etrayalogs | ( closed ) every day's an apple pie

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( closed ) every day's an apple pie

WHO: Castiel (

messenger) & Dean Winchester (

venatoris)
WHEN: Shortly after the mingle
WHERE: In the bunker
WHAT: Castiel bakes a pie. Sort of.
NOTES\WARNINGS: n/a

[ castiel cuts a beeline to the liquor store immediately after briefly rubbing elbows with socialization. it doesn't suit him, that much is obvious. having his faith questioned was the final straw that saw him making generous use of the newly installed liquore store. he's tipsy-on-the-border-of-drunk by the time he diverts to the kwik stop to grab the necessary ingredients for dean's pie.

because god has some mercy on dean winchester, castiel had researched and planned the whole thing out several days in advance of becoming drunk. after reading through a small collection of recipe books, he'd decided his first foray into baking should be simplified, which was further encouraged by the presence of pre-made pie crusts and canned and frozen pie filling. harold had suggested he practice before presenting dean with the end result, but he had no idea how long it would take before he perfected his from-scratch skills, and he didn't want to wait. partly, because it would be a useless platitude if he waited until weeks after the race. partly, because he's drunk.

he picks out two cans of cherry filling, a few spices, a package that contains two premade crusts, and a roll of pre-made pie dough from the freezer. it's late. well past midnight, which means dean will have already eaten dinner and gone to bed. he also picks up a carton of milk, orange juice, a handful of candybars, a six pack of beer, and a frozen pizza. he may or may not knock over a corner display, but he leaves before the helper bots notice.

the groceries are shoved unceremoniously into the fridge/freezer.

and then there's the pie. it's ridiculous to feel intimidated by a confection, but here he is, hesitating. all his ingredients laid out before him, and suddenly it seems like the most difficult thing in the world.

it isn't. the most difficult step of making the pie is weaving the lattice out of pre-made pie crust over the top, but by the time he's reached this final step, his nerves have worn off.

and when the pie comes out of the oven, it looks... mostly okay. there's shiny, dark red cherry filling bubbling up from between the lattice strips, and the edges of the crust are a little burnt. he takes it from the oven barehanded and sets it on top of the stove to cool.

castiel turns away from the oven to lean his elbows on the island. little bits of this and that have been turning up around the bunker since dean invited him in. castiel tells himself it's scientific interest, little shells and feathers and small round stones, all checked over thoroughly to assess their origin. but the truth is, it brings him some comfort. the bits and scraps lying on the island aren't that, though. these are specifically for dean: a shed jackalope antler, a "bigfoot" incisor, and a handful of cowslips — fairy cups. ]

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[ Dean's dead asleep while Castiel is fluttering around and gathering supplies, buried beneath a mountain of covers and snoring lightly. The room is quiet save for that and the soft, repetitive click of a record still spinning long after the dulcet tones of Zeppelin's very own Robert Plant has tapered off. Dead silence isn't something Dean is particularly fond of; the ringing in his ears from repeated concussions is loud, deafening sometimes, and being left to his own thoughts leaves him restless, tossing and turning, never getting the sleep his body so desperately craves.

So instead he listens to the Stones, Zeppelin, Bob Seger, Nazarath's Hair of the Dog. It's easier to drift off when Ramble On is in your ear, rather than thinking about the things you've done, the mistakes you'e made, the things waiting for you at home that you're pointedly ignoring.

The scent of pie is rousing, though, and he rolls around, kicking at his covers, sniffing the air as he's dragged back to wakefulness, a groan vibrating his chest as his eyes finally open. ]

Dammit.

[ The word is grumbled, but the smell has him sitting up anyway, roused from odd dreams and restless slumber. It's not particularly strong, but Dean would recognize it anywhere, and it's one of the only few things that has the bear exiting his hibernation cave and heading to the kitchen.

He does not expect what he finds, and he has to pinch himself to make sure he isn't dreaming. ]

Cas?

