The Internet is for Pie
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG/T
Word Count: almost 6.5k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Balthazar
Genre: Fluff, Developing relationship, Domestic
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Castiel has observed many curious customs of the human species; none is as fascinating as seduction via food.
Also on AO3.
A/N: Set in an AU in which the Apocalypse didn't happen, whoever died in seasons 5, 6 and 7 is still alive, Cas is some high-up-in-the-hierarchy angel who spends a lot of time on Earth and Sam and Dean are back in saving people, hunting things, the family business.
Written for yourgracewasted who left this prompt at the WAFFathon.
First time dabbling into this fandom and pairing, so hello SPN-ers :D
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
The Internet is for Pie
Even after six years spent more or less on Earth, there are a lot of things Castiel doesn't understand. He's learned about personal space and personal time (after a lot of embarrassing incidents with Dean), about customs and hobbies (after long discussions with Sam), about drinking and card games (when Bobby was in a good mood) and he's observed many, many other ways in which humans differ from him, and from each other. Among the things that still boggle his mind, however, are technology and cooking. Both of which he will need to learn within right now if he is to succeed in his plans.
The problem is, he doesn't know who to ask for help. Now, Castiel is a very curious person, and he feels he's shown that to the Winchester brothers enough times, what with constantly asking them about anything that captures his interest. Both Sam and Dean have always given him satisfactory answers, explaining to the best of their abilities all the nuances of human behaviour and life that Castiel couldn't comprehend. But they've both shied away from answering the questions that are still most pressing on Castiel's mind.
Castiel has had the pleasure of observing romantic relationships and interactions between humans many a time. It hasn't escaped his notice that his and Dean's relationship is not purely platonic. However, every time he brought this up to Dean (and it's happened more than once), Dean went bright red, stuttered something about misunderstandings and blatantly changed the subject. Figuring this was one of the admittedly few things that Dean didn't feel comfortable discussing, Castiel then turned to Sam who, understandably and expectedly, looked even more uncomfortable and flat out refused to talk about it, giving the excuses of this is between you and Dean, and there are things I really don't want to know.
So, naturally, Castiel did what Sam had taught him to do when he wanted to know something: he went to the library and asked for all the romance novels they had, then he went to the store across the street and bought all the romantic movies the cashier could find for him. Having read all the newly acquired literature and seen the whole cinematography of certain actors, he's found a pattern in the way humans portray their relationships in art. What he's learnt is this: humans like food. More precisely, humans like other humans to make food for them. Apparently, it is a form of seduction for the species. It's not unheard of, Castiel knows of many species in which partners are supposed to prove that they can provide for the family, so he's not very surprised. Merely peeved.
See, Castiel can't cook. It's a well known fact to those who've met him. He's set Bobby's kitchen on fire not once, but four times. He was shown how to cook not only by Sam and Dean, but also by Bobby, Ellen and Jo (which, in retrospect, may have been what caused the problem). Every time, all he managed was inedible charred remains or offensive-looking goo. Given that he doesn't need nourishment and that he now has the money to buy food when he feels like eating, he isn't disturbed by the fact that his culinary skills are non-existent.
But Dean? Dean loves food. Dean loves burgers and sandwiches and barbecue and eggs and sweets and pasta and cake; Dean just loves everything edible. Most of all, Dean loves pie. Sometimes, Castiel isn't sure what Dean loves more - cars or pie. He even thinks there are moments when Dean would choose pie over him or Sam. Add to that how it now seems that a human's favourite food is a good way to seduce them, and there is only one obvious solution to the affliction Castiel has learnt is called sexual frustration, which he has been suffering because of Dean.
This is how Castiel concludes that he needs to make pie. The romantic comedies have underlined multiple times how it is of great importance that he makes the food himself; Castiel assumes this is some kind of a bonding ritual, a symbolic way for a potential partner to show their devotion, and he can understand that. What he can't understand is the process of baking a pie.
He's burnt and fixed Bobby's kitchen twice already, having set it on fire in attempts to replicate the pie-making he's seen in movies, and he's now on the verge of giving up. The journals and books Sam has left for him to read are of no help in the field of making food, what with consisting mainly of detailed instructions on how to kill various monsters; taking into consideration the reason behind Castiel's kitchen-bound adventure, he doesn't think Sam would be amendable to offering directions. Asking Dean, of course, is out of the question, because if there's one more thing Castiel's learnt from the films, it's that this kind of gift must be a surprise.
The decision is taken out of his hands when Sam walks right into the mess of bowls filled too-liquid batter and a pan filled with charred remains of the one batch that wasn't too watery.
“Cas?” Sam asks, sounding oddly concerned.
“Hello, Sam,” Castiel replies politely, hoping his frustration isn't showing in his voice.
“Um, Cas, what are you doing?” Sam asks, dipping a finger into a particularly unfortunate bowl filled with thick sticky fluid.
Castiel heaves a sigh, loosens his tie and steps away from the counter he's been leaning against, thinking, for the last few minutes. “I was attempting to bake a pie,” he replies, waving a hand to clean the mess. The kitchen, albeit still cluttered, is batter-free within moments.
“Bake a pie?” Sam repeats, raising both eyebrows.
Based on the distinctly impolite remark that forms in his head, Castiel decides he's been spending too much time with Dean. He contains his first reaction and only says, “Yes.”
“Okay,” Sam says, sounding like he's talking to a child, “and why would you want to make a pie?”
“It is not of import,” Castiel answers, spreading out his wings and getting ready to fly off.
“Wait, Cas,” Sam calls, grabbing his shoulder. Castiel cocks his head in a silent question. “Is there... Is something going on?” Sam asks, frowning.
Castiel takes a moment to re-evaluate his decision and weigh the merits of asking for Sam's help against the potential repercussions to their relationship. It's a close call again, but he decides, perhaps selfishly, that Sam will put Dean's happiness over his own comfort.
“I was going to make a pie for Dean. I have been led to believe that food is a good seduction technique,” he says, managing to control the urge to fidget. The extent to which he has grown accustomed to this human form sometimes worries him.
Sam looks befuddled for a few seconds, before his face goes through the expressions for understanding, discomfort and panic in quick succession, and then finally Sam's features assume a more permanent position which indicates an emotion Castiel is not expecting - contentment.
“This pleases you,” Castiel comments, prompting for an explanation.
Sam looks and sounds a little flustered, but he doesn't deny it. “I... Well... Yes, yeah, I guess it does,” he says.
“Why?” Castiel asks, turning his head to the other side, confusion and curiosity replacing his frustration.
“Well, ugh... You see, Dean is... not easy to live with?” Sam tries uncertainly. Castiel nods, simultaneously agreeing with the statement and asking Sam to carry on. “And, well, I'm glad he's found someone. Someone who would do this,” Sam gestures at the kitchen around them, “for him. He's a good person, you just need to... get used to him.”
“Get used to him,” Castiel repeats. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to Dean, the way he speaks his mind and isn't afraid of doing what he believes in, the way his eyes shine when he's happy and his jaw clenches when he's angry. No, Castiel doesn't think he's used to Dean. But he knows Dean is a good person.
“Yes. And not many people give him that chance,” Sam says, sounding a little upset, but Castiel decides now is not the time to ask. Sam seems to notice the subtle change in his stance, because he shakes his head and looks at Castiel with a grin, then asks cheerily, “So, you're going to seduce Dean with pie?”
“That is the plan, yes,” Castiel answers, offering a small smile with it. “Why, do you think it's not a good idea?”
“Oh, no, I think it's a great idea,” Sam laughs, “nobody likes pie more than Dean. I just don't think you need to seduce him at all; it's more a challenge of making him admit that he's already been seduced.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps that is a better way to put it,” Castiel agrees.
