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When Cas says at eight in the morning that he’s still feeling pretty sleepy, Dean doesn’t think much of it. Not like he has anything important to do today, so he might as well sleep in.
It’s not a good morning anyway. It’s cold and it’s drizzling, and Dean is chilled to the bone when he comes back in from his morning walk with Jack. Jack, being God and all that, doesn’t mind the temperature much—probably doesn’t feel it at all—so he doesn’t whine about it as much as Dean does (Jack’s words, not Dean’s, kid’s becoming ruthless).
Around noon, he decides to make some hot chocolate, even throws some whipped cream and sprinkles on top, and makes his way to the bedroom to find Cas. He can hear the shower running from the hallway, so he sits down on the bed and scrolls through his phone while waiting for Cas to come out and tell him the drink is too bitter because he used too much cocoa powder.
When Cas finally does come out, a little later than Dean thought, he’s a little moody. He changes into the fresh pair of sweatpants Dean laid out for him, but puts back the t-shirt and grabs a hoodie of Dean’s instead.
Dean holds out the mug and Cas accepts it wordlessly, sitting down next to Dean on the bed with their backs resting against the headboard. Cas’ head immediately falls on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean kisses the top of his head while grabbing his hand between their thighs.
“You okay?” he asks and Cas nods, but something’s definitely up. “C’mon, what is it?”
“‘m getting sick,” Cas says, and the words do come out a little hoarse, but maybe it’s just because he’s barely spoken all day and coughing once or twice would fix his voice. Dean holds the back of his hand to Cas’ forehead and he does feel a little warm, but not feverish-hot. Might be the beginning of a cold, might also be the effects of a hot shower.
“How you feeling?” Dean asks, just to get a better idea of the rest of Cas’ symptoms.
“Tired,” he replies, and Dean waits for more adjectives to follow, but Cas goes quiet. He takes a sip of his hot (but really anymore) chocolate, then he takes another one right away, and Dean smiles at the feeling of vindication.
“You’ve slept all day, Cas.”
Cas only hums in response. Dean thinks he’s starting to understand what’s going on here, and it’s gonna need a different approach than running to the pharmacy and buying a shitload of medicine. “You wanna watch something?”
“Not if you choose.”
“Fine, you choose something.”
He’s quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Dean to think he’s changed his mind. Then he mumbles, “Put on Twilight.”
Dean suppresses a groan, a scoff, and an eye roll all at once. He squeezes Cas’ hand once and reaches over to grab the remote, careful not to spill hot chocolate from either of their mugs. The things he does for that guy, it’s embarrassing (God, he loves him so much).
Netflix loads up quickly enough, and Dean wishes he could stall by typing the letters into the search bar, waiting for Cas to say he was kidding, let’s watch something else, but no. He selects Cas’ profile, opens his watch list and starts the movie.
About ten minutes in, Cas asks for another cup of hot chocolate, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to get up and get more for both of them, gladly taking accepting the chance to get a break from the movie
About thirty minutes in, Cas' head on Dean’s shoulder gets heavier, and about thirty-four minutes in, Dean can hear a soft snore and watches Cas’ chest rise and fall evenly. Unfortunately he knows that Cas would wake up the instant he turned off the movie or moved the slightest bit, so he’s trapped between Cas, the bed, and—well, Twilight.
It’s a long two hours later when the credits are rolling and Dean officially cannot feel his arm anymore. Cas wakes up just in time for Netflix to show the trailer for New Moon, but Dean shuts off the TV at what is probably close to the speed of light. Cas rubs his eyes and doesn’t notice (and if he just pretends he doesn’t, Dean silently thanks him for that).
“You feeling better?” Dean asks, although he can guess the answer.
“A little,” Cas says with a smile and finally looks up at Dean for the first time all day. His eyes are small, which is to be expected after more hours of sleep than Dean can count on two hands, and his hair is all messy again but that’s fine, because Dean has a feeling they’re not going to leave the house today, and no one’s coming by either. Jack left too, went to see Sam and Eileen with a travel mug full of Dean’s hot chocolate, so it’s just the two of them.
Cas’ eyes drop down to Dean’s lips and he leans in to peck them, then leans in again to give him a proper, chaste kiss, and Dean can feel his stomach go weak. If he was in a cheesy teen movie, he’d call it butterflies or whatever. The effect Cas has on him just doesn’t seem to cease, not even after all this time.
