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Breakfast at the Bat Cave

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 “What the hell is that?”

Dean sent Sam a sideways look. “It’s an egg, what the fuck does it look like?”

“Since when do you eat eggs?”

“I eat eggs!”

Sam scoffed. “Unless they come with bacon and sausage, no you don’t. And what is that… thing?”

“Seriously Sam, are you really that stupid? It’s an egg cup.”

“An egg cup.”

“That’s what I said!”

They stared at each other for a while until Dean backed down and Sam smirked. “I know this place is well-equipped, but honestly? I have never seen any egg cups here. And if I had… that thing isn’t really Men Of Letters issue, Dean.”

Dean cast a quick glance down at the lumpy clay… thing that was somehow holding his egg, while not resembling a cup in any sense.

“Cas made it, okay?”

“Cas… made it.”

“Are you gonna repeat everything I say?!”

“Sorry!” Sam held up his hands in a calming gesture. “It’s just… Cas made that… why?”

“Apparently mundane pursuits calm him.”

“So he made you an egg cup. Out of clay.”

Dean glared at Sam, daring him to comment, before slumping his shoulders and hanging his head. “He made me an egg cup. And sewed me a pot holder. And carved me a bone comb. And he won’t tell me what kind of bone he used for it! I know he means well, but dammit, I am not combing my hair with something made out of a penguin thigh or some shit!”

Sam stared. And stared some more. And then a truly terrifying grin emerged on his face. “Someone’s got a cruuu-ush,” he sang.

“Shut it,” Dean snapped, his eye twitching. “Or I’ll tell him you really need a paper mache coaster.”

Peace at last.