“Then, shall I help you with this?” Sam offers, rolling up his sleeves.
“I would be most grateful,” Castiel replies, then hurries to add, “Of course, only if you want to. I know you feel... ill at ease with my relationship with your brother.”
“What?” Sam looks mildly offended. Castiel frowns, unsure of how he caused that. Then Sam's shoulders relax as he seems to come to some sort of revelation. “Oh, that,” he says, smiling again, “no, I'm... I'm fine with your relationship with Dean. More than fine, I'm happy for you both. Promise.”
Sensing the finality (and honesty) in Sam's words, Castiel nods in acceptance and drops the subject entirely. He turns to the kitchen counter, finding it covered with various dishes which he tried and failed to utilize for his cause. “I'm afraid I don't know how to make pie. I've tried replicating the process I've seen on TV, but you've already seen the results,” he admits.
“On TV?” Sam parrots, clearly trying to suppress laughter.
Castiel frowns. “Yes,” he replies flatly, wondering what he did wrong this time.
“Cas, you can't just... replicate anything from TV, they have montage and editing,” Sam says, still on the verge of laughing.
“Then what?” Castiel asks, looking at Sam's slightly red face.
Sam takes a deep breath ad lets it out (Castiel has noticed that this is his way of calming down). He lets out a little chuckle, before taking another deep breath and schooling his face into something neutral. “Okay,” he says, “first we need a recipe.”
“A recipe?”
“Yes, like, instructions and ingredients and all that,” Sam explains.
“I haven't found one,” Castiel replies, pointing at the various sized books and notebooks on the coffee table behind them.
“That's because we don't have one,” Sam answers, briefly checking the pile Castiel pointed out. He laughs again, then purses his lips and very obviously forces himself to calm down.
“I don't understand what's so funny,” Castiel informs him, marvelling at how humans remain puzzling to him, no matter how much he studies them.
“It's nothing,” Sam chokes through some more laughing. Castiel patiently waits for the snickering to subside. “Okay,” Sam finally says, grabbing his laptop out of his bag and opening it. “Let's find you a recipe.”
~*~
Twenty minutes later, Sam is still frowning at Castiel's recipe of choice, but Castiel won't budge. He likes how the finished product on the attached photo looks, it reminds him of a slice of pie he once saw Dean eating in one of the numerous motels they've been to.
“You're sure this is the one you want? Maybe we should try this one, it seems simpler,” Sam suggests, pointing at their second choice.
“No, this one,” Castiel firmly refuses.
“Okay, it's your pie,” Sam concedes, jotting down the recipe and tearing the piece of paper out of its parenting notepad. “Let's make it then. I assume you can... acquire the ingredients?” Sam asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Of course,” Castiel replies, taking the paper out of Sam's hand. He glances at it and memorizes everything they need; just in case, he tucks the recipe into a pocket of his coat and flies off.
All-purpose flour is easy to find in the nearby store, as are vegetable oil and sugar. He doesn't get any salt, because he knows there are piles of it in Bobby's cabinets. Milk and butter are a little more difficult - Castiel knows of a centuries old farm in the Alps, famous for producing the best butter in Europe, but they don't sell anymore, so it takes him a few minutes of bartering to get the butter and milk he needs. The recipe specifically asks for Fuji apples, so Castiel visits Japan to get them. This task proves to be of considerable difficulty, as Japanese is a language Castiel is not brilliant at, strictly speaking, and the Japanese farmers know hardly a word of English. Finally, after a lot of bilingual (and bi-limb-al) conversing, Castiel flies away with twice the amount of apples he needs (he wasn't certain how to say 6 in Japanese, but he knew 12 for sure). Acquiring cinnamon from Sri Lanka proves to be easier than he expected and he's lucky enough to find an old woman he knows from before when he looks for nutmeg on the Spice Island in Grenada.
Satisfied with the quality of his ingredients, Castiel returns to Bobby's shabby kitchen. Sam's just finishing a phone conversation, wearing an apron and waving around with a wooden spoon. Castiel deposits his prized possessions on the table and waits patiently for Sam to turn to him.
“You're in luck!” Sam announces as he closes his phone. “Bobby's hunt is gonna- Why is there sand on your shoes?” he asks, frowning at Castiel. Castiel knows this expression - it's not that Sam doesn't have his doubts, there's just something he finds either odd or wrong about the picture in front of him. Castiel is just about to explain his actions when Sam cuts him off with, “You know what? I don't wanna know. Bobby's not coming home with Dean, he has a new case, so as I was saying, you're in luck.”
Castiel opens his mouth to vocalize his thoughts about how Bobby's presence (or absence, for that matter) has no bearing on his plans, but Sam's oblivious to his intentions. He's quickly taking out pots and pans and bowls, sorting out Castiel's spoils of... trade (although the episode in Japan did seem akin to certain war situations). It soon becomes apparent why Sam's in such a hurry.
“That brings me to the other bit of news I have for you - Dean's on his way and he'll be here in less than two hours,” he says with all the gravity the situation requires.
Castiel's eyes go wide and he feels a certain tingling in his stomach that Dean's told him is called nervousness. “Will we have time to make the pie?”
“Let's hope so,” Sam replies, pausing in his frantic fussing to look at Castiel. “What are you waiting for? Come on, take off that coat and jacket and put on an apron, we don't have all day!” he commands.
“I can clean my clothes, Sam,” Castiel replies, clutching at his coat; he's become used to always looking exactly like this in the human world, without an article of clothing, he feels oddly exposed.
“Dude, you're not making pie while wearing an overcoat, it's just not how things are done,” Sam hastens to add when he notices Castiel's reluctance. It is only because of the lack of time that Castiel nods and shrugs out of his coat and jacket as Sam picks out a large plastic bowl and starts adding ingredients. His voice follows Castiel down the hall as he goes to leave his coat and jacket by the door, “Oh, man, you brought double the necessary amount? Perfect, we'll make two so that we can taste one. Come on, hurry up!”
Castiel returns to the kitchen to find Sam mixing something in the pink plastic bowl he chose. “What should I do?” he asks, looking at the table full of various kitchen utensils.
“Well, I've turned on the oven, and I've put the flour, oil, milk, sugar and salt in here,” Sam answers, closing his eyes and nodding at every item he mentions like he's checking them off a list, “so you can either make the dough or work on the filling.”
Castiel gives him a blank look. He's following what Sam is saying, he understands all the words. But it makes little sense to him and he isn't sure which choice is right.
“Never mind!” Sam says before Castiel can even open his mouth. “Go peel, core and slice the apples, okay?”
Castiel nods, folds up his sleeves the way he's seen Sam do when he's pottering around in the kitchen, takes a knife and starts peeling the apples. The knife is blunter than what he's used to, but he makes do with it up to the point when he's supposed to take the core out. He's cored apples before for religious ceremonies and rituals (apples are one of the favourite symbols for many religions), but he's always used sharp knives, often made specifically for that purpose. Staring at the serrated blade in his hand, he quickly makes his decision.
“I shall return,” he tells Sam before flying off to Heaven. He's lucky enough to easily find the weapons collection, but not lucky enough to avoid Balthazar, who's in his position in front of the Vault for once in his existence (and of course it had to be right now, when Castiel needs to... borrow something without explicit permission; he really is spending too much time with the Winchesters).
“Castiel!” Balthazar says in greeting. “What brings you here?”
“I am in need of a sharp knife,” Castiel answers, putting as much authority behind his words as he can.
“I am going to need to know what for,” Balthazar reminds, opening the Vault and stepping aside.
