Dean was in the kitchen making pancakes, bouncing on the balls of his slippered toes, humming “Enter Sandman,” and still pleasantly aching from the previous night.
From the kitchen table, Sam kept glancing at him, brows drawn together.
“You keep looking at the door,” Sam said.
“What,” Dean muttered. He flipped the pancakes carefully, biting his lip. He looked at the door, despite himself, heart dancing with anticipation. “Am not. Shut up.”
“S’okay,” Sam said, and Dean saw his little smile as he looked at his phone. “I don’t mind getting used to happy giddy Dean.”
“Whatever,” Dean said, and just then Cas shuffled in, scratching his head, his hair a marvelous disaster, pajama pants low on his hips. “Hey! Mornin’ there, beautiful. Got your coffee.”
“Good morning, Dean.” Cas shuffled up to Dean and pressed a hand to his chest as he leaned in and pecked him on the lips. “Thank you.”
“Heh. Sure.” Dean grinned, dazed and stupid. “Thought you might like chocolate chip pancakes? S-so I’m makin’ chocolate chip pancakes?”
“That sounds lovely,” Cas said, smiling.
‘My God,” Sam said. He threw up his hands. “It’s been six months!”
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Dean blushed furiously. He turned back to his stovetop.
“You’re going to burn the pancakes,” Cas said softly, and Dean’s hand trembled as he flipped them because Cas was leaning in close, fingers tapping against the nape of his neck.
“Six months you’ve been together! You’re sharing a bedroom!” Sam said. “And you’re still acting like you’re fourteen and you don’t even know if the captain of the football team likes you yet!”
“Please shut up, Sam,” Cas said over his shoulder. “It’s all incredibly endearing. If you point it out, he might stop.”
“Your face is endearing,” Dean mumbled, but he swallowed and was certain he was floating above the kitchen floor as Cas wrapped an arm around his waist.
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