Work Text:
“Mornin’, Sunshine!” Dean chuckles from his spot at their little crappy stove. He bites his lip, chewing on it lightly as he scoops up a pancake onto his spatula, before flipping it up into the air.
He catches it in the edge of the pan and winces, wiggling the whole pan until the pancake’s back where it belongs.
He turns to the doorway where the noise came from, and he watches Cas shuffle out of their bedroom, dorning one black knee high sock, boxers, and an old shirt of Dean’s that had been living on the floor until now. His hair is, as always, fucked six ways to Sunday, and he’s wearing the old thick framed black glasses that Dean hasn’t seen on him since they were kids. He’s hugging his textbooks and his notebooks tight to his chest, like he’d fallen asleep with them.
“Sunshine isn’t an apt description of my demeanor, I think.” Cas says, flopping down back first on their shitty old couch.
Dean does nothing but laugh, flipping the pan over a plate and walking over with a plate full of pancakes.
“Yeah well,” Dean says, prying away Cas’ textbooks and replacing them with the plate, “maybe this’ll help.”
Cas’ expression melts into a smile, and he grips Dean by the front of his shirt.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, the start of a good morning.