Author's Note: In 'Woman in White', I had Dean dating Cassie when he was 18 "right after he dropped out of high school". I had him younger than canon timeline for a reason, but have since decided that the actual canon timeline fits my plans better and decided to change it back. So for anyone reading this chapter and going 'wait a minute', it's not a continuity error, I'm just fixing a mistake. (And have corrected it in Woman in White as well.)

X*X*X*X*X

"You know, if you're quiet for more than five minutes, I'm gonna assume you're defaulting on the deal-" I paused long enough to grab a couple packages of mushrooms, tossing them into the basket beside the steadily growing pile before tucking my hands into my pockets. Doing my best to pretend I wasn't slowly freezing to death, I flashed Dean a saccharine smile, "-and that would mean you have to cook your own damn breakfast."

Eyeing the basket with disdain as I added a few more vegetables and a small selection of fruit, Dean lifted his gaze to meet mine with a too-sweet smile of his own. "You're assuming I can't cook."

"No, I'm assuming you don't want to." Which was a pretty safe assumption, though I might have also assumed he can't cook. Not about to say that, though, because then I'd have been admitting he was right and I hated that. (You still do. -Dean) "Can you?"

"What, cook?" One hand in his pocket and the other hovering over the side of the cart, Dean shrugged a shoulder before confessing that I wouldn't have been wrong to assume he couldn't cook. I just wouldn't have been totally right, either. It happens. It's rare, but it happens. (Rare, my ass. -Dean) "Some. Mostly just cereal and about a thousand different ways to make ramen noodles, but I can do a burger that'll knock your socks off."

"I'd rather not, I like my socks." Seriously. I have a pair of socks with narwhals vomiting rainbows and another pair that look like slices of watermelon. I love my socks. "Come on, start talkin' or I might change my mind about makin' meatloaf and go for a nice vegan option instead." Relinquishing the cart, I tucked my hands in my jacket pockets as I turned to lead the way toward the pharmacy section all the way on the other side of the store. ...that I probably should have gone to before getting anything out of the cold food aisles but whatever. "I'm thinkin' maybe a nice quinoa bowl with avocado. Maybe some brussel sprouts."

"You wouldn't." I didn't even have to say anything, just smiled at the look of absolute horror that crept over his face as he realized I so would. You'd think I just killed a puppy right in front of him. (Eh, not a dog person. -Dean) "That's cold, Tink."

"I guess-I guess the first memory that comes to mind after Mom's-after Mom was when Dad took me shootin' for the first time. I was maybe six or seven, just takin' pot shots at beer bottles with a .22.." Stopping at a handful of shopping carts full of half-price Halloween candy, Dean just shook his head and silently countered my veggie threats by picking out a few bags of peanut M&Ms and when the hell did they start making Halloween themed Cadbury Creme eggs? He looked up at me as he tossed his selections in the basket next to the mushrooms and smiled, that kind of shit-eating-grin way that let me know I was supposed to be impressed by whatever was about to come out of his mouth, "Bullseyed every one of 'em."

"Bullshit." The word was out of my mouth before I realized I was going to say it, but I wasn't about to take it back. I mean, come on, he really expected me to believe that? By the adorably crestfallen expression aorning his features, yes. Yes he did. Aww, the poor baby. (Shut up. -Dean) "There's no way."

"You ever shot a gun?"

It wasn't hard to tell that he was hoping the answer was no, probably because then he could continue to try to bullshit me. Sadly for him, I wasn't a total dumbass. "Yup, I have, and there's no way you're gonna convince me you've been some kind of firearm savant since you were six-" (And because I'm not in any way, shape, or form immune to the disappointed puppy look Winchester men seem to practice in the mirror, of course I couldn't just leave it as 'you're so full of shit'.) "-and why would you want to? I've seen you handle a gun, Dean, and that kind of expertise is hard earned. That's way more impressive than some magical God-given skill."

