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Castiel slaps Dean’s fingers away. “Hands off! These are for Jack.”
Dean pouts. “You did a double batch, didn’t ya?” he asks and tries to steal some dough from the other side of the bowl. But again, Castiel is faster, wraps his hand firmly around Dean’s wrist, and no matter how hard Dean tries, he can’t reach the bowl.
“Tripple, actually,” Castiel says nonchalantly as if he didn’t have a full-grown man under control without breaking a sweat. “Because I know how ridiculous you are. You’ll get yourself sick, Dean,” he says firmly, but Dean can see the smile tugging on the corner of his lips.
“Cookie dough is worth it,” Dean insists and gives it another halfhearted try. He knows he has no chance against his angel boyfriend, but Castiel’s strength is kinda hot.
Castiel turns his head and presses a peck to Dean’s cheek before he lets go of his arm. “There’s eggless dough for you in the fridge. I won’t let salmonella floor you after surviving the apocalypse.”
Dean smiles at him softly and presses a kiss to the tip of Castiel’s nose. How did an Angel of the Lord end up in a purple apron in the kitchen of the bunker? Not that Dean would complain. He’s happy to have his family around, everyone alive and well, and with no Chuck pulling the strings.
“You’re the best,” Dean says. He takes the bowl of buttery dough out of the fridge and removes the plastic wrap carefully as if it were fancy paper around a thousand-dollar gift. Castiel smirks at him and shakes his head. ‘Like a little boy,’ he thinks and stops in the middle of rolling dough to a ball in his hands. Did Dean ever bake with Mary? Did he enjoy what Castiel only knows from Christmas family movies? Or is his childlike joy whenever Castiel bakes what should have happened four decades ago?
Castiel wishes that the beautiful, ordinary moments they share wouldn’t always conjure these kinds of thoughts. There’s so much sadness lingering in their story, no matter how happy they are now. But as he sees Dean emptying the bowl, ruining his appetite in the process, Castiel tries to focus on the fact that he can give Dean all he’s ever craved, what he had to go without in the past, may it be food, tenderness, or safety.
He returns to rolling balls of dough and puts them on a baking sheet. Dean hums happily and runs his fingers over the surface of the bowl, scrubbing every flake off it, wasting nothing.
“You’re the best cookie dough maker in the world,” Dean praises, his tongue swiping over his butter-glossy lips.
Castiel smiles at him. “If you say so.”
Dean puts the bowl in the sink and pulls Castiel into his arms. “Would I ever lie to you?” Castiel arches an eyebrow. Dean snickers. “About something as serious as cookie dough, I mean?”
“No. Never about something as important as cookie dough.”