Chapter Text
January 2006
Potting mix.
It was fucking potting mix.
And it was all through Dean's bed as he looked over at the filthy Angel in exasperation. His damn trenchcoat was covered in dirt and was that... flour? Egg yolk? Just what the hell had Cas been up to whilst Dean was asleep?
"Hello Dean."
"Mornin' Cas..." Dean said in a tired tone, sitting up and taking stock of the mess that surrounded him currently.
He sighed and placed his hands in his lap, rolling his eyes back to the Angel.
"You look like you've had an eventful morning," Dean stated sarcastically, wincing at the gritty feeling of dirt on the sheets. Sure, Cas could magic it away easily enough if Dean asked him to right then and there. The Angel had done so many times in the past whenever he did weird shit like this, but it was the principle of the matter.
At least Castiel had remembered to take off his shoes before climbing under the sheets, even if the dirt he brought with him negated that point.
"Yes. I spent considerable time in the garden last night," Castiel stated, his face mostly serene. The hunter winced as the Seraph placed his head on Dean's shoulder, snuggling his face into Dean's neck, giving the hunter the perfect view of the top of Castiel's head. He rolled his eyes once again.
Cas had sand in his hair.
Today was going to be a long day, Dean could feel it in his bones.
"What's with the egg?" He inquired, turning his gaze onto the old yellow spot on the once beige coat.
"Egg?" Castiel repeated, looking up at Dean with confused blue eyes.
"There," Dean stated, pointing at the mess on Castiel's shoulder. The Angel turned to look at it, showing no reaction or disgust with his apparent dishevelled state. "Did you try making omelettes or something?"
"I created, kneaded and then proofed bread dough throughout the night. Intermittently, when I wasn't in the kitchen, I was outside, repotting the plants in the greenhouse."
"God, I hope you washed your hands."
"Of course, Dean."
The hunter sighed and placed a gentle kiss on the Angel's brow. He was still getting used to Castiel's strangeness, especially now that the two lived together full-time. He was face to face with all of the inhuman behaviours and instincts that Cas had never truly presented. Sure, Dean had gotten a look behind the Angel's human facade before, but never like this...
Castiel sighed, leaning up to return the kiss, their lips softly massaging each other's in a delicate dance.
Early morning kisses... They had become a rather familiar gesture for the pair in recent months, one that Dean was more than happy to engage Castiel with. There was a stillness in the air, a warmth in the sunlight when it was just the two curled around each other in the morning. It was so domestic, and Dean lamented the fact he didn't have this closeness with Cas earlier.
He could breathe in the Angel's clean scent of fresh rain and ozone. It washed over him, leaving his head feeling dizzy as he deepened the kiss. He licked at the seam of the Angel's lips, feeling a stirring in his belly at Castiel's loud and sudden gasp. Perhaps, Dean could spare a few extra minutes before they needed to get out of bed...
Castiel pulled back completely, a look of horror on his face, the source of his previous noise and Dean gazed back in confusion.
Slowly, the scent of something burning filled the room.
"Uh-oh," Castiel whispered, suddenly disappearing from Dean's lap in a flurry of beating wings, and the human sighed at the loud thudding under the flooring, hearing the Seraph rush around the kitchen.
Great, now he was annoyed and horny...
His alarm clock sounded throughout the room, pulling the retired hunter from his stupor. He collapsed back into bed with a flop, pressing the palm of his hands into his eyes and groaning loudly. Time for work.
Dean pulled himself from his bed, silenced the alarm clock with a thud of his hand, and quickly got dressed. He didn't have time to make anything for breakfast today, but if he left now, he could visit the Cafe across from the auto shop and maybe grab a bite to eat there.
He thudded down the staircase with heavy steps before coming to stand under the doorframe, in shock of the 'predicament' before him.
He hadn't even had his coffee yet and it was far too early for this shit.
"Could you stop trying to burn my kitchen down?" He inquired sarcastically, as he shrugged his uniform jacket on, car keys dangling in hand. "Or, you know... Actually watch what you put into the oven? Instead of just forgetting about it the second you don't see it anymore?"
Castiel was standing still in the kitchen, squinting down at the blackened loaf in the perfect picture of a kicked puppy. The retired hunter winced at the mess that crisscrossed the floor and bit the side of his cheek in annoyance. He could see, in perfect detail, exactly where Castiel had been walking through their home during the night. It was like seeing a goat trail carved into a mountain...
His OCD leveled tendencies to clean prickled in his mind and he allowed the grimace he was holding back to seep into his expression. He didn't have time for this. Castiel would have to handle the clean-up on his own.
The Angel held a butter knife aloft, carefully trying to separate the overbaked edges from the metal tray, with little success. Eventually, he sighed, placing the knife down and waving his hand over the burned lump. A flash of bright light and the would-be baked treat was gone. Smote from the world, leaving only a faintly steaming, now shining, metal tray.
"Even babies have object permanence, dude," Dean continued.
"I rebuilt you from the sinew up, I should be able to bake a loaf of bread," The Seraph said with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen bench and placing his chin into the palm of his hands.