"Are you bein' a pain in my ass for fun or is there some kinda profit?" Giving way to a small herd of teenagers dressed like they'd just had a fun night out at a Daft Punk concert, Dean waited for them to meander down the way a bit before we resumed the arduous trek to pick up toothpaste and tampons, a half-smile hovering on his lips. "You want honesty? Fine." That half-smile bloomed into a brilliant grin that crept up until it filled those gorgeous green eyes of his, "I missed every shot my first time out. Happy?"

"Ecstatic, thanks." And I was, too, which was probably evident from the laughter I had to choke back. After all, every good relationship should be based in honesty, even ones where you occasionally want to strangle the other person until they lose consciousness. (Accurate. -Dean) "If it makes you feel any better, I've only been a couple times and I suck."

"Oddly enough, that does not make me feel better." Following after me as I turned into the dental hygiene aisle, Dean stopped when I did and watched as I looked over the various different toothpaste options. I prefer wintergreen-flavored whatever but that's not always the easiest to find. For the curious, Dean prefers cinnamon, which is also not the most common. (Why is it all fucking peppermint? If I want a candy cane, I'll eat one. -Dean) "Who took you shooting?"

"Anthony." Silly question, really. Who else would it have been? "He keeps a shotgun under the bar and a .45 in the office. He insisted I learn the basics before he'd let me work a shift alone."

Dean leaned against the cart, his arms crossed over the handle as he nodded absently. "Smart man, I approve."

"Of course you do." Because the guy with a mobile armory would think learning to handle a gun was a bad idea? I don't think so, Tim. "So, what's next on the Dean Winchester greatest hits list?"

"Not a lot, really-" Lies! There is a metric shit-ton. "-I guess the next big thing was when Sammy graduated high school and decided he wanted to go to Stanford." Do you see how much he's leaving out? Jumping from six to twenty-two? Did he expect me to not notice or something? "Dad didn't take it well."

"And I'm sure you were super thrilled." Tossing a tube of wintergreen Crest into the basket next to the family-size bag of M&Ms, I didn't give him any time for a rebuttal. "And what about you? Did you graduate or get your GED or what?"

"I dropped out about halfway through senior year, didn't really bother doing anything about it after that. Didn't see much point." With a shrug, Dean brushed it off, deeming it less than important. I tend to disagree, but then again I think learning is fun and have been known to assign myself homework for shits and giggles. (She really does and it's creepy and wrong. -Dean) "You know, Dad was actually happier about that than Sam getting into Stanford?"

"Of course he was." Just from the few stories I'd heard up to that point, John didn't really seem a 'higher education' kind of guy, so that wasn't really a shocker. (I have since met the man and can confirm that basically anything that takes attention away from the job at hand isn't his favorite thing ever. Me included.) "I gotta say, the more I hear about your dad, the more I think he's an asshole and I am currently not fond."

Dean's smile faded and he pressed his lips firmly together for a second, likely taking the time to remind himself that I wasn't trying to start a fight, I was just drunk. "Could you not?"

"Fair enough." Stubborn and mouthy I might be, but I also know when to back off. Well, sometimes anyway. Besides, it's not like I was raised by Mary Poppins. Definitely time to shift to a safer subject. Comparatively speaking. "What about Cassie?"

"What about her?" He might be good at playing dumb, but even he's not that good. With a reluctant sigh that was so deep I was a little surprised he didn't pass out from lack of oxygen, Dean rolled his eyes, looking physically pained. (Because talking about exes always ends so well. -Dean) "I was twenty-two. Met her not long after Sam took off." With another sigh, Dean ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering to scratch at the back of his neck. "Dad and I were workin' a job on a college campus. She was in her first year, goin' for a journalism degree. Wanted to be a reporter."

"...and?"

"And we were together for about a year." Dean reluctantly answered, looking about as serious as anyone can while standing next to a shelf of dandruff shampoo. "It didn't end well."

"You really think I'm just gonna let that go?"