Castiel thinks quickly. Dean's told him many a time that the key to a good lie is to never hesitate with giving it. “It is required for a mating ritual,” he replies confidently, which is at least partially true so he doesn't feel quite as guilty for saying it. Balthazar's aura gives off a certain air of knowing, but he doesn't comment, so Castiel picks the knife he thinks will be most useful and returns to Sam, who is still making the dough.
“Dude, where did you disappear to?” he asks, looking up, then frowning at the blade in Castiel's hand.
“I needed a sharper knife,” Castiel answers, shrugging.
“Did you just- You didn't just steal that from some angelic weaponry or something?” Sam all but yells, sounding completely bewildered.
“Don't be silly, Sam, the Vault of angelic weapons has a guardian,” Castiel replies nonchalantly. He thinks he pulls it off well enough. Dean would be proud. The answer seems to pacify Sam anyway, so Castiel spends the next few minutes coring and slicing apples in relative peace. His stomach feels funny and it's only getting worse as the time before Dean's arrival dwindles, but there's no turning back now. Not that Castiel would want to turn back; he's waited long enough for Dean to approach him, he doesn't want to wait any longer.
“When you're done with the apples, add that sugar,” Sam's voice cuts through his thoughts; he points to a cup filled with sugar sitting on the kitchen counter, “6 spoons of flour and the spices. And divide it into halves, there're two bowls on the counter.”
Castiel does as he's told, lifting one by one slice of apple and sending it to it s assigned bowl. When he's satisfied with that, he turns to Sam. Sam is staring at him with wide eyes, a round pan lined with dough in each of his hands. He looks like he's torn between humour and disbelief.
“Did you just- Piece by piece?” he finally asks, eyebrows going up his forehead.
“How else was I supposed to do it?” Castiel replies, genuinely confused. It seemed, at the time, as the easiest way to determine that the two parts were even.
“Never mind,” Sam just says, shaking his head and smiling. Castiel is not sure why, but he smiles back. In fact, he feels like giggling hysterically, but he restrains himself. This, he's come to observe, is one of the ways humans exhibit their nervousness. “Right,” Sam pulls him back to reality again, “one bowl of filling goes into one pie, the other goes in the other pie. Go ahead.”
Castiel carefully pours the contents of the bowls into their respective pans, evens them out and adjusts the placing of slices until he's perfectly happy with how the pies look. Sam's staring at him like he's some kind of a new species that he's just discovered. Castiel moves one last slice of apple before frowning at Sam.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks.
Sam seems to shake himself out of some sort of reverie before answering, “No, no, nothing at all,” in a voice that is slightly higher than the way he normally speaks. He turns around and starts rummaging through drawers before Castiel gets to answer. “I've already mixed the dough for the topping, and I could swear we had pastry cutters somewhere here,” he's babbling and Castiel can't shake the feeling that there's something Sam's trying to avoid telling him. He's about to point that out when Sam lets out a victorious yell. “Aha! Knew I'd seen them somewhere. Oh. Okay. So, apparently we have several kinds of pastry cutters. Even a heart-shaped one,” Sam says, taking out a little piece of metal shaped like a hollow heart and holding it like it's something offensive.
Castiel knows that a heart is a widely accepted symbol of romantic love in the human world, but he's seen and heard Dean cursing heart-shaped objects more than once and he's not sure if putting one on a pie is a good idea. Then again, it might be a great way of making sure his point comes across. He takes a second to wonder when making decisions became so difficult.
“Here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna make one pie covered in hearts, and one that has only one heart in the middle, okay? When they're done, you can choose,” Sam decides, already rolling out the dough and taking out a pastry cutter in the shape of a roller with several blades.
Castiel smiles at him gratefully and joins him in cutting up the dough. They cover both pies with crumbly pieces and throw away the excess material.
“Could you check the oven? It should be about 350 degrees,” Sam suggests as he washes his hands. Castiel opens the oven and shoves his hand inside. It's warm, approximately as warm as Sam says it should be, but he leaves his hand inside for a few extra seconds that allow him to convert the feeling into the human heat-grading system.
“It's 348,” he informs Sam, taking his hand out. Sam's standing frozen in place and staring at him.
“Okay,” he says unsteadily, then mumbles to himself, “I can see why you're not good at cooking.” Castiel assumes he wasn't supposed to hear that (something about it being offensive, although Castiel takes no offence from factual statements), so he pretends he didn't.
“Now what?” he asks instead.
“Now,” Sam replies, opening the oven and putting the pies in, “we wait. We can brew coffee, the website says it goes well with the recipe and Dean loves it. We should have enough whipped cream in the fridge so you don't have to go get more.”
Castiel nods and takes a seat at the table. He's been expressly forbidden to tinkle with the coffee machine so he lets Sam do that part. He checks Sam's laptop which says that the pie needs to stay in the oven for about 45 minutes. That should give them enough time to decorate it and taste it before Dean arrives. He assumes a comfortable position and prepares to wait.
“Wanna play cards or something? While we wait, I mean,” Sam offers.
“I thought I'd just sit here quietly,” Castiel declines, preparing for meditation.
“Okay,” Sam replies, taking his laptop and sitting on the couch in the living room. “I'll come check on the pies in a while,” he yells and Castiel nods again, already drifting off.
~*~
The benefits of meditation for Castiel are many; among other things, it allows him to rest and eases the tension of cramping his true form into that of a human. The main downside is that while meditating, Castiel remains completely incapable of following human time.
This is why it startles him when Sam shakes his shoulder. Sam on the other hand doesn't seem surprised by his spacing out. “The pies are done,” he says, grinning widely. “They look good.”
Castiel smiles and looks at the table in front of him. The pies do indeed look good. Still, even with proof of his success in front of him and some 45 human minutes of relaxation behind him, Castiel feels the now familiar tingling in his stomach. Dean's about to come home. Dean's about to come home and taste Castiel's first pie. Dean's about to come home and witness Castiel's first, possibly pathetic, attempt at human arts of wooing.
“Cas, don't freak out on me now,” Sam says mildly, putting a large hand on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel looks at him and finds Sam's large, softly smiling face mere inches away from his own. His eyes are earnest and he looks happy when he adds, “Dean already loves you. You just need to make him show it.”
Castiel nods uncertainly. “Thank you, Sam,” he whispers, his throat a little tight as he looks at the pies in front of him. This will work. Dean loves pie. Dean loves pie and he loves coffee and he loves wooing.
Dean loves him.
Castiel smiles to himself as he reaches out for the fork that's laid next to the pies. He stabs the pie covered in hearts. Dean only wants one heart, he doesn't need others.
~*~
“Done?” Sam asks through a mouthfull of apple pie just as Castiel puts the finishing touches on Dean's pie. He's decided to cover it in cream everywhere except for the centre, where he's left the heart visible.
“Yes,” he answers, disposing of the empty can of cream and looking at his handy work.
“Dude, this was some really good pie,” Sam says, putting away the now empty pan. “Maybe you should cook more often.”
“Only if somebody helps,” Castiel replies, remembering the catastrophes Sam found in the kitchen when he first arrived.
“Fair enough,” Sam laughs. “Now, I'm gonna go out, Dean's gonna be here soon, don't forget the coffee and don't freak out, okay?”
Castiel nods, although he can feel the knots in his stomach vibrating unpleasantly when he thinks of how little time he has left before Dean comes back.
“Hey,” Sam calls quietly, stepping closer and putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder again. It's soothing to feel the warmth of another human presence and Castiel can see why so many people take comfort in physical contact. “Dean and I may not see eye to eye all the time,” Sam says, “but he's my brother and he deserves the best. I'm glad he has you.”
Sam hugs him then, unexpectedly and for all that Castiel is still not quite used to the way humans show their emotions, he relaxes and hugs back. It's a bit strange and Sam is a bit big, but Castiel likes it anyway. When Sam steps away, he's smiling and Castiel can see in his eyes that Sam's okay, that this is okay, that they're gonna be fine. He smiles honestly and waves when Sam leaves.
