You’re lounging on the couch with Dean, casually flipping through TV channels while Castiel stands nearby, arms crossed like he’s observing an alien species. Which, in fairness, isn’t that far off. Dean’s mid-rant about some terrible B-movie horror flick when Cas jumps in, voice completely flat: “Oh yes. This film is a masterpiece. The decapitations are… quite elegant.” You and Dean both freeze.

You glance at Cas. “Was that… sarcasm?”

“I believe so,” he says proudly.

Dean squints. “Cas, you sounded like Hannibal Lecter describing a dinner party.”

Castiel frowns, puzzled. “But that’s how sarcasm works, correct? You say one thing but mean another?”

“Technically, yes,” you say, biting back a grin. “But tone matters. Context matters. You can’t just-wait, what did you say earlier today in the kitchen?”

Dean smirks. “Oh, you mean when he said, ‘Mmm, how delicious,’ after he accidentally drank your orange juice mixed with leftover bacon grease?”

Cas blinks. “It was not delicious. I was being sarcastic.”

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, but you looked physically betrayed. It was like your taste buds were mourning.”

“I don’t know why I drank it, it tasted like molecules.”

Dean claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. You’re trying. It’s like teaching a robot how to be sassy.”

“I’m not a robot,” Cas says immediately, narrowing his eyes. “But yes. I am… extremely sassy.” You and Dean exchange a look before both cracking up.

You lean back into the couch, still laughing. “We’re doomed.”

Cas tilts his head, like he’s cataloging the chaos. “Yes. We are so very doomed. What a joyous situation.”