This is a sequel to Sp(ace) (https://woahthisguy.tumblr.com/post/162781938266/space) but can be read separately! @captainraye @supremetranstaco @socially-ineptnerd ****
Castiel waited anxiously by the coffee maker. He’d lived for millenia yet the six hours Dean spent asleep at night seemed to be a lifetime to Castiel. It did feel well worth it when Dean would finally drag himself into the kitchen, smiling groggily at Cas as he hit start on the coffee maker. They would sit in silence as it brewed, breathing deep the rich, rejuvenating smell of fresh coffee. When it was finished, Cas would pour them both a cup. That was Dean’s cue to get up again and begin breakfast.
Dean always explained to Cas what he was making as well as how to prepare it. He joked that they were emergency lessons in case Cas found himself human again. Castiel knew better; he knew it was Dean’s way of connecting with him, of sharing his life with the angel. Castiel didn’t mind in the slightest as he found humanity fascinating, even after his brief personal brush with mortality.
This morning Castiel hoped Dean would make french toast. He liked the way the bread went from disgustingly sopping with embryo to a spongey, cake-like dessert. Castiel had argued extensively with Dean over the purpose of eating sugary foods for breakfast. However, when the kitchen with filled with the saccharine smell of cinnamon and vanilla, even he had to admit he understood the appeal (despite it being entirely impractical).
He started to get nervous about Dean when he saw the clock tick past nine. Dean never got up as early as Sam, who was naturally up a bit before dawn to start his morning run. Still, Dean considered eight a.m. sleeping in. Sam came in shortly after Cas checked the clock, hair dripping from his post-run shower. He glanced at Cas before frowning at the empty coffee pot, “Is Dean still asleep?”
“I would assume so, ” Castiel answered, adding sadly, “He has not made breakfast yet.”
Sam pursed his lips, “You should probably go check on him.” He hit the button on the coffee maker, and Castiel felt a strange jab of territorial anger.
He watched it drip slowly for a beat before huffing out a sigh and standing, “I suppose I should.”
When Castiel arrived at Dean’s door, he saw the light was on, and he was instantly consumed with panic. He shoved the door open, poised to smite whatever was clearly holding Dean hostage.
To his surprise, the older Winchester was merely starfished on the bed, clearly wide awake. His face was ashen and his nose an angry red.
“Dean?” Castiel fixed him with a perplexed look.
Dean groaned, “I thought you were never gonna show up. I’m sick, Cas.”
Castiel finally relaxed, “Oh. Why were you waiting for me then? Do you want me to heal you?”
Dean gave him a scowl, “No, we’ve done that like three times in the last month. I think its messing with my immune system.”
Castiel squinted, “Then what would you like me to do?”
“I need you to make me soup,” Dean answered, his voice small and embarrassed.
“Soup?” Castiel parroted back.
“Yeah, that’s what you eat when you’re sick,” Dean explained, “That’s how humans get better.”
Cas considered this for a moment before walking over to Dean’s nightstand. He raised his hand to materialize a bowl of soup when Dean grabbed his wrist.
“No, no way,” he whined, “Mojo soup ain’t gonna work. You gotta make it with love.”
Cas tilted his head, but chuckled, “Dean, how would I add love to food? It is an abstract concept.”
Dean gestured as wildly as his weakened state would allow, “The making it is the love part.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Its kinda, kinda like a spell,” Dean did his best impression of Sam’s puppy dog eyes, “C'mon Cas, please make me soup.”
Castiel let out an exaggerated sigh despite the smile creeping onto his face, “Alright, how do I make soup?”
“There’s a couple cans in the cabinet,” Dean said, relief on his face, “ The instructions will be on the back.”
Cas nodded, “Very well, I’ll be back shortly then.”
Dean wore a dopey smile of victory as he watched Cas leave. When he was gone, Dean rolled over and went back to sleep. He woke up two hours later to no sign of Cas. What the hell was taking him so long? He momentarily terrified himself with the thought of Cas setting the kitchen on fire, but shook it off when he realized he would have smelled smoke by now. Dean’s stomach growled, and he considered going into the kitchen to check. He resolved to give Cas a little bit longer, and as if on command, Castiel returned with a glass of water and a steaming bowl that smelled a lot more savory than it should have.
“Where have you been, man?” Dean asked, sitting up and accepting the bowl.
“That canned soup was practically devoid of nutrients,” Castiel said accusingly, as though Dean was to blame for the travesty that was the canned food industry, “Instead, I did some research and made the soup from scratch.”