"Should be able to - that's the take away from that conversation," Dean stated with a roll of his eyes, toeing his work boots onto his feet and bending down to tie the laces.
"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Castiel confessed as if he were admitting to some great fault. "Cooking is difficult, of course. It requires knowledge to change seasoning with a moment's notice and the tastebuds to accompany that. But baking? Baking is science. It follows set instructions."
"When have you ever been able to follow instructions?"
Castiel glared up at the hunter with a look of defiance, and Dean raised an eyebrow in response.
"I've been following instructions for millennia."
"Yeah- Badly."
"Aren't you supposed to be leaving?" Castiel asked loudly, a slight bite to his tone of voice.
"Yeah- But now I'm worried I'm gonna come home to a smouldering wreck if I go."
Castiel approached Dean swiftly, placing one hand on his chest and pushing until Dean stumbled back, out through the door.
The Angel raised his hand to grasp Dean's collar and yanked him down for a harsh kiss, before letting go just as quickly.
"I love you, but you're annoying me. Have fun at work."
The front door slammed in Dean's face, and the hunter found himself standing alone on the porch.
"Don't forget to clean up that mess!" Dean shouted, turning and heading down the small set of stairs, knowing the Angel would hear him regardless of whether he yelled or whispered. "And for fuck sake! Go buy some proper clothes today. I'm sick of you climbing into bed in that damn suit!"
~
The first task of the day greeted Dean as he entered the workshop, coffee and egg roll in hand. There was an old vintage Mustang with faded dark blue paint in the driveway, worn and weathered, with an owner to match. The grizzled old man's manner of speech reminded Dean so much of Bobby, that it made his heart ache.
He wondered if he would ever see his pseudo father again...he hoped so.
Once the customer handed off the car keys and left, Dean sat down at the reception desk and looked over his job cards for the day.
Thankfully, his boss had only booked three jobs, barring any emergencies that may or may not come.
The Mustang needed an exhaust replacement. That one was easy enough, as his boss had already ordered the part weeks in advance the last time the old man was here. The car's owner wasn't able to pick it up until an hour before closing, so he had plenty of time to work on that one.
His second task was a Toyota. That one was more of a time crunch. It was newly purchased and needed a full four-tire set change before a lunchtime pick up.
And lastly, a Ford that was brought in yesterday evening. That one was apparently making a high-pitched squeal whenever the owner drove it past a certain speed.
Dean sighed, hoping to Jack that he had a serpentine belt in the back that would suit the Ford. He once again wished he lived in an era with a stable internet connection, one where he could order parts and have them delivered with same-day shipping.
Maybe he should invest in Amazon this time around.
~
It was past 1 pm when Castiel walked through the isles of the local department store, trailing his fingers over the various garments' woven fibres and pushing the cart in front of him, much to its squeaky protests.
Whilst he could understand the appeal of this designated 'bedwear' Dean asked him to buy, he felt unsure if such a purchase was truly necessary.
After all, he no longer needed any spare changes of clothing. He was a fully powered Seraphim once more, his suit would forever be pristine and clean with only a wave of his hand and a minute expenditure of grace.
If Dean was so disgruntled about him wearing his typical outfit, Castiel could always remove it completely. That would shut the hunter up for a moment or two.
Perhaps he could wear his charge's clothing to bed instead. Dean's body and Castiel's vessel were of similar stature and size. Surely, the hunter wouldn't mind if one or two of his T-shirts disappeared?
But, then again... he paused, running his hand down a particularly soft sweater, his mind lost in old memories.
There was once a time when he was in dire need of such objects.
When Castiel was graceless, he wasn't given the luxury of choosing the clothing he wore. He had only been given old, already worn, and incredibly thin pieces.
All those freezing nights spent as a human without a home had left a permanent mark on the Angel's psyche. There wasn't anything the Seraph wouldn't have given in that time to be wearing something comfortable.
Something warm...
He found himself drifting to the overstuffed down coats, fluffy socks and soft long-sleeve shirts. He grabbed the largest padded coat without much thought and dumped it into the cart. It would be a completely unnecessary and expensive purchase, but he felt happy knowing he too owned something that could hold in heat.
It felt... cathartic.
Therapeutic.
The Seraph pulled a light blue sweater off the rack and buried his face into the soft material, feeling the fuzzy fibres against his skin. It didn't smell like much of anything, thankfully. It didn't carry the underlining scent of plastic that clothing in later years would come to bear. He tossed it into the cart and reached for another, this time in a green colour and a different texture. This one reminded Castiel more of what Dean would wear under one of his plaid jackets, and he added it to the cart.
The next few shirts were thrown in without much thought. He did not care much for the colours, as the stereotypical male clothing of the era was kind of bland to his eyes. Almost all of the T-shirts were in the same shades of blue, red, or black, with some band's singer and album he did not recognize printed on the front.
His fingers slid over a deep ocean-blue woollen scarf and beanie set. The display in front of him held many matching sets, complete with mini copies for children of all ages. It was a little feminine for Castiel's tastes, but he had a feeling that Jack would like it regardless.
He added that to the ever-growing pile. A matching set for himself and his son. After a moment's thought, he went back and grabbed a third in Dean's size.