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Dean
As long as Dean and Sam could remember, Thanksgiving had always consisted of canned green beans and a bucket of fried chicken. Grocery store pie too, if they were lucky. When they were young, regardless of the quality of food, they were at least together as a family. Sam, Dean, and John.
As they got older, however, John was around less and less. Dean still remembered the time that dad had promised to be back just in time for the holiday. But Thanksgiving came and went, along with the money John had left them, expended on a new second-hand jacket for Sam (it was cold in Washington and Dean’s old jacket was literally worn to pieces) and Dean had spent the remaining amount on cereal and canned soup. They ran out on the third day of John’s absence, the day before Thanksgiving. Dean had resorted to begging on the street, something John had expressly forbidden because,
“You never know who’s out there, son.”
Strangers only have so much pity when it comes to hungry eleven year old children, Dean found out that day. The pit in his stomach went unfilled until John came back, two days later. What little Dean earned on the street was enough to feed Sammy until then, though, so Dean didn’t mind so much.
Though the holiday had never been much of an affair for Winchesters, this year was different. Because this year, they had a whole (albeit mismatched) family to share it with. Dean had been working his ass off all day to prepare a feast fit for, if not royalty, at least a group of hungry hunters, plus a dorky Angel and his four year old toddler half-Angel kid. Despite a couple of setbacks, all the food, with the exception of the turkey (currently in the oven), had been made, ready to be heated up right before they ate. Then Dean had grudgingly surrendered the kitchen.
Earlier that week, when the Winchesters had decided to host Thanksgiving, Cas had insisted that he wanted to help with the cooking, stating that it was because,
“Dean, you always do the cooking. Let someone else help you for once.”
Dean had immediately refused. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Cas’ help. Or company. To Dean, any second spent with Cas was golden. No, the reason for his refusal was that Cas’ every attempt in the kitchen had ended in disaster of epic proportions.
“Dean, you should let him help,” Sam had chided from where he was seated at the kitchen table. (Cas had waited to spring his attack until morning, hoping that, half awake, Dean might agree without knowing exactly what it was that he was agreeing to. He had no such luck, however).
“I said no and that’s final,” said Dean firmly, sipping his coffee before returning to the task at hand: cutting strawberries (to be eaten with pancakes and lots of whipped cream if Dean had any say in the matter. Which he did.) Cas pouted. Dean ignored him.
“What do you think, Jack?” Cas asked.
Man, he plays dirty, Dean thought. Involving the sweetest, cutest four year old who ever lived on Cas’ side in this battle did not bode well for Dean.
“Should Dean let me help with Thanksgiving?” Cas continued.
“What’s thanksgiving?” Jack, in his not quite baby voice (that still was not not a baby voice), asked from where he was perched on the counter, legs swinging as he waited eagerly for pancakes. Or “panscakes” as he called them. Why, Dean had no idea. But when a toddler decides on something it is very hard to change their mind.
“Thanksgiving is fucked up holiday,” Dean informed him, feeling Sam and Cas’ disapproving eyes on him for the language, but they didn’t disagree. “But it’s where people get together and eat a lot of food.”
“What kind of food?” asked Jack, interested.
“Well, lots of things, here.” He held a small piece of strawberry to Jack's mouth. Jack leaned forward slightly to take it from his fingers, chewing with a blissful expression on his face. He loved strawberries.
Dean leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
“There’s more where that came from. If you tell your dad he shouldn’t help, you can have it.”
“Dean,” Cas said suspiciously, “Are you trying to bribe our son?”
“No.” Dean looked back at Cas innocently. “And frankly I’m hurt that you’d think I’d stoop that low.” Sam, watching this exchange, rolled his eyes.
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It was true what Cas had said about Jack being their son. Well, biologically he wasn’t their son, but in all the ways that counted.... When Cas had died and left Sam and Dean with a newborn Jack, at first, Dean refused to even look at the baby, But Sam was hopeless when it came to any children, whatever size, and slowly, Jack’s charming smile and bubbly laugh had won Dean over. The kid was just so damn likeable.
There were times over the next few weeks when the old resentment crept in, but Dean fought it back. After all, it wasn't so much Jack’s fault that the love of Dean’s life had been killed as it was Sam’s fault that Mary had died. It was always a risk a hunter faced, more so when what you were hunting was the likes of the literal devil. But that fact had never prevented the soul crushing grief that Dean felt every time they lost the Angel. The feeling of relief when Cas came back was like a new lease on life to Dean. Everything, no matter how daunting, started to look a little less scary whether it was Leviathans or falling Angels. Or even Lucifer, who they had managed to put back in the cage shortly after Castiel’s return.
When Dean had seen Cas by that phone booth, it was all he could do to hold himself back from kissing the living daylight out of him right there. He was just so fucking glad to see him that his impulse control almost broke. It had been heartwarming to see Cas finally meet Jack, who took to him immediately, perhaps sensing that this was his father. His real father. But in some capacity, Dean and Sam were his parents too. Three men and a Nephilim, Dean had joked to Cas, who didn’t understand the reference. Apparently Metatron hasn’t watched that movie.
