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"Dammit, Cas, stop moping and come help me."
Castiel studiously ignores Dean's request, sliding further down into the wingback chair he's currently occupying to focus more intently on the book in his hands and the sentence he's read seven times now. He briefly considers denying the accusation of moping, but decides better of it, turning the page nonchalantly as though Dean isn't there.
"I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have called you hopeless just because you broke another plate."
The apology does little to balm Castiel's bruised pride, so he flips another page in the book without having read a word on the pages in front of him. He feels the weight of Dean's staring eyes on the top of his head, skims the words without registering anything he sees, turns another page with a deliberateness of purpose he reserves for just such instances.
"Fine. You know what? I don't need your help anyway."
Dean sounds annoyed again and Castiel feels a tiny pang of guilt mixed in with the pleasure at having gotten under his skin. Isn't it Dean who's fond of saying, 'Payback is a bitch'? Castiel takes even greater pleasure in the heavy, near stomping quality of the footfalls that carry Dean away, finally looking up to glare daggers at his retreating back with narrowed eyes. Hopeless, indeed.
Finally alone again, Castiel flips back to the page he was reading when the showdown started, focusing on the offending sentence for the eighth time. For the secret of man's being is not only to live but to have something to live for. He pauses, stares at the words one by one, turning the sentence over in his mind. It's got to be one of those bigger human concepts that he still can't quite grasp. Being alive seems to obviously mean there's something to be alive for, else why would you.. be alive? He thinks harder, feeling understanding dancing just outside his reach. The jarring clang of metal on metal from the kitchen is what finally makes up Castiel's mind to abandon his reading. He knows he's being a child as much as he knows that winning is no fun if it leaves Dean upset.
He carefully places the bookmark to hold his place, just the way Sam said to when he caught Castiel dog-earing pages months ago, and lays the book on the table next to the chair. He finds Dean still growling under his breath about being 'surrounded by fucking babies, I swear'. He looks up, fixing a peevish gaze on Castiel. Cas ignores that, too, and waits for instructions.
Dean continues working as though he's still alone; gathering vegetables and meat from the fridge, bowls and plates from the cabinet, then dropping everything onto the counter without a word. His ire rising again, Castiel plants himself in Dean's path - an immovable object in the face of an unstoppable force. Dean does stop, though, using his slight height advantage to tower over Castiel, who refuses to shrink away. When Dean finally meets his eyes again, it's with a sigh and arms crossed over his chest.
"What do you want?"
"I want to help."
"I don't want your help."
Castiel is surprised by how violent a stare can be as Dean's eyes narrow further. He still doesn't back down, crossing his own arms petulantly over his chest, though instead of a scowl he wears a faint smile. He knows Dean will give in and accept his help even if Dean doesn't yet. This certainly isn't the first time they've butted heads since he started calling the bunker home and he knows it won't be the last. To hurry the process along, Castiel tries logic.
"Sam will be home soon and you like to have a meal waiting for him because you know going out still exhausts him. Dinner won't be finished when he gets here unless you let me help."
A muscle twitches in Dean's jaw, but his eyes soften at the mention of Sam's still fragile health. The staring contest apparently over, he lets his arms drop away from his chest and he shrugs. Castiel's smile widens the tiniest bit and he unfolds his arms, too. He waits to find out what he will be doing as Dean turns away. While all men may be equal in other parts of the bunker, in the kitchen Dean's word is law.
"You can slice veggies for the burgers," Dean tells him after a moment, stopping to look back over his shoulder at Castiel as he adds, "and don't forget to wash them first."
Castiel moves to gather up the tomatoes, onions, and lettuce from the counter only to find that Dean is blocking his access. He tries to reach past him, then step around, but everywhere he moves Dean moves right into his way again. Irritation prickles the back of Castiel's neck and he takes a step back. Dean obviously knows he's in the way and is equally obviously enjoying being in the way and Cas doesn't feel like indulging his childish game of keep away.
"Dean," he says matter-of-factly and as calmly as he can manage, "I can't reach the vegetables with you standing in front of them."
When Dean turns to face him, Castiel can see a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He isn't expecting Dean to take the step that closes the distance between them, finding himself suddenly chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose as he stares into green eyes that are too close for proper focus. Without a word, Deans fingers slot with Castiel's and with a flutter of those long, luscious eyelashes, he leans in for a kiss.
Cas loves these little kisses, a soft press of lips in the middle of a hurricane of activity. They're a port in the storm he craves and he squeezes Dean's fingers more tightly as his lips seek Dean's warmth. It's cautious at first, allowing for the knowledge of the spat that's coming to an end. Castiel takes the lingering of lips, the gentle press and press again as invitation, pulls one hand free to reach up and cup Dean's jaw. Dean's hand settles on Cas' hip molding warmly to his body through his thin t-shirt.
When Castiel feels Dean's lips part the tiniest bit on a sigh, he takes the opportunity to tease his tongue against the sinful swell of his full bottom lip. Dean is eager as always to put the disagreement behind them, his tongue meeting Castiel's with an electric charge, his body pressing fully to Castiel's as they fall into the headiness of a deep kiss. Cas strokes Dean's cheek with his thumb, a movement Dean's thumb mirrors in the dip above Cas' hipbone. He kisses more deeply, pushing Castiel back half a step as their tongues tease and slide and their jaws go wide in hunger for this reassuring contact.
Castiel's head is spinning from the force of Dean's kiss and the attendant lack of oxygen, but he can't bring himself to pull away, curling his fingers more tightly around the back of Dean's neck and pulling him in closer instead. Dean growls in response, fingers twisting in Castiel's shirt, equally stubborn in his refusal to be the one who breaks the kiss. Finally, Castiel's teeth graze over Dean's lip, a nibble before he takes a ragged breath, feels Dean do the same.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, breathless and punctuated by a final sweet touch of lips to Dean's.
"I'm sorry, too, Cas."
When Castiel pulls back enough to focus, he sees the softness of a smile reflected in Dean's eyes. He closes his eyes and smiles, too, pressing his stubbled cheek against the roughness of Dean's. It hits him suddenly that this is what Dostoyevsky meant by having something to live for. He nuzzles Dean's face, wondering if he feels the same but deciding it's a conversation for another time, though he's happy to admit that Dean's throaty "mmm" gives him answer enough for now.
The sound of Sam quietly clearing his throat hits Castiel like a bucket of cold water and he jerks his face away from Dean's. Their heads snap to the side in unison and a hot flush blooms across Castiel's cheeks, creeps up the back of his neck as he tries his best to be nonchalant while facing Sam's lopsided grin. Dean clears his throat reflexively, but doesn't step back. Cas lets his hand slide down Dean's chest to rest at his side so that they're not quite so obvious.
All three men are long past trying to hide things from one another in the sanctuary of their home and anyway, Sam claims life isn't worth living if he doesn't get to tease them a little for their displays of affection. Today is no exception as he leans against the door frame with a dramatic sigh to ask, "Did I miss anything?"