Dean can feel Cas reaching for the hem of his shirt, and he knows exactly where this is gonna go if he doesn’t intervene right here because he doesn’t know if Cas is in the right headspace for anything like it. He puts his hand over Cas’ warm one and laces their fingers together instead. “Cas,” he breathes.
It makes Cas pull back and frown at Dean. “What?”
He hesitates. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” Cas says, but they both know it’s not even worth arguing. Dean kisses Cas’ nose, sappy as he’s become, and gets on his feet while replacing his space on the bed with a blanket so Cas doesn’t lose any warmth.
“I’ll still make you something.”
Thing is, Dean knows that Cas means it when he says he’s not hungry. If Dean decided to make a full Thanksgiving meal right now, Cas wouldn’t even touch it. He settles for a sandwich, something light, knowing that even if it’s neither very filling nor nutritious enough to cover the halfday Cas didn’t eat, it’s better than nothing at all. He even cuts him up an apple and prepares a small bowl of peanut butter to dip in (Dean has stopped questioning Cas’ comfort foods long ago).
When he walks back into their bedroom, Cas is mindlessly scrolling through Netflix. He looks relieved when he sees the sandwich, even smiles when he spots the apple slices and the peanut butter.
While Cas silently works his way through the meal, Dean grabs the remote and takes the liberty of commenting on just about everything Netflix suggests. He hopes to offer Cas some kind of background noise so he’s not all alone with his thoughts (and Dean’s unsolicited opinions on everything have proven useful for that), and only when the whole plate is empty does Cas speak up, “Thank you.”
Dean gently rubs a hand over Cas’ thigh, no ulterior motive, just for comfort. “You wanna go outside? Get some fresh air?” Cas considers it, and Dean can see how conflicted he is about it, so he adds, “You could—I mean, I could use some company while I work on the canopy swing.”
Cas has been nagging Dean to finish the canopy swing for weeks, but it’s such a hassle and more complicated than Dean had anticipated, so he kind of kept procrastinating it. Today seems like a good day to get back to it, Dean thinks.
A smile spreads over Cas’ face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says and squeezes Dean’s hand.
“Me too.” Dean lifts their hands to his face and presses a kiss to the ring on Cas’ finger. “You gotta put on some clothes though, it’s cold out there.”
He grabs the first pair of jeans he finds in the closet and throws it onto the bed, followed by a pair of thick socks and Cas’ favorite woolen hat, the one with the bobble on top. His own clothes from earlier have dried by now so he puts them back on before helping Cas get dressed.
Turns out it’s not as cold outside as it was in the morning. Dean is glad the rain has stopped, but Cas still keeps the hat tight on his head, and Dean has to resist the urge to kiss him silly when his nose turns pink in the cold.
Dean gets right back to where he left off last time (he’s embarrassed to say he doesn’t even remember when that was) while Cas wanders around the garage, the backyard, looks over Dean’s shoulder and presses a cold kiss to his cheek, sits on the porch and flips through the pages of his book. It was a good idea to get Cas outside like this, Dean doesn’t even mind the annoying work on the swing that much anymore.
About an hour before sunset seems like a good time to stop for today. Dean’s hands are starting to hurt and his entire body feels frozen. Cas has started fidgeting, kept looking over at Dean in a way that signaled he wanted to go back inside, but didn’t want to go without Dean, and didn’t want to ask him to go with him either. It’s hard to believe how easily Dean can read him nowadays, after all those years of dancing around each other.
When they get back inside, the first thing Dean does is head upstairs and turn on the faucet of the bathtub. If he feels this cold already, he doesn’t want to think about how someone as cold sensitive as his husband must feel.
Back downstairs, he tells Cas to take off his outside clothes, hangs not one but two blankets around his shoulders and makes him get comfortable on the couch. He checks the fridge, the pantry, then the bag full of vegetables Cas brought in from his garden yesterday, and he gets an idea.
Assembling all the ingredients he needs takes a few minutes, but before he can get started on anything, he remembers the bathtub. He looks over to where Cas is still sitting on the couch, obviously and shamelessly following Dean’s movements around the kitchen.
“You watching me?”
Cas’ head perks up. He smiles, and Dean can’t believe he’s the one who gets to see that smile every day. “Yes.”