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“So Jack, what’ll it be?” Dean asked, winking at the toddler with his back to Sam and Cas as he flipped a pancake.
“Daddy can’t help,” Jack pronounced decidedly. Cas narrowed his eyes still more at Dean, who had turned to look at him.
“Well, the honorable judge Kline has spoken. I don’t see that there’s much you can do to change that, angel.” Dean held up his hands (one still holding the spatula) in an oh well gesture.
“If you say yes, you can have hazelnut spread on your pancakes and whipped cream,” Cas, who usually only let him have one of the two options, told Jack. Jack perked up immediately.
“Okay, you can help.” He cast Dean an apologetic glance.
“That’s not fair, Cas,” Dean protested, flipping the final batch of pancakes onto the stack and turning off the stove.
“You tried to bribe him first!”
“Yeah, well,” grumbled Dean as he scooped up Jack with one arm, the platter of pancakes in his other hand, and carried both over to the table and sitting down, Jack beside him on the little booster seat they had bought him, “no pancakes for you.”
“Dean, I don't eat,” Cas pointed out.
“You do sometimes,” Jack corrected Castiel cheerily. “Dean told me you don’t have to, but when I asked why you do sometimes, you said because you know it makes Dean happy and you want him to be happy.”
“Um…” Dean didn’t know what to say to this pronouncement.
“I didn't say it like that,” Cas protested, seemingly embarrassed.
“Rule one of parenting, Cas,” Sam informed him wisely, a smile in his voice, “never tell a toddler secrets.”
“It wasn’t a secret. I just...I do like it when you are happy, Dean.” He turned his intense gaze on Dean, who felt as though the Angel was seeing his very soul. Actually, it was very probable that he was seeing it. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated it when Cas said sincere shit like that because nobody had ever told him that he is the most loving person they know, or that his soul is beautiful, or that they like it when he’s happy.
“Uh, thanks, Cas,” Dean finally replied awkwardly.
“It’s settled then,” said Sam, disrupting the uncomfortable moment. “Cas will help with the food. Now, shut up and eat.”
“Hang on, I didn’t even say yes yet!”
“Please, Dean,” Castiel begged, pleading with his beautiful eyes.
Dammit, why do they have to be so blue? Dean cursed in his head. He felt his will crumble.
“Fine,” he sighed, “You can make dessert.”
“Really?” Cas asked excitedly, smiling widely.
“Really,” nodded Dean, still not entirely confident in Cas’ cooking. Looking over, he saw Sam smiling too.
Is this really what we’ve come to? Dean thought. A bunch of sappy dudes arguing aboutwho’s doing the cooking?
He loved it though.
༺═──────────────═༻
So that was how Dean found himself entering the kitchen four hours after he had left it. Cas had adamantly insisted that he stay away while he was baking, but Dean was pretty sure Cas was finished by now. Indeed, just as he walked through the doorway, Cas was bent over the oven, pulling a glass dish from the rack. He laid them on the counter and closed the oven door. Dean, cautious as always when it comes to Cas in the kitchen, hastily crossed the room to turn the oven off.
The bunker saved from potentially burning to the ground, Dean went over to the counter to see what the Angel had made. Looking over Cas’ shoulder, he gasped.
“You made pumpkin pie?” he cried excitedly. “Cas, you’re the best.”
It was hard to tell because he’s an Angel and everything, but Dean was pretty sure Castiel blushed.
“Thank you, Dean. You too are...the best.”
Sam, enticed by the smell, had been drawn to the kitchen. Ignoring the weird flirting between his brother and friend (he was used to it by now), he asked curiously,
“What’s in it?”
“Two cups of pumpkin purée, a cup of sugar, one tablespoon ground cinnamon, half a teaspoon ground ginger, one quarter teaspoon ground cloves,” Cas began to list.
“Woah, you remember all that?” asked Dean, impressed.
“I am an Angel, Dean, I have a perfect memory,” Cas reminded him. Sam rolled his eyes. But Castiel wasn’t finished yet.
“Two large eggs, the juice from half a lemon, one teaspoon freshly ground pepper, one clove of crushed garlic, and one eighth teaspoon each of cayenne pepper and turmeric!!” he finished proudly.
“Uh,” Dean said, glancing over at Sam who was suddenly wide eyed with what could only be shock.
“Oh, and I’m making whipped cream too!”
“Uh...what are you...putting in it?” Dean asked apprehensively, slightly frightened of the answer.
“Just whipping cream and sugar,” Cas informed him and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.
Cas wiped his hands on the apron was wearing. He had picked it out at the second-hand store when Dean took him to find a Thanksgiving cookbook (and, yes, Dean knew they could just look the recipes up online, but he wanted to do this the old fashioned way); it was frilly and covered in sunflowers which Dean thought looked adorable on Cas, not that he’d admit it out loud, though.
“I promised Jack I would help him with the decorations he is making,” the Angel told them, looking expectantly between the two.
“Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Sam said quickly.
When Cas was safely out of range, Dean grabbed the cookbook off the counter where it was resting and hastily rifled through it.
“There is absolutely no way,” he said as the pages flew. “ No way. Turmeric, Sam? Turmeric? ”
Sam looked over at the pie, noticing for the first time that it was an unusual yellowish colour.
"Oh my god," Dean breathed, finally having found the right page. "The pages are stuck together,” he shoved the book towards Sam, “and Cas made Pumpkin…” he flipped the page, “…Spiced Cold Cure Pie." Dean looked up at his brother in horror. "Jesus fucking Christ."
Cas with his weird angelic taste buds must not have noticed how terrible a combination those two recipes made.
"We have to tell him," insisted Sam. "We can't let him serve this...this monstrosity ."
“No way!”
“Why the hell not?!” Sam was incredulous.
“Cas spent all day working on that pie and he’ll feel bad when we tell him he screwed them up so bad,” Dean pointed out.
“But what about when the others taste it, he’ll find out then for sure.”
“Not if we tell them first.” A plan was forming in Dean’s head. “Listen, when the girls get here, I’ll tell them what happened and we’ll all pretend it’s good so Cas won’t know.”
“Ugh, fine,” sighed Sam, resigned to Dean’s antics. “But how are you going to do that without Cas hearing?”
“That’s where you come in,” Dean said, clapping him on the back, “you’re going to distract him.”
“What, Dean! I have no idea what to say to him to keep him occupied,” yelped Sam.
“Don’t worry, Sammy, I believe in you.” Dean walked away, chuckling.
༺═──────────────═༻
It was half past five when Jody, Donna, Claire, and Alex arrived with much fanfare. Donna was bearing baked glazed yams and Jody beer, a true hunter essential. After Dean and Sam hugged them both (slightly awkwardly because of the things occupying their hands), Donna, taking the beer from Jody, headed for the kitchen to drop off their offerings. Castiel and Jack emerged from the depths of he bunker, having already put up their decorations (garlands of red and yellow leaves, fake fruit, and hand-turkey cutouts that Jack made, which for some reason had an unearthly amount of glitter on them). Jack, who had fallen in love with Claire from the moment he’d met her, ran into her waiting arms. They both got hugs from Jody too.
Eventually, everyone settled in the library where the two tables had been pushed together and more chairs pulled from the many, many storage rooms that fill the bunker. A new addition too, were the arm chairs that Dean had obtained with their scammed credit cards, wanting to make the room more comfortable. Drinks were passed around (Dean hesitated when Claire and Alex reached for glasses too (because they’re still kids to him, dammit) and they fell into small talk about recent adventures.
After about half an hour, the bunker door opened again and everyone looked up to see Mary descending the stairs. Dean went over to greet her.
“You made it,” he smiled, slightly surprised because he doubted that she would be able to.
“Yeah,” she smiled back, “finished up that shapeshifter case sooner than I thought.”
“Well we’re glad to have the whole family around,” said Sam, who has crept up behind Dean and Mary without either of them noticing. “Well, except for Eileen,” he added unhappily. “She was visiting a friend in Saskatchewan and got snowed in.”
At six-thirty exactly (what? Dean’s a bit of a control freak, sue him) Dean served dinner. There was a large, juicy looking ham, a tremendously huge turkey, stuffing, fluffy rolls, peas and gravy. And combined with Donna’s glazed yams, Dean thought it was pretty perfect. More small talk ensued in the gaps where they weren't stuffing their faces. Jack accidentally knocked over the dish of peas trying to demonstrate to Claire how Dean had shown him how to fish two days ago. It wasn’t actually anywhere near a lake. Dean just bought him a toy rod and showed him how to cast it. Jack, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of one of the library tables and wearing a floppy hat, looked so adorable that Cas insisted on taking several (read: so goddamn many) photos.
༺═──────────────═༻
When they were all finished, everyone was slumped in their chairs, nursing food-babies and probably wishing they’d worn stretchier pants.
Then Claire, who had been unnaturally quiet, even by regular standards, spoke up.
“Uh, there’s something...something I wanted to tell guys.” Lethargic though they all were, this got their attention.
“I...I…”
“Claire?” asked Jody, a little concerned. Claire had never, ever been nervous like this, or at least not on the outside.
“I’m okay,” she said. It sounded more like she was reassuring herself rather than the others. She took a deep breath.
“I’m...I like girls,” she rushed out.
This admission was met with silence for a few seconds. Claire looked between all of them fearfully.
Then Cas broke the silence.
“Thank you for telling us, Claire.”
“That’s great honey,” Jody smiled, putting an arm around her and squeezing tightly.
“I’m proud of you,” said Donna at the same time Sam pushed his chair back to give Claire a hug, which she returned awkwardly, as the angle is weird, Sam standing and her sitting. Mary just smiled at her while Alex punched Claire’s shoulder playfully.
“She already told me,” she explained.
