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It’s the third time that Sam walks in on Cas and Dean that he finally says something.
“So . . . have you two ever thought about, I dunno, getting a place?” Cas tilted his head in the way that he does and Dean refused to make eye contact.
It was easier at the Bunker, with whole hallways between their rooms, and various unexplored depths to escape to when they wanted “alone time.” Since the three of them had moved into the small house outside of Manhattan, Kansas so that Sam could finish his degree at Kansas State it’d become much more difficult to find privacy. Besides, Dean was pretty sure it was Sam’s fault for walking into rooms without knocking.
“The kitchen, guys,” Sam continued. “Of all rooms, the kitchen?”
“Hey, I dunno what you’re talking about. It’s not like we were naked or anything.”
“Images I didn’t need, Dean!”
Cas directed his head tilt at Dean instead of Sam. “Why do we need a ‘place’? Is this not suitable?”
“No, Cas, this is fine, Sam’s just being a big baby --”
“Three times, Dean! And we’ve only lived here for a month!”
“It’s not my fault you just barge into whatever room you want without knocking!”
“The kitchen , Dean. The kitchen .”
And so, three weeks later, Dean and Cas moved into a small one-bedroom apartment near campus where they didn’t have any moose-shaped interruptions to their kitchen make-out sessions.
They had everything they needed, the retired hunter and ex-angel, since Dean had taken all of the items he’d deemed necessary with him when they moved out.
All except one.
“Sam, there is absolutely no reason for you to have a toaster AND a toaster oven,” Dean had argued, while throwing the last load of stuff into the Impala.
“They are two distinctly different appliances, Dean.”
“Then why the hell are they both ‘toasters,’ Sam?”
Sam pulled an epic bitchface. “One is a toaster and the other is an oven .”
Dean stared. “Dude, that makes absolutely no sense.”
Sam grabbed the toaster from Dean’s hands. “I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. Find your own damn toaster.”
Dean glared at Sam, but eventually resigned himself to the fact that he would need to make a stop to get a toaster before going to the apartment.
The Target down the road had plenty of selection for small kitchen appliances. Why were there seven different types of coffee makers? Though he made a mental note to figure out what would be best for Cas and his coffee habit. Finding the toasters, Dean managed to get himself lost in the aisles staring at the impossibly numerous brands, types, and finishes.
One had a function for bagels; did Cas even eat bagels? How the hell would that even work? What exactly did a “bagel” function do?
Another one had four slots for what, toast addicts? Who couldn’t wait for the first two slices to finish toasting before making more?
Overwhelmed with choice, Dean grabbed the box nearest him and headed for the checkout, wondering vaguely if they needed a blender. Better to get out before he started buying useless things like a single-serve soda maker, or a multi-function panini press.
“Here.”
Cas looked bemusedly at the box Dean held out to him. “What is it?”
“What do you mean? It’s a toaster.”
Cas stared at the box in Dean’s hands. “Are toasters meant to be pink?”
Dean’s cheeks flushed. “It was on sale. I just grabbed it. Just take the fucking toaster!”
“Okay, Dean.”
Cas took the lurid pink box from Dean’s hands and carried it into their tiny kitchen. He’d been sorting through the various odds and ends that Dean had managed to pry from Sam as they’d packed up to move out. They at least had enough plates to eat off of, though they were mismatched, and they only had one small saucepan but four large skillets. Cas began to take the toaster out of the box, and inside the product was just as shockingly pink as the packaging.
“Hello . . . kitty?” Cas read from the side of the appliance. Dean turned bright red and marched from the kitchen.
“If you don’t like it, the receipt is in the bag!” he yelled, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.
Cas cradled the toaster gently, a small smile beginning to spread across his face. He did like it, in fact. It was the first thing in their new home that was his and Dean’s, not his and Dean’s and Sam’s.
Almost humming to himself, Cas set the toaster in pride of place and turned back to continue unpacking the boxes. For their kitchen: his and Dean’s. Their place . He had a feeling they were going to like it here.
And they did.
For the most part.
It was a small apartment. They had moved from the incredibly spacious bunker, to a four bedroom house, to a one bedroom. And it wasn’t like they had a lot of things. But the two men took up space. Dean found himself missing Sam, healthy cooking and all. It had been the two of them for so long, that it was hard to not have him in the next room. Though not having to worry about closing doors was a definite bonus.