Dean cackles at Cas’ usual bluntness. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says and holds out a hand. Cas takes it without hesitation and follows Dean to the bathroom.
Steam is already greeting them at the door and Dean is happy to see that his timing was about right. Before starting to undress Cas, Dean opens a drawer beneath the sink and grabs something he never thought he’d actually use, but here he is. The bath bomb is still gift-wrapped but Dean knew what it was right away because Cas keeps buying them, so Dean knows what they look like. He never had the urge to get his own, but when Eileen gave it to him for his birthday, saying the color reminded her of him, he still appreciated it.
When Cas identifies what Dean is holding, he puts a hand on top of Dean’s to stop him from unwrapping it. “Dean,” he says, but Dean doesn’t let him get any further.
“Cas, it’s fine.”
“No, this is yours, I have some others—”
“Cas,” Dean says again, louder and with more emphasis this time. Cas falls silent and Dean uses the opportunity to kiss him, simple as that. His lips are soft and have long warmed up, and honestly, Dean could do this all day. He pulls back eventually, though, remembering that now is not the time.
He doesn’t argue about it anymore, just gently takes hold of the small, dusty ball in his hand and drops it in the middle of the bathtub. Green bubbles start popping up and spreading, all possible shades, Dean recognizes the color of pine and mint, and just about everything in between.
Judging by the way Cas’ eyes flicker between the tub and Dean’s eyes, he thinks he understands why Eileen picked this one.
Cas’ eyes eventually settle on Dean, not the color-changing bathtub (which, fine, is more fun than Dean thought it would be), eyes unmoving even as Dean’s hands move to zip open and pull down Cas’ jeans along with his underwear. Cas grabs Dean’s arm to not fall over when stepping out of both legs, one after another, and pulling off his socks too, while he’s at it.
Dean will admit, he likes the sight of Cas wearing his clothes. He liked it back when Cas first started wearing his flannels, but seeing him in his favorite cozy hoodie is even better.
Anyway, it has to come off too, along with the shirt he’s wearing underneath, and only when Cas is finally naked in front of him, Dean realizes that there’s nothing sexual about this at all. It’s just about warming Cas up, comforting him, making sure he feels better.
He helps Cas into the tub, holding both of his hands to catch him in case he trips, but Cas quickly lowers his body into the steaming, green water. When he’s all the way in, he leans back and closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath he’s probably been holding in all day. Dean presses one last kiss to Cas’ forehead before turning on his heels. “I’ll come get you when dinner’s ready, okay?”
Cas’ eyes snap open and he looks surprised that Dean’s not staying, but then he seems to remember that Dean was just about to prepare dinner before they came up here. He nods slowly and Dean feels terrible about leaving him alone, so he goes back, gives him another kiss on the lips, and then quickly exits the room before he changes his mind.
Back in the kitchen, he gets started on cutting up some vegetables and sweet potatoes among other things he knows Cas likes. He reflects on everything that has happened since they woke up in the morning, and wonders if he could’ve done anything differently to prevent the drop in Cas’ mood today. He comes up blank because he knows Cas would tell him there was nothing Dean could’ve done, he just gets days like this sometimes.
And frankly, Dean understands it, he absolutely does. He gets those days too, and Cas always takes good care of him, spends countless hours in bed cuddling him and watching cartoons with him, goes on aimless drives with him because he knows Baby comforts him. Dean draws the line at Cas cooking for him, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
When everything goes in the big pot, Dean stirs for a few minutes, then lowers the heat and sets a timer. Cas’ bathwater must be lukewarm by now so he makes a beeline for the bathroom and finds Cas exactly how he left him, calm and peaceful with his eyes closed.
Of course, Dean has to open the door far enough for it to creak, and Cas instantly looks up at him. He closes the door behind himself and gets on his knees next to the bathtub, gladly taking the risk of getting his sleeves wet by leaning on his elbows at the edge of the tub. “Dinner’s done soon.”
Instead of replying, Cas leans over and lifts one hand to Dean’s face, cupping his cheek and rubbing his thumb over it. Dean leans into the touch like it’s the most natural thing. “Define soon.”
“Seventeen minutes.”
Cas smiles and jerks his head to the space behind him. “Get in, then.”
