#b3takitten

“Can you bake pie on this thing?” he’d asked Rita, who was cooking up porridge for the entire camp. She had looked at him oddly, but Cas couldn’t remember her ever looking at him any other way. She had never been… inclined to join his sessions, not that they were as frequent as everyone seemed to assume. At the very least, they didn’t always end with sex. That was for special occasions only. This was a special occasion of another sort, but depending on Dean’s reaction, it might just end in the same way – one way or another, Cas might find himself in a situation where he would need to let off some steam.

For now, he was sober – to a degree, at least – and staring at the stove as if it were to have an answer for him. He didn’t stare at people that weren’t Dean, not anymore. It only made them feel even less real.

“I suppose,” Rita said, at length, perhaps after deciding that he wouldn’t go away until he had his answer. She really didn’t like him very much. “It’s not very nutritious, though, so I wouldn’t bother with it. You’ll never get the ingredients for sweets out of Chuck.”

Cas wasn’t worried about the nutritional value. Dean’s diet before hadn't struck him as particularly healthy, and he was fairly certain that the way in which Dean now inhaled anything you put in front of him and washed it down with large quantities of alcohol wasn’t either. Eating was a chore, not an enjoyment. To Cas, it was just a reminder of how far he had fallen. However, Rita had a point. Food was strictly rationed, and at this time of the year more than at any other.

So he went to have a chat with Johnny, the gentle young man with whom he shared the night shift at the gatehouse. Johnny was there because he couldn’t fight. Cas was there because he hadn’t been able to walk for three months after breaking his foot, and the shift had sort of stuck afterwards. Of course, that didn’t excuse him from any mission Dean wanted to go on during the day.

“You want to do what?”

“Make pie.” Somehow, even pie had become an outlandish concept. Cas decided not to pursue that train of thought further and instead swallowed… something. Painkillers, probably. He’d refilled the bottle that morning but he hadn’t really fancied sticking around sorting through his stash while his breath was freezing before his face.

“Why?”

Cas lifted his eyebrows. “Do I need a reason?”

“Guess not.” Johnny was eying the pill bottle.

Cas pulled another one out and passed it to him. “I’m going out tonight.”

“I won’t have seen anything. Though, mate, if you don’t come back, that’s not on me.”

Cas would never understand the human obsession with absolution even at this time. Clearly, Heaven didn’t give a fuck. Still, he grinned and said: “Of course not.”

It really was an insane idea. It wasn’t that Cas was scared, he really wasn’t. If he’d been scared, he’d have stopped his self-destruction by now. No, it all seemed just a touch pointless. At least, this gave him a mission, even if it was an inane one. In the end, it was surprisingly easy. They’d never been able to figure out if Croats slept – some of their night raids had been their most disastrous – but nothing stopped Cas that night. He even managed to grab some extra stuff for Johnny, and a few things that Chuck was constantly worrying about, even if he’d had to drive half the night to get there.

Actually baking the pie was… trickier. The fact that he’d been more or less sober for the last day or two wasn’t exactly helping either. There were thoughts constantly intruding – unpleasant thoughts, memories, sensations. It was easier to just focus on Dean, even though those memories weren’t entirely without pain, either. At the very least, the pie smelled fine, and when Cas broke off a tiny bit of the crust, it tasted fine, as well. Of course, he’d pretty much ruined his sense of taste (it had all been so much, too much), but it wasn’t his to eat, anyway.

He’d thought long and hard about how he was going to approach Dean on the car ride. Had fantasized about inviting Dean into his cabin to present him with the pie, decorated with candles, and nice plates to eat it from. There were no candles, nor plates, nor was Dean in the habit of responding to Cas’s summons. So, instead, at the break of dawn he made his way through the snow and the sleet to Dean’s cabin, carefully cradling the steaming pie. Dean was sure to be awake – he barely slept more than two or three hours at night, and even though Cas pretended he didn’t, he could hear him screaming with nightmares from next door.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother knocking but today, he did.