Then he sits at the table, Dean's pie back in the oven so it doesn't cool off too much and darkness filling the house. He's nervous, he knows that, but it's a different kind of nervous from before. This is more like pleasant thrumming all through his body. He fidgets as he waits for Dean. He's never fidgeted before. But then, it's never been this important before.
~*~
The loud knocking on the front door brings Castiel out of the meditative trance he's fallen into again and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. Then Dean's voice reminds him.
“Sam, you'd better not be jerking off in there! I don't have the patience to wait for you and Bobby's gonna shoot me in the head if I pick the lock again!”
Castiel feels the urge to giggle again, this time combined with a much stronger desire to just throw himself at Dean, but that's very un-angelic behaviour, so he controls himself, walking to the door in a composed and calm manner. Or so he hopes. He unlocks the door with a flick of the wrist and opens it just as easily. Dean's fist is raised in the air and he looks like he was halfway to knocking the door down, an angry frown on his face and his shoulders squared defensively.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says with the calm he doesn't feel.
“Cas, hi,” Dean replies, lowering his fist. His face goes from angry to confused within milliseconds, his shoulders relax, his whole posture changing. Castiel steps aside to let him into the house. “Sorry about the yelling, I didn't think you'd be here,” Dean apologizes as he throws his duffel bag against the wall and hangs up his leather jacket next to Castiel's coat. He looks tired and frustrated and Castiel wonders if he can somehow help with that or if he will only make it worse. He knows it is human custom to reply to whatever someone says and thus acknowledge the words, but he doesn't have anything to say to Dean's apology and Dean's probably not expecting him to after all these years. “So, why are you here?” Dean asks. “Not that it's not a pleasant surprise and all,” he adds, smiling at Castiel briefly and tiredly, but honestly.
Castiel smiles back. “I was waiting for you,” he answers calmly, walking into the kitchen; he doesn't have to check if Dean's following.
“Oh. Okay,” Dean breathes, something akin to pleasure colouring his voice. Then suddenly, sounding a lot more alert now, “Wait, is something wrong? Where is Sam?”
“Sam went out and everything is perfectly fine,” Castiel assures him, stopping at the kitchen table. Dean stands next to him, looking very, very confused.
“Look, Cas,” he starts, “nothing personal and all that, but I'm exhausted, so. Can this, I don't know, wait till morning?”
“No,” Castiel replies and watches Dean's eyes go slightly wide in surprise. He tries to smile reassuringly as he gestures to the chair nearest to them. “Please, sit.”
“Um, okay,” Dean says, taking a seat. Castiel doesn't miss the way Dean's eyebrows shoot upwards, then come back down and his fists clench in what Castiel suspects is more fear and confusion than real anger. Dean looks up at him questioningly. Castiel wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss him, but he knows that he needs to play this right.
He turns around and takes out the pie. The cream's melted a little, but the heart is still obvious and the pastry smells delicious. Castiel is very nervous, though, and his hands are shaking slightly. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's an angel, he's lived for thousands of human years, has fought off armies of Hell, averted the Apocalypse and helped maintain peace on Heaven and Earth for the last six years. He can do this.
“Hey, you all right?” Dean's voice is suddenly ringing in his ears, Dean's hands are on his shoulders and Dean is standing so close that Castiel can feel the warmth of his body.
“I made pie for you,” Castiel whispers because he doesn't know what else to say. He lifts the still warm pan a little and when Dean leans over his shoulder to see, Castiel feels Dean's breath on his neck; he shivers and very nearly drops the pie.
“Oh, that's... really nice, Cas,” Dean says, sounding a bit choked off; his hands on Castiel's shoulders tighten and his body tenses. Castiel believes he understands the sudden shift, so he turns around and shoves the pie into Dean's hands, preparing for Dean's rejection. Maybe six years wasn't enough for Dean to come to terms with this... thing between them. Maybe Castiel should have waited a bit longer.
“It's edible! Sam, uh, he helped me a bit,” he finally adds. He feels suddenly embarrassed by the fact that he couldn't do it properly himself; he remembers how all the movies say that the end result doesn't really matter, the more important thing is that he makes it himself, but he just wanted to give Dean a good pie.
“It's lovely. Thank you, Cas,” Dean whispers, not moving away in spite of all Castiel's expectations. Castiel looks up where Dean's smiling at him and his face is perfectly relaxed; Castiel dares to hope again. “And the heart?” Dean asks so quietly Castiel almost doesn't detect the note of desperation in his voice (he idly notes that he's a lot more attuned to Dean's very subtle ways of expressing himself than he is to most other humans' much more obvious displays).
Castiel knows this is the moment when he's supposed to say something profound and memorable, but he can't come up with anything other than “...is also for you.”
Dean moves as swiftly as he does when he's hunting and Castiel barely has any warning before Dean's left the pie on the kitchen counter and placed his hands on the side of Castiel's face and they're so close now, breathing the same air, and Castiel has to close his eyes before he goes mad with the intimacy of the moment. He feels the minute shift in the air as Dean leans the last few inches forward and kisses him for the first time. Dean's lips are soft and inviting, applying just the right amount of pressure and Castiel melts into the touch, cataloguing every single detail of this moment into his memory.
Dean breaks the kiss after what Castiel feels is far too short a time, but he doesn't pull away, just looks at Castiel with this painfully open expression on his face, then runs the tip of his nose down the length of Castiel's and rests their foreheads together. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” he says, words as quiet as a gust of wind, making Castiel feel like the moment is something exceptional and precious that needs to be handled with great care. “I didn't know if you- I wasn't sure.”
Castiel is surprised to find that of all the languages in the world (both dead and alive) that he speaks fluently, not one can express exactly what he wants to say; instead he opts for the language he's just started learning - that of his own body. He leans forward and captures Dean's bottom lip with his teeth, pulls it into his mouth and sucks lightly on it, making Dean gasp and squirm. He feels Dean's tongue slide over his upper lip and opens his mouth on instinct, and then Dean's kissing him urgently, wet and hot and perfect, Dean's hands on his hips, one of Dean's legs between his own, pinning him to the counter behind him.
When Dean pulls away, he's deliciously breathless and his lips are shiny and red, all of which only serves to stir in Castiel something he hasn't felt before (and doesn't know what to do with), but makes him want to kiss Dean again and more and for-fucking-ever. Instead Castiel moves one of his hands from where it's settled on Dean's chest (without his conscious permission) so he can run his fingers over Dean's mouth and cheeks. Dean closes his eyes and leans his face into Castiel's hand, kisses his wrist.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat before continuing, “pie?”
Castiel twists his free arm around, takes the pie and the fork lying next to it off the counter and offers them to Dean. Dean grins at him before stabbing the pie viciously with the fork and putting a huge chunk in his mouth. Almost as soon as he starts chewing, he moans loudly in a way that Castiel thinks should be illegal because it makes him want to do things.
Dean doesn't bother to swallow before he starts talking. “Cas! This is actually good!” He takes another bite and continues, “Really fucking good, best damn pie I've ever had.”
“Good,” Castiel answers with a smile. Dean grins and takes a few more bites. His chin and lips end up covered in cream and Castiel has a strong urge to lick it off. He doesn't react until he remembers that he's now well within his rights doing exactly that, so he leans forward and cleans Dean's face. Dean smiles when Castiel reaches his lips and easily parts them; Castiel chases the taste of pie around Dean's mouth until it's completely gone and all that's under his tongue is the unique deliciousness that is Dean. And that's just fine with Castiel - he liked the taste of pie, but he fucking loves Dean.