Oh. Hello.

[ castiel looks up from his lean against the island, removing his attention from the things scattered across the far side of it to dean standing in the doorway, looking sleep rumpled and still tired. if he understood dean's trouble with sleep, he'd feel guilty. unfortunately, it's one of those human things he just hasn't internalized yet.

soon enough, he'll have no choice.

for now, he squints at dean in confusion. like he's asking without words: why are you awake? ]

What are you doing?

[ Cas has a question on his face, but Dean actually asks it. The angel is surrounded by supplies with a pie on the stove behind him, which Dean is leaning to look at, attention zeroing in on the steam curling from said freshly baked good. ]

Did you make that?

Uh.

[ he doesn't know why he hesitates. of course he made it. who else could have? he can't imagine that junior is the baking sort. then again, can he imagine himself that way? would he ever have guessed, a year ago, that he would be standing in dean winchester's kitchen (not a motel room!) waiting for a pie to cool that he assembled himself?

castiel blinks. he looks back at the pie, the dark red filling no longer bubbling up from the lattice. steam still rises, though, bringing with it various scents, all rich and sharp and sweet. he's never eaten pie before. ]

Yes?

[ Dean's moving closer, dead guy robe wrapped around his body and knotted at the waist, slippers flip-flopping on the cold floor. ]

All by yourself?

[ Don't mind him scoooooching around Cas, leaning over to take a big sniff. Cherry, definitely - he'd known when he first got a whiff in bed, the filling making it obvious. ]

Edited 2024-12-05 19:26 (UTC)

[ he turns to watch dean move around him, until he's leaning back against the island. he can smell the scent of sleep lingering on dean, the detergent he used to clean his sheets, the soap he used to wash his skin, and breathes deeper. he doesn't think that the pie is cool enough to cut yet, but he imagines dean won't let that stop him. he's not known for being a patient man. ]

Well...

[ castiel moves over to where he'd left the plastic package of pre-made pie crusts (it was a two-pack, there's still one remaining) and moves it into dean's field of vision, alongside the empty box of pre-rolled pie dough. ]

Not exactly. But Harold told me I need to practice first, and I didn't have the time.

[ Dean will absolutely not let that stop him and he'll burn his mouth first chance he gets. As it is, he's sticking a fingertip in to swipe a little filling thats bubbled over, licking it off. ]

Harold?

[ Who the fuck is Harold? His eyes narrow, but he reaches to look at the dough and crust, examining it before taking another swipe of filling. ]

Nothing wrong with a little cheat code. I've made pies like this.

I met him at Hannibal's banquet. We talked again today. He has an appreciation for good food and drink.

[ much like dean, though they had very different taste. castiel watches dean lick the pie filling off his fingertip, leaning forward in expectancy. he doesn't even realize that he's doing it. but it's there, shining in his eyes. the desire for gratification. to know that dean might enjoy it. ]

I wanted to do something to...

[ cheer you up? he doesn't know how to say it. it sounds stupid. but it's not as though dean losing the race is the end of the world, either. it just seemed right, to do this. he hasn't yet grasped why. ]

I know you wanted to win the race.

Hm.

[ He tucks that tidbit away - it's good for Cas to make friends but he's not exactly the best judge of character. Metatron comes to mind, not that Cas is aware of that yet. ]

You did this for me? [ He looks surprised - people don't do things for him just...because. If they do, it's because they want something in return. It's never simply because they wanted to do something nice. ] Really?

[ He looks pleased, almost a little bashful as he reaches for a knife, flicking his eyes between the pie and Cas, like he's deciding if he should hug the angel or cut into it. He settles for reaching a hand out to grope at Cas' shoulder to pull him in for a one shouldered hug while he pokes at the pie with the knife. ]

That's, uh - that's really nice of you, man.

Yes?