But there were little things. Just really small, dumb things that Dean had to learn about his fallen angel. Like the fact that he leaves his socks across the house, because his feet are perpetually cold and then hot. Or that he doesn’t put the records back in their sleeves before putting them back in the case. Or the fact that Cas insists on feeding the stray cats, and they end up congregating by the doors and Dean can never get out without tripping on one. And he loves Cas, he does. But there are days and Dean’s only human. He has his limits.
“Cas! Why are there socks in the kitchen?”
“Cas! Dammit, where is Zepp II?”
“Cas! Fuck! One of your cats is in the apartment!”
It took two hours to fish the damned cat out of the closet where it had hidden behind some of Dean’s boxes of stuff from his old room in the bunker. Dean finally managed to grab it around the middle and toss it unceremoniously (though gently) onto the landing. He hissed in pain, examining the long red scratches, some of which were oozing blood, and stomped toward the bathroom.
“I swear, if I have to trip over another one of those fuzzy little monsters on my way into this apartment, I’m going to tell every witch in the county where they can find enough cat skulls to last them until the next century,” Dean railed as he searched the cupboards for alcohol swabs and antibiotic ointment. Cas followed behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry, Dean. They just seemed so hungry, and no one else was feeding them, so I thought . . .”
“They’re strays, or they have homes somewhere else that feed them. You don’t have to take care of the stupid things. And pick up your socks!” Dean exclaimed, tripping over another pair in the hallway. “Fuck! I can’t go anywhere in this apartment without practically breaking my neck on another pair of your goddamned socks!”
Dean could feel the anger building in his chest, and knew he had to get out and take a breath. Hastily, he started stuffing a few clothing items and his toiletries into a duffle. Cas stood stoically beside him in their bedroom.
“Are you going somewhere?” Cas asked calmly. The tone of his voice just irritated Dean even more.
“I’m going to Sammy’s,” Dean said shortly. “Don’t wait up.”
He slammed the apartment door behind him, scattering the remaining cats that were munching on kibble nearby. Without so much as a backward glance, he threw his duffle into the Impala and took off toward the house.
It was nice to be back with Sammy. It was easy to fall back into a routine with him. He had only packed a few nights worth of stuff, and was back to the apartment after the second night of beer and bad action movies with Sam. He wasn’t ready to go back to living at the apartment full time, but he definitely needed a few more pairs of clean underwear. Crossing his fingers and hoping Cas wasn’t home, he put his key in the lock and tried to open the door as quietly as possible.
And he met resistance. “What the hell?” he murmured, shoving hard against the door. Finally, it gave way and he nearly fell into the apartment.
What greeted him was the sight of boxes and bags stacked up behind the door, which was weird. Was Cas expecting some sort of intruder? Finally pushing the door open far enough to get into the apartment, Dean realized almost the entire living room was full of his crap.
“Cas?” There was no response, but he heard music floating from the bedroom. He knocked on the door before opening it to see Cas lying on the bed, laptop next to him.
“Dude, why are you listening to Kelly Clarkson and also why is my shit in the living room?”
“I don’t understand…”
“Cas, my shit is in the living room. In boxes. Why?”
“You left Dean,” Cas said, confused by Dean’s confusion. “I assumed you would want your things so I made it easier for you to pick them up.”
“Wh--I--What? Why?!” Dean demanded again.
Cas paused the music on his laptop and rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I thought a mutual exchange of items was customary following a breakup. There’s no need to give back anything that I own; I made sure to sort through the things in the apartment as I packed them and evenly divided anything that we could both claim equal ownership over. The equitable division of assets is key to any breakup--”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
Cas blinked owlishly at Dean. “Certainly not, Dean. You broke up with me.”
As if the words he was saying weren’t aggravating enough, Cas’s cool tone set Dean on edge. “I didn’t--you know what, Cas? Fine. I give up.”
Refusing to acknowledge the tingling numbness that had started in his fingers and toes and was creeping through his limbs, Dean moved toward the living room and the pile of his belongings stacked behind the door.
“Just leave the shit here, I’ll come back tomorrow with Sammy and--Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“The fuck is this?”
“It’s the toaster you bought us.”
Now it was Dean’s turn to blink owlishly at Cas. “I can see that . . . why is it on top of my record collection?”
