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lastinlineforpie · 2 days ago

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Absolutely in love with your drawing of Dean teaching Cas how to shoot! And I aggressively support the headcanon that Dean gets a bit intimate/touchy when teaching Cas new things.

I have a WIP fic on AO3 where human/mostly human Cas goes to Sam for Valentine’s Day advice and spills that his crush is on a man (bc Sam is like “why are you asking me and not Dean?”) Dean finds out and gets a little hurt that Cas wouldn’t think he’d support him or would judge him for liking a guy and overcompensates by trying to help Cas have a perfect Valentine’s date, which of course includes teaching Cas how to make this mystery guy that Cas has a crush on (who weirdly sounds a lot like Dean, not that Dean’s jealous or anything) a pie or, as Dean calls it “The Art if Seduction via Pie”

Long story short: I thought you might enjoy this snippet of it/your drawing reminded me of this part where Dean gets a little cozy teaching Cas how to roll out pie crusts

——— Cas

“Dean,” Cas says his name slowly while turning to face the man who is waiting patiently for him.

“Cas?” Dean teases him back with the same slow draw of his name.

“You must be exhausted. We really don’t have to make the pie, if you don’t want too. I’m sure that-”

“Hey! None of that! I’m good, and it’s just downright rude for you to think I’d break a promise, especially to you, and even more especially about pie,” Dean teases, but there’s something heavier in the words that Cas doesn’t have time to try and decipher before Dean barrels on, “Now, I’ve already unpacked the groceries, so let’s get this show on the road before I pass out.”

Cas opens his mouth to protest that no pie is worth Dean’s health, but he’s stopped by the sharp look Dean gives him. Instead, he obediently follows as Dean leads the way into the bunker.

The silent walk toward the kitchen gives Cas’ mind the time to begin processing some of Dean’s words.

Groceries? That means we stopped at some point, but he didn’t wake me. Then he let me sleep until the last moment while he unpacked. He has sacrificed time, sleep, and money so I can have a good, nonexistent, date.

Sudden warmth and pressure press against his eyes and chest as love for Dean washes over his whole being. It’s so overwhelming that he misses the next step down on the stairs and noisily flails to regain his balance.

“Dude, you okay? You sure you didn’t get a concussion? Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have let you sleep,” Dean mutters as he turns around and begins raking his gaze meticulously over Cas looking for nonexistent head wounds.

Cas feels the odd dual urge to preen and squirm under the scrutiny but shakes off both in favor of alleviating Dean’s mounting worry and guilt.

“I’m fine, Dean. I promise. I was still a little groggy from sleeping in the car and missed a step,” He manages despite the feeling still glowing in his chest, hoping Dean mistakes the heat on his neck and cheeks for embarrassment.

“Uh-huh,” Dean says, clearly unconvinced but he continues anyway.

Thankfully they make it to the kitchen without any further issue. Dean begins chatting excitedly about how they need to make the dough first so it can chill but all Cas can focus on is that what he assumes are all the necessary items are already prepared and waiting on the counter. Love threatens to topple him again, energy building in his chest until he’s sure is going to explode at any second. He basks in the warmth until he hears Dean’s excited explanation stop suddenly and get replaced with soft, unsure words.

“Hey, I’m running on empty here, so it took me a bit to realize that maybe… maybe you might not really want to do this and that’s why you keep asking me about it. I know, I know I can get stuck on things, but I need you to understand that it’s okay if you don’t want to do this. I can bake something tomorrow or whenever so nothing’s wasted. Seriously, guilt free, if you changed your mind or if it feels too overwhelming right now or for whatever reason; just say the word and I’ll do whatever you want, Cas.”

The feeling flares and thrums painfully, a wild animal caged within his ribs, desperately seeking freedom, howling in outrage at Dean’s doubt and concern. He should say yes, should release Dean from this promise, should let him get some sleep. He should be more like Dean and do the selfless thing for once.

He opens his mouth to lie and say he doesn’t want to bake with Dean, but the pacing beast his chest digs its selfish claws into his tongue, forcing the truth out of his lips instead.

“No! I mean, yes. I want to do this; I want you to teach me how to make a pie. I just- I kept asking you because- I don’t want you to feel … obligated to do all this after, uh, everything.”

“Hah! Dude, this is pie we’re talking about. It’s never an obligation and neither are you,” Dean laughs before going still.

Cas is sure, by the way Dean blinks and opens his mouth that he probably hadn’t meant to say the last part, but he doesn’t make a joke or take it back.

“You know what, I stand by that. Now, as I was saying. The dough has to chill for a bit, so we make that first and then prep the filling while it’s in the fridge. Alright, step one is washing your hands.”

Even though he must be exhausted to his bones, Dean is an excellent and patient teacher. He explains each step to Cas and answers any questions he has. As soon as they get serious about the baking, the tension and unease dissipate and it’s almost as if nothing has changed at all. Dean’s passion and enthusiasm are contagious and intoxicating and Cas finds himself smiling so much his cheeks ache.

Soon enough the dough has been made, split, wrapped in plastic wrap, and set in the freezer to chill.

