Cas with like ten other fallen angels hanging out in the bunker, burning their lips on their tea every time they try to take a sip, gossiping in Enochian, and when Dean comes in with a fresh tray of snacks they all abruptly stop talking and look at him.
“What were you talking about?” Dean wouldn’t normally pry, but Cas is blushing and now he’s curious.
From a couch at the back of the room, one of the angels pipes up helpfully, “Not your butt!”


















