The only person who hadn’t responded (apart from Jack), was Dean. Claire looked at him anxiously.
“That’s awesome, kiddo,” he grinned at her. Claire smiled in relief. A tap at her knee made her look down. Jack was offering her one of his turkeys and a huge smile. Claire took the turkey, hoisting Jack into her lap where he sat like a king, apparently deeming it the best seat in the house. The topic soon faded out of the conversation.
Once enough time had passed that it wasn’t impossible to walk, Jack spirited Alex and Claire away to show them something in his room. They didn’t return for a while. Taking the time upon them to clean up, the adults began to stack dishes and carry them over to the kitchen, leaving them to be washed at a future point in time. It didn’t take very long with all of them chipping in. And when Cas handed him a stack of plates, Dean relished the way their fingers brushed together.
At some point Alex and Mary disappeared for Dean doesn’t know where, but from the second they'd met ( after the time Mary had been brainwashed and then cured) they had formed a strong bond, so he wasn’t all that surprised.
Then the moment the Winchester brothers had been dreading finally arrived. Cas suggested they eat dessert. By then, Jack, Alex, and Claire (who still looked uncharacteristically nervous) had come back, and when Jody inquired what was made, Cas proudly told them it was pumpkin pie made by him . This earned him many nods of approval, all of them forgetting just how stuffed they were when presented with what they thought is the highlight of the meal (Dean and Sam knew better). Informing them that he had to go finish the whipped cream, which the recipe book told him was,
“Better fresh,” he quoted in his gravelly voice that makes Dean’s knees weak, Cas headed for the kitchen.
Dean turned to Sam.
“Why don’t I tell Jack and the girls about that case we worked in Uncertain, Texas?” (It’s a real place).
Uncertain, Texas was the signal they had decided on earlier after discovering what was really in Cas’ beastly creation.
“Oh, right,” Sam nodded, taking the cue and following after the Angel. Dean immediately turned to the others.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he began, businesslike. They all looked at him, confused.
“Cas messed up the pie, like really messed it up,” he added.
“How?” Claire asked, forgetting her anxiety in interest.
“Basically, since two of the pages were stuck together, he added the ingredients for a cold cure drink to the pie.”
“That can’t be so bad,” Donna, always the optimist, cut in cheerfully, “You already add cinnamon to pumpkin pie, a few more spices can’t hurt.”
“Trust me,” Dean groaned, “it’s bad . There’s turmeric in it, Donna, and garlic. Garlic!”
“Gross.” Claire made a revolted face.
“So are we just going to tell him?” asked Alex from her armchair.
“No!” insisted Dean.
Why was everyone so quick to jump to that? he wondered to himself. Don’t they care about Cas’ feelings?
“Then what?” asked Claire who was now nursing her third beer can. “Don’t tell me we actually have to eat this fucking thing!”
“Young lady!” Jody cried in a warning tone at the same time Dean pointed a finger at her and said,
“Mind your language!” She rolled her eyes.
“It’ll hurt his feelings if he finds out it’s bad,” Dean told her when he had stopped glaring. “And stop drinking those, you’re barely old enough.” Claire rolled her eyes again at his hypocrisy, but for once listened and set it down on the table in front of her.
“So what, you just want us to pretend?” asked Mary with an inexplicably amused smile on her face.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, “just don’t let him see that it tastes bad.” This instruction was met with grumbles from everyone except Jack who had been making more hand-turkeys, and Dean was fairly certain that he hadn't been paying even the slightest bit of attention.
“Please,” Dean begged (he’s not above begging when it comes to his Angel), “I’ll pay for all of you to buy actual pie later, how about that?”
“Fine,” Jody agreed with a heavy sigh. Dean looked expectantly at the others.
“Alright,” said Claire and Alex. Donna and Mary followed suit.
“Perfect,” Dean grinned, relieved.
༺═──────────────═༻
Sam
When Sam got to the kitchen, Cas was already busy, flying (not literally) around the room to pull out ingredients.
“Sam!” he said, on seeing him. “What are you doing here? I thought Dean was going to tell a story.” Then looking concerned, he asked,
“Is something wrong?”
“Nah,” Sam lied (because Cas’ pie was the furthest thing from right that he’d ever seen and that was saying a lot ).
“I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, what is it?” inquired Cas, pouring the whipping cream into a metal bowl. Sam cast around for something, anything , to say.
“Uh, well,” he stalled, then something popped into his head. “I just wanted to thank you.” Cas cocked his head to the side.
“For what?”
“For always being there for us,” Sam elaborated. “You always have our backs and we rarely ever thank you for it. I just thought you should know how important you are to me and Dean and Jack.”
“Oh,” Cas said, and if Sam was not mistaken, he looked rather crestfallen.
“You’re really awesome, you know that, Cas?” Sam continued. “Jack is so lucky to have you as a dad. And trust me,” he chuckled, “I know a thing or two about fathers.” Cas, who had been pouring sugar into the bowl, set down the measuring cup and fixed his full attention on Sam.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he began with the air of someone delivering news of the death of a loved one, “but I don’t think of you that way.”
