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Brothers.
Sam and Dean were brothers and Castiel understood that. Family was so important…
..but so were extremely profound bonds formed from dragging righteous men out of the depths of hell. Sam hadn’t been the one to pull Dean out of perdition, his soul held within Castiel’s grace. Sam didn’t have to piece Dean back together molecule by molecule and breathe life into his reborn body.
…Sam was probably in fact just extremely jealous and out to destroy Castiel and Dean’s special bond (which was obviously much more profound than just brothers). It was the only explanation. Castiel had read much on the topic because it was important to research the current social norms when it came to building relationships – and Busty Asian Beauties had had much to say on the nature of toxic relationships (which one must presume Dean perused for the authenticity of the articles, because otherwise it was just full of pictures of women with unusually large mammary glands (which surely must cause spinal curvature and chronic pain) - pitiable really).
Of course it was completely justifiable that Sam was jealous. After all, who wouldn’t want to monopolize Dean?
Dean was perfect.
Sam on the other hand was moderately obnoxious. He didn’t even leave the toilet seat up when everyone knew Castiel didn’t have the best aim or timing in his vessel yet.
“…just leave it up Sammy! He’ll get the hang of it eventually.” Dean defended. “It’s still better than having to change the sheets.” Because there might have been some minor accidents when Castiel had been bound to his vessel and required to do things like ablutions and the foods. It was one thing to understand biological needs on an empirical level, and quite another to make it to the bathroom on time. Every second counted and having to fumble with the seat in the dark was not ideal, especially when the penis seemed to not wish to wait to relieve itself in a dignified manner (perhaps his vessels penis was faulty? Castiel certainly did not think it was below Metatron to deliberately give him a faulty penis).
And then Sam had accused Dean of deliberately giving Cas cola before bed and ranted on about diuretics until Dean had punched Sam in the arm and told him to stop whining like a little bitch and Sam had gone back to cleaning the bathroom because it was Sam’s turn on the chore chart.
…and if Dean let Castiel have soda before bed than that was because Cas liked the way the bubbles tickled his mouth and he just wanted Castiel to be happy.
“How do you feel about Mexican food for dinner Cas?” Asked a smirking Dean (accompanied by a frustrated scream from Sam in the bathroom).
Cas was unsure. His vessel had eaten a burrito recently that had resulted in explosive diahreoa, but who was to say if that was normal or not? Cas tilted his head in thought. More importantly, “Do you like Mexican food Dean?” He asked.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the world (who just saw bad-ass, womanizing Dean Winchester) Sam knew the real Dean.
Bobby claimed it was just Deans way of overcompensating for Sam never knowing his Mom, combined with positive reinforcement form Dad who had found it pretty convenient to have keeping house – and that would have been fine and even kind of nice if it was just packed lunches and dinner on the table, but when you were in middle school and your brother still kissed you good bye every morning the other kids started to think you’re a bit weird (and no it didn’t have anything to do with Sam secretly telling them his Dad was a professional Bogeyman hunter… or that he thought the Easter bunny was still real (because a rabbit pooping chocolate eggs wasn’t that implausible when you dealt with wendigos and djinn on a daily basis)… and who didn't have a debilitating fear of clowns? Or even his imaginary friend Sully... ok mayeb he might have been weird on his own too...
Point was Dean was a mother hen and moving into the bunker had driven him to new nesting extremes. When Cas had arrived from… wherever… Dean had taken one look at newly-human Cas and hurried him off to the bathroom (because he’d be damned if he was gonna let hobo-funk sink into his newly shampooed carpets).
...and if Dean was infantilizing Cas instead of Sam… well Cas seemed to like it and Sam was just fine with that.
“Sam. Where is Dean?” Asked Castiel. It was bath time, but Dean wasn’t here. Dean was always here for bath time.
“Uh… he went into town to get some supplies.” Sam replied, trying for nonchalance - which was quite difficult to do with Cas standing there naked but for a shampoo cap and a rubber duck.
“Oh.” Answered Castiel, looking dubious, like Sam might be lying to him. “Then I will wait for him to return.” Dean would always check in with Sam when he returned to the bunker, so the most efficient place to be was with Sam. This was just logical.
“Um… He might be a while. Perhaps you should… I don’t know… put on some clothes?” Suggested Sam.
“I intend to bathe. Putting my clothes on would be counter-productive. I will wait for Dean to return.” Only Dean could fill the bath at the exact right temperature. Sam couldn’t even leave the toilet seat up so he could hardly be trusted with such a sensitive task.
“O-kaaay.” Sam answered and went back to his books, knowing better than to pursue the topic.
After a few moments, the silence was interrupted by Castiel announcing. “I wish to see Dean’s Penis”, causing Sam to choke on his coffee. This was purely for point of reference. Castiel needed to compare it to his own and ascertain any damage Metatron might have inflicted – admittedly it had not been necessary to ever remove clothing prior to having human needs so he needed something to compare it with.
“Working!” Sam exclaimed, scribbling notes furiously and avoiding eye contact. He sure as hell wasn’t dealing with that bombshell.
How else was Castiel to ascertain if his penis was faulty unless he could see another penis? Maybe Sam’s Penis would suffice….? Unlikely, Dean was always saying Sam didn’t have any testicles, so perhaps his penis was faulty too.
“Of course. Your research is important.” Castiel responded. “Perhaps I can assist?”
“No!” Yelped Sam, because Castiel was both naked and his thoughts were being broadcast by the fact he was making grabby hands at Sam’s crotch. “I just… really need to focus on this, so….”
“Yes. I will not disturb you further.” Castiel answered. “I will wait quietly for Dean.”
