Chapter Text
The morning filtered through the windows of the bunker’s kitchen, spilling soft golden light over the table. Dean flipped pancakes on the griddle with practiced ease, the sound of batter sizzling filling the air. He still wasn’t used to mornings like this—mornings without the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders.
For the first time in what felt like forever, life wasn’t about surviving the next apocalypse. It wasn’t about running from one hunt to the next or carrying the burden of saving the world. Life had slowed down. He and Cas… they’d found a rhythm.
Cas.
Dean smirked to himself, giving the pancake one last flip before letting it sizzle to a golden-brown finish. Who would’ve thought? Dean Winchester, flipping pancakes in his bunker kitchen, with an angel at his back. Literally.
Dean felt Cas’s warm presence behind him before he even heard him. He barely had a second to react before he felt arms wrapping around his waist, a solid chest pressing lightly against his back. Cas’s chin came to rest on Dean’s shoulder.
Dean smirked, not missing a beat as he moved the pancake from the pan onto the growing stack on the plate beside him. “You always sneak up on me,” he muttered, though there was no bite in his voice.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Cas replied, his voice was low, almost a rumble against Dean’s ear. “I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”
Dean huffed out a breath, amused. He leaned back into Cas for a moment, letting the warmth of Cas’s chest sink into him before he straightened and reached to turn off the burner. Cas’s arms tightened briefly around Dean’s waist before he pressed a small, lingering kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, right below his ear. Dean felt a shiver run through him at the touch, the familiar warmth spreading through his chest. “You’re very focused this morning,” he observed, taking a step back.
Dean leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Cas’s lips before shooing him away with a smirk. “Pancakes don’t make themselves, Cas. Now, get outta here,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’ve got pancakes to make, and you’re distracting me.”
Cas raised an eyebrow but stepped back, his hand brushing lightly across Dean’s lower back as he moved to sit down at the table, where the morning paper was already laid out. That was the thing about Cas now—he was always touching Dean in these small, intimate ways. A hand on his back, a brush of fingers against his arm, a kiss on the side of his neck when he least expected it. It was… nice. Comforting.
Dean didn’t think he’d ever get used to it—the feeling of having Cas there, right there, all the time. Not that he wanted to get used to it. No, these moments were still new enough to make Dean’s chest tighten in a good way, in a way that felt like he was finally, finally, home.
With Cas now seated at the table, Dean flipped the last pancake and piled it onto the growing stack before grabbing the plate and setting it down in front of Cas with a smirk. He leaned over, dropping a quick kiss on Cas’s hair, then slid into the seat next to him.
As Dean poured syrup over his pancakes, he couldn’t help but glance over at Cas, who was neatly cutting his pancakes into perfect squares. Of course he was. Dean rolled his eyes fondly, grabbing his fork and shoveling a large bite into his mouth with zero finesse.
“You know, you don’t have to cut ‘em into tiny squares like that, Cas,” Dean said through a mouthful of pancake. “It all ends up in the same place.”
Cas shot him a look—half-amused, half-exasperated—and said, “You should eat slower. You’ll enjoy it more.”
Dean snorted. “I’ll enjoy it just fine, thanks.” He grinned, his hand finding Cas’s knee under the table, giving it a quick squeeze—a small, silent acknowledgment, a habit Dean didn’t even think about anymore. Just instinct.
Dean leaned back in his chair, chewing on his pancake, watching Cas from the corner of his eye. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy who sat around getting all mushy about things, but damn. Sometimes, it hit him hard, right in the chest. How happy he was. Yeah, it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t supposed to be. They had their fights, their disagreements. Hell, they fought like every couple. Sometimes, Dean still found himself falling back into old habits—getting defensive, shutting down when things got too emotional. And Cas? Well, Cas could be stubborn as all hell. He was still an angel, after all, with his own way of seeing the world.
But they always talked it out. That was the difference. Dean had learned—they both had—that running from things wasn’t the answer. Cas never let him run anymore, and Dean was grateful for that. Whenever something went wrong, whenever Dean snapped or got too inside his head, they worked through it. They fixed it.
