Work Text:
Dean dried his hands on a dish towel and looked around the little kitchen, running through his mental checklist. The brisket was in the oven. The sides were in the fridge, ready to be quickly reheated once the meat was done. The bread was on the cooling rack. All that was left to do food-wise was slicing the apples, and he wanted to do that as close to serving as possible so they wouldn't turn brown.
With all the cooking done, Dean took a moment to breathe and bask in his accomplishments before turning his attention back to the dining room. (Really just the living room with the couch and TV pushed out of the way, but he was working with what he had.) He laid a clean white cloth over the rickety folding table, and used the best approximation of "good dishes" that two broke grad students could lay claim to: a set of blue and white earthenware plates they'd picked up at a flea market. He transferred the honey from the bear-shaped squeeze bottle to a little ceramic pot shaped like a beehive (another flea market treasure), and he even made an attractive and edible centerpiece with a bowl of ruby red pomegranate seeds.
Once the scene was set to his satisfaction he had just enough time to hastily tidy up the rest of the apartment and change his clothes before Cas got home from his afternoon class.
He was knotting his tie (the green one that Cas said brought out his eyes) when he heard the scrape of his roommate's key in the lock, followed by the thud of his shoe kicking the door to get it past the sticky spot. Dean didn't hurry out to the living room but gave Cas a minute to take in the scene.
When he did step out, Cas still had his laptop bag on his shoulder as he stared at the meticulously laid table with tears sparkling in his eyes.
"Happy New Year," Dean said tentatively.
Cas put his hand over his mouth and let out a muffled sob.
Dean quickly crossed the room, skirting the table to pull his friend into a hug and ease the heavy bag off his shoulder. "Please tell me these are happy tears.”
"Mostly happy, yes," Cas said with a wet sniff. "Thank you, Dean. This… this is everything."
“I know this has been a rough year with coming out to your parents and all the fallout after, and I know you're sad about not getting to spend the holidays with your family. I just wanted to do something nice for you."
Cas' relationship with his parents had been rocky for a long time. They were very traditional Orthodox Jews, and his decision to pursue a business degree rather than becoming a rabbi like his father and grandfather before him had been difficult for them to swallow, though they'd done their best to respect his chosen path.
When, after a few years away from home, Cas decided that the Orthodox lifestyle was not for him and stopped observing the Sabbath, keeping kosher, and attending synagogue regularly, his parents were upset, but they held out hope that he’d soon finish sowing his wild oats and return to the fold with his faith even stronger than before. It happened to many young men and women who found the outside world full of shiny temptations, or so they told themselves in an attempt to extend their patience.
But the revelation that their son was sexually attracted to men? That was too much. Cas was banned from their home, lest he corrupt his younger siblings.
The oven timer beeped. "Oh, that's the brisket!" Dean exclaimed.
Cas followed him into the kitchen with a bemused expression. "You made brisket?" Catching sight of the round, raisin-studded loaves on the counter, his eyes widened. "And challah?!"
"And potato kugel," Dean said, unable to resist preening a little at how genuinely impressed Cas was. "God bless the internet. Even a goyish boy from Kansas can turn out a Jewish holiday feast with a little googling. At least, I hope I did everything right," he added, suddenly nervous. "It probably won't taste as good as your mom's."
"Dean," Cas cut him off with a smile, "I'm sure it will be delicious. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You want to slice apples while I heat the rest of the food?"
"I'd love to."
They worked side by side in companionable silence, Cas humming softly to himself, a lilting tune that continuously circled back on itself. He still looked a little wistful and melancholy, but he continued to smile at Dean and touch his arm softly as they moved around each other in the tiny kitchen.
While they waited for the rest of the food to heat up, they ate apples and thick slices of warm, fresh challah drizzled generously with honey. Cas pronounced the bread just as good as his mother's, and smiled fondly at the beehive honey-pot which he'd bought because it reminded him of the one that always adorned his parents' Rosh Ha'Shana table.
The brisket was perfectly tender; the kugel was crispy, greasy, decadent potato heaven; and the sweet, spicy honey cake Dean produced for dessert was dark and moist. As they ate, they talked about favorite holiday memories and traditions, and the homesickness in Cas' eyes grew a little less pronounced every moment.
As they were clearing up, Cas said again, "Thank you, Dean."
Dean blushed and shrugged. "It was my pleasure, man."
Cas caught his arm in a gentle grip as he tried to turn away and pinned him with those piercing blue eyes. "Not just for tonight. Thank you for… for showing me that I still get to have this. All the traditions and pieces of my childhood that I want to keep. They're mine, no matter what anyone else thinks."
"I'll do them all with you. I mean, if you want me to," Dean said. I'm yours too. If you want me.
Cas smiled. "I’d like that," he whispered, and kissed Dean.
Dean kissed him back.
It was going to be a good year.