“As I said, Dean, the equitable division of assets is paramount to an amiable conscious uncoupling--”
“Okay but why do I get. . . wait wait. Did you just say ‘conscious uncoupling’? Who the fuck talks like that?”
“From what I understand from Cosmopolitan. . .”
“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re taking your relationship advice from Cosmo?” there was a moment of silence and then “Is that where you learned how to do that. . . thing? With your. . . tongue?”
“I wanted to be able to perform to your satisfaction. I know you have had many other lovers, Dean, and--”
“Okay, well whatever. Keep the goddamn toaster, Cas.”
“But Dean, you were the one who purchased it.”
“I don’t need it okay? Sam has a toaster AND a toaster oven. Just. . . keep the fucking toaster.”
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I don’t make the rules.”
“There are no rules, Cas! It’s a breakup! It just . . . it’s not even a breakup! I’m not--” Dean sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I’m going to Sam’s. Call me if you, I dunno, find your sanity.”
“Dean, the toaster--”
“Forget the fucking toaster!”
Dean slammed the door behind him and stormed down the stairs. Maybe Sam would know what the hell to do.
“I have no idea what the hell to do, Dean.”
“Well thanks for nothing.”
“Come on Dean, I’m not part of the relationship. This is one of those things that you two have to figure out.” There was quiet as Sam watched Dean nurse his beer. “Did you really yell at him about a toaster?”
“It wasn’t my greatest moment Sam, he was listening to Kelly Clarkson, I was a little thrown off okay?”
“Kelly Clarkson? Oh please tell me it was Breakaway .”
“Dude! Bigger issues here! Cas just kicked me out!”
“Right, sorry. Okay. So what are you gonna do?”
Dean looked sheepish, running a hand on the back of his neck. “I figured I’d sleep in my old room?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure, but what about after? You have to go talk to Cas.”
“Not without whiskey.”
“Nope, no whiskey. You’re not drinking this one away, Dean. Go. Talk. To. Cas.”
But Dean didn’t go talk to Cas. He trudged up to his old room and stayed there for two days. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to miss waking up next to Cas every morning. He kept his phone charged, but it never rang, and there were no missed calls or texts.
Sam pounded on his door the evening of the second day. “Dude, I can smell you from out here. You’ve gotta take a shower or Cas is never going to take you back.”
He didn’t want to shower. He didn’t want to get out of bed, much less get showered and dressed and go talk to Cas.
His phone buzzed beside him, and Dean scooped it up immediately. It was a text, but it was from Sam.
“ Get your ass in the shower and over to talk to Cas or I swear to God I will scratch one of your Zeppelin records and you won’t know which one. ”
“Bitch,” Dean muttered and threw his phone to the end of the bed. He knew he needed to be an adult, he needed to go to the apartment, if only to get his shit. But if he was being honest, he was scared to open that door. Literally and metaphorically.
Cas hadn’t heard from Dean in two days. They’d gone longer between contact before, but not since they’d settled down and certainly not since they’d moved into the apartment together. But Dean had gotten angry, and he’d left, without letting Cas even start to explain or defend himself. And then he’d come back, but Cas had somehow messed up again, misinterpreting some human rituals regarding breakup, leaving him with the pile of Dean’s things near the door.
The pink Hello Kitty toaster sat atop the stack, mocking him.
He’d spent the first day trying to ignore the items packed up and ready for pickup at any point. Dean had said he’d be back for his things, after all, and there were items he’d surely miss. But Dean hadn’t come that day, so Cas finally settled in to watch some television around dinner time.
He realized he was hungry at about nine. The only thing in the kitchen to eat was soup, and he’d decided that the pots and pans should go to Dean. He figured he’d clean the saucepan later, then put all of the kitchen items back into the box so Dean could pick them up the next day.
After dinner, Cas settled back in front of the TV, but soon he realized he was cold. The blanket from the back of the couch had originally come from Dean’s room in the bunker, so he’d packed that away, too. Not wanting to disturb the bedding in their room, he fished the blanket out of a box and wrapped up in it to finish his show. He could pack it back up in the morning.
He ended up falling asleep on the couch, so the morning of the second day he rushed around trying to pack everything back into boxes. He’d had to unpack quite a bit to get to the items he needed, and it all had become a huge mess, so he actually thought about unpacking the boxes he’d opened and starting over.