"I'm not that lucky." That's true, he's not. None of us are. I blame the fact that we broke a whole shit ton of mirrors on a job early on and that's just been haunting us ever since. Also there was a whole thing with a cursed rabbit's foot, but let's not even get into that right now. "We were starting to get serious, talking about moving in together and-"

Dumping a bottle of shampoo and conditioner into the cart next to the pile of diabetes Dean had picked out, I waited for him to finish. Except he didn't, instead deciding to just stop in the middle of a sentence like a jerk. "And?"

"-and I told her the truth about who I am and what I do." Dean's green eyes darkened (figuratively speaking) and that muscle in his jaw started to twitch like it does when he's clenching his teeth hard enough to crack enamel. "Like I said, it didn't end well."

Dean wasn't exactly the kind of guy to open up easy and if he'd gotten close enough to someone to tell them the truth and she'd totally rejected him… Ouch, that had to hurt. Like dude didn't have enough issues. Of course, maybe if he hadn't lied and hid it from her for nearly a year, she'd have reacted better, but I wasn't about to say as much. I can't kick a man while he's down. (Yes, she can. Literally. The girl fights dirty. -Dean)

"What was she like?"

"Cute. Smart. A real pain in my-" Blinking down at me, that boyish grin started to creep back over his lips again as I watched the proverbial lightbulb click on over his head. "Huh."

"Huh? What 'huh'?"

"Maybe I do have a type."

"Miss me?"

I jumped about a foot in the air and spun around as Dean's voice issued suddenly from like six inches behind me, forcing me to take a step back to look up at him properly. I'm not usually the easiest person to sneak up on but he kind of has a knack for it. The ass.

The edges of his lips twitched and he managed to turn a chuckle into an unconvincing cough as I took a step back and glared up at him. "...sorry."

"You know, I don't think you are, but I'll forgive you just this once because I'm just such a magnanimous person." Shoving the shopping cart over to the side of the aisle, I crossed my arms and looked up at Dean, eyeing him for no real reason other than he's a nice guy to eye. "What even took you so long? I thought you just needed to go grab the whatever to fix your necklace. I was startin' to think you'd decided to just leave my ass here and take off without me."

"Like I'd get far." Oh. Yeah. Curse. Right. That was still a thing. A thing that seemed less pressing by the day, but still a thing. Digging into his jacket pocket, he gave me basically no warning before tossing whatever it was at me, just assuming I'd catch it. I mean, I did catch it, but still. So rude. "Here."

I somehow managed not to fumble the retina-searing hot-pink Motorola flip-phone with a nice little display on the front and on the back… "Where the fuck did you a Tinkerbell sticker?"'

"Quarter machine." His hands stuffed in his pockets, he looked inordinately pleased that he'd managed to both get me a gift and make fun of me all at the same time. (I mean, come on, the sticker had glitter, the herpes of craft supplies. Ugh! ...okay, it was kind of cute, but my point still stands.) "Your service is up and it's got me and Sam's numbers in your speed-dial."

'...thank you."

"You're welcome." Dean took control of the cart so I could fiddle with my new toy a bit as we made our slow way toward the front of the store. "So, have I officially fulfilled my end of the bargain."

"Not even close, but it looks like we're gonna be spending a fair amount of time together so I'm willin' to let you off the hook for now."

'Why don't you take your fancy-ass new phone and go call Anthony." Producing his car keys from the front pocket of his jeans, he held them out for me, shaking them until they jingled like crappy little bells. "I'll check out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dropping the keys into my outstretched hand, I pretended not to notice when his fingertips brushed mine, lingering there for just a little longer than strictly necessary. "He's probably startin' to worry. I know I would be. Besides, you look like you're about half asleep."

"I do not." (Yes she did. -Dean) "...but thanks."

"You don't quit thankin' me for every little thing and I'm gonna start to think you don't hate me."

"Can't have that, now can we." Ignoring the butterflies that were trying to somersault out of my stomach, I cleared my throat and flashed Dean a smile as I flipped open the hot pink monstrosity, turning away as I dialed the number from memory. "Hey, Anthony. It's me…"