“What way?” asked Sam, bewildered.
“I do not have romantic feelings for you, Sam.” Cas said sorrowfully. “Besides, what would Eileen think?”
Sam stared at him for a good ten seconds, too stunned to say anything.
“Ready for pie?” asked a cheerful voice from behind him. It was Dean, who was rubbing his hands together in feigned anticipation, completely oblivious to the bombshell Cas had just dropped in the middle of the kitchen.
Castiel’s face lit up in an adoring smile.
“Almost.”
“I’ll just…” Sam drifted back towards the library, still shell-shocked.
༺═──────────────═༻
Dean
Plates and forks were carried over, pie distributed, whipped cream and all, and everyone seated.
“Cas, this looks delicious,” Jody exclaimed in a slightly strained voice, trying to hide the fact that she was regarding her piece rather squeamishly.
“Can’t wait,” added Mary, giving him a thumbs up.
“Thank you!” smiled Cas, pleased at his success. Serving the last piece of pie on a plate, he handed it to Dean (who had been trying to blend into a bookshelf to avoid this very thing).
“Uh, thanks, Cas.” He took the plate from the Angel, resigned to his fate. “Well, eat up,” he told the others.
“Actually,” Cas stopped him with a hand on the base of his spine. Butterflies started beating their wings in Dean’s stomach. His attention narrowed to Castiel’s warm hand two layers apart from his bare skin, Dean almost didn’t hear it when Cas said,
“I was hoping you would taste it first, Dean.”
That snapped Dean out of his fantasy of Cas placing his other hand in his hair and softly pressing their lips together.
“I...uh….” Dean tried to think of an excuse not to, but Cas was looking at him expectantly, so gathering his courage (of his soul and his taste buds), he picked up a forkful and slipped it into his mouth.
It was all he could do to stop himself from gagging. It was somehow spicy, bitter, sour, salty, and sweet at the same time.
“How is it?” asked Cas, anxiously. With much difficulty, Dean managed to choke it down.
“Good,” he rasped. “So good.” Claire snickered quietly. He shot her a glare. “Why don’t you let everyone else give it a try? Claire especially.” Her face lost its humour, then.
Sam raised a bite to his lips. Reluctantly, everyone followed his lead.
“It’s...it’s amazing, Cas,” Sam exclaimed. The grimace on his face told a different story. “Great job, really!” Cas turned to look at him.
“Please remember what I told you in the kitchen, Sam.” Sam paled and Dean wondered what the hell Cas had told his younger brother to make him go so white.
“Cas, is there any leftover whipped cream?” asked Claire, wincing, probably from the garlic, Dean thought.
“Yes, in the kitchen.”
“I’m going to go grab some.” She winked at Dean as she stood up in an I won this round kind of way. God, that girl was smart.
“Do you have the recipe somewhere?” inquired Donna, “I think my friend Beth would love this.”
“It is also in the kitchen.”
“I need more whipped cream too,” chimed in Alex and the two of them bolted after Claire.
Sam, too, spoke up.
“I feel bad eating all of this. As you know, I’m on a diet.” Cas frowned. Obviously he didn’t know this. Probably because there was no such diet. “Anyway, Dean, you love pie so much, why don’t you finish it up for me?” Dean glared at him. Sam looked back with an innocent smile.
“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, giving up. It was his fault that they had to eat this thing, after all.
“I’m going to go call Eileen.” Sam pushed his chair back and stood up. “Thanks, Cas, for the dessert.”
“I haven’t talked to Eileen in a while, actually,” Mary frowned. “Maybe I’ll go join Sam.”
“Me too,” added Jody hastily, jumping up to follow her, both carrying their plates with them and Dean knew that like all the others, they were going to dispose of the pie as quickly as possible.
Thinking that it would look suspicious if he just stopped eating, Dean downed another two mouthfuls of pie, wincing.
“Why is everyone leaving?” asked Cas sadly. “Is there something wrong with it?” Then, seeming to come to a realization,
“Oh no. I must have forgotten to suppress my Grace when I tasted the filling. Let me have some.” He reached for Dean’s fork, but,
“No!” Dean cried, and with almost inhuman speed, shovelled the remaining almost one and a half pieces of pie into his mouth, scarfing them down.
“It’s just so good,” he explained, his throat hoarse again.
“Well, let me go see if the others have any left,” said Cas, rising to his feet.
“Yeah you do that.”
When Cas was out of earshot, Dean turned to Jack, who had been sitting primly in his booster seat, playing with his reusable plastic fork and taking occasional bites.
“It tastes like...like...sweet ‘n’ sour sweat soaked burnt rubber,” moaned Dean, eyes still watering from swallowing so much of the ghastly pie so quickly.
“I like it,” decided Jack. Dean looked at him incredulously before realizing that he, too, must have weird angelic taste buds, at least in some capacity.
Then Cas re-entered the library, trailed by Alex, Donna, and Claire.
“So your pie just disappeared off your plate?” he was saying to Claire, intrigued.
