Work Text:
It was a late Sunday afternoon as Cas stood at the counter, studying a cookbook with a furrowed brow. Beside him, his four-year-old son Jack perched on a stool, his tiny feet swinging with barely-contained excitement. The counter was a chaotic display of flour, sugar, measuring cups, and mixing bowls, ready for the afternoon’s project.
“Alright, Jack,” Cas said, his deep voice carrying an undercurrent of determination. “Are you ready to bake cookies for when Daddy gets home from work?”
Cas had never baked a day in his life, but the recipe seemed straightforward enough, and Dean always made it look easy. How hard could it be?
Jack’s eyes lit up. “Can we add lots of chocolate chips like Daddy does?
Cas nodded and helped Jack steady himself as he stood on the stool. “I think your Daddy would wonder what was wrong with us if we didn’t.”
“I wanna add them, okay, Papa?”
“One step at a time, Jack.” Cas carefully measured the sugar, guiding Jack as he poured it into the bowl.
Jack grinned and dipped a finger into the sugar, sneaking a taste. “It’s sweet!” he declared, smacking his lips.
“Just like you, honeybee,” Cas replied, smiling down at him.
The trouble began when it was time to add the flour. Jack, brimming with enthusiasm, grabbed the bag with both hands and attempted to pour it into the measuring cup. The bag tipped too far, and a cloud of flour exploded into the air, settling over everything—and everyone—in a fine white mist.
Cas froze, his normally impassive face now comically startled. Jack, however, burst into delighted giggles.
“We’re snowmen, Papa!” Jack exclaimed, throwing his arms wide and twirling in the floury haze.
Cas sighed but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Careful, little one. I don’t want you to fall.” He placed a steadying hand on Jack’s back, keeping him upright.
When the flour finally settled, they pressed on, mess and all. Jack plunged his tiny hands into the sticky dough, shaping lopsided blobs that bore little resemblance to circles. Cas watched with quiet affection, adjusting the cookies on the tray to ensure they baked evenly without stifling Jack’s creativity.
Once the cookies were in the oven, Cas scooped up his flour-dusted, sticky kid and carried him to the bathroom for a much-needed bath. Jack splashed happily, soaking Cas’s shirt and most of the bathroom floor as he gleefully recreated the flour explosion with bubbles.
When they returned to the kitchen, Jack freshly scrubbed and sporting his favorite dinosaur pajamas, the cookies were golden and ready to come out of the oven. Cas handed Jack a warm cookie and took one for himself.
“Papa!” Jack gasped. “These are for Daddy!”
“We have to taste-test them first,” Cas reasoned. “Make sure they’re good.”
This satisfied Jack, who took a bite and immediately broke into a happy dance. Cas chuckled and grabbed Jack’s hand, guiding him into the living room to watch TV. The kitchen was still as mess, and Cas was still in need of a shower which meant he had work to do.
As Cas surveyed the messy kitchen, trying to figure out where to start, the front door opened, and Dean stepped inside, kicking off his boots. “Hey, angel, I—” He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene. The kitchen looked like a bomb went off, and his husband–who looked adorably disheveled in his soaked t-shirt and flour-dusted hair–stood in the middle of it all with a wash rag and a bottle of cleaning spray.
Dean’s lips twitched into a grin. “What happened, darlin’?”
Cas sighed, running a hand through his hair and inadvertently adding to the mess. “Jack and I decided to try baking. It… got a little out of hand.”
Dean laughed and stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Cas’s cheek. His lips came away powdery, making him laugh even harder.
“You two lose a boxing match to a bag of flour?”
Before Cas could respond, Jack skidded into the room. “Daddy! You’re home! We made you cookies!”
Dean crouched down, scooping Jack up and flipping him upside down. Jack shrieked with laughter. “Daddy, I’m a bat!” he squealed, flapping his arms like wings.
“You’re the cutest bat I’ve ever seen,” Dean said, setting him upright on his hip. He ruffled Jack’s hair before eyeing the cookies on the counter. “Now let me try one of these cookies.” Dean smiled as he saw the mismatched shapes on the plate. “You’re a real artist, kiddo, you know that? The next Picasso for sure.”
“No, Daddy, I’m a baker!”
Dean chuckled as he picked up a cookie and took a bite.
“Best baker in the world if you ask me. These are delicious!”
“I told Papa we needed lots of chocolate chips.”
“He would’ve added the whole bag if I hadn’t stopped him,” Cas chimed in.
Dean chuckled, “You really are my kid, aren’t you?” Dean placed Jack on the floor and pulled an extra wash rag out from under the sink. “Now what do you say we let Papa take a shower and you and I can tackle this kitchen? I bet you can’t wipe the counters faster than me.”
“Can too!” Jack shouted, diving into the challenge.
As Jack began frantically “cleaning,” Dean pulled Cas in for a tender kiss. “Go get cleaned up, Frosty,” Dean teased. “I’ve got the little firecracker from here.”
Cas smiled gratefully and nodded. As he headed upstairs, he paused to listen to the sounds of his husband and son laughing their way through clean-up, his heart swelling.
He was the luckiest man in the world.