While unpacking to re-pack, he found a few items that actually should have gone to himself in the equitable distribution process. And if one or two things had gotten mixed up in just a few boxes, what about the rest? It was important to get it right--he didn’t want there to be any animosity between himself and Dean following their breakup.
It was exhausting to pull everything out of the boxes, and a ball of something squirmy had lodged in his stomach as he touched and sorted all of Dean’s things. Eating dinner didn’t help, so he decided that maybe a good night’s sleep would help. After all, Dean hadn’t come yet; maybe he and Sam had gotten replacement things?
Late in the morning of the third day, Cas received a text from Dean:
“ Headed over soon. Just wanted to give you a head’s up. ”
None of Dean’s things were packed, so Cas leapt out of bed in a panic, rushing to throw things back into boxes so that Dean could leave quickly. The article he’d read about appropriate breakup behavior said that they shouldn’t be in the same vicinity for long: something called a “clean break.” He was only halfway through shoving the kitchen items back where they belonged when someone knocked on the door.
“Uh, be right there!” he called, trying to push a final item into a box stuffed full with the couch blanket. Catching his breath, he eased the door open.
Dean stood on the other side, alone. When Dean saw him through the crack in the door, his lips curled in a lopsided smile. “Hey, Cas.”
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean stepped into the apartment, noticing the boxes that had been neatly packed a few days ago were mostly spread out across the floor.
“Whoa, get his by a tornado here Cas?”
“Sam’s house is three miles away Dean, I think you would have known if a tornado had touched down.”
“No, Cas. . . the boxes.”
“Oh,” Cas shrunk into himself a bit, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I realized I was in need of a few things, and I had given them to you, in the division process. But what’s yours is all back in this area, and I can help you pack. . .”
“Look, about that . . .” Dean made an aborted movement, like he was going to reach for Cas’s hand, then changed his mind. “Can, uh, can we talk, maybe?”
“Of course.” Though, Cas knew, these talks rarely led to anything good.
“Awesome, okay.” Dean looked around the room, anywhere but at Cas. After the pause stretched long enough that Cas started to feel awkward, Dean finally cleared his throat. “So, I guess . . . I’m not sure where to start.”
“What are you here to say, Dean?”
“I don’t want to break up!”
The words had come out in a rush, taking Cas aback. “But, you left . . .?”
“I know! And I feel really shitty about it, okay, but just because we have one fight doesn’t mean we’re over.”
“But the magazines--”
“God, Cas, do me a favor and do not take any relationship advice from those rags.”
“What about the technique with my tongue?”
“Except that.” Dean managed to smile at him fondly. “I know you’re new to the whole human relationship thing, Cas, and I’m actually really shitty at them, so . . . All I know is, we’re gonna fight, but that doesn’t mean we split, okay?”
Cas leveled a serious look at Dean. “You left,” he repeated. Dean’s eyes locked on Cas’s and he swallowed hard.
“I know. I’m sorry. I needed to cool off and I just . . . I should have explained. If we’re gonna live together, we need to give each other space sometimes. God knows when I lived with Lisa we used to get into these knock-down, drag-out fights that lasted hours . Sometimes it’s better to take a break. Not a break-up!” he added hastily. “Just, you know, take a step back. Breathe a little. God, listen to me, I sound like Sammy.”
“I’m afraid you’ll leave and never come back,” Cas admitted suddenly. Dean was shocked back into silence. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m afraid that I’ll make you leave and you’ll never come back.”
Dean blinked at him, then suddenly Cas found himself wrapped in Dean’s arms. He relaxed into the hold after a moment, realizing how much he had missed Dean. It had only been two days, but it was the longest two days Cas had spent in a while. When Dean tried to move back, Cas grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into a very enthusiastic kiss. Dean drifted away after a long moment, keeping his hands on Cas’s shoulders.
“Come on, let’s go test out what other useful things you’ve learned from Cosmo, huh?”
“But, Dean, shouldn’t we put everything back where it belongs?”
“Nah. We’ve got time.”
Dean slipped his hand into Cas’s and started to lead him toward the bedroom. Cas looked over at Dean and beamed.
“I guess this means we don’t have to debate about who gets the toaster now.” Dean grinned at Cas.
“Sure, man. We’ll call it the Love Toaster.”
Cas had, in fact, learned four new techniques from Cosmo, and they had Hello Kitty printed toast for breakfast.