“Yeah, I know right! Could be a curse or something maybe?”
“I’ll look into it,” Cas reassured her. “I’m sorry you can’t have any. Perhaps you could ask Mary or Jody if they have any left?”
“Nope, all finished,” Jody informed him. She was back with Sam and Mary. “See?” She held up her empty plate, scraped clean.
“Well, looks like everyone’s done!” Sam observed cheerfully.
“Yeah, you lucky bastard,” Dean muttered under his breath.
༺═──────────────═༻
No longer under the threat of frightful pies, they settled back into armchairs and chair-chairs around the library, all of them taking the soda Donna kindly fetched from the kitchen for them to wash away the sickening taste. Dean didn’t think he'd ever drunk anything so fast. But the carbonation went to his nose, aggravating the spice of the garlic and cayenne pepper and making him choke.
“Dean, are you alright?” Cas asked in concern, hastily patting his back from where he was seated perched on the arm of the comfy easy chair permanently deemed Dean’s.
“I think so,” croaked Dean. “But maybe...maybe you should check? Just to be safe.” Cas nodded in agreement and proceeded to perform a similar examination to the one he had done when Dean was suffering from smighting sickness. The others watched, amused.
Then Mary made some sort of signal to Alex, who stood up.
“I—I wanted to say something.”
“Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re coming out too!” said Jody, disbelievingly.
“What? No! I wanted to tell you that I want to quit nursing. And I don’t know what I want to do yet.” She looked at them defiantly, as if expecting them to ridicule her.
“I want juice!” interrupted Jack loudly.
“I knew you didn’t want me to be gay!” Claire cried, pointing a finger at Jody.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Claire!” Jody yelped. “I just thought it was unlikely. I’m sorry if it sounded like something else. That’s my fault—”
But the rest of Jody’s apology was cut off by Castiel’s exclamation of dismay.
“This tastes horrible!” Looking over, Dean saw that in the chaos, Cas had gone over to respond to Jack’s request for juice. And seeing that there was still pie remaining on his plate, took the opportunity to taste it.
“Oh no,” Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands, “you weren’t supposed to find out about that.”
“But why…” Cas began to ask, but his sentence trailed off. He walked over to Dean again, placing his palm on his cheek and gently forcing him to raise his head.
“That was very sweet of you, Dean,” Cas told him. He stroked his thumb along Dean’s cheek bone. “Thank you.”
Dean leaned into his touch, his nose nuzzling the skin of Castiel’s palm.
“Alright,” said Mary, standing up with an air of determination. She turned to Alex.
“Alex, as I told you earlier, if you want to quit nursing school, none of us are stopping you. And none of us judge you. It’s good that you’re not doing something just because you feel obligated.” She turned to Claire.
“Claire, none of us think any less of you for liking girls, if anything we’re grateful that you trust us enough to tell us. Not that it’s relevant, but I am one too, by the way.” Mary added.
“One what?” asked Sam and Dean at the same time.
“A lesbian,” answered Mary as if it was not a world-view altering fact for her sons.
“Uh…” started Sam.
“I once did a hunt with a girl about Claire’s age and as I was born in the 1950’s, she took it upon herself to educate me about LGBTQ. When she explained how she knew she likes girls, I thought some of it was relatable, but I figured that everyone felt like that,” she elaborated.
“It was only after I slept with Ketch that I realized.”
“You slept with Ketch??" Sam interjected, shocked. Mary ignored him.
“Katie, the girl, explained to me a thing called compulsive heterosexuality, which I think is pretty self explanatory.”
“Wow, look at you down with all the lingo,” said Claire, impressed, and marginally more relaxed after Mary’s reassurance.
“Anyway, no, Cas, you weren’t supposed to put garlic, turmeric, and I don’t know what else in the pie. It did not taste good.” Cas opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“And, Dean, for Heaven’s sake,” Mary said, turning finally to her oldest son, “just kiss Cas like we all except him know you want to. You two have been making eyes at each other all night.”
Everyone froze in shock, because, yeah, everyone did know, but it was an unspoken understanding that you Don’t Talk About It™, as was the Winchester way.
“You want to kiss me?” murmured Cas in a disbelieving voice, finally breaking the silence. Dean felt himself blushing as he shifted in his seat, trying to think of a way to make himself evaporate where he sat so he wouldn't have to face the Angel.
“Well, yeah,” he said, embarrassed, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You’re a good looking guy with enough heart for three people.” Dean immediately went for the impersonal answer, trying to draw attention away from the wound that had just been cut into his skin, exposing his insides and spilling his feelings out for anyone to see. But, unable to hold back despite internally screaming at himself not to say it, he added,
And...not...not just that. I—I want all of you, Cas.” He prepared for the inevitable rejection, raising his gaze apprehensively from the floor just in time to see Cas cross the room and throw his arms around him.
“Wha—“ Dean started, but never finished because then Cas’ mouth was on his and they were kissing.
