She's not immediately suspicious, so Dean's relieved, somewhere. His brain's moving a million miles a second, planning out what's going to happen, trying to dig deep enough to remember how to be like he used to be. Buffy can't be suspicious, or this'll never work. Granted, he wasn't expecting to be tossed back into Taxon when he went to sleep (or whatever it was he did down there) but hell, why not work with it?

A malicious grin spreads across his face when Buffy walks off, and Dean follows, shoving his hands in his pockets. Banter. Right, that's what he and Buffy used to do. He still does it, just... not pleasantly.

"I'm thinking bacon, actually, but yeah, coffee's good," Dean lets a beat go by, then: "I'll never get the syrup-creamer-whatever thing. Sam puts a bunch of crap in his. Must be a chick thing."