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„Aw come on, really?“ Dean groans and rolls his eyes so hard Sam briefly wonders if they would snap back like a spinning top. But they don’t.
Donna comically wiggles her eyebrows at his older brother and flashes him a smile so bright that Dean’s resolution can’t help but crumble.
And so Sam and Dean help Donna clear a little space on the floor, they drop down a couple large pillows and delegate. Sam is charged with fetching an ice bucket to keep the beer cold, Cas to grab more brewskies and popcorn, Dean is taking care of the tunes and Donna is writing tasks and questions on small scraps of paper. She folds them up, chucking them into some ancient Chinese bowl.
A couple minutes later the prep is done. Donna sits down criss-cross on one of the pillows, flanked by Sam in the same position on her left and Castiel, awkwardly kneeling down on a pillow, to her right. Dean sits down across from her, back against a pillar, legs stretched outwards, socked toes nearly touching the empty whiskey bottle laying down on the floor between them.
“I have heard about this game.” Castiel says and Donna claps her hands excitedly.
“As you should! No better way to learn about people!” Sam chuckles at that and Dean is back to his default, rolling his eyes. But there’s a little crinkle around them which indicates he isn’t as strongly against this as he pretends to be.
With Lynyrd Skynyrd playing in the background Donna takes the first spin and maybe by chance, maybe by pure skill, it lands right back on her. She squeals and bends forward, rummages in the little bowl and pulls out a little paper. Castiel tracks her every move, brows furrowed, probably trying to make sense of all of this. Good luck with that.
Donna unfolds the little paper, squints and groans.
“Ah, poop, really screwed myself there! Oh heck, whatever. OK, I need to tell jokes to the person on my right and I can’t stop until they laugh.” Donna says, eyes Castiel and Dean and Sam chuckle simultaneously.
“All right then, I’m gonna take a ten hour nap then, I guess. Wake me up when this is over.” Dean says, grinning and Donna slaps at his foot.
“Oh shush. OK, ok, lemme think.”
Almost ten minutes later and many, many horrible jokes later it finally happens.
“What’s an angel’s favourite cigarette?” Donna asks, voice considerably less chipper with every single joke she told. The guys shake their heads in defeat and Donna sighs.
“Holy smokes.” She says flatly and Sam can't believe it when he suddenly realizes that Castiel is chuckling. At first just quietly, but it soon develops into a full body laugh.
“That was… So difficult! The first joke… Was already so funny but… I was curious to see how… Many more you knew!” Cas manages to say between long drags of air and for that, Donna whacks him in the head with an extra pillow.
“All right, Cas, fine! Now you spin it!”
Cas, still giggling, bends forward, gingerly takes the bottle and gives it a tentative spin across the polished hardwood floor. It does a few rounds and lands on Dean, who nods grimly. Cas pulls a paper from the bowl, unfolds and reads aloud.
“Take turns naming countries that start with the latter A. Whoever can’t name a country first owes the other one dinner.”
Of course, Dean was no match for Castiel who – thanks to Metatron – has pretty much every single snippet of information of all time in his melon.
As much hesitation as the guys had when Donna suggested a good old round of spin the bottle, as much fun everyone’s having by now. Sam has lost count as to how many beers they’ve demolished, how many shots of whiskey and fucking Jäger have been downed, how many pounds of popcorn have been devoured.
They’ve been playing for so long that everyone had to pitch in new questions or dares multiple time. Sam had to cross the whole room in backwards somersaults, had to admit which Hanson brother he’d bang if he had to, and told everyone that if he could have any superpower it would be invincibility. Castiel had to do a round of charades, draw a unicorn with his left-hand (turned out though that both his hands were equally dominant), Donna had to hold her breath for as long as it took for everyone to finish their drink, she had to admit her favourite guilty pleasure (Real Housewives, anyone?) and what the weirdest thing was she’d ever gotten turned on by. The answer to that one had them still rolling when Donna spins her bottle and it lands on Dean.
Still chuckling Dean snatches a paper, unfolds it and reads out loud.