Alex and Claire looked away, uncomfortable. It was pretty much like watching your parents kiss. Nobody wanted to see that. Jody, Donna, and Mary just glanced between each other, sharing secret smiles. And Jack, who had never seen anyone kiss, beside occasional pecks on the cheek, lips, or forehead (Sam and Eileen were pretty lowkey when it came to PDA), wondered what was going on.
Finally, they broke apart, both breathing hard (which meant it must have been a good kiss because Dean was pretty sure Castiel didn’t have to breathe at all). Cas looked so goddamn beautiful, Dean thought. He was always beautiful, but now, with his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining bright, Dean had never seen him look so happy. It looked amazing on him.
“What— When—” panted Dean, trying to catch his breath enough to finish what he was trying to say. He had so many questions that he didn’t know where to start. How long had Cas wanted this too? Was it as long as Dean had (at least a decade) or was this recent? Where the hell had Cas learned to kiss like that? When their lips touched Dean’s whole body felt like it had combusted, flames licking his insides, racing through his nerves and making every part of him tingle, from his toes to his lips. And when Cas had sucked on his bottom lip....but if Dean thought about that, things were going to get a lot less PG.
And perhaps the most important question: did Cas—and Dean tried not to think too hard about the answer—did he love Dean or just want to get into his pants? But as each of these questions rushed through his head, almost all the answers quickly followed. If Dean looked close enough, he saw that the signs had all been there.
The casual touches between the two of them that had only grown more frequent in the last four years. A hand on a shoulder, one touching Dean’s back like earlier, caressing each other’s faces, or fingers combing through hair. Come to think of it, Dean wouldn’t have been completely surprised if, one of these days, Cas had pressed a kiss to his forehead the way they did for Jack when they tucked him into bed. They had a son together for fuck’s sake.
Yet another sign was the way they had gravitated toward each other since the beginning. The way they trusted each other like no one else. The way that they let down their carefully built walls around each other, which for Dean, was a complete anomaly. The way...the way…
Dean’s pondering was cut off by Claire’s (very obviously) fake cough. The spell broke and Dean and Cas startled apart.
“I thought the kissing was bad. But the staring! Sam, how did you put up with this for thirteen years?” she asked. Sam just shrugged.
“Anyway, now that that’s been dealt with, can we please find some real dessert.” continued Claire.
“Anyone want cookies ?” asked Donna cheerily. “I think I saw enough ingredients when we were in the kitchen trying to hide the pie.” She winced. “Sorry, Cas.” The Angel just waved it away.
༺═──────────────═༻
Castiel
When Cas wandered into the kitchen to fetch Jack a glass of milk (to eat with his cwookies, as Jack had explained to Alex), he found Claire sitting there, looking as though she was in deep thought. He cleared his throat slightly. She jumped.
“Castiel,” she said, looking not entirely pleased to see him. Cas thought he knew why. Sighing, he took the seat across from her. The milk would have to wait.
“You’re wondering if your parents, your real parents, would have accepted you.” It wasn’t not really a question. Claire narrowed her eyes.
“Can Angels read minds?”
“Well, yes,” Cas answered, “but Dean told me that “boundaries” as well as “personal space” were important. And that it was impolite to read a person's mind. I believe what he actually said was “Stay the fuck out of my walnut Cas, or I’ll stab you again.” This was shortly after we met when Dean stabbed me before either of us had said a single word.”
“Yeah, “personal space,”” Claire grumbled. “You two should work on that.” Castiel smiled.
“To answer your question, your first question, I believe that yes, your parents would have been accepting.” Claire looked up.
“How do you know?”
“When an Angel takes a vessel, the human’s soul and the Angel’s Grace merge slightly. Essentially, I came to know your father and his past very well.”
“Oh,” is all Claire said.
“Religious as your parents were, they were not the type of, as Dean says, “bible thumpers” that were unaccepting of those of different beliefs or sexualities. This may come as a surprise to you, but, though your father never acted on these urges because he met your mother when they were both young, he was attracted to males as well as females.”
Claire’s jaw dropped.
“Wait...you’re...you’re trying to tell me that my Christian, tax paying, law following father was a raging bisexual?” she asked, incredulous.
“I’m not sure what anger has to do with bisexuality,” Cas said, furrowing his brow.
“What? No it means—” she sighed. “Never mind.”
“I should add that your mother knew about this and was quite accepting,” added Castiel.
“Dang,” Claire said with a shake of her head, “that’s a lot to process.”
“Well,” said Cas, standing up, “I will leave you to process it. It’s late and way past Jack’s bedtime. He is prone to tantrums when that happens, so I should deliver his milk. Come find me if you need anything.” He smiled at her and turned towards the fridge.
“Wait!” Claire grabbed his arm. He turned back to her. She looked less sure of herself now.
“I just wanted to...thanks, Cas.” He smiled at her again.
“You are welcome to it.”
༺═──────────────═༻
Sam
It was almost one when everyone had dispersed to go get ready for bed, only after Claire’s pronouncement that,
“Today I learned that my entire family is hella fuckin’ gay.”