Rating: PG/T
Word Count: almost 6.5k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Balthazar
Genre: Fluff, Developing relationship, Domestic
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Castiel has observed many curious customs of the human species; none is as fascinating as seduction via food.
Also on AO3.
A/N: Set in an AU in which the Apocalypse didn't happen, whoever died in seasons 5, 6 and 7 is still alive, Cas is some high-up-in-the-hierarchy angel who spends a lot of time on Earth and Sam and Dean are back in saving people, hunting things, the family business.
Written for yourgracewasted who left this prompt at the WAFFathon.
First time dabbling into this fandom and pairing, so hello SPN-ers :D
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
The Internet is for Pie
Even after six years spent more or less on Earth, there are a lot of things Castiel doesn't understand. He's learned about personal space and personal time (after a lot of embarrassing incidents with Dean), about customs and hobbies (after long discussions with Sam), about drinking and card games (when Bobby was in a good mood) and he's observed many, many other ways in which humans differ from him, and from each other. Among the things that still boggle his mind, however, are technology and cooking. Both of which he will need to learn within right now if he is to succeed in his plans.
The problem is, he doesn't know who to ask for help. Now, Castiel is a very curious person, and he feels he's shown that to the Winchester brothers enough times, what with constantly asking them about anything that captures his interest. Both Sam and Dean have always given him satisfactory answers, explaining to the best of their abilities all the nuances of human behaviour and life that Castiel couldn't comprehend. But they've both shied away from answering the questions that are still most pressing on Castiel's mind.
Castiel has had the pleasure of observing romantic relationships and interactions between humans many a time. It hasn't escaped his notice that his and Dean's relationship is not purely platonic. However, every time he brought this up to Dean (and it's happened more than once), Dean went bright red, stuttered something about misunderstandings and blatantly changed the subject. Figuring this was one of the admittedly few things that Dean didn't feel comfortable discussing, Castiel then turned to Sam who, understandably and expectedly, looked even more uncomfortable and flat out refused to talk about it, giving the excuses of this is between you and Dean, and there are things I really don't want to know.
So, naturally, Castiel did what Sam had taught him to do when he wanted to know something: he went to the library and asked for all the romance novels they had, then he went to the store across the street and bought all the romantic movies the cashier could find for him. Having read all the newly acquired literature and seen the whole cinematography of certain actors, he's found a pattern in the way humans portray their relationships in art. What he's learnt is this: humans like food. More precisely, humans like other humans to make food for them. Apparently, it is a form of seduction for the species. It's not unheard of, Castiel knows of many species in which partners are supposed to prove that they can provide for the family, so he's not very surprised. Merely peeved.
See, Castiel can't cook. It's a well known fact to those who've met him. He's set Bobby's kitchen on fire not once, but four times. He was shown how to cook not only by Sam and Dean, but also by Bobby, Ellen and Jo (which, in retrospect, may have been what caused the problem). Every time, all he managed was inedible charred remains or offensive-looking goo. Given that he doesn't need nourishment and that he now has the money to buy food when he feels like eating, he isn't disturbed by the fact that his culinary skills are non-existent.
But Dean? Dean loves food. Dean loves burgers and sandwiches and barbecue and eggs and sweets and pasta and cake; Dean just loves everything edible. Most of all, Dean loves pie. Sometimes, Castiel isn't sure what Dean loves more - cars or pie. He even thinks there are moments when Dean would choose pie over him or Sam. Add to that how it now seems that a human's favourite food is a good way to seduce them, and there is only one obvious solution to the affliction Castiel has learnt is called sexual frustration, which he has been suffering because of Dean.
This is how Castiel concludes that he needs to make pie. The romantic comedies have underlined multiple times how it is of great importance that he makes the food himself; Castiel assumes this is some kind of a bonding ritual, a symbolic way for a potential partner to show their devotion, and he can understand that. What he can't understand is the process of baking a pie.
He's burnt and fixed Bobby's kitchen twice already, having set it on fire in attempts to replicate the pie-making he's seen in movies, and he's now on the verge of giving up. The journals and books Sam has left for him to read are of no help in the field of making food, what with consisting mainly of detailed instructions on how to kill various monsters; taking into consideration the reason behind Castiel's kitchen-bound adventure, he doesn't think Sam would be amendable to offering directions. Asking Dean, of course, is out of the question, because if there's one more thing Castiel's learnt from the films, it's that this kind of gift must be a surprise.
The decision is taken out of his hands when Sam walks right into the mess of bowls filled too-liquid batter and a pan filled with charred remains of the one batch that wasn't too watery.
“Cas?” Sam asks, sounding oddly concerned.
“Hello, Sam,” Castiel replies politely, hoping his frustration isn't showing in his voice.
“Um, Cas, what are you doing?” Sam asks, dipping a finger into a particularly unfortunate bowl filled with thick sticky fluid.
Castiel heaves a sigh, loosens his tie and steps away from the counter he's been leaning against, thinking, for the last few minutes. “I was attempting to bake a pie,” he replies, waving a hand to clean the mess. The kitchen, albeit still cluttered, is batter-free within moments.
“Bake a pie?” Sam repeats, raising both eyebrows.
Based on the distinctly impolite remark that forms in his head, Castiel decides he's been spending too much time with Dean. He contains his first reaction and only says, “Yes.”
“Okay,” Sam says, sounding like he's talking to a child, “and why would you want to make a pie?”
“It is not of import,” Castiel answers, spreading out his wings and getting ready to fly off.
“Wait, Cas,” Sam calls, grabbing his shoulder. Castiel cocks his head in a silent question. “Is there... Is something going on?” Sam asks, frowning.
Castiel takes a moment to re-evaluate his decision and weigh the merits of asking for Sam's help against the potential repercussions to their relationship. It's a close call again, but he decides, perhaps selfishly, that Sam will put Dean's happiness over his own comfort.
“I was going to make a pie for Dean. I have been led to believe that food is a good seduction technique,” he says, managing to control the urge to fidget. The extent to which he has grown accustomed to this human form sometimes worries him.
Sam looks befuddled for a few seconds, before his face goes through the expressions for understanding, discomfort and panic in quick succession, and then finally Sam's features assume a more permanent position which indicates an emotion Castiel is not expecting - contentment.
“This pleases you,” Castiel comments, prompting for an explanation.
Sam looks and sounds a little flustered, but he doesn't deny it. “I... Well... Yes, yeah, I guess it does,” he says.
“Why?” Castiel asks, turning his head to the other side, confusion and curiosity replacing his frustration.
“Well, ugh... You see, Dean is... not easy to live with?” Sam tries uncertainly. Castiel nods, simultaneously agreeing with the statement and asking Sam to carry on. “And, well, I'm glad he's found someone. Someone who would do this,” Sam gestures at the kitchen around them, “for him. He's a good person, you just need to... get used to him.”
“Get used to him,” Castiel repeats. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to Dean, the way he speaks his mind and isn't afraid of doing what he believes in, the way his eyes shine when he's happy and his jaw clenches when he's angry. No, Castiel doesn't think he's used to Dean. But he knows Dean is a good person.
“Yes. And not many people give him that chance,” Sam says, sounding a little upset, but Castiel decides now is not the time to ask. Sam seems to notice the subtle change in his stance, because he shakes his head and looks at Castiel with a grin, then asks cheerily, “So, you're going to seduce Dean with pie?”
“That is the plan, yes,” Castiel answers, offering a small smile with it. “Why, do you think it's not a good idea?”
“Oh, no, I think it's a great idea,” Sam laughs, “nobody likes pie more than Dean. I just don't think you need to seduce him at all; it's more a challenge of making him admit that he's already been seduced.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps that is a better way to put it,” Castiel agrees.
