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That morning, after a hunt that went on much longer than expected, Dean just wanted to forget everything – including angels and Metatron -, and sleep.
For days, if possible.
He could already imagine the absolute relax in his room, some hamburgers and some horror movies. He already threatened Sam to stay away from him, and Castiel... well, Castiel had spent his time sleeping since he lost his grace, overwhelmed by his new nature.
Dean placed the gun under the pillow, put on something more comfortable, undressing almost completely. He picked up the blankets, ready to begin his retreat, when something caught his attention.
The sweet smell filled the room, impregnated the walls of the old underground bunker. And the hunter found himself drawn by the trail of that scent so familiar that it was poking his nose out of the room, through the hallway.
Dean looked around trying not to dwell on the disaster that the kitchen had become.
He wandered the island in front of him, avoiding the open bags of flour and the stains that dotted every surface of the kitchen, the eggshells, the apples peels.
But when he saw it, when Dean was able to focus on what was happening he couldn't help but stop, incredulous.
-Cas? What are you doing? - Castiel was standing in front of the oven still open; he was wearing a black apron that was too big for his body and a pair of baking gloves with a Christmas fantasy and he was holding a steaming pie in his hands.
-Hello, Dean – Castiel smiled slightly embarassed, handing over his awkwardly decorated masterpiece in his direction.
- I baked a pie. Today is your birthday, isn't? And birthdays are important for humans – he said, chasing his green eyes, nailing them gently.
Castiel's gaze was so full of hope that Dean couldn't help but open his mouth, closing it right after.
What could he say? Thank you?
Castiel made a pie to celebrate him. The day of his birthday.
A simple, everyday gesture that meant everything to Dean. No one had done that for him in a very long time. No one loved him enough to think about it, to work to make him happy.
Nobody except Castiel.
Castiel was always there to help him, to be close to him. And now, with his face covered in batter and his untied hair full of flour he seemed to be the only thing that made sense in that stupid world that seemed to have taken pleasure in tormenting him.
- Don't – don't you like it? -
Dean smiled back and getting one step closer. He dipped a finger in the still warm jam, bringing it to his lips, letting a smug moan escape.
- It's amazing - he whispered then, clawing his hair and kissing him gently. - You're amazing Cas -