With Apple Pie (Will ask the Lord to Bless Me) [Supernatural - Pie!Fic - Dean + Castiel (Gen)]
Title: With Apple Pie (Will ask the Lord to Bless me)
Summary: Castiel pays Dean an unexpected visit with unexpected results.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Spoiler Warnings: Up to, and including, 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is entirely not mine.
Notes: I was working on something else (I'm not telling just yet, but it could be...interesting) and for some reason my brain decided that I really needed to write this instead. I suppose, if you like, you can read it with a slashy bent (subtext for the win, n'all) - but in my mind it's gen. Title from a poem by Eugene Fields. I'm not sure if this works or even if it makes sense, it went a bit odd at the end.
Apparently this journal is going to need a Supernatural icon, now. And I always swore I wasn't going to play with Supernatural. *rolls eyes at self*
Sam is out. Dean assumes he's seeing Ruby. He's a little surprised to see that that doesn't gall the way it used to. Maybe he's warming to her, even if he doesn't trust her the way Sam does, and that's something of a heartening thought.
Dean is torn between sleeping and eating. Both have distinct benefits - but one involves leaving the motel room and one involves staying. Dean already knows which choice he's going to make but he enjoys himself thinking back and forth over the pros and cons. Maybe it's a little sad - but it keeps him from thinking about things and that's a big bonus for Dean right now.
Dean is surprised out of his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. A hesitant knock, like the knocker isn't sure if it's supposed to be knocking or not. Dean draws himself up from his chair and makes his way to the door, hand resting on the gun thrust down the back of his jeans, never too careful. He pulls the door back a crack and draws a breath of surprise.
“Cas?” the shortening comes to his lips a little too readily and Castiel blinks at him. Dean still can't place where he went from calling the angel 'Castiel' to 'Cas' in his head - but the more he vocalises it the more embarrassed he feels about it.
“Dean,” Castiel replies, shifting from one foot to the other. Dean pushes the door wide open and looks at him properly. Castiel has a white plastic bag in one hand, its shape distended by the pointed angles of a box, and the other hand is thrust into his pocket. It almost doesn't seem right, like it's a gesture Castiel has learned from elsewhere.
Dean's not sure if he's ever seen Castiel this uncertain. It's more than a little unnerving.
“You, uh, want to come in?” Dean asks, confused. Castiel doesn't normally bother with knocking. This is new. Dean doesn't particularly like new.
“I thought I -” Castiel stops and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I thought I should try to -” Castiel gestures and Dean finds himself understanding what he's trying to say. Castiel was trying to be a little more human and not startle Dean by showing up out of nowhere. Dean finds himself appreciating the effort.
“Come on, then,” Dean says, stepping back so Castiel can pass through the door. Castiel hesitates, shifts back and forth again, then steps over the doorstep and into the room. Dean shakes his head to himself and pushes the door shut behind him.
Castiel stands in the middle of the room as if he's unsure why he's there. Dean's not too sure either, they haven't seen hide nor hair of the angels since the showdown in the barn, three weeks ago, and he was beginning to wonder if something was up.
“You here for a reason, or something?” Dean asks, hands falling through the air uselessly. He feels wrongfooted by Castiel's behaviour and it's seeping into his bones. “Orders, maybe?”
“No, no orders,” Castiel turns his head so he can see Dean. “Just, ah, a social call, you call it.”
Dean blinks, thinks that he sees something of a flush on Castiel's cheeks and snorts without meaning to. Castiel starts slightly and turns away from Dean, crosses the room and sets his bag on the table. He stands looking at it for a long moment before huffing to himself. Then he does something completely unexpected.
Castiel lifts his arms awkwardly and shucks his ugly beige trenchcoat from his shoulders. He drapes it carefully over the back of a chair, that preciseness in his movements that Dean thinks signals something he's just learnt, and follows suit with his jacket. Dean watches with wide eyes and tries to figure out exactly what's going on here. Castiel makes a further short movement and his tie falls through his hands to land on the table.
“I brought you something,” Castiel says, turning to face Dean again, something of the awkwardness gone from his features. He gestures to the bag and Dean flexes his hands once by his sides before crossing the room to stand beside Castiel.
Dean pushes the bag open and is assailed by a mouthwatering aroma that is so familiar he almost groans. With more speed he pulls the box out and opens the lid. It's a whole pie - apple if he's not mistaken - and it smells ridiculously good.