Sam sighed and opened the book again.
“Do you think Dean will let me see his penis?” Asked Castiel. Well of course he’d seen it before. Mostly when Dean was going to the toilet (which Dean had been quite shy about) occasionally when he had apparated in on Dean with one of his lady friends, and all of last Summer when Bobby’s AC had been on the fritz and Dean had taken to sleeping nude (watching Dean sleep had been so, so much easier when he could turn invisible).
Sam didn’t seem inclined to give him an answer. It must be very important research indeed. If only there were someone else to discuss Dean with – but Kevin refused to come out of the angel proof basement since he’d come across Castiel sniffing his underwear (Dean said that was how you could tell if it needed laundering or not), which was obviously unrelated but served as a time marker.
“Skawiiik.”
Sam cringed.
“Skawiiiiiiiiiiik.”
“Must you do that Castiel?” Sam demanded.
“I am talking to the duck, Sam.” Castiel replied with a glare, turning his back and squeezing the duck again. “Skawiiiiiiik. Skawiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikk”
“Cas? Seriously!” Sam slammed the book closed. “I’m trying to work here!”
“It is a private conversation.” Sam did not seem moved, so Cas added, “About penises.” Clearly there was some truth in Castiel’s belief that his Penis was abnormal because Sam was choking on his coffee again.
Dean looked from pouty naked Cas to indignant Sam.
“Cas? Has Sam been picking on you again?” He demanded.
“What?!?” Exclaimed Sam. “I didn’t do anything! And what do you mean ‘again’?”
“He do anything to you Cas?” Dean demanded again.
“He implied my penis was abnormal.” Castiel replied indignantly.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did you tell him there was something wrong with his… his… peepee Sam? You think that’s funny? Makin’ fun of a man’s frank ’n beans?” Dean hustled Castiel out of the room without waiting for a reply. “C’mon buddy, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I don’t have much time, what is it this time Dar…?” Crowley stopped mid-monologue.
Castiel hissed at the interruption.
“And what, pray tell, the actual fuck is that?” Crowley asked, pointing imperiously at Castiel.
“What? You never saw one man offering physical comfort to another man before?” Dean responded defensively (because you didn’t spend six months fighting leviathans in the bible belt with those cheek bones without learning to be defensive. “Cas is human now so if he wants a manly bellyrub, he can have one.” But mainly it was guilt – even if the onetime Dean had spoken to Jimmy Novak his explosive IBS hadn’t come up in conversation – filling Castiel up with enchiladas might have been a mistake (still worth it to hear Sam’s indignant squealing after having to clean the bathroom for the sixth time that day).
“No.. it’s… perfectly normal. Of course.” Rowena had hardly been the most physically affectionate of mothers... perhaps this level of skinship was normal? It didn’t look unpleasant, if Castiel’s purring was anything to go by. “I get comforted. All the time. In Hell.” He cleared his throat meaningfully. “Anyway, moving on, I know I’m irresistible, but why have you summoned me this time?”
“But… I never summoned…” Dean was interrupted by Crowley shushing him by placing a finger to his lips.
“Mere details darling. Who summoned who? Potato, potatoe… moving on as I was saying, we haven’t received any reports of what Lilith is up to.”
Dean pursed his lips a little in confusion. “So… you came to give us an update on Lilith? That you still don’t know anything? And that’s it?”
“Exactly!” Declared Crowley. “Now, what’s for supper?”
“But I still don’t understand how you were able to get in here without someone summoning you, this place is warded against demons.” Dean insisted.
Crowley scowled. His meat suit had spent 2 hours strapped to the bottom of the Impala and that thing didn’t have a huge amount of road clearance to begin with.
“Hmm? No you definitely summoned me. I think I would know. King of Hell.” Crowley waved off impatiently. “Now… is it just me or do I smell apples and… mmmm…. cinnamon?” Truth was… demon Dean had made the best damn pie Crowley had ever eaten, and contra-indicative of his slim physique, Crowley had a massive sweet tooth.
“Crowley, if there’s something wrong with the wards we’re all in danger!” Growled Dean.
“Maybe it was Sam that summoned me?” Shrugged Crowley offhand. “He’s unconscious in the bathroom by the way. I put him in the coma position. You’re welcome.”
Dean made the best pie (which Crowley had developed a taste for when Demon Dean was in Hell – Friday was pie-day and Crowley missed the weekly ritual) – and when Crowley had spotted him at the market earlier with a sack of apples (pure coincidence and definitely not stalking) he knew exactly what was going down in Casa Winchester.
“Now… did someone mention pie?” Asked Crowley rubbing his hands together gleefully.
"Why?" asked Sam, entering the kitchen to find Crowley lasciviously moaning his way through the better half of an apple pie.
"He was hungry." Answered Dean, passing Crowley a beer. "...and he checked your airway was clear, so we owed him one."
Sam grimaced... it had tasted like someone had farted in his mouth when he woke up on the bathroom floor. Sulfur. Figured. "How did he get past the wards?"
"That's what I said!" Exclaimed Dean. "He said you summoned him."
"Boys, boys... no need to fight over little ol' me." Crowley chimed in. "I hardly think that's the most important thing here..." Crowly, tapped his spoon against the bowl to remind Dean he was supposed to be getting ice cream too
"Uh, since it directly relates to our safety, I think it just might be!" answer Sam as Dean scooped.
"Vanilla Dean? I expected more from you." Crowley smirked.
"It's got to be vanilla with apple, damn heathen!" accused Dean, which in retrospect was kind of a weird thing to call the King of Hell.
"Been called worse." Crowley allowed scrapping out the bowl. "Seconds?"