It would be a lie if Dean said he was surprised at the request. He undresses quickly, dumps his clothes on the same pile where he dumped Cas’, and squeezes behind him into the tub that was by no means made for two grown men of their size and stature, but whatever. Cas' back fits perfectly against Dean’s chest, and when Dean wraps his arms around Cas, wrists crossing over his chest, only a little water splashes over.
He was right, the water isn’t hot anymore, but it’s still green, and Cas is there to keep him warm, so this is definitely good enough. He has perfect access to kiss the back of Cas’ head as much as he pleases.
After a while, he moves his head so he can kiss down the side of Cas’ head, his temples and ears, until Cas turns his head enough for Dean to press one to his cheek, his nose, his lips.
God, Dean really loves him so much.
“You know,” Cas says, quiet as he’s been all day, “you don’t have to do all this.”
“Yeah, I know. But I want to.”
Cas leans back against Dean’s chest and closes his eyes. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“I could name a thing or two,” Dean chuckles. “Just remember that without you, I’d still be in Hell.”
Both of them shiver at the mere thought of it. Usually, Cas tends to argue about it, says that if not him, another angel would’ve reached Dean first, and he was acting under orders back then, not his own free will, but right now, Dean is glad that Cas decides to just accept it.
They sit there until the timer goes off in the pocket of Dean’s jeans, and since he left them on the other side of the room, he has to get out and drip all over the floor to reach it and turn it off. He can hear Cas laugh at the way he tries not to trip on the slippery floor, but all he thinks about is how that’s the first time he’s heard Cas laugh all day.
He helps Cas out of the tub and hands him a towel, then grabs one for himself and walks over to the bedroom to grab them some clean clothes. The scent of the soup is spreading through the whole house, and the excitement on Cas’ face when he smells it is totally worth the work that went into it.
Dean goes to check up on it and it looks delicious. He’s done setting the table when Cas comes in, and they both sit down to eat. It’s a little quiet because Jack usually does a lot of the talking, updates them on the construction site that is Heaven currently, on good days he even lets something slip about its inhabitants, on bad days he vents about how he and Amara seem to disagree on just about everything.
So, on days where he’s not there, there’s a radio playing. Dean’s made it sort of a habit, although they’ve mostly given up hunting these days, he can’t help but listen for possible cases, even if just to pass on to Sam who passes it on to someone else.
Dean twists the little wheel to change the station and settles on one that seems to be in the middle of a history special. He grins and waits for Cas to point out inaccuracies, and he doesn’t have to wait long.
Cas finishes his bowl quickly and Dean is happy to get both of them another serving. He takes a little longer on the second one because he’s busy explaining to Dean that stegosauruses and tyrannosauruses weren’t even alive at the same time, so it’s not even worth arguing how they would’ve gotten along, but eventually they both lean back with full bellies.
“I’ll clean up,” Cas offers and Dean lets him. He knows how Cas tends to feel useless on days like this, so he’ll let him have this. He’s still lost in thought (thinking about which dinosaur is his favorite, and which might be Jack’s) when he feels Cas’ hands on his shoulders, and he looks up.
Cas really is so incredibly beautiful, even from this angle. He leans down and kisses Dean’s forehead, and nope, it doesn’t make Dean blush at all. “You wanna go to bed?” Dean asks.
He frowns. “It’s only 8PM.”
“Yeah, but you’re tired.” Dean knows that look on Cas’ face, can see his heavy eyelids and the way he tries to stifle his yawns. He grabs Cas’ hands, gets to his feet and leads them to the bedroom.
He knows they’ve spent quite some time in bed today already, Cas even more than him, but he doesn't care. You gotta have some of those days, you gotta take some time to lie down and recharge, and that’s okay.
Cas quickly drops his sweatpants and doesn’t lose any time to snuggle up under the sheets, holding them up for Dean to slip under and shuffle as close to Cas’ body as possible. They wrap their arms and legs around each other until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts, Dean half on top of Cas because he knows Cas forgot his weighted blanket on the living room couch.
The room is cold, all their body heat trapped under the sheets, and it’s quiet, the only sounds being the synchronized beating of their hearts and Cas’ fingers stroking over Dean’s back, up to his nape and back down his spine. They cuddle plenty, Dean doesn’t think he could get a full night's sleep without Cas pressed up against him anymore, but this is different. Of course, Dean’s doing everything he can to make Cas feel better, but he just now realizes that he’s needed a day like this too.