“I - noticed,” Castiel says, hesitancy in his voice. “That you seem to be fond of this. I thought - after everything -”
Castiel pauses again and Dean sees that the angel is struggling for the right words. Dean sets the box down on the table and turns to face Castiel, tilting his head to one side in an unconscious echo of Castiel's most common mannerism.
“You're trying to make up, for what happened,” Dean says, watching Castiel for a reaction. Castiel nods, eyes betraying a brief flash of gratitude.
“You know it'll take more than pie to make up for that?” Dean asks and Castiel nods again, this time tilting his head down. “It's a good start, though.”
Dean grins, something loosening in his chest, and Castiel looks up at him. A smile pulls briefly at the corners of his lips - something Dean has seen happen all of three times that he can recall - and it strikes Dean that Castiel's vessel would probably have been something of a ladies man if he hadn't been so pious.
“Take it as my gratitude, then,” Castiel says, his voice sure again, earnest. “For saving me from Alistair. I - I would not be here if you hadn't intervened.”
“Well,” Dean shrugs, embarrassed for a moment. “Just makes us even. I'm not going to argue with free pie, though.”
“And I will find another way to - make up,” Castiel says, the words sounding awkward in his mouth.
Dean thinks of the other things he loves, things that start with 'P', and fights down a slight flush. It's probably not a good idea for Castiel to bring him anything on that list - but he's sort of interested to see what Castiel might do next.
For something to do Dean moves over to the tiny kitchen and pulls a couple of forks out of the drawer. When he turns back Castiel is still standing there, looking down at the pie, and Dean feels an unexpected urge to share. Which explains, at least, why he took two forks instead of the one he'd intended.
“You eat?” he asks as he pulls one of the seats out from the table. Castiel looks at him as if he's asked a particularly odd and confusing question.
“I need to take sustenance,” Castiel says at last. “For my vessel to stay living.”
“I'm not talking about that,” Dean gestures with his fork. “I'm talking about eating for the pleasure of it. Are angels allowed to do the whole pleasure thing?”
“We are - learning, again, the pleasures of mortal forms,” Castiel says and it's not quite the right answer for Dean's question but it is interesting.
“Sit,” Dean says, making the decision for Castiel. Castiel looks at him for a moment before sitting carefully in the chair. There is less awkwardness about this than the other things Castiel does and Dean is happy for the vessel that Castiel at least doesn't make it stand about all the time. Dean knows he's seen Castiel sitting once or twice before - but he always assumed that Castiel just arrived like that, rather than completing the necessary action.
Dean hands Castiel a fork which Castiel takes as if it's a completely foreign object, which Dean assumes it probably is. He doesn't suppose angels have much use for utensils. Dean reaches out and closes Castiel's fingers around it so he's holding it properly and shows him how to cut into the pie with it.
It takes Castiel a few a attempts but he finally extracts a suitably large piece of pie. Not large by Dean's standards, but, hey, practice makes perfect. Dean lifts his own fork and smiles as Castiel follows his actions. He opens his mouth and wraps it around the pie, watching as Castiel follows suit. The taste is just about as perfect as Dean could have hoped, god he loves pie, and he makes a note to ask Castiel where he got it from.
“Dude,” Dean says around his mouthful of pie, “you got to chew it.”
Dean makes exaggerated chewing motions until Castiel catches on and finds himself smiling like a proud father when Castiel swallows without being prompted. Castiel's face stays unmoved for a moment and then he blinks with something like surprise. He opens his mouth as if to speak but instead traces his tongue over his lips, picking up the crumbs that are sticking there. Then he smiles and Dean almost has to turn away, it's so brilliant.
“I guess you like it then,” Dean says when Castiel goes to take another piece of the pie. Castiel nods, surprise still sitting in his eyes, and Dean smiles.
They eat in silence - Castiel treating each mouthful as if it's Heaven-sent and, for all Dean knows, it is so Dean doesn't complain. Sam has never got pie the way Dean does so it's nice to see someone enjoy it as much as he does. For a brief moment Dean thinks Castiel could almost pass as human like this, strangely relaxed without his coat and jacket, collar open without its tie, and Dean wonders how much of it is his doing and how much of it is just Castiel's vessel rubbing off on him.
When the pie is finished they sit in contemplative silence and Dean finds that he doesn't want Castiel to leave. Castiel like this is a calming presence and as it pools about him Dean feels a tension ease that he hadn't even realised he was carrying. Like this he could get the whole Roma Downey Touched-by-an-Angel thing. Which was a terrifying thought, really.