“Alright, the filling is easier but more tedious,” Dean says as he sets several washed apples onto the metal countertop. “You want to peel or slice?”

Cas considers for a moment, opening his mouth to ask if he can be the one to peel but he sees Dean stifle a yawn into his shoulder, eyes watering with the effort to hide it.

“I’ll slice if you show me how you want them,” Cas answers, wanting to do this one small thing for Dean, and not quite trusting the man not to hurt himself with the sharp blade in his current state of fatigue.

Dean makes quick work of peeling an apple and shows Cas how to core and slice it into thin layers before adding it to the bowl.

They fall into an easy rhythm, both of them doing their tasks and simply enjoying the silence of one another. After a few minutes though a thought pops into Cas’ head and out of his mouth before it fully forms.

“Did Mary or John do this with you? Did they teach you? Is that where your love of cooking and baking comes from?”

Dean blinks at him uncomprehendingly for a few minutes before keeling over with laughter. Cas smiles at the sound, though he’s not sure what he said that Dean could find so humorous. Dean straightens and wipes the tears from his eyes before he replies.

“Nah! Mom was a pretty bad cook and an even worse baker and Dad, uh, he never really had a lot of time for stuff like that. Living on the road with Sam, I started cooking because I kind of had to. Dad wasn’t always there to get us food and there’s only so many sandwiches and canned soups and cereals you can take before you begin to get creative. I must’ve come up with at least a hundred ways to make Mac n’ Cheese exciting. Although, after I resorted to adding marshmallow fluff mix, I decided I needed to learn how to cook real food. So, I started watching cooking shows in motels that had TVs, stealing cookbooks from local libraries, and tearing recipes out of magazines. I’m not sure which pissed my dad off more, the fact that I was wasting my time on such a girly activity or all the inedible food I made in the beginning. But I, I ended up being pretty good at it and soon enough both he, begrudgingly, and Sam were pretty thankful.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas whispers, afraid if he says anymore, says it any louder, the sorrow he feels for how Dean had been forced to grow up would burst the dam of his emotions and spill out in liquid form down his cheeks.

“For what, Cas?” Dean asks, head tilted and appearing genuinely confused, the truth of his childhood so ingrained that he doesn’t see anything wrong with having to provide himself and Sam with meals, with John leaving them for long enough that he had to improvise so many times, with the disdain John had for him trying to learn, trying to better provide for himself and his brother.

“Dean, you must know that you shouldn’t have had to do that. You should have been allowed to learn how to cook because you truly enjoyed it. Not because you needed to, not because you didn’t have an adult who cared for you like they should have, but because you wanted to.”

“Dude, we travelled around with Dad hunting demons, none of that is really conducive to a normal childhood. Do I sometimes wish I’d had a more average upbringing, sure. But then I remember how selfish that would have been, wishing Dad were around more instead of saving other people. So, we all did what we had to do, I learned to take care of Sam and I and Dad saved people. When I think of it like that, it doesn’t really bother me that much anymore.”

Dean must still be able to see the anger storming in his face because he pauses his peeling to squeeze Cas’ arm and say soflty, “Hey, there’s a lot of things that, in a perfect world, should have been, but I’ll only make myself crazy if I think about them too long. And, look, I really do enjoy cooking and baking now, as evidenced by my growing muffin top. In fact, if I liked it any more, you’d probably have to roll me out on hunts.”

Cas rolls his eyes, choosing to let the righteous anger go for Dean’s sake and choosing to address his newest concern, “Dean, please. Your body is in peak condition. And a couple extra pounds would only add to your perfection”

The words slip out and Cas blames it on the spell of intimacy created by standing elbow to elbow with Dean as they work to create something together.

“I, oh, um. Thanks, Cas,” Dean splutters handing Cas one last peeled apple before moving away to get the other ingredients for the filling.

Or in retreat.

“Dean, I-” Cas starts to apologize, worried he’s gone too far.

“Relax, I know it was just a compliment to battle my self-deprecation. I promise I won’t read into it too much. Okay, so now we add the lemon juice, cinnamon, sugar, and flour. And my secret ingredient, which you are sworn to secrecy about by the way, cornstarch. It helps the filling not to get too soggy and holds everything together to make it easier to cut later.”

Cas relents and nods his understanding, some part of him screaming that he wishes Dean would read into his words a bit more, would guess Cas’ feelings and end his misery one way or another.

Finally, the filling is done and Dean sets it to the side, but not before snagging a piece of slathered apple out of the bowl and holding it up to Cas’ mouth in offering.

He’s too stunned to refuse, lips and tongue giving Dean’s fingers the barest brush as he accepts this odd, though welcome, communion.

“Hmm, that it delicious,” Cas breathes, not expounding on what he is referring to.

“Hah, yeah, just wait until it’s baked,” Dean responds, his words a little stilted as he takes a piece for himself.

Cas tries not to notice how he uses the same fingers to feed himself that he’d used for Cas, how he licks the syrupy mixture off those appendages that Cas’ own tongue had touched just seconds ago.

He is still fighting with unholy thoughts of those fingers when Dean returns to his side with the chilled balls from the freezer.

