![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
spn ficlet: almost domesticated
almost domesticated
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~1,000 words
For![[personal profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
cocklestrash, who was having a bad day.
--
They grab pizzas the first night and get a ridiculous amount of Chinese the second, but by the third Dean's credit card is starting to feel the strain. Instead of ordering out again, Dean throws together a chicken enchilada casserole with a recipe he tore out of a home and garden magazine months ago and the stuff he already has in the fridge. He shreds chicken and layers not-quite-stale tortillas into a pan, and when Charlie wanders into the kitchen for another beer, he nags her into grating some cheese so he can finish fighting with the sauce.
Cas doesn't eat anything, and Sam spends ten minutes on the phone, talking Rudy through the different ways to kill a lamia, but other than that it's almost normal -- the four of them sitting around the table together, just shooting the shit and sharing a meal.
+
Charlie takes off the next morning -- "Just for a couple of days! I wanna see if any of my stuff survived Styne's goons!" -- but Dean's already in the habit. He likes having everyone around, and he doesn't want to go back to eating Hot Pockets alone in his bedroom with a lore book in his lap, at least not yet.
Halfway to the White's in Smith Center, Dean gets a taste for meatloaf, the kind his mother used to make, sliced thick with a layer of ketchup on top. He puts two pounds of good ground beef in his cart, then walks up and down the aisles until he finds the saltine crackers, then loses ten minutes in the produce department, turning circles around the apples and melons while he tries to remember if he has onions back at the bunker. He ends up grabbing a couple just to be safe, and he also gets a sack of russet potatoes, because baked potatoes go with everything, and a bag of salad mix, because Sam doesn't think that potatoes qualify as a vegetable.
The meatloaf comes out perfect, as do the potatoes; Cas gets about a third of the way through one before deciding the molecules are too much.
+
Cas heads out at the end of the week, murmuring about a "loose end" he needs to tie up; he comes back three days later looking windswept and smelling like the Kansas rain, carrying a canvas grocery bag full of vegetables.
"Hastings has a farmer's market," he explains, setting two bell peppers on the counter. They're both a bright, healthy green and larger than Dean's fist, and Dean tries to picture it -- Cas wandering between the stalls, frowning at the different kinds of produce, poking things with his grace to see if they're ripe.
He can't, really; it's just too weird. Instead, he digs through the rest of Cas' haul, finding carrots and onions and celery and cucumbers. The last two are more Sam's department, but the rest of it will make a decent pot of chili, with some tomato paste thinned with beer. There are a couple of cans of beans in the pantry, and he can use up the leftover ground beef in the fridge.
Charlie isn't back yet, and Sam is up in Sioux Falls, helping Jody and Alex with what had sounded like ghouls over the phone, so when the chili is done Dean takes a beer and his bowl out to the library. A few minutes later, Cas comes out with his own beer and a coffee mug with about three and a half spoonfuls of chili in it. He sits down beside Dean, close enough that their elbows bump, and he hesitates over the chili like he's afraid of it, frowning at it, poking it gingerly with his spoon.
"You don't have to do that," Dean says, which sounds more dickish out loud than it had in his head. "I mean, I know it's all just molecules to you."
Cas just shrugs, human in a way that makes Dean ache a little. "It's not as bad as it was before." He takes a small bite, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. "With my own grace... I still taste the parts, but I can also taste the whole if I really try. Besides, you seem to enjoy it."
"What?"
"Having company while you eat."
"Yeah, I -- yeah." Dean hides behind his beer for a second, feeling weirdly self-conscious. Family dinners aren't something he's ever really had, except for that year he spent with Lisa, so he can't really explain it, except that the bunker is too big for just him and Sam sometimes. Having everyone around had dulled the angry heat on his arm, and it had warmed something in Dean's chest to see Cas out of his coat and tie. "It's nice -- you know, when everyone's here." He finishes his beer, setting the bottle down a little too hard because his hand is shaking. "When you're here."
"Dean." Cas turns slightly, laying his hand on Dean's wrist. "You know I wouldn't leave if it wasn't necessary."
"I know that," Dean says, heat crowding under his jaw. "I know it. I just -- I."
Cas shifts his hand, tangling their fingers together, and he says, "Dean," again in a lighter voice. "The other day, I went -- I'm trying to arrange things so I can stay."
"Stay," Dean repeats slowly. He pushes his chili away; his stomach is twisting too much. "What -- like, here?"
"Yes." Something uncertain crosses Cas' face, and that's not what Dean wants at all. "If you --"
Dean kisses him, smiling against his mouth because of the soft, pleased sound he makes. Because he wants to stay. Because -- because. Dean will cook dinner when they're not on the road, and Cas will pretend to eat it, and maybe hold his hand under the table, and it'll be almost normal, and almost normal is something Dean can totally do.