Heading to the kitchen glass of warm milk (what? It helped him sleep. No, don’t laugh) Sam found Mary sitting in the library. He had been meaning to talk to her and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. He walked over and sat down.
“Sam,” she smiled, looking up from the book she was reading.
“Dan Brown, nice,” said Sam looking at the cover.
“Yes.” She set the book down. “It’s amazing how many books have been written since 1983.”
“Oh,” is all Sam could think of. Seeing no way to segue into what he wanted to say, he went straight to the point.
“Listen, mom,” he started. “Not that I’m not thrilled that Dean and Cas finally got together, seriously it was getting old. I thought for sure after we chained Lucifer up, but—” He cut himself off. “Sorry, tangent. Anyway, it was wrong to out them like that,” he finished finally. Mary sighed.
“I know. I’ve been regretting it all night,” she admitted. “I’m going to apologize to Dean. I meant to earlier, but he was literally sitting in Cas’ lap all night after that and I didn’t want to intrude on the honeymoon phase.”
“Oh,” Sam nodded. “Well, it’s good that you know that. And, yeah, Dean was all over Cas, it was disgusting. God help us all when they start having sex all over the bunker.”
“Sam!” Mary said sharply, slapping him hard on the arm with The Davinci Code. “Dean may be older than me now, but I still don’t want to hear about that.”
“That’s what I was saying,” Sam yelped. “I don’t want to hear them.”
༺═──────────────═༻
Dean
It was so peaceful lying in bed with Cas that Dean couldn’t believe they had waited thirteen years to do this. Though Cas kissing him had made Dean so fucking horny, they were forty old men and it was one a.m. Frankly it would have been a miracle if they managed to have sex that night. It had occured to Dean that Cas shouldn’t technically be tired, but the Angel seemed, slowly, to be becoming more and more human as the years passed. Not big things (he was still impossibly strong, something Dean looked forward to making use of when they finally did started rolling around in the hay), but initially, Cas had not been able to taste food properly at all, even if he suppressed his Grace (Dean wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed) and Dean had walked in on him slumped over in the chair beside Jack’s bed, asleep, enough times for it to count.
“Dean,” Cas murmured into his hair.
“Wha,” grumbled Dean. He had been about two seconds away from passing out.
“Dean, I need to tell you something,” Cas insisted.
“Ugh.” Dean sat up and turned on the lamp. “What.”
“I think Sam is in love with me.” Confusion overwhelmed Dean’s sleep-foggy brain, but it quickly dissipated as anger and jealousy flared in Dean’s gut. He was suddenly wide awake.
“How do you know?” he asked, barely holding his voice back from a growl.
“He was flirting with me,” answered Cas, and that was enough for Dean.
Jumping out of bed, he raced down the hallway to his brother’s room and barged inside, not bothering to knock. He flipped the light switch beside the door.
༺═──────────────═༻
Sam
“Hey!” Sam yelped, but Dean didn’t let him get more than the one word out.
“YOU WHAT ?” he shouted angrily.
“I what what?” asked Sam blankly, the book he’d been reading in the lamplight dropping onto the covers.
“You love Cas! What the hell, Sam!”
“What?” Sam cried, totally bewildered. “No! I mean, I love him as a brother obviously.” He quelled under the glare Dean was shooting him. “But nothing else!” he insisted. Dean continued to glower. Then Sam realized.
“Oh,” he said. “ Oh. ”
“What?” asked Dean in a growl.
“Earlier, in the kitchen,” Sam began to explain. “When you sent me to distract Cas. I couldn’t think of anything to say so I just started complimenting him. He must have thought I was flirting with him.” Sam laughed, but stopped because Dean did not seem in a laughing mood.
“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously.
“Dead sure,” Sam swore.
“Fine. But if I catch you looking at him the wrong way, it’s over for you. Got it?” Sam paled.
“Got it.”
༺═──────────────═༻
Dean
Cas was waiting expectantly for him when Dean climbed back into bed.
“I heard shouting,” he said tentatively.
“Don’t worry,” Dean said, “it’s all sorted out.”
“Oh, what did you tell him?”
“It was just a misunderstanding.” Dean began to explain about the kitchen.
“So he is not in love with me?” Cas asked when Dean was done.
“Nope. And you got me out of bed and worked up for nothing.” Dean grumbled. Cas pouted.
“I’m sorry, my love.”
“My love?” asked Dean, surprised.
“Yes,” was all Cas replied, stroking a hand through his hair.
“Well, I know how you can make it up to me,” grinned Dean.
“How?” And then catching on, Cas smiled back. “Okay.”
He kissed Dean again, long and slow. When he pulled away, he murmured against Dean’s lips,
“I’m glad that Sam is not in love with me.”
“So am I.” Dean agreed, “‘Means I got you all to myself, angel.” Castiel pulled back to look at him.
“You have always had me, Dean.”
Dean returned the earlier favour and pulled him in for a kiss. And this time he was the one to whisper.
“You’ve always had me too, Cas.”