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Castiel Novak tells himself there’s nothing to be nervous about, that teaching this class is nothing different than any other he’s taught. And he does have plenty of experience. As an assistant professor at the local community college, he’s taught at least two biology classes every term for the last four years. Although it’s a completely new subject so to speak, this new beginner’s cooking class at the community center should be no different.
Cas had arrived early, as has always been his habit on the first day of any class, both those he now teaches and those he had attended as a student himself, and quickly prepares the space before his students start meandering in, one by one. There’s not much for him to do as the community center comes equipped with special rooms for just for these sorts of specialty classes, and this one holds ovens, grills, and shiny metal prep tables as well as most of the utensils needed for such basic instruction in the art of cooking. The class is small, with only six students registered; smaller even than his regular biology classes which generally enroll up to thirty students. He chats idly with the first five students who show up a little bit early as well as the clock ticks closer to seven o’clock -the official start of class - and they wait for the missing sixth member of the class to show.
Just as Cas is about to write the missing student off, figuring he or she had dropped out at the last moment, gotten lost in traffic, or something else Cas or the student has no control over, sounds of a scuffle coming from the hall draw his attention.
“Come on,” Cas hears a deep male voice says as Cas hurries to the doorway. When he peers his head around the doorframe, his mouth drops open in surprise to see two grown men coming down the hall, one, the taller one, with a headlock around the shorter one’s neck who is trying to wiggle his way free as the taller man pulls him along the hallway.
“What’s wrong with a diet of take-out and instant ramen noodles?” the shorter one demands, the same one that had spoken already.
“Nothing,” the taller man answers, “if that was actually what you’d do instead of show up at Mom and Dad’s for every meal. But Mom says she can’t relax on their trip to Hawaii in two months if she’s worried about you and what you’re eating. Besides, Dad paid me 100 bucks to get you here on time.”
“I’ll double it if you just let me go, Sammy! There’s a game on tonight I wanted to watch.”
“You should have DVRed it then, Dean. This has been on your calendar for the past month, ever since Mom told you she signed you up for it.”
“Gentlemen, is there a problem?” Cas asks in his most authoritative, professor voice to hide the deep confusion he feels viewing the scene and the bickering brothers.
“You teach Introduction to Cooking 101?” the taller one asks, shoving his brother into the room. The other students have crowded around Cas to watch the spectacle and they take a collective step back as this happens. Cas holds his ground and reaches out to steady the man – Dean – when he stumbles from his brother’s push.
“I do,” Cas answers, still slightly baffled. He realizes that this is his missing sixth student, but he’s really not sure how his brother (or his parents, who also seem to be involved) expect him to stay without supervision. Will his brother – Sam, Cas remembers from their conversation – be hovering over his shoulder for the next six weeks while Dean acts surly and refuses to follow Cas’ instructions?
“Then everything’s great,” Sam says, giving Cas a winning smile before turning to his brother. “Dean, if you stay here and actually learn something, Mom promises to make cherry pie for Sunday dinner for the next six weeks. Think you can handle the class on your own now?”
Cas can feel Dean’s eyes on him, studying him as he takes his time to answer. “Yeah, okay,” Dean finally says.
“Good,” Sam beams. “I’m going to go then.” With a parting wave, he walks out the door.
“Well, then,” Cas says, at a loss for anything else to do. “Let’s get started.”
*
Despite his inauspicious beginnings, Dean turns out to be an exemplary student. When Cas makes the rounds, correcting a temperature here, a chopping technique there, Dean chats with him or makes a joke and always takes Cas’ instruction without a fight. Cas finds himself liking Dean more and more.
However, Cas is still a little surprised when Dean shows up the following week. He figured it was a 50/50 toss up if he’d come to class again or not.
“Hey Cas,” Dean greets as he walks in the door.
“You showed up,” Cas observes. “And without your brother’s help this time. I have to admit I was a little worried.”
Dean blushes, just a little. “I don’t actually need my brother to ferry me around.”
“No? I have to admit,” Cas replies, “I’ve never had a student dragged bodily into one of my classes kicking and screaming before.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” Dean says, grinning in a way that makes Cas’ heart beat a little faster. Stop that, Cas commands, you’ve never even had a passing infatuation with a student before and now is not the time to start.
“Anyway, I got you something,” Dean says, holding out a box for Cas to take. Inside is a bright purple kitchen timer shaped like an eggplant. “You know, to make up for my behavior last class.”
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, placing the gift front and center on his table. “I’ll be able to use it today.”
Dean smiles that smile that has Cas so enthralled and goes to take his place at his own table.
*
As the weeks progress, Cas finds himself growing increasingly saddened that he will have to say goodbye to Dean once the class is complete. He knows that he shouldn’t wish for anything more, but he was hoping that perhaps they could be friends.
Dean, it happens, feels the same way - at least about them becoming friends. “So I had this thought,” Dean starts at the end of their last class period, after the rest of the students have said their final goodbyes and filtered out the door, “if you wanted to come over sometime, I could show you how much I’d learned from you. I cooked dinner for my mom a few nights ago, and she promised a pie to the teacher who miraculously managed to teach me how to make something edible after all these years. And let me tell you man, my mom’s pie is something not to be missed.”
