Work Text:
It’s days like this that Sam regrets choosing the room closest to the common area of the bunker.
He’d thought that it would make life easier - with how crappy he’d been feeling and how much research he had to do, being feet from the library seemed like the logical move.
What he hadn’t remembered, however, was that that meant he shared a wall with the kitchen.
THUD.
CRASH.
ssssssss.
tinkletinkletinkle.
Sam pulls the pillow from over his head, giving up on trying to sleep through the commotion. What the hell was Dean up to in there?
SPLASH!
dripdripdrip...
BANG.
“Aaah!” a muffled exclamation rings through the wall.
Sam sits up in his bed, frowning. That wasn’t Dean.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stands, staggering a bit as the blood rushes from his head. He slips on his jeans, grabs his gun from the nightstand and slides out the door as quietly as he can.
No light spills from the direction of the kitchen. As he rounds the corner, pulls open the door, and flicks on the lights he braces himself, raising the gun and–
A swirl of trenchcoat catches his eye and he lowers the gun quickly.
“Cas?!”
The angel stares at him, blinking flour from his eyelids.
Sam stares back, stunned into silence, then glances around the kitchen.
It looks like a bakery exploded.
Castiel stands motionless in the suddenly bright kitchen. His expression is his usual calm, collected one, with a hint of surprise, perhaps. But that was the only usual thing about him.
In one hand, Cas holds a bowl. In the other, he grips a whisk tightly. His hair is dusted liberally with white and the front of his trenchcoat seems to have at least three entire eggs smeared across it. There’s what looks like butter on his nose, and the bowl seems to have more dough on the outside than the inside.
“What–” Sam clears his throat and tried again. “What... happened?”
Cas lets out a long sigh and glances at the kitchen table. Sam follows his gaze - he hadn’t noticed with all the mess, but there seem to be two bags of groceries sitting under the flour that coats the area. “I was attempting to make a gift for Dean.” He glances around the room. “I may have lost my temper.”
Speechless for the second time in five minutes, there is only one thing Sam can do- he pulled out his phone and takes a picture.
Then, still staring at Cas, he walks over to the bags and glances inside.
Beer. Ok, that makes sense. Alcohol was usually a step towards placating an angry Dean.
Busty Asian Beauties (two copies). Sam snorts, then smothers his laughter. No comment.
Jerky. He supposes Dean likes jerky, so all right.
Toilet paper. What? He wasn’t even going to ask about this one.
Sam glances back up at Cas as the angel speaks.
“They were out of pie.” Cas looks forlorn. “And my grace is not currently at full power, so I couldn’t go elsewhere.”
Now the mess made... some sort of sense.
“So you tried to bake one and it didn’t go as well as you planned?” asks Sam sympathetically.
Cas gives him a look that says very clearly that that much should be obvious.
“All right, then.” Sam steps forward and pulls the whisk from Cas’s hand, replacing it with a paper towel. “Wipe the butter off your face, dude. I don’t even want to know how it got there.”
He walks to the counter, where a cookbook sits just barely visible under a small mountain of brown sugar and– was that ketchup?
“Cherry Pie,” reads Sam aloud as he brushes the various substances from the book. He skims the list of ingredients (unsurprisingly, ketchup is not included). He flips the oven on to preheat and reads aloud. “Crust: in medium bowl–” he pulls the bowl from Cas’s grip and dumps it in the sink, rinsing it and handing it to Cas with a towel. “Dry this,” he instructs, and skims the rest of the recipe. Clearing a surface with a paper towel for later, he takes the bowl back. “–mix flour and salt. Okay Cas, as long as we follow the recipe we should be fine, right?”
“That’s what I had thought earlier this evening. Unfortunately it seems there’s more to baking.” Cas looks frustrated to have been defeated by pastry.
Sam smiles. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.” He hands a measuring cup and the flour to Cas. “One cup of flour in the bowl, please.” As Cas measures carefully, Sam continues. “Seems like we have everything we'll need for this. Dean’s been cooking a lot since we moved in here, so we're pretty well stocked up. I guess I forgot how much he cooked when we were kids, but seems like he really enjoys it.” He takes back the flour and hands Cas the salt and a spoon. “He makes a mean burger, i can tell you that." he holds out the bowl. "Half a teaspoon.” Cas complies. “Now mix it together.” Cas takes the offered spoon and stirs the salt in.
Sam keeps talking as he pulls out the shortening, the late hour and the rhythm of the recipe making him open up a bit more than usual. “Before the trials started making me so tired, Dean would make me help him in the kitchen.” Cas’s focus on his words make it easy to share things he wouldn’t usually in the light of day, with Dean awake and present. “It was cool to get to help him out. Felt a little like when he would show me how to fix things in the Impala.” He frowns at the cookbook. “What’s a pastry blender?”
Cas turns to a cabinet and pulls out a metal device. “I believe it is this.”
Sam dumps in the third of a cup of shortening and begins to mash it in. “Get me some cold water from the tap - just a few tablespoons.”
Cas does so, then hesitates. "Sam..."
"Yeah, Cas? What's up?"
Cas sighs. "Do you think Dean will forgive me?"
Sam sprinkles water into the dough as he thinks. "Dean is-” he pauses. “Dean is pretty upset, yeah, but I think he's more hurt than angry."
Cas tilts his head as he turns to Sam, confusion evident on his face. "I don't understand."
"Hand me that cutting board? ...thanks. Um, Dean isn't used to needing people in his life, Cas. He doesn't let people get close. He's afraid they'll leave him."
Cas's eyes widen. "And suppose I have. Many times." He sighs, slumping back against the counter. "It is difficult for me to remember sometimes that time moves differently for you."