[ he wonders if that should really come as such a shock, but then considers the past two years and suddenly isn't surprised. it doesn't fit, does it? an angel, baking. gathering little bits of things and bringing them around like a bird weaving a nest. he doesn't know what he's doing, really, only that sometimes people tell him things that just seem to click.

and why shouldn't he do something nice?

dean pulling him in is even less expected. they've never touched especially much. they've certainly never embraced. dean's arm is warm, and with castiel's face nearly mashed into his shoulder, he can smell the scent of his body and his hair and his clothes much stronger now. the robe is soft where it brushes his chin and throat.

hesitantly, he reaches up and puts a hand on dean's side, trying to mirror the half hug without knowing where his arm should go. ]

Thank you.

[ Cas' touch is close enough, and Dean pulls him in, turning his head a little on 'accident' so he can breathe in the scent of angel, surprised how nice it is in his nose, his lungs.

The half hug doesn't last too long, Dean too awkward to linger, and he drops his hand, fingertips tracing over Cas' shoulder as it falls. ]

Thank you, Cas. Can I have some now?

Oh. Yes, of course.

[ dean's warmth lingers against his body. dean recovered from the chilling curse quickly, but sometimes castiel still finds himself thinking about that all hallow's eve. and the way he woke the next day with a damp patch of drool sticking his cheek to dean's pillow.

he moves aside to retrieve a plate and eating utensils from the bunker cabinets, and sets them out on the counter. ]

Get another plate for you. Gotta taste your own creation, you know.

[ He's reaching for a knife to start slicing - it's warm and it's going to be messy, oozing all over the place, but that's the best time to eat it, in his opinion. Nice and warm and gooey. With ice cream, but he's not being picky because this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

And so he's gonna cram his mouth full of pie and make a very happy noise, a pleased groan around his too full bite. ]

This is great. [ Crispy crust and all. ]

[ he does as dean asks without protesting. even though he doesn't need to eat and made the pie for dean, he can't entirely suppress his curiosity. he would like to know how it turned out. he'll just have one piece, and dean can have the rest.

castiel awkwardly scoops the still warm pie with a fork while watching dean eat. his distraction doesn't do him any favors, and only half of his pie filling actually finds its way onto his plate. ]

It is?

[ finally, he takes a bite.

and it is good. the cherry is tart and sweet in a way that makes his mouth water, more than just separate pieces of constituent parts. but nothing, nothing is as gratifying as the expression of pleasure on dean's face while he eats. castiel finds himself smiling too, lips tugged weakly at the corners, his body unconsciously mirroring. a heat radiates from the core of his chest like he's taken an held a large inhale of breath. ]

Yeah.

[ He has to pause to swallow, gulping down his bite and flashing Cas an easy grin. It's obvious Dean is pleased, and he himself is all warm and tingly inside, relishing his pie because it was made with, well. Love. Or something.

Stuff like that always tastes better. Cas could've blackened it and Dean would've enjoyed it, because it's the thought that counts. ]

It's awesome.

[ castiel smiles back, wider now. harold is right. this was a good idea. ]

Thank you, Dean.

I, um. I brought you some other things, too.

[ He swallows the bite he'd just stuffed in his mouth, surprise on his face. ]

...You did?

[ 'why' is on the tip of his tongue, but that seems like a rude thing to say. Dean's not exactly Mr. Manners, but he's got some. ]

[ well, dean, it's not like castiel would care if you asked. he hasn't got any manner to speak of.

he puts his plate down and moves back over to the island, around to the other side so he can push his offerings forward. the jackalope antler, "bigfoot" fang, and cowslips. all things related to their cryptid hunt, obviously. castiel doesn't know why he thought to collect these items in particular, only that he did. ]

[ He jams another bite in before setting his plate down to inspect what Cas has brought him. He's mildly confused by it, but touched, heart thumping against his ribcage, a butterfly caged in his chest. ]

Did you find this stuff when we were getting those pictures?