“I really was sorry,” Castiel says, rough voice breaking the silence. Dean looks at him and sees a sadness in Castiel's eyes that he remembers from that night in the barn.
“I know,” Dean says and to his surprise it's not a lie. Anna had been too angry to see it, human emotions infringing on angelic dispassion, but it was there.
“I'm not - supposed to be able to feel that,” Castiel says, his voice thick with confusion.
“Anna - she told me that,” Dean says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Sounds like my kind of life, right now.”
“No, Dean,” Castiel says, eyes suddenly hard, like the night at Bobby's. “Feeling, emotion, it's what separates you from us. You can't - you shouldn't give that up.”
“For a guy, angel, whatever, who's not meant to feel emotion you're getting pretty worked up about it,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.
“That is the problem, Dean,” Castiel says, he rubs a hand across his forehead and this movement is entirely natural, this is something Castiel knows. “I shouldn't - I'm not supposed to be capable of this.”
“Maybe you are,” Dean says. “Maybe that's the big secret - that you're all allowed to do whatever you want.”
“Dean, you're close to blasphemy,” Castiel says, but the hardness in his voice breaks slightly. Dean snorts.
“Cas,” that name again and Dean winces. “I've done a lot worse in my life than blaspheme - I think I'm beyond punishment for that.”
“But I am not,” Castiel stresses his point with a hand pressed against the table.
“Why did Uriel tell me that you like me?” Dean asks. It's the question he's wanted to ask since Uriel made the statement. “Isn't like a feeling?”
Castiel makes a frustrated noise, low, in the back of his throat, and stands up. He presses his hands against his hips and Dean watches the frame of his shoulders as they rise and fall with deep breaths.
“Nothing is right, anymore,” Castiel says, keeping his back to Dean. “I am losing my place in world, my certainty. The only thing I am sure of is my Father's love and even then - I have my doubts, I am worried that He has lied to us, that punishment for disobedience and emotion is a mask, a screen for the truth. I am shaken to my core.”
“You think you're going to Fall,” Dean says, understanding flooding him all at once. Castiel stills and then his head dips, once, and Dean stands.
He walks around Castiel until he can see his face, see Castiel's eyes pressed tight. His hands flex at his sides and then he lifts them to press down on Castiel's shoulders. Castiel opens his eyes and looks at Dean, the look that makes Dean feel like Castiel is looking through him. Dean swallows against his dry throat, unprepared for the power radiating out of Castiel.
“I -” Dean starts, stops, gathers his thoughts, starts again; “Look - I don't know about your God, I haven't seen the guy, hell, I thought your kind were fairytales until recently - why would I think differently about God? But I think I'm starting to know you, as scary as that is, and what I know is this: you put your faith in something that's real to you, important, you can't go giving that faith away just because you're a little shook up. Thing about faith is that it is what you make of it. You braved the pit for me because He told you to, right? Your faith in that being the right choice - that's why I'm here, Castiel. I don't know why - but I'm sure as hell happy about it. I think about what could have happened if you didn't haul me out and I -”
Castiel holds a hand up, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth, and Dean feels some of the tension go from the shoulders beneath his hands.
“That's enough, Dean,” Castiel says, stepping away from Dean. Dean doesn't think about how bereft his hands suddenly feel. “If nothing else - I have my faith in you.”
Dean feels his eyes go wide as Castiel watches him with that look and that head tilt. He shivers, once, and steps back from Castiel, averting his eyes.
“It would appear that I owe you more pie,” Castiel says and Dean looks back up to see Castiel with his coat and jacket over his arm. Dean hazards a smile and Castiel returns it. There's a flutter of dark wings and when Dean blinks Castiel is gone.
Dean's not entirely sure what's just happened, or exactly where his big speech came from, or even if he's really helped Castiel (and wasn't Castiel meant to be the one helping him?). He rubs a hand across his eyes, tiredness creeping back over him, and when he opens them again he sees Castiel's tie on the table.
Dean picks it up and runs it through his hands, it's a surprisingly good quality tie, which says something about Castiel's vessel, and feels the faint hints of warmth still about it. He stuffs it into his jacket pocket, with every intention of returning it next time he sees the angel. He knows there's going to be a next time - Castiel said there was going to be more pie and Dean's pretty sure that angels aren't meant to go back on their word.
