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The dingy window above the bed was letting in just the right amount of sunlight, the room glowing orange. It was a lazy color, soft and warm. Dean yawned, loud and wide, stretching his scarred arms up over his head. One of his knuckles knocked into the windowsill just at the wrong angle.
“Son of a bitch!” He hissed.
Castiel awoke at his exclamation and groaned, peeking up at Dean with one shockingly blue eye.
“Sorry, bud.” Dean murmured, running a hand through the dark brown mop that is Cas’ hair. “Go back to sleep.”
Cas mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, covers rustling, pulling the sheets up to his chin.
Dean chuckled. Ever since Cas got out of Purgatory, he had been so painfully human. Both Sam (who was off at school) and Dean worried about this at first. It was strange and new and ironically supernatural, but human Cas was better than no Cas, so they learned to accept it.
Dean slung his legs over the side of his bed and let out a sigh. He was stiff and achy. They had gotten back from a shifter hunt late last night and it had been a rough one. Cas was quickly learning how to “humanly” fight with as much veracity and fierceness as he had with his grace, but sometimes Dean catches Cas staring into the sky, eyes pleading, sometimes glassy, lips moving almost invisibly. Who knows what he’s saying, but it breaks Dean’s heart to see. He wishes he could help, say something—anything—but whenever he tries, nothing comes out right. So he usually resorts to bottles of beer and getting handsy with the guy instead.
Now, Dean runs a hand over his face and with the support of his knees, pushes himself out of bed. The floorboards creek as he pads into the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. He turns on the radio next to the coffee pot and lowers the volume, careful not to wake Cas (who, Dean's discovered over the past few months, is not a morning person).
With the coffee going, Dean proceeds to take eggs and pre-cooked bacon out of the small refrigerator and begins cooking. His mind wanders. It seemed silly, he thought, these hands that have tortured and killed so many creatures from demons to angels were now simply cracking four brown eggs into a chipped porcelain bowl, soon to be scrambled. He snorted, incredulously. The eggs cooked quickly and it was the smell of the bacon microwaving that caused Castiel to come shuffling into the kitchen.
“Rise and shine, Cranky.” Dean smirked.
Cas huffed and eased into a chair at the table.
“I was thinking we should porbably go into town today,“ Dean began, removing the bacon and dabbing at the excess grease with a paper towel. “If we don’t go out to lunch with her soon, I’m pretty sure Sheriff Mills is gonna come arrest us or something.”
Cas smiled. “She’s a pleasant woman.”
“Yeah, she is.” Dean smiled and brought two plates of food to the table. He poured them each a mug of coffee and added the proper amount of sugar and creamer to Cas’.
They ate in silence, the radio still quietly playing their routine classic rock.
“Dean.”
“Hm?”
“Will you teach me how to make the scrambled eggs sometime?”
“Sure, bud.”