“Then, shall I help you with this?” Sam offers, rolling up his sleeves.
“I would be most grateful,” Castiel replies, then hurries to add, “Of course, only if you want to. I know you feel... ill at ease with my relationship with your brother.”
“What?” Sam looks mildly offended. Castiel frowns, unsure of how he caused that. Then Sam's shoulders relax as he seems to come to some sort of revelation. “Oh, that,” he says, smiling again, “no, I'm... I'm fine with your relationship with Dean. More than fine, I'm happy for you both. Promise.”
Sensing the finality (and honesty) in Sam's words, Castiel nods in acceptance and drops the subject entirely. He turns to the kitchen counter, finding it covered with various dishes which he tried and failed to utilize for his cause. “I'm afraid I don't know how to make pie. I've tried replicating the process I've seen on TV, but you've already seen the results,” he admits.
“On TV?” Sam parrots, clearly trying to suppress laughter.
Castiel frowns. “Yes,” he replies flatly, wondering what he did wrong this time.
“Cas, you can't just... replicate anything from TV, they have montage and editing,” Sam says, still on the verge of laughing.
“Then what?” Castiel asks, looking at Sam's slightly red face.
Sam takes a deep breath ad lets it out (Castiel has noticed that this is his way of calming down). He lets out a little chuckle, before taking another deep breath and schooling his face into something neutral. “Okay,” he says, “first we need a recipe.”
“A recipe?”
“Yes, like, instructions and ingredients and all that,” Sam explains.
“I haven't found one,” Castiel replies, pointing at the various sized books and notebooks on the coffee table behind them.
“That's because we don't have one,” Sam answers, briefly checking the pile Castiel pointed out. He laughs again, then purses his lips and very obviously forces himself to calm down.
“I don't understand what's so funny,” Castiel informs him, marvelling at how humans remain puzzling to him, no matter how much he studies them.
“It's nothing,” Sam chokes through some more laughing. Castiel patiently waits for the snickering to subside. “Okay,” Sam finally says, grabbing his laptop out of his bag and opening it. “Let's find you a recipe.”
~*~
Twenty minutes later, Sam is still frowning at Castiel's recipe of choice, but Castiel won't budge. He likes how the finished product on the attached photo looks, it reminds him of a slice of pie he once saw Dean eating in one of the numerous motels they've been to.
“You're sure this is the one you want? Maybe we should try this one, it seems simpler,” Sam suggests, pointing at their second choice.
“No, this one,” Castiel firmly refuses.
“Okay, it's your pie,” Sam concedes, jotting down the recipe and tearing the piece of paper out of its parenting notepad. “Let's make it then. I assume you can... acquire the ingredients?” Sam asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Of course,” Castiel replies, taking the paper out of Sam's hand. He glances at it and memorizes everything they need; just in case, he tucks the recipe into a pocket of his coat and flies off.
All-purpose flour is easy to find in the nearby store, as are vegetable oil and sugar. He doesn't get any salt, because he knows there are piles of it in Bobby's cabinets. Milk and butter are a little more difficult - Castiel knows of a centuries old farm in the Alps, famous for producing the best butter in Europe, but they don't sell anymore, so it takes him a few minutes of bartering to get the butter and milk he needs. The recipe specifically asks for Fuji apples, so Castiel visits Japan to get them. This task proves to be of considerable difficulty, as Japanese is a language Castiel is not brilliant at, strictly speaking, and the Japanese farmers know hardly a word of English. Finally, after a lot of bilingual (and bi-limb-al) conversing, Castiel flies away with twice the amount of apples he needs (he wasn't certain how to say 6 in Japanese, but he knew 12 for sure). Acquiring cinnamon from Sri Lanka proves to be easier than he expected and he's lucky enough to find an old woman he knows from before when he looks for nutmeg on the Spice Island in Grenada.
Satisfied with the quality of his ingredients, Castiel returns to Bobby's shabby kitchen. Sam's just finishing a phone conversation, wearing an apron and waving around with a wooden spoon. Castiel deposits his prized possessions on the table and waits patiently for Sam to turn to him.
“You're in luck!” Sam announces as he closes his phone. “Bobby's hunt is gonna- Why is there sand on your shoes?” he asks, frowning at Castiel. Castiel knows this expression - it's not that Sam doesn't have his doubts, there's just something he finds either odd or wrong about the picture in front of him. Castiel is just about to explain his actions when Sam cuts him off with, “You know what? I don't wanna know. Bobby's not coming home with Dean, he has a new case, so as I was saying, you're in luck.”
Castiel opens his mouth to vocalize his thoughts about how Bobby's presence (or absence, for that matter) has no bearing on his plans, but Sam's oblivious to his intentions. He's quickly taking out pots and pans and bowls, sorting out Castiel's spoils of... trade (although the episode in Japan did seem akin to certain war situations). It soon becomes apparent why Sam's in such a hurry.
“That brings me to the other bit of news I have for you - Dean's on his way and he'll be here in less than two hours,” he says with all the gravity the situation requires.
Castiel's eyes go wide and he feels a certain tingling in his stomach that Dean's told him is called nervousness. “Will we have time to make the pie?”
“Let's hope so,” Sam replies, pausing in his frantic fussing to look at Castiel. “What are you waiting for? Come on, take off that coat and jacket and put on an apron, we don't have all day!” he commands.
“I can clean my clothes, Sam,” Castiel replies, clutching at his coat; he's become used to always looking exactly like this in the human world, without an article of clothing, he feels oddly exposed.
“Dude, you're not making pie while wearing an overcoat, it's just not how things are done,” Sam hastens to add when he notices Castiel's reluctance. It is only because of the lack of time that Castiel nods and shrugs out of his coat and jacket as Sam picks out a large plastic bowl and starts adding ingredients. His voice follows Castiel down the hall as he goes to leave his coat and jacket by the door, “Oh, man, you brought double the necessary amount? Perfect, we'll make two so that we can taste one. Come on, hurry up!”
Castiel returns to the kitchen to find Sam mixing something in the pink plastic bowl he chose. “What should I do?” he asks, looking at the table full of various kitchen utensils.
“Well, I've turned on the oven, and I've put the flour, oil, milk, sugar and salt in here,” Sam answers, closing his eyes and nodding at every item he mentions like he's checking them off a list, “so you can either make the dough or work on the filling.”
Castiel gives him a blank look. He's following what Sam is saying, he understands all the words. But it makes little sense to him and he isn't sure which choice is right.
“Never mind!” Sam says before Castiel can even open his mouth. “Go peel, core and slice the apples, okay?”
Castiel nods, folds up his sleeves the way he's seen Sam do when he's pottering around in the kitchen, takes a knife and starts peeling the apples. The knife is blunter than what he's used to, but he makes do with it up to the point when he's supposed to take the core out. He's cored apples before for religious ceremonies and rituals (apples are one of the favourite symbols for many religions), but he's always used sharp knives, often made specifically for that purpose. Staring at the serrated blade in his hand, he quickly makes his decision.
“I shall return,” he tells Sam before flying off to Heaven. He's lucky enough to easily find the weapons collection, but not lucky enough to avoid Balthazar, who's in his position in front of the Vault for once in his existence (and of course it had to be right now, when Castiel needs to... borrow something without explicit permission; he really is spending too much time with the Winchesters).
“Castiel!” Balthazar says in greeting. “What brings you here?”
“I am in need of a sharp knife,” Castiel answers, putting as much authority behind his words as he can.
“I am going to need to know what for,” Balthazar reminds, opening the Vault and stepping aside.