It was a while before Dean responded, a chair scraping back across the floor, the rustling of blankets. Dean had candles so he could work even in the wintery twilight, but they only did so much for warmth. He looked tired, stiff, angry, and of course he had completely forgotten.

“Cas? What the hell?”

Cas tried to summon up his usual grin, but somehow, it came out as a genuine smile, instead. “Happy Birthday.” He held up the pie, its aroma slowly rising in white steam between them. It was nothing fancy, only ready-made tinned apple filling and a basic pie crust, but it was something.

Dean’s expression remained shuttered, but he stepped aside and allowed Cas to enter, giving another glance across the grounds before he shut the door. It was actually quite warm inside, at least compared to Cas’s own absolutely freezing dwellings, where the smell of incense hung cloyingly in the air. Cas put the pie down on the desk, stepping away from it. He couldn’t look at Dean. Instead, he began to stroll around the cabin as if he’d not been here a hundred, a thousand times already. “You should eat. It’s going cold.”

“You better haven’t wasted any resources on that,” Dean groused.

Normally, Cas would have had some pithy retort at hand, but today was different. This moment was different. Maybe, if Dean let him, they could, just for a second, pretend everything was like before. “I didn’t,” he said simply, shrugging, and turned to face Dean.

Dean immediately busied himself with the pie, lifting out one of the slices Cas had cut back in the kitchen. He blew on it, then took the smallest of bites. Dean was the only person Cas still stared at, but normally, it was through a haze of drugs to dull the pain and disassociation. Now, for the first time in a long time, he was actually watching Dean’s expression, mapping every twist of muscle, every little wrinkle.

There was surprise, genuine surprise, after the first little nibble, and Dean immediately went for a larger bite, his eyes closing as he chewed. Enjoyment, contentment. Some of the tension draining out of his frame. For a moment, he looked like the old Dean, and for a moment, Cas imagined he could see his soul, always burning bright, soar with joy. He could no longer really see Dean’s soul, nor was the enjoyment anything like the rapture Dean had seemed to feel when a rock song was blasting from the Impala’s radio, but it was there, it was something.

“Well?”

“’s awesome,” Dean mumbled around a bite, and took a second slice.

Cas was content to just watch, though he closed a bit of a distance and leant against Dean’s working desk, where the candles were providing a little warmth. He could see his and Dean’s breath, the steam from the pie. Could smell the candle wax and the apple and cinnamon flavour of the Dean’s birthday present. For a moment, he closed his eyes, willing away the tears. If only…

“Cas. Hey.” Suddenly, Dean was before him, and there was a hand against his cheekbone, Dean’s thumb swiping away a single tear that had escaped. For so long, they hadn’t looked each other in the eyes without also fighting. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had died on this foolhardy errand. It didn’t matter.

Cas didn’t move, leaning only slightly into Dean’s touch, and tried to see the soul behind the pained green eyes. “Happy Birthday.”

“You’ve said that,” Dean said, the corners of his mouth twitching. Cas stared at the movement, mesmerized. Dean hadn’t smiled for a very long time. He wasn’t smiling now, either, but he looked less angry. Less broken.

“Yes.”

“Thanks for the pie, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, fearless leader.” It wasn’t an insult. Not this time. Cas swallowed. Dean’s hand still hadn’t moved. “You… you can have another present, too. If you like.”

Dean dropped his gaze, and his hand, though not farther than Cas’s shoulder. “Cas…”

Cas reached out, afraid that this Dean might vanish – a hallucination, a mirage. “Dean…” He hadn’t spoken the name in such a long time.

Dean’s eyes snapped up, and then they were kissing. It was soft, tentative. They were both afraid the moment would break. It tasted of apple and cinnamon. It made Cas forget. It made Dean forget, too, he thought. His eyes were the colour of evergreens.