“That would be lovely,” Cas says. “I would enjoy it very much.”
“Great,” Dean replies, “you free this time next week or do you have another class to teach?”
“No, that would be the ideal time.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean says and takes out a piece of paper to scribble out his phone number and address and hands it over to Cas. “Just give me a call if anything comes up or you can’t find the place.”
*
When Cas arrives in front of Dean’s apartment door that following week, Dean quickly opens to his knock, grins at him and tells him where to hang his coat before rushing back to the kitchen.
“Sorry, you got here just as I was supposed to be taking out the garlic bread.”
“What are we having?” Cas calls as he shrugs out of his coat.
“Fettuccine alfredo,” Dean answers. “I figured it’s something simple enough I could handle it.”
“It smells heavenly,” Cas replies as a pure white Husky with clear blue eyes comes padding to the door, tentatively sniffing at Cas’ knees.
“Why, hello,” Cas says. “You’re very well behaved.”
“Yeah, a guard dog she ain’t,” Dean says, coming out of the kitchen. “You can pet her, she won’t bite. Might lick you a bit though.”
“What’s her name?” Cas asks, reaching out a hand to let the dog sniff him before gently petting her behind the ears.
“Duchess,” Dean answers, his cheeks tinged pink.
“Duchess?” Cas repeats, the dogs head swinging towards Dean and back again to face Cas as she hears her name. “How did you come up with a name like that?”
“I know, right?” Dean groans good-humoredly, “It’s not at all my style. But she was two already when I got her from the shelter and since she came when called to the name she had, they recommended that I should keep the name she came with.”
“My cat’s name is Sylvester,” Cas blurts.
“You, what?” Dean chuckles. “You named your cat after a cartoon?”
“My sister Anna did,” Cas answers. “She tried to sneak a kitten into her college dorm room where they of course disallow pets and when she was found out two weeks in, she asked me to take him, so I did.”
Dean laughs at the story and they exchange idle chit-chat about their siblings and some of the antics they’ve gotten into over the years as Dean puts the finishing touches on their meal.
“What would you like to drink?” Dean asks. “I’ve got wine, beer, and hard cider. I can’t say much about the wine except that it’s something my brother forced on me last year for Christmas. Oh, and I have water too.”
Cas laughs and says, “You are obviously not a wine connoisseur.”
Dean grins at him. “Nope, you caught me, dude.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thank you.”
“Hard cider it is.”
Dean deftly snaps the top off two glass bottles and hands one to Cas before guiding him into the dining room. The table is set and soft lighting suffuses the room, tiny multicolored lights twinkling from the Christmas tree set up for the upcoming holiday mixing in the living room are just visible through the doorway and mix with the warm orange glow of lit candles.
“Very festive,” Cas comments.
“I’m glad you like it,” Dean answers, placing a heaping plate of fettuccine alfredo with sliced chicken resting on top in front of him and another at Dean’s own place setting.
Cas takes a taste and smiles up at his pupil. “This is very good,” he says.
“Yeah, you think so?” Dean asks, obviously pleased.
“If my class had been like my graded college courses, you would have gotten an A for sure.”
The rest of dinner goes well, but halfway through the meal, when Dean’s fingers purposely brush against Cas’ hand as he passes him a slice of garlic bread, it finally dawns on Cas exactly what is going on here.
“Oh my god,” Cas says, flushing red, “this is a date.” His eyes flick back and forth between the tablecloth, the soft lighting, the candles, for god’s sake. Not to mention the neatly pressed button down shirt (a solid dark green that matches his eyes) that Dean is wearing is so different than the casual flannel plaid shirts Dean had always worn to class. Cas wants to bang his head against the table for not realizing sooner.
“Is that a bad thing?” Dean asks. “I mean, it’s a cooking class at the community center. I didn’t think there were any rules about you not dating your students. If it’s a problem though, you can go. I won’t be offended.”
That is the last thing he wants. It’s not that Cas had spared a thought about it not being allowed by the community center, because, honestly, he really doubts they would care, but he had figured Dean would never allow it. That Dean would ever return his feelings is the surprising part, to him at least.
“No,” he says, making a hasty grab for Dean’s hand, latching on to the fingers that had just brushed not-so-innocently along his knuckles just moments before. He smiles at Dean and waits until the other man hesitantly matches his smile before saying, “this is more than I could have hoped for.”
Dean’s smile deepens into an all out grin, and he drops his eyes, suddenly bashful. “You know,” he jokes, “for such a smart guy, you can be remarkably slow on the uptake. Dude,” he adds, “I bought you a present.”
Cas laughs and replies, “I can’t imagine how I could have thought anything else,” when really, this scenario - Dean having feelings for him - had been the unimaginable.
*
“So I was wondering,” Dean says as he walks Cas to the door after dinner and dessert, “about Saturday. If you were free, and if you maybe wanted to, you know. Do something together. Like ice skating? They have an outdoor rink set up downtown, and if you don’t know how to skate, I could teach you.”
Cas smiles and states, “it’s a date,” so that Dean knows he’s clear this time before leaning in to brush his lips against Dean’s in a goodnight kiss.