Work Text:
Getting stuck in the middle of Dean and Cas' fights was the worst. Sam was just as pissed about what happened to Donatello as Dean, sure, but there wasn't the same tension. He wasn't sulking.
It had been two days, now. Two days of Cas' pleading looks, and Dean's refusal to look back. Two days of Dean rolling his eyes whenever Cas said so much as a word. Two days of Cas looking at Sam like he could magically make his brother more agreeable, and Dean looking at Sam like any words he spoke to Cas were a betrayal. Sam had been to actual, real-life hell, and this wasn't much better.
He couldn’t even enjoy a peaceful moment in the kitchen. Dean was making more pancakes than two grown men and an angel could reasonably eat, so it was clear something was bothering him this morning. Making matters worse, Castiel entered and sat across from him. The waves of frustration coming off Dean multiplied. Sam just wanted his fucking pancakes.
"Hungry, Cas?" Dean asked in his worst fake-casual voice.
Cas rolled his eyes. "No, you know I don't eat," he sighed.
Sam put his face in his hands.
"Right," Dean said curtly. "Just thought I'd offer."
"Kill me," Sam muttered into his palms.
The passive-aggressive energy in the kitchen ramped up as Dean plopped a stack of pancakes in front of Sam and slid into the seat next to him. Cas shifted awkwardly on the other side of the table.
When Dean's open-mouthed chewing (intentional, and clearly directed at Castiel, who looked utterly appalled) became too loud to bear, Sam spoke up. "So, uh, those ingredients," he started. "Where are we gonna get the grace of an archangel? I mean, Raphael and Gabriel are dead, Michael's still locked up, and Lucifer's not at full power anymore..."
"Maybe Donatello could've told us more," Dean posited.
Cas' hands balled into fists on the table. "I know everything he knew. I made sure of that. Your lack of faith in me—"
Sam held up his hands. "Cas, come on—"
"No, Cas, by all means, speak your mind!" Dean interrupted. "Tell us more about how you can justify doing something like that to an innocent man."
"He wasn't—Dean, he attacked you! And he was working with Asmodeus, so he wouldn’t have told us anything anyway," Cas insisted, leaning over the table. "Everything I do, I do to protect you. Perhaps you don't like my methods, but you can at least thank me—"
"Nobody asked you to do that, though! What if I don't need protecting? Ever think of that?"
Castiel sat back in his seat and huffed. "Well if that's the case, I have no purpose in life."
Dean just opened and closed his mouth a couple times, saying nothing.
"You do have a purpose, Cas," Sam said gently. "And Dean, come on. He has a point."
Dean crossed his arms moodily. "I just don't see why every time you do something stupid, it's always 'I did it for you, Dean'." He said, his voice dropping to mock Castiel's.
Cas sighed. "We're the Winchesters, aren't we? We do stupid shit for the people we love," he said, resigned.
Sam's eyebrows raised. A quick glance at his brother confirmed that he was blushing, and looking everywhere but at Cas. He'd heard Cas tell them he loves them, collectively anyway. But this was specifically about Dean. Interesting.
The rest of their pancakes were finished in silence.
The next two days had a different sort of energy to them. It was less hostile, for sure, but no less unbearably awkward. The pleading looks were coming from both sides now, but only when the other wasn’t looking. Eye contact was followed immediately by one of them getting as far away from the other as possible, and then some more staring. Sam felt relieved, at least, that they weren't giving him looks anymore. It seemed they only had eyes for each other.
And then he came back from a run to find that Dean had baked three dozen blueberry muffins.
"Okay, talk to me," Sam sighed, gesturing at the pastries covering every surface of the kitchen.
"What?" Dean asked, fake-cheerfully. "Have a muffin."
"First of all, you hate blueberries," Sam said, trying to resist the urge to immediately take up the offer. The smell was heavenly. But there was a bigger picture to address. "Second, I know you. You bake when you're stressed. Third," he couldn't help but reach for a muffin. "You and Cas have both been really fucking weird since breakfast the other day," he finished, finally taking a bite.
Rather than addressing anything Sam had said, Dean asked, "Are they good?"
"Fucking excellent," Sam confirmed through a mouthful. "But you're avoiding my question. What's going on?"
"Nothing!" Dean insisted. "Absolutely nothing is going on."
Muffin thoroughly devoured, Sam fixed his brother with the face.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Sam. Cas is just acting weird."
"And you're not?" Sam gestured to the muffins again. "Come on, Dean, don't pretend I don't know. You and Cas have been dancing around this for years."
"Dancing around what?" Dean asked, his voice going unnaturally high.
"He told you he loves you."
Dean shrugged. "As like a, you know, friend. Brother. Whatever. It's not a big deal," he said too fast, reaching for a muffin.
Sam eyed the muffin in Dean's hand skeptically. "Then why are you so nervous?"
Again, Dean didn't answer. He simply took a bite of the muffin and made a face at it.
"You want it to mean more," Sam ventured.
After a moment of chewing, Dean nodded.
"Did you actually ask if he meant it that way?"
Dean shook his head and swallowed.
Sam sighed. "Well, if you ask me, I think he feels the same way. So, do us all a favor and just talk to him."
The next morning, Sam was alone in the kitchen enjoying yet another blueberry muffin. He only had a moment to wonder if Dean had said anything to Cas yet before the two of them came through the door in matching Men of Letters robes. Well, that answers that.
"Dean, I appreciate the offer, but I don't—"
"I know, you don't eat. But try it, please? For me?" Dean...pouted? Gross, Sam thought.
Cas rolled his eyes, but today it was a fond expression. Dean grabbed a blueberry muffin off the counter and offered it to him.
A delicate bite was taken out of the muffin. Cas' face was pensive as he chewed. Dean looked happier than Sam had seen him in years.
"It tastes...like molecules," Cas said. Sam wanted to kick him when he saw Dean's face fall just a little. "But they're pleasant molecules," he added earnestly. Dean's face lit up again as he leaned in for a kiss.
Gross, Sam thought again. But it was better than the fighting, so he decided he'd let it slide.