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Part II: Strawberry Chocolate Pie
Summary: Castiel pays Dean an unexpected visit with unexpected results.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Spoiler Warnings: Up to, and including, 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is entirely not mine.
Notes: I was working on something else (I'm not telling just yet, but it could be...interesting) and for some reason my brain decided that I really needed to write this instead. I suppose, if you like, you can read it with a slashy bent (subtext for the win, n'all) - but in my mind it's gen. Title from a poem by Eugene Fields. I'm not sure if this works or even if it makes sense, it went a bit odd at the end.
Apparently this journal is going to need a Supernatural icon, now. And I always swore I wasn't going to play with Supernatural. *rolls eyes at self*
Sam is out. Dean assumes he's seeing Ruby. He's a little surprised to see that that doesn't gall the way it used to. Maybe he's warming to her, even if he doesn't trust her the way Sam does, and that's something of a heartening thought.
Dean is torn between sleeping and eating. Both have distinct benefits - but one involves leaving the motel room and one involves staying. Dean already knows which choice he's going to make but he enjoys himself thinking back and forth over the pros and cons. Maybe it's a little sad - but it keeps him from thinking about things and that's a big bonus for Dean right now.
Dean is surprised out of his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. A hesitant knock, like the knocker isn't sure if it's supposed to be knocking or not. Dean draws himself up from his chair and makes his way to the door, hand resting on the gun thrust down the back of his jeans, never too careful. He pulls the door back a crack and draws a breath of surprise.
“Cas?” the shortening comes to his lips a little too readily and Castiel blinks at him. Dean still can't place where he went from calling the angel 'Castiel' to 'Cas' in his head - but the more he vocalises it the more embarrassed he feels about it.
“Dean,” Castiel replies, shifting from one foot to the other. Dean pushes the door wide open and looks at him properly. Castiel has a white plastic bag in one hand, its shape distended by the pointed angles of a box, and the other hand is thrust into his pocket. It almost doesn't seem right, like it's a gesture Castiel has learned from elsewhere.
Dean's not sure if he's ever seen Castiel this uncertain. It's more than a little unnerving.
“You, uh, want to come in?” Dean asks, confused. Castiel doesn't normally bother with knocking. This is new. Dean doesn't particularly like new.
“I thought I -” Castiel stops and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I thought I should try to -” Castiel gestures and Dean finds himself understanding what he's trying to say. Castiel was trying to be a little more human and not startle Dean by showing up out of nowhere. Dean finds himself appreciating the effort.
“Come on, then,” Dean says, stepping back so Castiel can pass through the door. Castiel hesitates, shifts back and forth again, then steps over the doorstep and into the room. Dean shakes his head to himself and pushes the door shut behind him.
Castiel stands in the middle of the room as if he's unsure why he's there. Dean's not too sure either, they haven't seen hide nor hair of the angels since the showdown in the barn, three weeks ago, and he was beginning to wonder if something was up.
“You here for a reason, or something?” Dean asks, hands falling through the air uselessly. He feels wrongfooted by Castiel's behaviour and it's seeping into his bones. “Orders, maybe?”
“No, no orders,” Castiel turns his head so he can see Dean. “Just, ah, a social call, you call it.”
Dean blinks, thinks that he sees something of a flush on Castiel's cheeks and snorts without meaning to. Castiel starts slightly and turns away from Dean, crosses the room and sets his bag on the table. He stands looking at it for a long moment before huffing to himself. Then he does something completely unexpected.
Castiel lifts his arms awkwardly and shucks his ugly beige trenchcoat from his shoulders. He drapes it carefully over the back of a chair, that preciseness in his movements that Dean thinks signals something he's just learnt, and follows suit with his jacket. Dean watches with wide eyes and tries to figure out exactly what's going on here. Castiel makes a further short movement and his tie falls through his hands to land on the table.
“I brought you something,” Castiel says, turning to face Dean again, something of the awkwardness gone from his features. He gestures to the bag and Dean flexes his hands once by his sides before crossing the room to stand beside Castiel.
Dean pushes the bag open and is assailed by a mouthwatering aroma that is so familiar he almost groans. With more speed he pulls the box out and opens the lid. It's a whole pie - apple if he's not mistaken - and it smells ridiculously good.
