Chapter Text
Instead of knocking, his fist falls open and the pads of his fingers come silently to rest on the smooth whorls of wood grain. That muscle in his jaw clenches. He closes his eyes, then turns away. It’s late.
In his own room – and normally he would feel that little thrill at that, his own room with his records and picture of Mom and everything, the novelty has never really worn off – Dean strips down to flop in bed. Heaves yet another sigh. God, he’s pathetic. A lifetime of hunting monsters and he can’t work up the cojones to knock on Cas’s door.
Flipping to his back, Dean presses a pillow over his face. So fucking stupid. The guy rolls in clearly a mess: raccoon eyes, filthy hoodie, hair somehow even more wild than usual, and Dean’s blathering on about angels and trials and it doesn’t fully click until Cas crumples at the bottom of the stairs into the bunker and pleads, “Dean. I just need to eat something. Anything. Please.” He’s human, or as close as a guy like Cas can get, and now, after eating every scrap of food left in the bunker and a shower that lasted two hours if it lasted a minute (not that Dean was listening), he’s been in that room over a day and Dean can’t even bring himself to check on him.
“Fuck.” Dean rolls out of bed and pulls his jeans back on. Shirt, socks, shoes, and he’s out the door and down the hall. He hears soft snores from Sammy’s room. Kid’s been sleeping 12 hour nights and spending the rest of his days with his nose in a book or taking tentative walks in the woods near the bunker. He’s been ranging farther every day (not that Dean’s been following).
Squeezing the keys sharp into his palm, Dean stalks out to the Impala. The nearest store open this late is over an hour away in Concordia, but they’re down to frozen peas and whatever apocalypse rations the Men of Letters stocked away. And he could use the drive. He slides into the seat and slips a cassette in the deck. A soft, haunting intro winds through the speakers. By the time the first riff comes down hard, a cool wind is in his face and his shoulder blades are already relaxing down his back.
***
The big store is nothing but stock boys and a couple daze-eyed shoppers staring at cans, which is just fine with him. Dean grabs a cart and heads to produce, figuring he’ll pick Sammy up some of that organic whatever it is he likes before he really gets down to business. While picking out the leafy stuff, some apples, some oranges, Dean’s eyes land on the bananas. He pauses, smirks a little, and dumps a bunch in the cart. He finishes out the shopping trip with all the old standbys, some extras, and a wink at the bored twenty-something manning the register.
***
It’s getting ready to switch over from late to early when Dean rolls back into the bunker. He’s got 4 bags on each arm plus a 6-pack of beer in each hand and he almost drops all of it as he maneuvers down the last two steps into the dark kitchen and catches a darker outline of head and shoulders at the table.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Jesus, Cas, you ever heard of a light?”
“I don’t know where the light switch is. I’ve never had to turn them on before.”
Dean huffs out a breath that’s not quite a laugh and dumps the groceries on the countertop before turning to flip the lights on. “There. You hungry? You were asleep all day and I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I got Sammy’s favorites and stuff for burgers and some other things you can try if you want ‘em.”
When Dean turns to look at Cas, his hair is completely flat on one side and sticking straight out just about everywhere else. The dark circles under his eyes are somewhat lighter, and all the dirt is gone. So is the filthy hoodie, for that matter. In its place is one of Dean’s grey henleys, with a pair of his jeans to match, both just a bit too loose. Dean swallows and feels that muscle in his jaw flexing again as he turns back to unpack the groceries.
“I think I would enjoy trying Sam’s favorites. And yours as well. I never truly appreciated the variety of foods that humans eat. Not that I ate much while coming here. I had no money. But there was a sandwich at one of the shelters that I enjoyed.”
Dean presses his hands hard into the counter for a moment, then pulls out the last of the groceries and puts the bags aside. “Well now, that’s something I can help you with.”
Most of the groceries are put away, but Dean’s left a few things out on the counter. He adds a couple plates to the mix and sets to work: bread, bananas, honey, extra crunchy peanut butter. “Tomorrow I’ll make you the best damn burger known to man. But whenever Sammy woke up in the middle of the night, there was one thing that would always get him back to bed.”
