Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Dean Winchester noticed something different about Castiel, it was on a Tuesday.

A regular Tuesday.

Well, as regular as life could get in the Bunker when you lived with an ex-angel, your little brother, and a toddler who could accidentally smite a bookshelf if startled.

Dean had wandered into the war room, rubbing sleep from his eyes and in desperate need of coffee. That’s when he saw it — a scarf.

It wasn’t his scarf. Dean didn’t even own a scarf. But there it was, draped over the back of one of the chairs like it had been left for him. Forest green, thick, with an almost… perfect texture. He picked it up. Soft. Heavy. Sturdy but warm.

He frowned, lifting it closer to his face. “The hell…?”

“It’s for you.”

Dean nearly dropped it when Castiel’s voice came from behind him. Cas stood in the doorway, trench coat off for once, sleeves rolled up. There was something slightly… shy about his expression.

“I thought,” Cas continued, stepping into the room, “you might appreciate something practical. It gets cold when you go out on hunts.”

Dean blinked at him, scarf still in hand. “You… made this?”

“Yes,” Cas said simply. “It’s called crochet.”

Dean snorted. “Crochet? You serious? You’re telling me you sat down like someone’s granny and—”

Cas tilted his head in that way that always made Dean feel like he was the weird one. “It was… relaxing. And I enjoy creating things for the people I care about.”

Dean’s ears burned at that, but he quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck, trying to play it off. “Well… it’s nice. Real nice. Thanks, Cas.”

Cas smiled — really smiled — and walked away, leaving Dean with an unexpected warmth that had nothing to do with the yarn around his neck.

⸻

Sam’s first crochet gift came about a week later.

He was in the library, buried in research about some haunting in Nebraska, when Cas appeared silently beside him, setting a neatly folded beanie on the table.

“This is for you.”

Sam looked up, blinking. The beanie was… beautiful, actually. Deep navy blue with faint lighter streaks that caught the light just right. He picked it up, running his fingers over the stitches. “Cas… did you make this?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “I thought you might like it for your runs. It should keep your head warm, and the yarn is breathable so it won’t cause overheating.”

Sam smiled. “Wow, Cas. That’s… really thoughtful. Thanks, man.”

Cas gave a small nod, lingering for just a moment like he wanted to say more before disappearing down the hall.

Sam tried it on. It fit perfectly. And he wasn’t imagining it — it felt like it had been made for him specifically.

⸻

The funny part was, neither of them knew the other had gotten anything.

It wasn’t until the following weekend, when Dean came into the library wearing his forest green scarf, that Sam nearly choked on his coffee.

“Uh… nice scarf,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

Dean smirked. “Thanks. Cas made it for me.”

Sam blinked. “Wait. Cas made that?”

“Yeah,” Dean said casually, tugging at the end. “Guy’s got skills. Guess crochet is his new hobby.”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “Huh. He made me this beanie last week.” He reached into his bag, pulling it out and slipping it on.

Dean frowned. “He made you a beanie?”

“Yeah?”

“Since when?”

“Last week. Said it was for my runs.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Well… mine’s nicer.”

Sam scoffed. “You’re joking, right? This beanie is perfectly fitted and functional. That scarf looks like something out of an L.L.Bean catalog knockoff.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You just wish you had a scarf like this.”

Sam rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Jerk”

“Bitch”

⸻

That was the start of it.

Neither brother said they were competing, but suddenly both were making sure to casually mention their gifts from Cas in each other’s presence.

Dean would stroll into the kitchen in the mornings with a brand-new crocheted mug cozy wrapped around his coffee. “Oh, this? Cas made it. Said my hands were getting too cold.”

Sam would reply by pulling out a set of crocheted fingerless gloves. “Yeah? Cas made me these. Perfect for typing and keeping warm.”

Dean got a crocheted steering-wheel for Baby — okay, yes, he’d asked Cas about it after hearing about Sam’s gloves — but that wasn’t the point. The point was, it was clearly better.

Sam retaliated by “accidentally” leaving a gorgeous dark red sweater draped over the back of the library chair for Dean to see. “Oh, Cas just… made it. No big deal.”

Dean was starting to grind his teeth every time Sam’s smug face appeared wearing something new. Sam was equally annoyed every time Dean proudly displayed whatever Cas had made him next.

⸻

The unspoken crochet war was in full swing when the brothers were sitting in the war room, both wearing their latest acquisitions — Dean’s new hat (black with a green stripe) and Sam’s extra-long scarf (burgundy with gold flecks).

They were mid-argument over which was objectively the better gift when they heard footsteps.

“Sam, Dean.”

They both turned — and froze.

Cas was walking in, holding toddler Jack in one arm and a massive bundle in the other. Jack was wearing the most intricate, adorable crocheted sweater either of them had ever seen. Soft cream yarn, little wooden buttons, tiny matching booties on his feet.

And the bundle Cas was carrying? A huge crocheted blanket, patterned with soft blues, greys, and creams, big enough to cover a bed.

