either. Those five minutes simply passed without any of that happening.

Obviously.

Cas was the one who ended up breaking the silence for good, even if he still looked a bit lost. "You still have not actually asked, Dean."

Code red, abort mission, deflect. Defcon 1 has been reached unfortunately quickly and the klaxons were making that very well-known. "Uh, asked… what?"

"Dean."

Plan B: strategic attempt to rout opposing troops. "I'm… not quite sure what you mean.'

"Dean."

Shit. "Cas…"

"Dean."

So much for self-restraint. "Wouldyoucometodinnerwithme?" Oh, great job, Winchester. You're the actual definition of a dipshit, fun fact. And your enunciation is shit, too. As if he's gonna make out a single word of that, much less say ye-

"Okay."

Dean could almost hear his brain record scratch. "What?"

"Yes."

He blinked. "Yes… what?"

Cas tilted his head, exasperation written in the gesture. "Yes, dinner sounds lovely."

"Oh." A pause, then, just to be sure: "Like… A dinner or a… you know… a Dinner?"

The head tilt deepened. (Not that it was adorable or anything, but it absolutely was.) "I believe there's only one definition for dinner, Dean. Unless you refer to the colloquial differences between dinner and supper, in which case it isn't a matter of denotation but more a concern of how it-"

"Cas."

"Yes, Dean?"

Oh. Apparently the name thing worked both ways. That's weird. "I don't mean a… you know, a normal dinner. Or, well, I didn't. I can. If that's what you want, but… That's not what I meant."

"I… don't mean a normal dinner either."

"Oh. Good."

"Yes."

A moment's silence.

Which… Did that mean what Dean thought it meant, or was that wishful thinking? It honestly could be either. "What kind of… not normal… dinner did you mean?"

"A deviation from the usual, of course."

Dean blinked. That helped… very little. "But, a… deviation in what way?"

"I believe it is conventionally referred to as a dinner… date." Cas blinked, and, maybe it was Dean's imagination, but he'd swear Cas was looking at him like he was insane. "A meal. Usually at a restaurant. Conventionally occurring between the hours of 5 and 8, with romantic intent and lasting some subset of time until ab-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Another moment's pause. "You… you sure? Not to push back too much, but-"

"You think too much."

And… well, serious as the situation was - not that he was at all fighting back elation at the fact that, wonder of all wonders, Cas actually freaking said yes, what the hell was that - he couldn't help laughing a bit at that one. "Says the guy who followed a bee because you were worried about the rainstorm coming two hours later the other day."

"It… I… Look. Bees don't like rain. It was a reasonable concern."

"The storm never happened, Cas!"

Cas blinked. "The bee didn't know that, Dean. And anyway… Samantha said to.

"Samantha."

"Yes. I think she gets her protectiveness from her other cow father."

"Samantha."

"Yes."

"She tell you to do a lot of things?" It wasn't that Dean was smirking at Cas' expense, but he wasn't exactly frowning either.

"Only if it's necessary, Dean."

"Like in the case of the bee and the nonexistent thunderstorm?"

Cas nodded, solemnity in every centimeter. "Of course."

Dean wasn't honestly sure what to say in response, so it was actually a good thing that it was at that very moment that Charlie strolled into the room, interrupting with a rather loud, "What's up, bitches? You dumbasses get your stuff sorted yet?"

Dean frowned. "That's hardly fair."

Cas nodded. "Something else would work better. Less dumb, less ass."

Dean nodded, fingers snapping once in what… well, it was vaguely agreeing. "Exactly."

Charlie didn't seem to register the comments, just nodding with that same smirk on her face. "I'll take that as a yes. Good." She shook something in her right hand, the sound describable only as confusing. (Or pitter-patter, but that was just a weird phrase and he refused to admit that he'd thought it.) "I was almost out of popcorn."