Dean slices the sandwich in triangles and drops the plate off in front of Cas before going to make his own sandwich. Cas’s eyes widen a bit as he picks up the sandwich and inspects it (not that Dean’s watching). A bit of honey oozes out onto his finger. Cas licks it away, then turns to Dean, eyebrows raised. “This is honey?”
Dean quickly looks down at the bread in front of him. “Yeah. Probably not as good as the stuff you got. From, you know, uh. The bees.” Dean feels heat rise in his face and clears his throat.
Cas smiles. “I like it.”
Dean can’t help but smile back. He puts the finishing touches on his food and heads to the table, gesturing at the sandwich still in Cas’s hand. “Well don’t just stare at it.” Cas takes a bite and closes his eyes with a sigh as Dean sits. “Good?”
“Mmf’ss frrery rrg.” Dean takes that as a “yes.” Grinning, he takes a big bite of his PB&J.
They eat in silence for a few moments. Cas is clearly having a life-altering experience over there, and Dean is content to let him enjoy the experience. When Cas has cleaned his plate of every last crumb and smear of honey (by way of far more finger licking than Dean is really comfortable with, to say nothing of the appreciative noises), he lets out a long, happy sigh. “Thank you, Dean.”
“Anytime, Cas.” Dean focuses on the sandwich in his hands for another couple bites until he can’t ignore that stare Cas is giving him anymore. Mostly because it’s now accompanied by a hand hovering halfway across the table. The stare is a bit down from where he expected it, and when Dean looks up that seems to give the hand courage to continue. Cas’s thumb swipes across Dean’s bottom lip, a bit off-center. Without thinking, Dean licks his lips and looks at Cas’s.
Cas sucks a glob of jelly from his thumb and hums appreciatively. “Yours is good too.”
Dean blinks. “Oh. Yeah.” He holds out the last of the PB&J. “You want some?”
***
Dean wakes up later than he meant to, and tired. These late nights have been getting harder lately. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he shuffles to the bathroom for a shower and doesn’t think about Cas’s hands or the way his tongue found every last taste of jelly, not even a little.
He yawns and stretches his way into the kitchen to see Cas holding a bag of coffee and squinting, brows furrowed, at the coffee maker as if he could glare it into submission. Turning at the sound of Dean’s steps, he holds out the bag, and clearly Dean’s guess that Cas’s voice couldn’t hold anymore gravel had been a serious underestimation of the power of sleep and a serious distaste for mornings. “I don’t understand this machine.”
Dean stifles a snort and takes the bag. “Sit down before you smite something.” He should have guessed Cas wouldn’t be a morning person. The former angel takes a sullen seat at the table and returns to promising vengeance to the coffee maker with his eyes. Dean pulls out the coffee grinder and goes to work, mulling over the idea of breakfast as the coffee maker starts to spit and grumble. “Where’s Sammy at?”
“Running.” Cas’s tone makes it clear that his current distaste for the idea rival’s even Dean’s own.
“Guess I’ll have to make us a breakfast that makes him question his life choices, eh Cas?” Dean opens the fridge and starts pulling out eggs, milk, bacon, cheese. He preheats pans and pours coffee as the bacon starts to sizzle. By the time Cas is on his third cup and Dean has plated the second omelet, Cas is looking like his relationship with life is on the mend. Dean sets out the plates and drops into the seat across from Cas, more than a little proud of his fine egg craftsmanship. He points his fork at Cas. “Now dig into that and tell me that it’s not the best breakfast you’ve ever had.”
Cas doesn’t respond, but he does set down his mug and pick up his fork.
***
Dean could (does) watch Cas eat for days. Not in, like, a weird way. It’s just that Cas’s eyes seem to light up with every new flavor or texture. Each meal has him moaning around his food and closing his eyes with pleasure. He starts asking questions, starts watching Dean’s movements as he cooks. He learns to make his own PB&J, and they start going through loaves of bread like Jesus is passing them out.