Dean stared at him, stunned. “I’ve never had someone actually make me soup before.” He inhaled deeply, “Whew, that smells good, but also like a LOT of garlic.”
Castiel smiled proudly, “Yes, garlic is very effective at fighting infection, and it also boosts your immune system.”
Dean rolled his eyes but tasted the soup tentatively. He let out a loud ‘mmm’ and looked over at Cas with wide eyes, “Holy shit, this is /awesome/.” He began scarfing it down as fast as the hot broth would let him.
Castiel puffed up under the praise before gesturing for Dean to scoot over. Dean did so without ceasing his gluttony, and Castiel sat down on the bed. He adjusted himself against the headboard before crossing his ankles. He smiled contently to himself as Dean ate. It lifted his spirit to know he could help his friend in this way. It had indeed felt like a spell, like every movement of his hands was infusing the soup with what Dean needed to become healthy again. Dean’s cooking lessons hadn’t hurt either. Castiel also had Sam taste the soup, asking him to be candid on how it had turned out. Sam’s answer had been to make himself a bowl, and Castiel figured that was a good sign.
Dean slurped the last of the broth from the bowl before setting it on the side table, “Thanks buddy. You were right on time; I thought I was gonna starve.”
Cas rolled his eyes and got back up. “There’s more,” he said, a glint in his eye. He went back to the kitchen and returned with a mug of tea he’d capped with a saucer to keep it warm and a generous slice of blackberry pie.
“Now that’s what I call ‘with love!’” Dean exclaimed, reaching for the pie.
“I assumed the pie would make you more amicable to drinking the tea,” Cas said smugly as he returned to his spot on the bed, “The echinacea and the honey will also help you get better.”
Dean scoffed, “I think you just wanted to feed me honey.”
Cas shrugged with a laugh, “Maybe.” He watched Dean happily eat his pie. Before he could think about it, he blurted out, “Are we in love, Dean?” The minute he heard the words, Castiel wished he could shove them back in his mouth. He knew Dean didn’t like talking about this sort of thing.
Dean froze with the fork in his mouth. He removed it when the shock wore off, chewing slowly before setting the utensil on the plate. He cleared his throat. “I, uh. Yeah,” he said finally, “I mean…don’t you think so?”
Castiel’s smile lit his whole face. “Yes Dean,” he said softly.
Dean grinned back before digging back into his pie. He drank his tea quickly. It tasted horrible, but Cas had gone to so much trouble. He couldn’t believe the angel went so far as to make him soup from /scratch/; he’d just wanted some Campbell’s. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about Cas spoiling him. Especially since it had resulted in his confession of how he felt about Cas. Dean had known for months that Cas was his. It had been so concrete to him, what with Cas moving into the bunker and Dean spending every waking moment with him. He didn’t think they needed to address it.
Now he found there was something affirming in verbally acknowledging it even if he hadn’t exactly said it. And Dean would never forget how the galaxies in Castiel’s eyes danced with joy at his half-assed agreement about their already long-standing relationship. A warmth filled his chest that had nothing to do with the tea or the soup. He yawned, his full stomach making him tired again. He nestled back down into the bed. “Will you stay in here?” he asked, unable to hide the vunerability in his voice.
“I thought it was creepy to watch you sleep,” Cas snarked.
“Yes, it is if I don’t already know you’re in here,” Dean retorted before softening again, “Please?”
“Of course I will, Dean,” Cas replied. Dean watched him cautiously as Cas got up and grabbed Dean’s laptop. He positioned it on the desk where he could see it from the bed and put on a reality show about antique shopping. He knew Dean enjoyed it as much as he did, and that it wouldn’t be engaging enough to keep Dean awake. Dean was asleep again before Cas even finished laying back on the bed.
About twenty minutes later, Dean pitched fitfully in his sleep, his face contorted into a grimace. Castiel frowned. Was this a fever dream? Perhaps he should have given Dean aspirin. He raised his hand to at least tap away Dean’s nightmare. But before he could, Dean’s fingers dug into his trench coat sleeve. Cas thought about their handshake conversation and settled his hand over Dean’s, flicking his thumb in gentle patterns over Dean’s skin. Instantly Dean’s features relaxed, his body sinking deeper into the covers. Cas saw the corners of Dean’s mouth quirk up in his sleep. Cas sighed at that, mirroring his friend’s smile. Even with him asleep, Castiel could tell Dean truly did love him.