“I just finished these for Jack,” Cas said, and there was no mistaking the quiet pride in his voice. “The sweater was a little challenging because of the size, but I think it suits him. And the blanket… well, Jack deserves something to keep him warm for years.”

Jack giggled, patting at the sweater like he knew it was special.

Dean and Sam stared. All their petty competitiveness evaporated instantly.

Dean found himself smiling without even meaning to. “Cas… that’s… wow.”

Sam nodded. “Seriously. That’s amazing.”

Cas looked a little surprised at their reaction but clearly pleased. “I’m glad you think so. Crochet has been… good for me. It gives me a sense of purpose when we’re not on hunts. And… I like giving you all something tangible. A reminder that you matter to me.”

Dean’s chest tightened at that. Sam looked away for a second, clearly moved.

⸻

They ended up spending the rest of the afternoon on the couch, letting Cas talk about patterns, yarn weights, and the difference between stitches while Jack toddled around, holding his new blanket like it was the only item he had ever seen.

Dean didn’t even realize how long they’d been sitting there until Jack finally fell asleep on Cas’s shoulder, little fist still gripping the edge of his blanket.

Sam was leaned back in his chair, fiddling with one of the gloves Cas had made him, but his eyes kept drifting to the massive afghan spread across the couch.

“You know,” Dean started, leaning back with a smirk, “if you’d made me that blanket, I’d have appreciated it way more than a scarf.”

Sam snorted. “Please. You’d spill beer on it in a week.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

Cas looked between them, brow furrowing in mild confusion. “Why does it matter which item is ‘better’?”

Dean waved a hand. “It doesn’t. Just saying, a blanket’s a big deal. You put more work into it.”

“I put equal thought into each thing I’ve made,” Cas said evenly, like that was the end of it. “They’re tailored to the person. The scarf suits you, Dean. The beanie suits Sam.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a quick look, a silent brotherly oh…he noticed passing between them.

Cas’s head tilted slightly, that sharp blue gaze pinning them in place. “Have you been… competing over my crochet projects?”

Sam cleared his throat. “No. Not… exactly.”

Dean muttered, “Maybe a little.”

Cas blinked. “I see. And what was the purpose of this… competition?”

Neither of them had a good answer. Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Guess we just… didn’t realize you were making stuff for both of us. Thought maybe—” He cut himself off, suddenly aware that the next words were dangerously close to I thought I was your favorite.

Sam jumped in, “It was just sibling rivalry. Dumb stuff. We’re over it.”

Cas studied them both for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, very slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “If it makes you both feel better, I still have future projects planned for each of you. And for Jack.”

Dean relaxed a little at that. “Yeah? Like what?”

Cas’s eyes twinkled just enough to make Dean suspicious. “It’s a surprise.”

⸻

That night, after Sam went to bed, Dean found himself wandering into the kitchen for a late-night snack.

Cas was there, of course, sitting at the table with a ball of yarn and a crochet hook, Jack’s blanket folded neatly beside him.

Dean leaned against the counter, watching his hands work. It was almost hypnotic, the way the hook moved — twist, pull, loop, repeat — and each motion built something solid out of nothing.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dean asked.

“I like to finish a row before stopping,” Cas replied without looking up. “Otherwise the tension changes.”

Dean smirked. “Sounds like you’ve been hanging around us too long. Talking about tension like that.”

Cas glanced up, and for a moment there was an unguarded warmth in his eyes that made Dean’s stomach flip. “You seemed… invested in my gifts,” he said quietly. “Was that because you wanted something specific from me?”

Dean hesitated. “Nah. Just… liked knowing you thought about me. Put in the time. That’s not something I get a lot.”

Cas’s hands stilled on the yarn for a moment. “Dean, you’ve always mattered to me. This hobby is simply… a way of showing that.”

Dean swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the scarf around his neck. “Yeah, well. You’re good at it. Really good.”

Cas tilted his head, a faint smile returning. “I’m glad you think so.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Dean just sat there, pretending to eat his sandwich, while Cas finished the row and set the yarn aside. Jack’s blanket was so big now it nearly spilled off the table, and Dean could already picture the kid curled up in it for years to come.

Before heading to bed, Dean tugged at the scarf again, almost absently. “You know, if you ever run out of yarn or patterns or whatever… just say the word. I’ll drive you to the craft store myself.”

Cas looked at him like Dean had just offered him the world. “Thank you, Dean.”

⸻

The next morning, Sam came into the kitchen to find Dean drinking coffee with his green scarf on, Cas crocheting quietly at the table, and Jack swaddled in the giant blanket like the happiest burrito alive.

Sam opened his mouth to tease them both — but then he caught the easy smile on Cas’s face, the way Dean seemed genuinely relaxed, and decided against it.

Because yeah, maybe crochet wasn’t the kind of thing that would save the world. But it was keeping them stitched together in ways that mattered just as much.

And that? was worth way more than any competition.