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Dean’s grumpy. Not much gets him out of the grumpy moods. The only real successful remedies are: porn, pizza, and netflix. Not necessarily in that order, but some variation of the three. None of them are working today, though, Dean holed up in his room and refusing to come out for whatever reason. So Castiel decides to try a fourth P: pie.
It goes terribly.
Every smoke alarm in the bunker is going off by the time Dean rushes into the kitchen, Castiel standing on a chair and waving a towel at the smoke detector.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” Dean demands.
Castiel looks sadly at the burnt pie on the counter. “I baked you a pie.”
“You-” Dean furrows his brow in confusion, then splutters out a laugh when his gaze lands on the burnt mess. Even the pie tin is charred. “You baked a pie?”
Once the smoke alarms stop blaring Castiel gets off of the chair, frowning. He’s wearing an apron and oven mitts. “I attempted to, in any case.”
“Cas,” Dean lets out a hysterical laugh, shaking his head. It’s the first time he’s smiled all day. “Why?”
“You’ve been moody,” Castiel says plainly. “I wanted to make you feel better.”
Dean presses his face into his hands, shoulders shaking with chuckles. “Well, consider yourself successful.”
“But the pie isn’t edible,” Castiel says glumly.
“Don’t have to be,” Dean reaches out and claps Castiel on the shoulder. “It’s the thought that counts.” His smile softens, fingers tightening on the curve of Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks, Cas.”
Castiel smiles a bit shyly. “Of course, Dean.”
They clean up the kitchen and decide to go to a diner for a slice.
Mission accomplished.