Castiel/Dean | gen | ~1,000 words
For
--
They grab pizzas the first night and get a ridiculous amount of Chinese the second, but by the third Dean's credit card is starting to feel the strain. Instead of ordering out again, Dean throws together a chicken enchilada casserole with a recipe he tore out of a home and garden magazine months ago and the stuff he already has in the fridge. He shreds chicken and layers not-quite-stale tortillas into a pan, and when Charlie wanders into the kitchen for another beer, he nags her into grating some cheese so he can finish fighting with the sauce.
Cas doesn't eat anything, and Sam spends ten minutes on the phone, talking Rudy through the different ways to kill a lamia, but other than that it's almost normal -- the four of them sitting around the table together, just shooting the shit and sharing a meal.
+
Charlie takes off the next morning -- "Just for a couple of days! I wanna see if any of my stuff survived Styne's goons!" -- but Dean's already in the habit. He likes having everyone around, and he doesn't want to go back to eating Hot Pockets alone in his bedroom with a lore book in his lap, at least not yet.
Halfway to the White's in Smith Center, Dean gets a taste for meatloaf, the kind his mother used to make, sliced thick with a layer of ketchup on top. He puts two pounds of good ground beef in his cart, then walks up and down the aisles until he finds the saltine crackers, then loses ten minutes in the produce department, turning circles around the apples and melons while he tries to remember if he has onions back at the bunker. He ends up grabbing a couple just to be safe, and he also gets a sack of russet potatoes, because baked potatoes go with everything, and a bag of salad mix, because Sam doesn't think that potatoes qualify as a vegetable.
The meatloaf comes out perfect, as do the potatoes; Cas gets about a third of the way through one before deciding the molecules are too much.
+
Cas heads out at the end of the week, murmuring about a "loose end" he needs to tie up; he comes back three days later looking windswept and smelling like the Kansas rain, carrying a canvas grocery bag full of vegetables.
"Hastings has a farmer's market," he explains, setting two bell peppers on the counter. They're both a bright, healthy green and larger than Dean's fist, and Dean tries to picture it -- Cas wandering between the stalls, frowning at the different kinds of produce, poking things with his grace to see if they're ripe.
He can't, really; it's just too weird. Instead, he digs through the rest of Cas' haul, finding carrots and onions and celery and cucumbers. The last two are more Sam's department, but the rest of it will make a decent pot of chili, with some tomato paste thinned with beer. There are a couple of cans of beans in the pantry, and he can use up the leftover ground beef in the fridge.
Charlie isn't back yet, and Sam is up in Sioux Falls, helping Jody and Alex with what had sounded like ghouls over the phone, so when the chili is done Dean takes a beer and his bowl out to the library. A few minutes later, Cas comes out with his own beer and a coffee mug with about three and a half spoonfuls of chili in it. He sits down beside Dean, close enough that their elbows bump, and he hesitates over the chili like he's afraid of it, frowning at it, poking it gingerly with his spoon.
"You don't have to do that," Dean says, which sounds more dickish out loud than it had in his head. "I mean, I know it's all just molecules to you."
Cas just shrugs, human in a way that makes Dean ache a little. "It's not as bad as it was before." He takes a small bite, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully. "With my own grace... I still taste the parts, but I can also taste the whole if I really try. Besides, you seem to enjoy it."
"What?"
"Having company while you eat."
"Yeah, I -- yeah." Dean hides behind his beer for a second, feeling weirdly self-conscious. Family dinners aren't something he's ever really had, except for that year he spent with Lisa, so he can't really explain it, except that the bunker is too big for just him and Sam sometimes. Having everyone around had dulled the angry heat on his arm, and it had warmed something in Dean's chest to see Cas out of his coat and tie. "It's nice -- you know, when everyone's here." He finishes his beer, setting the bottle down a little too hard because his hand is shaking. "When you're here."
"Dean." Cas turns slightly, laying his hand on Dean's wrist. "You know I wouldn't leave if it wasn't necessary."
"I know that," Dean says, heat crowding under his jaw. "I know it. I just -- I."
Cas shifts his hand, tangling their fingers together, and he says, "Dean," again in a lighter voice. "The other day, I went -- I'm trying to arrange things so I can stay."
"Stay," Dean repeats slowly. He pushes his chili away; his stomach is twisting too much. "What -- like, here?"
"Yes." Something uncertain crosses Cas' face, and that's not what Dean wants at all. "If you --"
Dean kisses him, smiling against his mouth because of the soft, pleased sound he makes. Because he wants to stay. Because -- because. Dean will cook dinner when they're not on the road, and Cas will pretend to eat it, and maybe hold his hand under the table, and it'll be almost normal, and almost normal is something Dean can totally do.