Cas drifts off to sleep soon after while Dean lies awake, glad that Cas is getting some rest but not really tired himself, so he carefully lifts his hand from Cas’ shoulder to grab the TV remote and just turn it on for some background noise, doesn’t matter what’s playing. Cas catches on though, apparently not as deeply asleep as Dean thought, and they change positions so Dean can actually see the TV while Cas nestles into his side, face buried between Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Goodnight, Dean.”
Dean plays with Cas’ soft hair, which still smells of the earthy scent of the bathbomb, and also pays a little attention to the TV that is showing reruns of some hospital show Dean remembers having seen before. Despite saying he wasn’t tired, he can feel his eyes drifting shut though, the calming sound of Cas’ breath and the warmth of their bodies so close lulling him to sleep.
When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of Cas tossing and turning next to him, feeling the movement through the mattress. The room is dark except for a little night light in the socket near the door and what little light finds its way through the blinds. The TV is turned off and Dean assumes it was Cas who did it, not the lack of activity.
Rubbing his eyes, Dean takes a minute to fully come back to consciousness, then turns around so he’s facing Cas and finds him on top of the covers, sitting upright with his face buried in his hands, looking like he’s rubbing his eyes. “Cas?” Dean whispers and Cas flinches at his voice. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Cas turns towards Dean, but both sources of light are behind him so Dean can’t figure out the expression on his face. “I’m fine, just—bad dream.”
Dean doesn’t mention that that’s not Cas’ usual nightmare behaviour (it took them a while but they’re finally at the point where they just wake the other up if they need to be comforted after bad dreams). He stops before he moves any closer to Cas. “Can I touch you?”
He nods and Dean shuffles closer to wrap his arms around Cas from the side. It’s kind of uncomfortable and their legs are in the way of a proper hug, but Cas melts into the hug anyway. “I’m fine.”
“But you can’t sleep,” Dean assumes.
“Yeah,” Cas confirms and before he can say anything else about how it’s not a big deal and he’ll just pick up his book to keep himself busy, Dean has an idea.
“Let’s make cookies.”
Cas pulls back, just far enough to frown at Dean. “What?”
“Yeah, you like making cookies. You love snacking on the dough.”
“I do, but,” Cas stammers, clearly not understanding what Dean is trying to do here, “why would we make cookies now?”
It’s a valid question, so apparently Dean isn’t explaining himself well enough here. “‘Cause it’s a better distraction than reading your book. We haven’t made those star-shaped ones in a while.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer then, already moves away the sheets and gets out of bed while Cas is still squinting at him, his head tilted the way he does. “But it’s like,” he starts, quickly looks at the alarm clock on his bedside table, then back at Dean, “one in the morning.”
“So?” Dean knows Cas isn’t gonna fall back asleep like this, so they may as well do something fun with their time, and he knows baking is one of Cas’ comfort activities (swimming being another one, but making cookies seems easier than breaking into a public pool right now).
“You’re not actually going to make cookies now.”
“No, we are.”
“You know what I mean.” Cas only sounds a tiny bit exasperated, so Dean knows he’s not overstepping here.
“Cas, buddy, do you wanna make cookies or not?”
It’s a simple question and it looks like Cas doesn’t need to think about it very long. He grins and shakes his head at Dean, then gets out of bed and puts his sweatpants back on. “You’re crazy.”
“And you love me for it, so.”
The kitchen is a little chill, the cold tiles under their bare feet immediately reminding them to put on some slippers. The first thing Dean does is preheat the oven because there have been too many times where they forgot and had to wait for it to heat up later. Then he checks the fridge and is pleased to see a few leftover eggs in the carton from their pancake party the other day. He goes through the cabinets for the rest of the ingredients while Cas looks through his little notebook to find the right recipe, and reads it to Dean once he’s found it. “We need almond flour.”
Dean chuckles, remembering all of their arguments about how they can’t use all-purpose flour, it has to be almond flour specifically, and Dean always has to drive all across town to get it from a bigger store because their small, local one only carries the basics. He’s learned from it though, always makes sure to have at least one bag at home now.
They have the rest in stock anyway, some powdered sugar and cinnamon and the eggs Dean already grabbed. Cas puts the notebook back down since he only really needed it for the measurements, not the instructions.