[ The little flowers are pretty; Dean likes flowers, doesn't tell people that. It's weakness, to like such frilly, feminine things. He does all the same, though. ]

These are cute.

After.

[ he hadn't been thinking of it at the time, only later. but it was easy enough to go back to the places they'd been. he picks one up, inspecting the long stem and sweet yellow flowers. they'll need to be put in water or pressed to preserve them, though castiel hasn't thought of that yet. ]

They're cowslips. Fairy cups. I didn't think it prudent to take anything from the Fae, so...

God, no. Definitely don't do that.

[ He has far too much experience with fairies and he doesn't wanna repeat that, thanks. ]

I like them. They're pretty. [ Pressing, that's what he's gonna do. After he sticks them in a cup of water - cup being a whiskey tumbler because that's what's on hand. But he wants to save them. ]

This is all really thoughtful of you, dude. What brought all this on? You're spoilin' me.

I just... felt like it.

[ he turns a little sheepish. but it's true. harold is the one who gave him the advice, but he didn't have to follow it. he could have done these things for someone else or not at all. but his first thought was to do them for dean, because something in him liked that idea. because he wanted to see the expression on dean's face, and to hear these nice things he's saying now.

because he wanted to make dean feel good.

because he wanted to be able to do something, for someone.

castiel scuffs his shoe against the floor and looks down. ]

I would prefer to be of some use, but...

[ he couldn't help dean win the race. ]

[ His smile is slow and warm like a summer sunrise, and he reaches for the antler, picking it up and examining it closely. ]

This is cool.

[ Looking up at Cas and meeting his eyes, his lips quirk, expression turning wry. ]

You don't have to be useful to be a good egg, Cas. I'm just glad you're here. [ And all of this does cheer him; he'd been irritated they lost the race, but there's nothing to be done about it but sulk. Which he'd been doing up until this point. His bad mood has evaporated, and in it's place settles something warm and undefinable, a thing unknown burrowed in his chest. ]

I'm not an egg.

[ good or otherwise. but his voice is tempered by his smile, and he feels a little bit better about his relative uselessness since arriving here in etraya. for the last several months, all things considered. it's not as though he's been able to do anything for sam and dean. his search for god came to nothing at all, and he's not even pure enough to kill the whore of babylon.

but dean did. dean came through.

and he's certain, even though he hasn't been told, that dean is the reason they won.

castiel inclines his head. ]

I'm... sorry that the others are gone.

[ perhaps this isn't just about the race.

castiel can't imagine what it would have been like, living with two other versions of himself, but he knows that dean would have been happy surrounded by a bunker full of his friends. ]

[ Dean came through because he was on the brink of a very bad decision, ultimately making it and enabling him to stab the bitch in the chest.

Not that that's a thing Cas knows yet, but ultimately they are all flawed in some ways, a lot of ways. Dean, at the time, had thought his usefulness had also run out, and that saying 'yes' to Michael was the only solution to the problem. Maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was some grand gesture to save the word and ensure salvation and paradise for angels and humans (hopefully) alike. Besides, who wouldn't want paradise?

At any rate, that's years past for Dean, and this time it's Dean who's unleashed a devil.

...nevermind it was low-key Sam's fault for pushing the spell, a thing he never should've done. Dean deserved insanity on a faraway planet, deserved to be lost to the sands of time in a frenzy that could never be soothed. In the end Sam deserved death too; the world would have been better off without the both of them (as evidenced by the appearance of the Darkness). But the Mark has a mind of its own, self preservation kicking in and Dean found himself swinging that scythe at the horseman himself, killing Death with his own blade. The irony isn't lost on Dean, wasn't even as it happened, Death crumbling into dust at their feet.

He drags himself out of memories and regret and self-hatred and blame, focuses on the angel in front of him and smiles. ]

It's not your fault. We got each other, and we got the kid. [ And they're all fucked up and maybe that's how Dean likes it. Normalcy doesn't suit him, he'd tried. ]

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