They were both breathless when they broke apart, their foreheads still resting together, but Dean’s grip on Cas’s neck was becoming stiff, painful. Cas pulled away, moved to the door. Each step hurt, but he only had a few to go to his cabin, and his stash. In the doorframe, he stopped, tasting pie he hadn’t eaten on his bottom lip.

“Enjoy the pie,” he said, too loudly. Then, he stepped back out into the cold.

Charlie smirked slightly and shrugged. “Because it looks pretty? And it can help strengthen the nails sometimes,” she explained looking at the various colors around her before finding a deep purple and shaking it slightly. She hummed slightly in approval and untwisted the top, applying a thin layer on the thumb on her opposite hand.

She showed it to him, holding her hand out to him. “See?” She grinned.

Castiel nodded, noting the way it seemed to shine in the light. “Yes, it is very pleasant.” He said. “May I try?”  He was intrigued by the colors and the glassy sheen it seemed to give. 

She paused for a minute but then her face brightened. “Sure. Pick a color and I’ll do it for you. It can take some practice to get a steady hand.”

Castiel frowned at this. “I’m a soldier of God, I think I can handle nail polish. But I suppose it would be best to see how it is done first,” he muttered and started to go through the bottles that she had out.

Charlie laughed a little. “It’s up to you big guy,” she grinned. “These arejust the ones I use the most, I have more at my place but I just grabbed my small kit in case we had to do a case or something,” the redhead explained.

Castiel found a shiny silver bottle and held it up to the light. It seemed to flow and reflect small burst of rainbow like color. “I like this one,” he said with a small smile.

Charlie grinned, taking the bottle and shaking it quickly. “Give me your hand,” she said, holding her hand out.

He did, and she held it before her, running the brush over his thumb. “How do you know the Winchesters?” he asked as he watched her dip the brush and run it over his thumb again.

Charlie went into a long explanation of the Leviathans and their first case, all the while steadily applying the polish. It wasn’t until she got to her adventures in Oz that she got quiet.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked. She was almost done now; she only had his ring finger and pinky left. She worked quickly.

Charlie shrugged. “I just feel bad for leaving Dorothy behind. But, I guess someone needs to finish rebuilding a mystical land after rescuing it from an evil witch.”

Castiel nodded. “I know the feeling. It isn’t pleasant being away from someone when you wish to help them.”

Charlie frowned, and opened her mouth to say something before shaking her head. She finished up the two last fingers and smiled. “There you go. Don’t touch anything for a few minutes or it’ll smear.”

Castiel nodded and set his hands flat on the table.

Charlie went back to finishing her nails and humming to herself. Castiel found the silence comforting so he was content to let it pass and finish his coffee in silence.

Charlie had just finished her nails when they heard the door bang shut and both the Winchester brothers coming down the winding stair case.

“We bring pizza!” Dean yelled as he made his way to the kitchen pausing in the doorway to look at them, three pizza boxes in hand.

Charlie turned to smile at him. “About time, I’m starving.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and went to set the boxes down on the counter, Sam following him with a stack of napkins and paper plates. “I see the bunker still stands,” he grinned, turning toward them as Sam started handing out the paper plates. “What you up to?”

Charlie shrugged and blew on her nails before showing them to him. “Doing our nails,” She grinned. “Want to join?” She teased, raising her eyebrows.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, no fucking way,” he said pulling out a few slices of meat lovers pizza and putting them onto his plate. “Ask Sam.”

Sam made a face at him. “First of all, eat me,” he said. “Second of all, I did Jess’ toenails for her half the time because they were harder for her than her fingernails. There’s nothing wrong with nail polish.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and sat down beside Cas. He leaned over and picked up one of Cas’ hands, examining it briefly before giving it a squeeze and letting it go. “I guess it does look pretty cool,” he admitted.

Cas smiled at him. “Thank you. Charlie is very good, but I think I might like to try myself next time.”

Dean simply nodded and took a bite of his pizza.