[At the quip, Dean throws his head back and laughs, laughs in a way he hasn't since...well. Since he got to this version of Hell, really. Cas has really refined his sense of humor over the years, and he finds himself impressed with how quickly he came up with that particular line.] Touché, my fine cowboy friend. Touché.

[And then Cas is taking that cowboy hat and placing it on Dean's head, and, suddenly, Dean feels warm all over, starting from the place where Cas places the hat on his head and moving all the way south. Probably just the alcohol, he tries to tell himself. (Except that he hasn't drank anything yet tonight.) Though he can't remember the last time alcohol made him catch his breath, nor can he remember alcohol ever making him grin so wide or preen like a purring, proud cat.] Alright, now we're talking! If only I had my cowboy boots, we both could be really rooking this whole yeehaw look.

[He grins when Cas asks him for advice, happily stepping forward to demonstrate. He picks up another dart off to the side, to show Cas an example. Showing is always better than telling, after all.] Yeah, you want to make sure you have a firm grip, and you want to make sure you have a target in mind, not necessarily the one in the middle. Pick out your own target, aim, and then...

[With a quick ease, Dean brings back his hand holding the dart, and throws, making a decent landing fairly close to the middle of the board.] Like so. Get it?