“I - noticed,” Castiel says, hesitancy in his voice. “That you seem to be fond of this. I thought - after everything -”
Castiel pauses again and Dean sees that the angel is struggling for the right words. Dean sets the box down on the table and turns to face Castiel, tilting his head to one side in an unconscious echo of Castiel's most common mannerism.
“You're trying to make up, for what happened,” Dean says, watching Castiel for a reaction. Castiel nods, eyes betraying a brief flash of gratitude.
“You know it'll take more than pie to make up for that?” Dean asks and Castiel nods again, this time tilting his head down. “It's a good start, though.”
Dean grins, something loosening in his chest, and Castiel looks up at him. A smile pulls briefly at the corners of his lips - something Dean has seen happen all of three times that he can recall - and it strikes Dean that Castiel's vessel would probably have been something of a ladies man if he hadn't been so pious.
“Take it as my gratitude, then,” Castiel says, his voice sure again, earnest. “For saving me from Alistair. I - I would not be here if you hadn't intervened.”
“Well,” Dean shrugs, embarrassed for a moment. “Just makes us even. I'm not going to argue with free pie, though.”
“And I will find another way to - make up,” Castiel says, the words sounding awkward in his mouth.
Dean thinks of the other things he loves, things that start with 'P', and fights down a slight flush. It's probably not a good idea for Castiel to bring him anything on that list - but he's sort of interested to see what Castiel might do next.
For something to do Dean moves over to the tiny kitchen and pulls a couple of forks out of the drawer. When he turns back Castiel is still standing there, looking down at the pie, and Dean feels an unexpected urge to share. Which explains, at least, why he took two forks instead of the one he'd intended.
“You eat?” he asks as he pulls one of the seats out from the table. Castiel looks at him as if he's asked a particularly odd and confusing question.
“I need to take sustenance,” Castiel says at last. “For my vessel to stay living.”
“I'm not talking about that,” Dean gestures with his fork. “I'm talking about eating for the pleasure of it. Are angels allowed to do the whole pleasure thing?”
“We are - learning, again, the pleasures of mortal forms,” Castiel says and it's not quite the right answer for Dean's question but it is interesting.
“Sit,” Dean says, making the decision for Castiel. Castiel looks at him for a moment before sitting carefully in the chair. There is less awkwardness about this than the other things Castiel does and Dean is happy for the vessel that Castiel at least doesn't make it stand about all the time. Dean knows he's seen Castiel sitting once or twice before - but he always assumed that Castiel just arrived like that, rather than completing the necessary action.
Dean hands Castiel a fork which Castiel takes as if it's a completely foreign object, which Dean assumes it probably is. He doesn't suppose angels have much use for utensils. Dean reaches out and closes Castiel's fingers around it so he's holding it properly and shows him how to cut into the pie with it.
It takes Castiel a few a attempts but he finally extracts a suitably large piece of pie. Not large by Dean's standards, but, hey, practice makes perfect. Dean lifts his own fork and smiles as Castiel follows his actions. He opens his mouth and wraps it around the pie, watching as Castiel follows suit. The taste is just about as perfect as Dean could have hoped, god he loves pie, and he makes a note to ask Castiel where he got it from.
“Dude,” Dean says around his mouthful of pie, “you got to chew it.”
Dean makes exaggerated chewing motions until Castiel catches on and finds himself smiling like a proud father when Castiel swallows without being prompted. Castiel's face stays unmoved for a moment and then he blinks with something like surprise. He opens his mouth as if to speak but instead traces his tongue over his lips, picking up the crumbs that are sticking there. Then he smiles and Dean almost has to turn away, it's so brilliant.
“I guess you like it then,” Dean says when Castiel goes to take another piece of the pie. Castiel nods, surprise still sitting in his eyes, and Dean smiles.
They eat in silence - Castiel treating each mouthful as if it's Heaven-sent and, for all Dean knows, it is so Dean doesn't complain. Sam has never got pie the way Dean does so it's nice to see someone enjoy it as much as he does. For a brief moment Dean thinks Castiel could almost pass as human like this, strangely relaxed without his coat and jacket, collar open without its tie, and Dean wonders how much of it is his doing and how much of it is just Castiel's vessel rubbing off on him.
When the pie is finished they sit in contemplative silence and Dean finds that he doesn't want Castiel to leave. Castiel like this is a calming presence and as it pools about him Dean feels a tension ease that he hadn't even realised he was carrying. Like this he could get the whole Roma Downey Touched-by-an-Angel thing. Which was a terrifying thought, really.