Castiel thinks quickly. Dean's told him many a time that the key to a good lie is to never hesitate with giving it. “It is required for a mating ritual,” he replies confidently, which is at least partially true so he doesn't feel quite as guilty for saying it. Balthazar's aura gives off a certain air of knowing, but he doesn't comment, so Castiel picks the knife he thinks will be most useful and returns to Sam, who is still making the dough.
“Dude, where did you disappear to?” he asks, looking up, then frowning at the blade in Castiel's hand.
“I needed a sharper knife,” Castiel answers, shrugging.
“Did you just- You didn't just steal that from some angelic weaponry or something?” Sam all but yells, sounding completely bewildered.
“Don't be silly, Sam, the Vault of angelic weapons has a guardian,” Castiel replies nonchalantly. He thinks he pulls it off well enough. Dean would be proud. The answer seems to pacify Sam anyway, so Castiel spends the next few minutes coring and slicing apples in relative peace. His stomach feels funny and it's only getting worse as the time before Dean's arrival dwindles, but there's no turning back now. Not that Castiel would want to turn back; he's waited long enough for Dean to approach him, he doesn't want to wait any longer.
“When you're done with the apples, add that sugar,” Sam's voice cuts through his thoughts; he points to a cup filled with sugar sitting on the kitchen counter, “6 spoons of flour and the spices. And divide it into halves, there're two bowls on the counter.”
Castiel does as he's told, lifting one by one slice of apple and sending it to it s assigned bowl. When he's satisfied with that, he turns to Sam. Sam is staring at him with wide eyes, a round pan lined with dough in each of his hands. He looks like he's torn between humour and disbelief.
“Did you just- Piece by piece?” he finally asks, eyebrows going up his forehead.
“How else was I supposed to do it?” Castiel replies, genuinely confused. It seemed, at the time, as the easiest way to determine that the two parts were even.
“Never mind,” Sam just says, shaking his head and smiling. Castiel is not sure why, but he smiles back. In fact, he feels like giggling hysterically, but he restrains himself. This, he's come to observe, is one of the ways humans exhibit their nervousness. “Right,” Sam pulls him back to reality again, “one bowl of filling goes into one pie, the other goes in the other pie. Go ahead.”
Castiel carefully pours the contents of the bowls into their respective pans, evens them out and adjusts the placing of slices until he's perfectly happy with how the pies look. Sam's staring at him like he's some kind of a new species that he's just discovered. Castiel moves one last slice of apple before frowning at Sam.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks.
Sam seems to shake himself out of some sort of reverie before answering, “No, no, nothing at all,” in a voice that is slightly higher than the way he normally speaks. He turns around and starts rummaging through drawers before Castiel gets to answer. “I've already mixed the dough for the topping, and I could swear we had pastry cutters somewhere here,” he's babbling and Castiel can't shake the feeling that there's something Sam's trying to avoid telling him. He's about to point that out when Sam lets out a victorious yell. “Aha! Knew I'd seen them somewhere. Oh. Okay. So, apparently we have several kinds of pastry cutters. Even a heart-shaped one,” Sam says, taking out a little piece of metal shaped like a hollow heart and holding it like it's something offensive.
Castiel knows that a heart is a widely accepted symbol of romantic love in the human world, but he's seen and heard Dean cursing heart-shaped objects more than once and he's not sure if putting one on a pie is a good idea. Then again, it might be a great way of making sure his point comes across. He takes a second to wonder when making decisions became so difficult.
“Here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna make one pie covered in hearts, and one that has only one heart in the middle, okay? When they're done, you can choose,” Sam decides, already rolling out the dough and taking out a pastry cutter in the shape of a roller with several blades.
Castiel smiles at him gratefully and joins him in cutting up the dough. They cover both pies with crumbly pieces and throw away the excess material.
“Could you check the oven? It should be about 350 degrees,” Sam suggests as he washes his hands. Castiel opens the oven and shoves his hand inside. It's warm, approximately as warm as Sam says it should be, but he leaves his hand inside for a few extra seconds that allow him to convert the feeling into the human heat-grading system.
“It's 348,” he informs Sam, taking his hand out. Sam's standing frozen in place and staring at him.
“Okay,” he says unsteadily, then mumbles to himself, “I can see why you're not good at cooking.” Castiel assumes he wasn't supposed to hear that (something about it being offensive, although Castiel takes no offence from factual statements), so he pretends he didn't.
“Now what?” he asks instead.
“Now,” Sam replies, opening the oven and putting the pies in, “we wait. We can brew coffee, the website says it goes well with the recipe and Dean loves it. We should have enough whipped cream in the fridge so you don't have to go get more.”
Castiel nods and takes a seat at the table. He's been expressly forbidden to tinkle with the coffee machine so he lets Sam do that part. He checks Sam's laptop which says that the pie needs to stay in the oven for about 45 minutes. That should give them enough time to decorate it and taste it before Dean arrives. He assumes a comfortable position and prepares to wait.
“Wanna play cards or something? While we wait, I mean,” Sam offers.
“I thought I'd just sit here quietly,” Castiel declines, preparing for meditation.
“Okay,” Sam replies, taking his laptop and sitting on the couch in the living room. “I'll come check on the pies in a while,” he yells and Castiel nods again, already drifting off.
~*~
The benefits of meditation for Castiel are many; among other things, it allows him to rest and eases the tension of cramping his true form into that of a human. The main downside is that while meditating, Castiel remains completely incapable of following human time.
This is why it startles him when Sam shakes his shoulder. Sam on the other hand doesn't seem surprised by his spacing out. “The pies are done,” he says, grinning widely. “They look good.”
Castiel smiles and looks at the table in front of him. The pies do indeed look good. Still, even with proof of his success in front of him and some 45 human minutes of relaxation behind him, Castiel feels the now familiar tingling in his stomach. Dean's about to come home. Dean's about to come home and taste Castiel's first pie. Dean's about to come home and witness Castiel's first, possibly pathetic, attempt at human arts of wooing.
“Cas, don't freak out on me now,” Sam says mildly, putting a large hand on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel looks at him and finds Sam's large, softly smiling face mere inches away from his own. His eyes are earnest and he looks happy when he adds, “Dean already loves you. You just need to make him show it.”
Castiel nods uncertainly. “Thank you, Sam,” he whispers, his throat a little tight as he looks at the pies in front of him. This will work. Dean loves pie. Dean loves pie and he loves coffee and he loves wooing.
Dean loves him.
Castiel smiles to himself as he reaches out for the fork that's laid next to the pies. He stabs the pie covered in hearts. Dean only wants one heart, he doesn't need others.
~*~
“Done?” Sam asks through a mouthfull of apple pie just as Castiel puts the finishing touches on Dean's pie. He's decided to cover it in cream everywhere except for the centre, where he's left the heart visible.
“Yes,” he answers, disposing of the empty can of cream and looking at his handy work.
“Dude, this was some really good pie,” Sam says, putting away the now empty pan. “Maybe you should cook more often.”
“Only if somebody helps,” Castiel replies, remembering the catastrophes Sam found in the kitchen when he first arrived.
“Fair enough,” Sam laughs. “Now, I'm gonna go out, Dean's gonna be here soon, don't forget the coffee and don't freak out, okay?”
Castiel nods, although he can feel the knots in his stomach vibrating unpleasantly when he thinks of how little time he has left before Dean comes back.
“Hey,” Sam calls quietly, stepping closer and putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder again. It's soothing to feel the warmth of another human presence and Castiel can see why so many people take comfort in physical contact. “Dean and I may not see eye to eye all the time,” Sam says, “but he's my brother and he deserves the best. I'm glad he has you.”
Sam hugs him then, unexpectedly and for all that Castiel is still not quite used to the way humans show their emotions, he relaxes and hugs back. It's a bit strange and Sam is a bit big, but Castiel likes it anyway. When Sam steps away, he's smiling and Castiel can see in his eyes that Sam's okay, that this is okay, that they're gonna be fine. He smiles honestly and waves when Sam leaves.