“Your choice: The person who spun the bottle can either slap you or kiss you!” Dean starts laughing at that and then looks straight at Donna, open and challenging, while Sam gives a whistle. Donna noticeable swallows, which in turn cracks Sam up and even has Castiel cackling.
“Well, don’t keep a girl waiting, what’s it gonna be, Deano?” Donna finally asks and Dean grins at her.
“Y’know what, why don’t you pick. I’m not one to force myself on chicks.” He says, slowly, good-natured.
“Fair enough.” Donna says with a soft shake of her head. She downs her whiskey and for a second Sam expects her to stand up, walk over and whack Dean in the head but then she braces herself, pushes the bowl and the bottle to the side by Castiel’s feet and then fucking full-on crawls over to Dean, who looks just as stunned as Sam. Dean’s left leg, propped up at an angle, pushes out to make room for Donna and Dean grins up at her as she reaches for him.
“For the record, I won’t be mad either way.” He says, voice a little lower now and with that, Donna bends forward and tentatively lays her lips on Dean’s. Castiel cranes his neck not to miss any of the action and Sam has to admit he’s curious, too. Now that’s a couple he never would’ve expected. Not that Donna wasn’t Dean’s type, but they actually seemed too alike.
Judging from Dean’s furrowed brows and confused look he must’ve expected the slap as well, but then he closes his eyes, his forehead smoothes out and he sets his tumbler down.
Dean’s left hand grabs Donna’s neck, his right arm snakes around her waist and in one decisive motion he pulls her onto his lap. A soft moan escapes Donna when she pushes closer into Dean and Sam throws a glance at Castiel. The guy was notoriously hard to read but right now his face was set in stone. No expression to be discerned. Empty eyes, mouth a firm line.
A few moments later it becomes increasingly obvious that the game is over. Half of the players have moved on to something even more entertaining. So when one of Dean’s hands firmly grabs one of Donna’s round ass cheeks, Sam gets up with a grunt, cracks his neck and takes a step over to Cas.
“C’mon, buddy, looks the game’s over.” Sam says, patting Cas on the back, who is still staring blankly at Donna and Dean, going at it like hormone-crazed teenagers.
“Dude, stop staring, c’mon.” Sam hisses and has to stifle a laugh. He assumes that this is Castiel’s first time seeing some person-on-person up close and personal. They all know he’s had sex before – he’s not very discreet about that – but maybe watching it is something else for him? Whatever the case, it’s creepy, so Sam bumps into the angel’s shoulder one more time. Finally, without a word, Cas gets up and straightens his coat.
The last thing they hear before stepping off into the hallway is Donna yelping, then giggling and finally moaning “Jesus Christ, Dean!”
Sam could swear he hears a wince coming from Castiel walking next to him, and Sam chuckles. Guess the guy doesn’t like the Lord’s name being used like that.
“All right, Good n-“ Sam starts when they reach Cas’s room but before he can finish, Cas steps through the door and bangs it shut right in Sam’s face. Weirdo.
It’s just after nine when Castiel takes the steps into the kitchen. Sam is sitting at the table, reading a newspaper, steaming black coffee in his hand, Dean is behind the stove, baby pink apron tied around his waist, whistling an unfamiliar tune, the smell of pancakes wafting through the air.
Castiel clears his throat and Dean turns around, 1000 megawatt smile on his face, spatula in hand like a weapon.
“Morning, sunshine!” Dean calls out and Castiel ignores it, instead making his way over to the table. Sam wordlessly slides over a clean cup and the steaming hot pot of coffee.
“Where’s Donna?”, Castiel asks after the few sips of scalding, bitter liquid run down his throat. He’ll never understand humanity’s love for coffee.
Dean chuckles, low and slow, while plating fluffy, thick pancakes, alongwith bacon and real maple syrup. And of course a hearty chunk of butter.
“Out cold. She, uh… Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He finally replies as he makes his way over to the table, winking at Cas who just bristles at this.
“Gotta say, I’m surprised, Dean. Donna?” Sam says, mouthful of delicious pancake slurring his words. Dean sighs, happily.