While Cas grabs two bowls, some measurement spoons and a scale, Dean turns on the radio and quickly finds the station that plays Christmas songs only, year round. When he turns back around, he finds Cas glaring at him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Dean, it’s October.”
“So what?”
They both know this argument isn’t going anywhere, and Cas gives in without another word. “Fine, but you’re whisking the eggs.”
Dean grunts at the deal and takes one of the bowls along with an egg from him, then carefully cracks and separates it, dumping the yolk and grabbing a whisk. In the meantime, Cas is mixing the dry ingredients, probably using way too much cinnamon as per usual.
It dawns on him now why Cas gave him the duty of beating the egg white, because it’s annoying and takes forever. He quietly sings along to Sleigh Ride, and he can only see Cas’ back from where he’s standing, but he knows that he’s singing along too.
By the time he’s done and can confidently hold the bowl upside down without spilling anything, Cas is working on kneading the dough. Dean raises one eyebrow, a smirk entering his face when he puts down his bowl and walks over to Cas, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder.
Cas jumps a little at the sudden contact, but instantly leans into Dean’s touch. Dean thinks about all the things he could do to Cas since his hands are sticky and full of dough and Dean can only hope Cas wouldn’t want to get anything dirty. He settles for kissing Cas’ shoulder, his nape and softly biting his earlobe.
“Can you find the cookie cutters, please?” he asks without turning around, and Dean presses one more kiss to the spot below Cas’ ear before going through various cabinets again, not at all remembering where they’re stored. “The box by the kettle,” Cas comments, as if Dean needed any more proof to Cas still having some angel mojo left to watch Dean with the magic eyes in the back of his head.
Dean goes through the box and grabs a few differently sized star-shaped ones, and when he discovers that Cas is almost done kneading the dough until it’s smooth, he spots the bag of powdered sugar and gets another idea. This one Cas might not like so much, but he’ll deal.
Sticking his hand into the bag, he grabs just enough of the powder to be left with a sizable heap on the palm of his hand. “Hey, Cas?” he says, and when Cas only hums in reply, he adds, “Look.”
It’s Cas’ fatal mistake to turn around to look at Dean, because the second he moves, Dean is holding out his hand and blowing all the powdered sugar into Cas’ face. It lands everywhere, sticks to his eyebrows, lashes, lips; luckily he managed to close his eyes just in time.
There’s a good four seconds of silence which Dean spends thinking about whether fight or flight would be the better idea, but before he can make a decision, Cas’ eyes open and he glares at Dean in a way that makes him wish he’d chosen flight.
Cas licks some of the powder from his lips and that move alone distracts Dean long enough for Cas to reach for the bag. Dean’s closing his eyes to brace for impact and yes, there it is, much more than he threw in Cas’ face, but okay. He can’t help but laugh while carefully rubbing some from his eyes to safely open them. Cas, that little smug bastard, is holding onto the bag for dear life, steps back until his back hits the counter when Dean tries to reach for it. “Oh, you are on, angel.”
Apparently, this is how they start chasing each other through the whole kitchen. Cas gets in a hit and throws more powder at Dean’s face when he finally manages to get close, then Dean successfully grabs a fistful of Cas’ shirt while he’s running away, holding him back so he gets a good load of white powder on his chest. When they eventually (and inevitably, let’s be honest) empty the bag, Dean hopes that signals a truce between them. He holds up his hands in defeat, and Cas slowly lowers the whisk he was totally ready to use as a weapon.
They both catch their breaths. “What was that for?”
Dean laughs and dumps the last bit of dust left in the bag on the surface next to the dough where it was meant to be used, then looks for the rolling pin. “Just ‘cause.”
Cas rolls his eyes and hands it to him. “That was quite a waste of powdered sugar, you know.”
Some dumb flirty joke like you’re sweet enough, we don’t need the sugar anyway is on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallows it back down. He watches Cas wipe most of it off of his face, and when Cas’ gaze lands on the floor, Dean swears he can read his mind like in a thought bubble over his head. “We’ll clean up in the morning, quit worrying about it.”
