So about Crowley saying Dean is “not my type.” Yeah, um, didn’t Aesop have a fable about pretty much exactly this scenario? Something about a fox with a big gay crush on a gorgeous green-eyed bunch of grapes, but the grapes were too high to reach, so the fox said “I bet those grapes are sour, anyway” and then moped a lot and stared longingly at pictures of back when he and the grapes were besties? That’s how I remember the fable, at least!