“Well, beats me, I was expecting that slap as well. But, uh… What can I say? You know I’m a sucker for a nice ass.”
They eat their breakfast in silene, the old kitchen radio softly playing the country charts in the background.
“I… What are our plans for today?” Cas asks and pushes his empty plate to the side. Sam and Dean look at each other and shrug.
“We don’t have a case, so… I don’t know? Spring cleaning and Harry Potter marathon? Decoupage? Sorting my boxers by state of decay?” Dean suggests and wiggles his eyebrows.
“I would like to… Cash in my prize.” Cas says. Dean and Sam exchange a glance.
“Come again?” Dean asks.
“Last night… I could name more countries that start with an A and I won dinner, from you. I would like to have that dinner. Tonight.”
Dean’s mouth opens, and closes. He throws a look towards Sam, who just shrugs.
“I, uh… Yeah, I guess? Sure! Any special wishes?” Dean finally asks and Castiel shakes his head.
“No, thank you. I will be ready at 7. Thank you for the pancakes.”
And with that, he’s gone.
At 7 o’clock sharp Castiel stands by the world map table in the foyer. The bunker is quiet, Sam is out for a run, Donna seems to have left a while ago.
Five minutes later, there’s no sight of Dean. So Castiel sets off down the halls. First, the shower rooms, which lay dark and quiet. Next, Dean’s room. The door is open, the bedside light is on, but the room vacant. Finally, Cas turns towards the direction of the kitchen. He’s still two corners away when Castiel smells it. Herbs, red wine, something meaty. He moves on and with every step the delicious smells intensify and finally he can hear music as well.
As he rounds the final corner Castiel takes it all in. The kitchen smells, for lack of a better comparison, heavenly. Dean has his back turned to Cas and he is singing along to Bob Seger’s “Still the Same”. He’s wearing black jeans, a burgundy shirt and there’s an open bottle of red wine on the counter. Two glasses are filled, one looks to have already been sipped at.
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says and Dean stops singing to turn around to Cas.
“Welcome home, honey, dinner’s almost ready!” Dean chirps at him, sporting a wide grin.
“Fancy a wine?” Dean asks, while Castiel walks over to him.
“Dean, I… A diner would’ve been sufficient.” Cas says and watches Dean slide over one of the glasses.
“Well, a) it’s not like I’m drowning in cash, b) as much as I want to, I can’t eat garbage every single day and c) I just felt like cooking for someone. So sit down, it's almost done.”
Castiel has no words to describe the feeling that is spreading inside him. So instead he does as he’s told, sits down at the kitchen, sips at the dry wine and watches Dean. Dean goes back to humming along the music while setting out cutlery and napkins for Cas and himself, grabs two big, checkered oven mits, opens the giant oven door and pulls out a casserole. There’s faint sizzling to be heard and the irresistible smell of cheese hits Castiel’s nostrils.
“That smells very good, Dean.” Cas says and Dean nods and hums in appreciation.
“Agreed. I made you lasagna and even a friggin’ salad ‘cause I know how much you love munching on some leaves.” He replies. He grabs a large knife and carefully carves out slices of lasagna, transferring them to plates with a large ladle. Dean walks them over, setting down a plate each, returns to the kitchen island and grabs two small bowls with salad.
He sets them down and plops onto the bench across from Castiel.
“Cheers, Cas.” Dean sas, holding out his glass and Cas gently clinks his own against it. Dean lifts the glass to his lips and Castiel watches, unable to look away, how they open, how the blood-coloured liquid disappears into Dean’s mouth, how his adam’s apple jumps as he swallows, how Dean’s lips purse when he takes the glass away, the way his tongue darts out to lick away a tiny droplet from his bottom lip.
Castiel is a millennial old being, strong enough to rule the world, but in this moment it takes all he has to keep his ass on this bench. To not fly across the table, literally.
“Cheers.” He finally manages. And then they dig in. And it. Is. Good. Fantastic. Savoury, juicy, cheesy, the salad is tart and crunchy, the wine perfect. Cas rolls his eyes and softly moans, which in return makes Dean chuckle.