Cas nods and watches Dean roll out the dough until it’s flat enough to go get the cookie cutters (for real this time). Dean stands back then, knows that this is Cas’ favorite part because he always tries to beat his high score of how many stars he can get before having to form a second, smaller mass from the leftover dough (if there is any, which isn’t always the case because Cas snacks on that stuff like it grows on trees). He remembers to use that time to finish the icing and applies a generous layer to each of the stars.
They manage to fill two baking trays and put them in the oven at exactly one thirty. The baking process itself, Dean remembers, is kind of fun, it’s just the cleaning up part that he dreads. Every time, without fail, and even without the sugar fights, they always manage to make the kitchen look like a battlefield, and Dean is surprised they still have time left on the timer by the time it looks acceptable again.
Cas sits down on the kitchen counter, his eyes on Dean, always on Dean. He moves to stand between Cas’ legs, his hands on Cas’ hips, and kisses his chin because it’s as far as he can reach without getting on his tiptoes. “You okay?”
He looks down at Dean then, their noses brushing together, and for a split second Dean fears he might sneeze from some powdered sugar that found its way there, but it passes. Cas smiles, and even though it’s not a big, ear-to-ear, toothy smile, it’s a genuine one, and that’s all Dean was trying to achieve. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“Are you?”
Dean frowns, leans back to meet Cas’ eyes properly. “Me?” Cas’ shoulders shrug in a yes, you, who else kind of motion. “I’m great.”
Cas chuckles. “Yes, you really are.”
“Good thing you married me, huh?”
The smile stays on Cas’ face, but it changes into something more serious, more sincere. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me, I think.”
“You think?” Dean quips, suppressing a wink.
Unfortunately, Cas doesn’t buy into Dean’s ploy to keep the compliments coming. “I think, yes, but I’m open to being proven wrong.”
The timer goes off and Dean doesn’t hesitate to pull Cas off of the counter, the grip he has on Cas’ hips making both of them stumble backwards a step or two. Their lips meet one more time before Dean takes out both trays and damn, they did a pretty good job on those cookies.
The kitchen is mostly clean, except for the floor which Dean will vacuum in the morning, so they use the cool-off time to clean up themselves. Dean helps Cas get most of the powder out of his hair so he doesn’t have to wash it a third time today and they shake off their dirty clothes on the porch after changing into fresh ones.
Once the cookies have cooled enough to lift them from the tray, they pile them all together on a big plate that barely holds them all. Dean puts the few that don’t fit on there and keep tumbling off the place into a small jar that they take back to bed.
Dean is definitely tired now and he’s sure Cas isn’t much behind. They get comfortable under the sheets, half sitting up against the headboard, one of Dean’s arms around Cas as most times.
Cas carefully takes the first cookie into both of his hands, holds it up as if to inspect it in the light of the lamp on his bedside table. “They turned out really good.”
“What are they called again?”
“Zimtstern,” Cas says, and the word sounds weird enough for Dean to know he’ll neither remember nor be able to spell it. “It means cinnamon star.”
He takes a bite then, and Dean thinks it’s adorable because these damn cookies are small enough to just be shoved in your mouth in one piece, but yet here Cas is, probably about to need three bites for a cookie that’s half as big as the palm of his hand. “You’re my cinnamon star.”
Cas shoves the rest of the cookie into Dean’s mouth, and he’s happy to say they taste just as good as he remembered. “You’re my cinnamon star.”
Neither of them has much self control when it comes to cookies, so they quickly eat up the whole jar, partly sad that they only brought a few upstairs with them, but also glad when they realize it means there’ll be more for tomorrow.
They wipe the crumbs to the floor, deciding that’s just another place they’ll have to vacuum, but that’s definitely a problem to deal with tomorrow. When Dean yawns, Cas turns off the light and immediately cuddles into his side. Dean figures they’ll get away with not brushing their teeth before bed this one time.
Dean’s not sure what he feels against his ribs is actually Cas’ heartbeat and not his own, but it feels calm, and his breathing is even, and even though Dean can’t make any predictions about the rest of the night, Cas seems okay for now.
“I love you,” he hears Cas whisper.
Dean turns his head to press a long, warm kiss to his forehead. “Love you too.”
When Dean wakes up in the morning, Cas’ side of the bed is empty, and Dean reflexively panics a little. He gets up, doesn’t bother putting on any clothes, just makes his way down the stairs to—
He finds Cas in the kitchen, one hand in the big box of finished cookies, and a smile on his face.