“I really was sorry,” Castiel says, rough voice breaking the silence. Dean looks at him and sees a sadness in Castiel's eyes that he remembers from that night in the barn.
“I know,” Dean says and to his surprise it's not a lie. Anna had been too angry to see it, human emotions infringing on angelic dispassion, but it was there.
“I'm not - supposed to be able to feel that,” Castiel says, his voice thick with confusion.
“Anna - she told me that,” Dean says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Sounds like my kind of life, right now.”
“No, Dean,” Castiel says, eyes suddenly hard, like the night at Bobby's. “Feeling, emotion, it's what separates you from us. You can't - you shouldn't give that up.”
“For a guy, angel, whatever, who's not meant to feel emotion you're getting pretty worked up about it,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.
“That is the problem, Dean,” Castiel says, he rubs a hand across his forehead and this movement is entirely natural, this is something Castiel knows. “I shouldn't - I'm not supposed to be capable of this.”
“Maybe you are,” Dean says. “Maybe that's the big secret - that you're all allowed to do whatever you want.”
“Dean, you're close to blasphemy,” Castiel says, but the hardness in his voice breaks slightly. Dean snorts.
“Cas,” that name again and Dean winces. “I've done a lot worse in my life than blaspheme - I think I'm beyond punishment for that.”
“But I am not,” Castiel stresses his point with a hand pressed against the table.
“Why did Uriel tell me that you like me?” Dean asks. It's the question he's wanted to ask since Uriel made the statement. “Isn't like a feeling?”
Castiel makes a frustrated noise, low, in the back of his throat, and stands up. He presses his hands against his hips and Dean watches the frame of his shoulders as they rise and fall with deep breaths.
“Nothing is right, anymore,” Castiel says, keeping his back to Dean. “I am losing my place in world, my certainty. The only thing I am sure of is my Father's love and even then - I have my doubts, I am worried that He has lied to us, that punishment for disobedience and emotion is a mask, a screen for the truth. I am shaken to my core.”
“You think you're going to Fall,” Dean says, understanding flooding him all at once. Castiel stills and then his head dips, once, and Dean stands.
He walks around Castiel until he can see his face, see Castiel's eyes pressed tight. His hands flex at his sides and then he lifts them to press down on Castiel's shoulders. Castiel opens his eyes and looks at Dean, the look that makes Dean feel like Castiel is looking through him. Dean swallows against his dry throat, unprepared for the power radiating out of Castiel.
“I -” Dean starts, stops, gathers his thoughts, starts again; “Look - I don't know about your God, I haven't seen the guy, hell, I thought your kind were fairytales until recently - why would I think differently about God? But I think I'm starting to know you, as scary as that is, and what I know is this: you put your faith in something that's real to you, important, you can't go giving that faith away just because you're a little shook up. Thing about faith is that it is what you make of it. You braved the pit for me because He told you to, right? Your faith in that being the right choice - that's why I'm here, Castiel. I don't know why - but I'm sure as hell happy about it. I think about what could have happened if you didn't haul me out and I -”
Castiel holds a hand up, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth, and Dean feels some of the tension go from the shoulders beneath his hands.
“That's enough, Dean,” Castiel says, stepping away from Dean. Dean doesn't think about how bereft his hands suddenly feel. “If nothing else - I have my faith in you.”
Dean feels his eyes go wide as Castiel watches him with that look and that head tilt. He shivers, once, and steps back from Castiel, averting his eyes.
“It would appear that I owe you more pie,” Castiel says and Dean looks back up to see Castiel with his coat and jacket over his arm. Dean hazards a smile and Castiel returns it. There's a flutter of dark wings and when Dean blinks Castiel is gone.
Dean's not entirely sure what's just happened, or exactly where his big speech came from, or even if he's really helped Castiel (and wasn't Castiel meant to be the one helping him?). He rubs a hand across his eyes, tiredness creeping back over him, and when he opens them again he sees Castiel's tie on the table.
Dean picks it up and runs it through his hands, it's a surprisingly good quality tie, which says something about Castiel's vessel, and feels the faint hints of warmth still about it. He stuffs it into his jacket pocket, with every intention of returning it next time he sees the angel. He knows there's going to be a next time - Castiel said there was going to be more pie and Dean's pretty sure that angels aren't meant to go back on their word.
------
Part II: Strawberry Chocolate Pie