“I know, man. Finally, nothing that came from a deep fryer.” Dean agrees.
The first few minutes pass in silence before they pick up easy conversation. This is… Never, during his time in heaven, had he ever felt anything like this. This sense of home, of belonging, of family. No matter what he’s been through with the Winchesters, or what they’ve put each other through, this is where he feels… Safe. He’d never expected this to happen, the least with a human. Humans. Being with them, it made him feel fulfilled. Content. At least until last night.
They clear their plates easily, and the ones after that as well. Finally, they can’t eat any more.
“I can’t remember eating this much. Ever.” Castiel says, feeling full, tired, happy.
Dean empties the rest of the wine equally into their glasses. It’s their second bottle.
“Let me help you.” Cas says when Dean reaches for the empty plates, and gets up, carrying them over to the sink. Behind him Castiel hears a cork pop.
The angel stacks the plates in the sink, walks back to the table, grabbing the cutlery and salad bowls and gets them to the sink as well, letting hot water run over them all before plugging the sink. He squirts some Dawn into the hot water and watches the sink fill up. He splashes his hands in the scolding water to distribute the dish washing liquid equally and when he shuts off the tab and turns around to find a towel - Dean. Is right there.
One and a half inches away from Castiel. Dean’s face is flushed with a soft wine buzz, eyes sparkling, lips tinted the softest purple. He smells like wine, lasagne, after shave and laundry detergent. The faintest glisten of perspiration across his forehead. He radiates heat and Castiel is being drawn to it like a lizard to a hot, sun-beaten rock.
“Wha-“ Dean starts, probably wanting to know why the hell Castiel is staring him like an art student first laying eyes on the Mona Lisa. But Castiel doesn’t let him finish.
Castiel’s mouth silences the word on Dean’s lips. His right hand immediately follows, firmly grabbing Dean’s feather soft hair, holding him close before Castiel feels two large hands flat on his chest, firmly pushing him backwards. Reluctantly he releases the kiss, catching his breath, forcing his eyes to open and look at Dean. Who is flat out panting, staring at Cas with a look of sheer bewilderment, eyes wide open, like a deer in headlights.
“Dean, I’m s-“ I’m sorry, he wants to say, sheepish now, but this time it’s him who can’t finish his thought before lips crash against his, a rough chin scratches his and he’s being pushed back against the kitchen island. He grunts at the impact of his ass against concrete and the sensation of a hand around his neck and another, still on his chest, but now grabbing his shirt, Dean’s fist balling it into a crinkly mess.
Before another thought can cross his brain Dean’s tongue is in Castiel’s mouth and Cas simply moans into it, melting into Dean’s vice-like grip, feeling his taller body pressing against his own.
Castiel reaches out, placing one hand on Dean’s hip, locking him in place. The other hand, as if it had a mind of its own, lands on Dean’s left shoulder. And Castiel can feel his own handprint, etched forever onto Dean's skin, burning through the fabric of his shirt. Instantly he remembers that first time he laid his hand on Dean, deep in the pits of eternal hell fire, grabbed him tightly and raised him from perdition. Right away the touch sparked something in Castiel, which for the longest time he chalked up to it being his first contact with a human. When in reality that touch was the beginning of his undoing.
But this memory also reminds him of his purpose, his mission. He is supposed to be this man’s guardian, to save him, not to corrupt him.
When they both take a breath Cas wants to take his chance, tell Dean this is wrong, they should stop, he was sorry, to never speak of it again, but Dean is faster.
“Finally” He just says, forest green eyes meeting ocean blue ones, lays his hands on Castiel’s shoulders – hands that Castiel has watched kill dozens, of not hundred monsters and people alike - and pushes his coat to the floor.
Out in the hallway, Sam is softly chuckling to himself as he silently walks back to his room. At first he thought his plan had back-fired, when it was Donna who had spun the bottle that made Dean read the Dare which Sam had written. In hopes it would be Cas, instead of Donna. But looks like his plan worked out after all. If Sam would have to spend just one more hour in a room with them, tension thick enough you'd have to cut it with a bazooka, he'd throw himself off a cliff.