Then he sits at the table, Dean's pie back in the oven so it doesn't cool off too much and darkness filling the house. He's nervous, he knows that, but it's a different kind of nervous from before. This is more like pleasant thrumming all through his body. He fidgets as he waits for Dean. He's never fidgeted before. But then, it's never been this important before.
~*~
The loud knocking on the front door brings Castiel out of the meditative trance he's fallen into again and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. Then Dean's voice reminds him.
“Sam, you'd better not be jerking off in there! I don't have the patience to wait for you and Bobby's gonna shoot me in the head if I pick the lock again!”
Castiel feels the urge to giggle again, this time combined with a much stronger desire to just throw himself at Dean, but that's very un-angelic behaviour, so he controls himself, walking to the door in a composed and calm manner. Or so he hopes. He unlocks the door with a flick of the wrist and opens it just as easily. Dean's fist is raised in the air and he looks like he was halfway to knocking the door down, an angry frown on his face and his shoulders squared defensively.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says with the calm he doesn't feel.
“Cas, hi,” Dean replies, lowering his fist. His face goes from angry to confused within milliseconds, his shoulders relax, his whole posture changing. Castiel steps aside to let him into the house. “Sorry about the yelling, I didn't think you'd be here,” Dean apologizes as he throws his duffel bag against the wall and hangs up his leather jacket next to Castiel's coat. He looks tired and frustrated and Castiel wonders if he can somehow help with that or if he will only make it worse. He knows it is human custom to reply to whatever someone says and thus acknowledge the words, but he doesn't have anything to say to Dean's apology and Dean's probably not expecting him to after all these years. “So, why are you here?” Dean asks. “Not that it's not a pleasant surprise and all,” he adds, smiling at Castiel briefly and tiredly, but honestly.
Castiel smiles back. “I was waiting for you,” he answers calmly, walking into the kitchen; he doesn't have to check if Dean's following.
“Oh. Okay,” Dean breathes, something akin to pleasure colouring his voice. Then suddenly, sounding a lot more alert now, “Wait, is something wrong? Where is Sam?”
“Sam went out and everything is perfectly fine,” Castiel assures him, stopping at the kitchen table. Dean stands next to him, looking very, very confused.
“Look, Cas,” he starts, “nothing personal and all that, but I'm exhausted, so. Can this, I don't know, wait till morning?”
“No,” Castiel replies and watches Dean's eyes go slightly wide in surprise. He tries to smile reassuringly as he gestures to the chair nearest to them. “Please, sit.”
“Um, okay,” Dean says, taking a seat. Castiel doesn't miss the way Dean's eyebrows shoot upwards, then come back down and his fists clench in what Castiel suspects is more fear and confusion than real anger. Dean looks up at him questioningly. Castiel wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss him, but he knows that he needs to play this right.
He turns around and takes out the pie. The cream's melted a little, but the heart is still obvious and the pastry smells delicious. Castiel is very nervous, though, and his hands are shaking slightly. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's an angel, he's lived for thousands of human years, has fought off armies of Hell, averted the Apocalypse and helped maintain peace on Heaven and Earth for the last six years. He can do this.
“Hey, you all right?” Dean's voice is suddenly ringing in his ears, Dean's hands are on his shoulders and Dean is standing so close that Castiel can feel the warmth of his body.
“I made pie for you,” Castiel whispers because he doesn't know what else to say. He lifts the still warm pan a little and when Dean leans over his shoulder to see, Castiel feels Dean's breath on his neck; he shivers and very nearly drops the pie.
“Oh, that's... really nice, Cas,” Dean says, sounding a bit choked off; his hands on Castiel's shoulders tighten and his body tenses. Castiel believes he understands the sudden shift, so he turns around and shoves the pie into Dean's hands, preparing for Dean's rejection. Maybe six years wasn't enough for Dean to come to terms with this... thing between them. Maybe Castiel should have waited a bit longer.
“It's edible! Sam, uh, he helped me a bit,” he finally adds. He feels suddenly embarrassed by the fact that he couldn't do it properly himself; he remembers how all the movies say that the end result doesn't really matter, the more important thing is that he makes it himself, but he just wanted to give Dean a good pie.
“It's lovely. Thank you, Cas,” Dean whispers, not moving away in spite of all Castiel's expectations. Castiel looks up where Dean's smiling at him and his face is perfectly relaxed; Castiel dares to hope again. “And the heart?” Dean asks so quietly Castiel almost doesn't detect the note of desperation in his voice (he idly notes that he's a lot more attuned to Dean's very subtle ways of expressing himself than he is to most other humans' much more obvious displays).
Castiel knows this is the moment when he's supposed to say something profound and memorable, but he can't come up with anything other than “...is also for you.”
Dean moves as swiftly as he does when he's hunting and Castiel barely has any warning before Dean's left the pie on the kitchen counter and placed his hands on the side of Castiel's face and they're so close now, breathing the same air, and Castiel has to close his eyes before he goes mad with the intimacy of the moment. He feels the minute shift in the air as Dean leans the last few inches forward and kisses him for the first time. Dean's lips are soft and inviting, applying just the right amount of pressure and Castiel melts into the touch, cataloguing every single detail of this moment into his memory.
Dean breaks the kiss after what Castiel feels is far too short a time, but he doesn't pull away, just looks at Castiel with this painfully open expression on his face, then runs the tip of his nose down the length of Castiel's and rests their foreheads together. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” he says, words as quiet as a gust of wind, making Castiel feel like the moment is something exceptional and precious that needs to be handled with great care. “I didn't know if you- I wasn't sure.”
Castiel is surprised to find that of all the languages in the world (both dead and alive) that he speaks fluently, not one can express exactly what he wants to say; instead he opts for the language he's just started learning - that of his own body. He leans forward and captures Dean's bottom lip with his teeth, pulls it into his mouth and sucks lightly on it, making Dean gasp and squirm. He feels Dean's tongue slide over his upper lip and opens his mouth on instinct, and then Dean's kissing him urgently, wet and hot and perfect, Dean's hands on his hips, one of Dean's legs between his own, pinning him to the counter behind him.
When Dean pulls away, he's deliciously breathless and his lips are shiny and red, all of which only serves to stir in Castiel something he hasn't felt before (and doesn't know what to do with), but makes him want to kiss Dean again and more and for-fucking-ever. Instead Castiel moves one of his hands from where it's settled on Dean's chest (without his conscious permission) so he can run his fingers over Dean's mouth and cheeks. Dean closes his eyes and leans his face into Castiel's hand, kisses his wrist.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat before continuing, “pie?”
Castiel twists his free arm around, takes the pie and the fork lying next to it off the counter and offers them to Dean. Dean grins at him before stabbing the pie viciously with the fork and putting a huge chunk in his mouth. Almost as soon as he starts chewing, he moans loudly in a way that Castiel thinks should be illegal because it makes him want to do things.
Dean doesn't bother to swallow before he starts talking. “Cas! This is actually good!” He takes another bite and continues, “Really fucking good, best damn pie I've ever had.”
“Good,” Castiel answers with a smile. Dean grins and takes a few more bites. His chin and lips end up covered in cream and Castiel has a strong urge to lick it off. He doesn't react until he remembers that he's now well within his rights doing exactly that, so he leans forward and cleans Dean's face. Dean smiles when Castiel reaches his lips and easily parts them; Castiel chases the taste of pie around Dean's mouth until it's completely gone and all that's under his tongue is the unique deliciousness that is Dean. And that's just fine with Castiel - he liked the taste of pie, but he fucking loves Dean.