“I can feel you thinking,” Cas said suddenly, breaking through Dean’s thoughts.
Dean blinked, his hand still resting on Cas’s knee under the table. “What, you got super-angel telepathy now?”
“No.” Cas’s lips quirked slightly, and he set his fork down, turning to face Dean more fully. “I don’t need telepathy. I can smell it on you.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh yeah? What do I smell like today? Pancakes and rugged good looks?”
Cas’s small smile softened into something more genuine, more intimate. “No. You smell like happiness.”
Dean stared at him, feeling something catch in his throat. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked down at his plate, his heart doing that stupid tightening thing it always did when Cas said something so plain and true that Dean didn’t know how to respond.
Cas turned back to his pancakes, cutting another precise square, as if he hadn’t just knocked the air out of Dean’s lungs with one sentence.
He let out a small, quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Happiness, huh? Can’t say I’m used to that one.”
Cas’s hand came to rest on top of Dean’s where it still lay on his knee. “You’ve been smelling like it a lot lately,” Cas said, his voice low, steady. “Happiness… and love.”
Cas’s gaze flickered back to him, and for a second, Dean saw the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. That look. It still got him, every time.
“Yeah,” Dean muttered, his voice softer now. “Lucky, I guess.”
Cas set down his fork, turning slightly in his chair to face Dean more fully. “It’s not luck,” he said, his eyes serious, steady. That deep, unshakable way he always looked at Dean. “It’s love.”
Dean let out a breath, the tension in his chest easing just a little. Cas had a way of cutting through everything, breaking Dean open in ways that no one else ever could. Cas didn’t say anything more for a moment, but the way his eyes softened—God, that look always made Dean feel like his chest was going to explode. Cas leaned in slowly, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Dean’s lips. It wasn’t long or lingering, just a small reminder, like so many of their little touches had become.
Dean smiled against Cas’s lips before pulling back, feeling that warmth spread through him again.
Before Dean could say anything, the door to the kitchen creaked open, and Sam shuffled in, looking half-asleep. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and he was rubbing his face like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
“Mornin’,” Sam mumbled as he headed straight for the coffee pot.
Dean grinned, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “Morning, Sunshine. Finally decided to join the land of the living, huh?”
Sam glared at him sleepily, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Some of us were up late,” he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips.
Dean raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick, amused glance with Cas. “Up late doing what?” he asked, already suspicious.
Sam flushed slightly, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing.”
Dean smirked. “Yeah, sure. You got a girlfriend you haven’t told me about, Sammy?”
Before Sam could respond, the sound of wings fluttering filled the room, and Gabriel appeared in the doorway, a smug grin on his face. He stretched lazily and winked at Dean.
“What can I say? Your brother here keeps me busy,” Gabriel drawled, sliding casually into the kitchen.
Sam groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t start, Gabe.”
Dean’s jaw dropped, looking between Sam and Gabriel, and then back at Cas. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dean muttered, half-amused, half-horrified. “Gabriel? Seriously?”
Gabriel shot him a wink, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. “Oh, Dean-o, not everyone can land themselves an angel. But the Winchester charm? Irresistible.”
Dean shook his head, laughing, while Sam groaned again, now fully red in the face.
“Great. Sabriel,” Dean muttered under his breath, grinning despite himself.
Sam glared at him, taking a long sip of his coffee. “I swear to God, Dean. Don’t.”
Dean laughed, reaching over to grab Cas’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Despite the teasing, despite the absurdity of the morning, everything felt right. His brother was here, Cas was beside him, for once, things were good. Messy, imperfect, but good.
Dean glanced at Cas, who was still holding his hand, and he couldn’t help but smile. Yeah. He was lucky. Damn lucky.
Cas turned to him, sensing his thoughts again, and gave Dean’s hand a squeeze. Dean squeezed back, letting himself relax into the moment.
For the first time in his life, Dean wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was happy. Truly happy.