“Okay, now this is the tricky part,” Dean prefaces as he pulls out a silicon mat marked with concentric rings of different measurements. He unwraps the first chunk of dough and places it in the center of the mat.

“You have to roll out the dough to be this size, but it’s important that you do it evenly. If the dough is too thick it won’t bake all the way through, but if it’s too thin it can tear and all that yummy cinnamon sugar and lemon juice syrup we drenched the apples in will leak out of the bottom. Not to mention it will make it a bitch to cut and serve.”

Dean picks up a wooden cylinder with handles, something Cas knows must be for baking but can’t quite place the name of and covers the length of it in flour.

“It’s important to coat the rolling pin as well as the surface you’re rolling on with flour, so the dough doesn’t stick. It’s cold right now so it’s not super sticky but it will get stickier as it warms up. The trick to getting a nice, even pie crust is to be quick and efficient and get it rolled out before the dough warms up.”

Cas nods like he’s following Dean’s instruction when in reality he’s transfixed by how serene and beautiful Dean looks as he firmly but gently presses down on the center of the flattened dough and pushes the rolling pin away from him. After a few strokes he flips and rotates the dough before adding more flour to the pin and repeating the process. When the dough is nearing the ring labeled nine inches, Dean stops and offers the pin to Cas.

“Alright, lover boy, your turn.”

“Dean, I really don’t think I should. I’m sure I’ll mess it up.”

Even as he protests, green eyes draw Cas to the spot Dean had previously occupied in front of the dough. He positions the rolling pin like he’d seen Dean do but he can’t seem to figure out how pick a direction to start moving in.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” Dean chuckles, sidling up behind Cas and reaching around him to place his hands atop Cas’ on the rolling pin. He moves their hands confidently, showing Cas the right amount of pressure to apply and how far to roll before turning the dough.

Dean doesn’t appear to be affected by the closeness, but Cas drowns in it. If he had thought the blanket in the Impala was nice, it was nothing compared to the warmth of Dean’s chest against his back, the smell of him enveloping him, his hot breath puffing against Cas’ cheek as he peers around him to see the dough and continues explaining his actions.

Dean

“There, that’s perfect,” Dean whispers, not trusting his voice with more than that as he reluctantly removes his hands from Cas’ and pulls away.

He makes a quick grab for the foil pan he’d buttered earlier to hide how his hands tremble with the effort of letting go.

He shows an oddly quiet Cas how to gently drape the fragile dough over the pan and press it down. They add the filling and Dean has the other ball of dough unwrapped and flattened in the center of the mat before he steps away again.

“You wanna try doing the top?” He asks, nodding encouragingly when Cas hesitates to take up the rolling pin again.

Cas begins, frequently staring up at Dean during the process. He doesn’t do badly, he just doesn’t do great either. It only takes a few uneven passes for him to lock eyes with Dean, his expression clearly screaming help me.

Dean smiles and slides into his earlier position with far too much eagerness. He doesn’t think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t be spooning Cas from behind, why he shouldn’t rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder, why he shouldn’t be breathing praise and encouragement into the angel’s ear. He’s too tired to deny himself this little indulgence while he still can.

Letting go of Cas to place the top crust is harder the second time, in more ways than one, and Dean is grateful for the flannel tied around his waist.

“Alright. Now we slice off any extra and we crimp the edges like this,” Dean demonstrates pressing the top and bottom pieces of dough together and forming the clamshell like shape by pressing the pointer finger of his left hand into the “V” he forms with his right thumb and pointer finger.

He’s about to ask Cas if he wants to try, but the intensity of the man’s eyes on him takes his breath and the thought away and he continues around the edge of the dish until it’s all done. He deftly slices a few vents in the top before retrieving an egg from the fridge and cracking it into a bowl with some water.

“Why do we need an egg? Shouldn’t we have added it before now?” Cas asks making Dean grin like an idiot, more than a little excited that Cas seems to be genuinely interested in the process.

“With any other baking, yes. But this isn’t for the pie itself, it’s for an egg wash. We’re going to use this,” he holds up a basting brush, “to cover the crust.”

“Why?” Cas asks incredulously.

“Taste is important, but presentation is too. This will give the pie a nice, shiny, golden color.”

Dean gets the pie coated and puts it into the oven before turning back to Cas and having to cover his mouth to keep from howling with laughter.

He hadn’t noticed when he was focused on getting the pie made and in the oven, but Cas is absolutely covered in flour. Not just his clothes but a smudge on his face from where he’d wiped it after dusting the rolling pin, in his hair, and even more hilariously, on his backside from where the flour on Dean’s own clothes had transferred.

“Dean?”

“Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry, but we’re kind of a mess,” Dean attempts to explain as he tries to tamp down the hysterical giggles bubbling up in his chest again.

Cas looks down at himself before his eyes bounce back up to Dean’s, mirth welling in them.

They both crack at the same time, loud laughter mingling and filling the kitchen with warmth.

———

hey noxemma

Could you like, put this in A03 so I can Kudos this and recommend it to my friends

Much love, very vibe, will draw later

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