"How do you mean?" Sam flips the dough onto the cutting board and collects it in two balls, then hands Cas a rolling pin. "Roll these out flat."
Cas gently begins to flatten the dough as he answers Sam. "For me, leaving for a day or a week or even a year is barely noticeable. It's the blink of an eye. Sam, I have existed for millions of years. My sense of scale is different."
Sam blinks. "So for you, Dean being angry that you left for a year is like me getting pissed that Dean took a bathroom break?"
Cas's eyes crinkle in what was almost a smile. "That's... a surprisingly apt metaphor." He frowns at the cutting board. “What do I do with this?"
Sam consults the recipe, then hands him a pie dish. Together they press one circle into the pan, then step back to look at their handiwork.
The sides are a little uneven, and the bottom is sort of lumpy. But it is obviously a pie crust, at least.
Sam consults the recipe. "Time to get started on the filling. Get me a bowl." Cas hands him a large bowl from the shelf. "One and a third cups sugar and half a cup flour." Cas measures and pours them both, frowning. "For Dean, you disappearing is a big deal."
"Sam..." Cas looks lost, still gripping the measuring cups. "I don't deserve the friendship he's given me. There is so much I've done that I need to atone for. I can't be near him and put him at risk just because I would prefer to be there."
Sam smiles sadly as he rifles through the refrigerator. "Not sure if you've noticed, but we don't really have many friends. Not that are alive, anyway. There's Charlie, and there's Garth and Krissy and the Trans and Jody... and there's you." He pulls out a bowl of cherries. "And in spite of everything that's happened, you're still the one Dean trusts more than anyone." He sighs. "We've all let him down at some point, Cas. For me it was the demon blood and freeing Lucifer. For you it was leviathan. If he could forgive me that, he can forgive you too. Running away from him is the one thing he might not be able to forgive." He holds out a hand for the butter Cas has clenched in his palm. Cas passes it over, and takes the bowl of filling Sam hands him. "Spoon this into the crust we put in the dish."
Cas does so. "I will try to stay close, but I can't always be here. Dean knows that."
Sam distributes the cut butter across the cherries as he replies, "You don't have to be right here all the time, Cas. As long as you check in, and tell us what's going on, and don't disappear without letting him know where you’re going, Dean’ll be happy." He sets the knife down and pulls out the second circle of dough, then turns to Cas. "And honestly, so will I. Dean’s not the only one who worries about you, you know," he says, smiling slightly.
"I know, Sam. You should know that I consider you a friend. But Dean and I-"
Sam laughs. "Yeah, yeah, I know. More profound bond." He slides over next to Cas and carefully inches the crust top off the cutting board, tearing it only slightly. "Help me get this on top of the pie."
With Sam guiding and Cas crimping the edges, they get the top on quickly. With a flourish, Sam begins to cut a circle of slits around the edges.
Cas puts a hand on the knife, pausing Sam’s motions. "Does it matter how the cuts are arrayed?"
"I don't think so, why?"
"The store had cakes with messages. I thought it might be wise for my pie to as well." Sam nods, and Cas picks up the knife. After a moment of thought, he begins to carve small Enochian symbols across the center of the pie.
"What's it say?" Sam asks, curious.
Cas gives a sad smile. "It says ‘I'm sorry, and I will stay.’"
-----
An hour later, a delicious smell wafts into Dean's room.
Raising his head to sniff the air, he looks at the clock. It's 5:30 in the morning. Is someone... baking?
Groaning, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. He could really use another hour or two of sleep, but that smell is really, really enticing.
He stretches as he walks out the door, scratching his stomach and yawning. He doesn’t hear anything from the kitchen, but the smell is definitely stronger in that direction.
Dean opens the door and slips into the kitchen. The first thing he sees is his brother, gigantor body compressed into one of the tiny kitchen chairs, face buried in his folded arms on the table. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and tucked carefully under his arms, and he’s snoring just a little bit, the way he does when he’s in a truly deep sleep. Dean hasn’t heard that in a few nights. Something must have happened last night.
The second thing he notices is a pie.
It’s sitting in the center of the kitchen table, steaming, next to two battered grocery bags (that Dean will examine once he’s dealt with the pie), which looks like it just came out of the oven minutes ago.
He steps closer. It’s cherry - he can see the red filling oozing out of the slits in the top.
And speaking of the slits, they’re not the usual circle of slashes. There’s a pattern to them.
Dean leans in and looks closer. It’s... Enochian?
Suddenly the mess, the pie, and the blanket make a little more sense, if by sense he means they’re related in some way to one specific angel.
Sam snorts suddenly and lifts his head. “Hey Dean,” he slurs sleepily.
Dean smiles at his epic bedhead. “Hey Sammy. What’s with the pie?”
Sam blinks as he glances around. “Cas came by.”
“Yeah, I got that from the Enochian.” Dean’s face hardens a bit. “Is this another apology?”
“Dean...” Sam sighs, eyes finally focusing in on his brother. “You guys are going to have to talk it out. I can’t play mediator here.” He stands and heads for the door. “Eat your pie, Dean. And talk to your angel.”
Dean stands alone in the kitchen. Cas feels sorry for something; Dean knows that. He’s pretty sure Cas is sorry for the wrong things, though.
Sticking his head out the door, Dean calls across the room, “Hey Sam! Where’s the Enochian dictionary?”
Sam, without even standing, holds up the book in question. He knows his brother well.
Dean grabs it, grumbling, and flips through, pulling out a pencil and paper and working until he’s got the whole message translated.
I'm sorry, and I will stay.
Dean shakes his head, a slight smile crossing his face unbidden, as he reaches for a knife
Maybe Cas understood after all.
-----
Weeks later, Dean is passing through the kitchen when something taped to the fridge catches his eye. It's a photo of Cas, covered in... flour?
